inherstars
Written In Her Stars
Happily married, middle-aged writer, artist, designer, baker, day-tripper, vegan, cat rescuer, cottagey, cozy, houseproud kitchen witch.This blog is a mixed bag of content: Pictures of stuff I find lovely or amusing, creative writing, exercises, baking output, home improvement, thrift shop and yard sale finds, living blue in an exceptionally red rural town, plus the challenges of getting older, finding peace and grace in the everyday, plus the difficulties of caring for aging, emotionally unwell parents.
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Whisker jar progress. I really can't express to you the delight of finding a new one to add to the jar.
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Wallaby let me pet him!
Not even through the pet door, this time! I put some food out for him with the door open, and offered out my hand. He came right over for a sniff and then pushed his perfect little round head into my hand for a scritch.
He still desperately wants to be friends with Fidget, who is permissive / lukewarm at best. But he'll get there. He needs a buddy.
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Green Love Letter by Masa-San, Fujino, Kanagawa, Japan
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Got to see a local celebrity at the Promenade shops today. We stopped in for smoothies and I walked out with a new hiking pack, which I'm looking forward to wearing on the trails soon 鉂わ笍
We also used some reward points to buy an insulated beverage cart for outside. Since Covid we've had a snack cart out every day that we keep stocked with stuff for the delivery people that come down our street. This summer I wanted to add cold bottled water and tea, so this will be a nice way to brighten their day a little.
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The latest stray that's started to come around for food. I haven't seen his business bits close enough to verify, but the fact that he's spraying, and isn't musky, leads me to believe he's already neutered.
We named him Wallaby.
He is also VERY chatty. He won't let me come up to him or get close, but when I reached through the cat door to feed him he let me finger-scritch gently at the top of his head, and didn't even flinch.
I'm gonna pet. that. cat.
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Got home at 6 AM in the morning, thawed out two mini bundt cakes and scarfed them down like exhausted goblins. Showered, evicted the cats from the bedroom and crashed. We got about 3 hours sleep before we got up again, laid in bed for maybe another half an hour, then said, "fuck it," and got up.
MIL was admitted, they have a vague idea what's wrong with her, but are running more tests. She likely won't be released until tomorrow, which is good, because it buys us a little time. We ate, cleaned ourselves up, and I sat down to plow through some work while Marc goes back into the city to sort out his Mom's cat and some other issues. We'll reconvene for dinner.
I have some mindless work to finish today, so I'm like, "Oh, I'll watch this little "Last of Us" making-of featurette. Which features the motion capture of Joel's death in Part II.
And here I am editing spreadsheets while sobbing uncontrollably.
So I'm good. This is good. I'm processing everything really well.
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Eight hours in this ER, and she still has not been admitted, nor have we been given any test results, and they can't / won't even ballpark how much longer before anyone can tell us anything.
"I'll have to find the doctor and ask."
"Hm, I don't know, I'll see if I can find out."
There is no one else in the waiting room. It's been nobody but us since 2 AM. I can't fucking fathom why nothing is getting done, and I just want to cry.
We know exactly as much as when we walked in here last night, which is nothing.
We have been up for almost 24 hours. We drove over an hour to get here, and unless we want to get a hotel room we still have to drive an hour back home, and we don't even know when the fuck that will be.
I am so goddamned tired.
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2024 coming through for us yet again, now we're off to the city to take Marc's Mom to the ER.
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