Homer'sWorld

The Summer of Hell continues. Who knew that HAZWOPER training could be so mind-numbingly boring? They certainly don't warn you ahead of time. I was hoping we would get to put on space suits, but this seems unlikely.
























Patio.

My eyes are burning constantly from allergies. I can't take any of the medicines if I want to stay awake to learn acronyms. I sat in the front row for brown-nosing points and made sure I asked pertinent questions. I will pass this damn class with honors. I do not want to have that recurrent nightmare that I have about failing a class.

I look like a caveman because I haven't shaved in two weeks. My neck is bristly. It is an experiment in cavemanishness. I am like Sarah Palin in making up flawful words.

Ohmigolly, the neighbor across the alley has five little puppies.



















They are happy to see Kyle.

I think they are probably pitbulls. So adorable, all boys, tiny!



















I wish they would stay this small and cute.

Unfortunately, some of my neighbors aren't very nice with their dogs. I have had to call Animal Control a few times. If these were my puppies they wouldn't be running around like this, they would be in cute little outfits and being pampered.

My Spanish Colonial Revival house, built in 1927, is now a contributing property to the Menlo Park National Historic District and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.



















Casa de la Homero.

I will be applying for the tax relief program, which reduces my property tax by half. I would like to use the money to have the two large front windows replicated (they are termite damaged and cannot be opened or closed).

The juvenile Cooper's hawk (not a Harris hawk as I originally thought) bent down to see me, I was grabbing my camera to get a photo. It is one of two hawks flying around at work, probably hunting the baby rabbits and ground squirrels.



















I look delicious (click to see a larger version).

It immediately lost interest and turned around to look at more interesting things.



















It has rained a lot and everything is green. And moist.

I went to my eye doctor to get my eyes examined (slightly more astygmatic in my right eye). New frames too, so I can have a pair of field glasses and one for indoors. The price tag made me gasp.

Lisa tasted the apple-onion-sage (with celery and red pepper) chutney and declared that it was delicious. Now I have to label the jars and think about what to make next.

Did you know that a tablespoon is equal to three teaspoons? I learned this while making batch of apple-onion-sage chutney. I accidentally added two tablespoons so I basically had to match a second, larger batch to mix the first batch in with.

Recipe calls for 1 1/2 cups cider vinegar, 1 1/2 cuts sugar, 2 teaspoons salt, 1/2 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper, three cups sweet onion, seven cups tart apple, and 1/4 cup fresh sage leaves chopped.

Boil until mostly softened.



















I added some celery and red pepper too, after this picture was taken.

I now have a canner and rack, and I have gotten used to the process. So everything went well, except for the too-much salt.



















Seven jars.

Lesson learned- read directions carefully. The finished chutney has a "Thanksgiving" flavor, I think.

Pool volleyball is this Saturday. Last game of the season. What kind of cupcakes should I make?

A). Chocolate malted cupcakes with malted vanilla frosting.

B). Ginger and molasses cupcakes with whipper cream.

C). Brown sugar pound cupcakes with brown butter frosting.

D). Roasted banana cupcakes with honey-cinnamon frosting.

Vote in the comment section!

Update: at 16 votes,

A=1
B=6
C=5
D=4

So close! Which cupcake will win?

I attended the premier of a controversial documentary in which I did Vanna-like hand gestures and appeared in about 5 or 6 scenes. Jim and Chris were my escorts, I was saddened to see there was no red carpet and only a few people filming and photographing the event.



















Jim and Chris.

The event took place at the Fox Theatre, which opened in 1930. It has been beautifully restored and is a tremendous asset to the downtown. Your tax payer dollars wasted, according to some folks.
























Chandelier and ceiling.

The documentary, Finding Tucson's Origins, is a 27-minute-long movie showing the cultural and natural history of Tucson. It was made for the community's heritage park. However, a reporter from the local news-rag wrote some articles about what a waste of money the park was, the state legislature diverted the money for the park to build a hotel, and then the reporter wrote an article about what a waste of money it was to make a movie for a non-existent park. I cancelled my subscription to the news-rag as a result. In addition, the $800,000 price tag upset folks, and some local film makers had tantrums because the contract was given to an out-of-state film production company. One that happens to specialize in this sort of film. I have no clue if they paid too much. They got a great film anyways.



















Look, that's my hand, something like 15 or 20 ft tall.

People clapped at the end. Twice. How long has it been since people clapped at the end of a movie? This suggests to me that the film was well-received.

Afterward we went to BKs for supper and the jalapenos made me hiccup.




















Two veggie tacos.

It is raining off and on right now, that will everything greener outside.

235 years ago today an Irish man in the Spanish military, Hugo O'Conor, selected the location of a new Presidio fortress on the terrace overlooking the floodplain of the Santa Cruz River. Nearby was the small O'odham village called Shuk-shon, which the Spaniards had written down as Tucson. Native Americans had lived on or adjacent to the Santa Cruz River for at least 4,000 years.

I attended the official 235th birthday celebration this morning. Lots of politicians and people dressed up in Spanish or Territorial fashions.
























Three cakes, the piece I had was so-so.

I took pictures for the historical newsletter I edit, attempting to take ones that looked "real."
























Presidio soldiers. I really like this photo.

The Confederate Army occupied Tucson for a few months in the Spring of 1862. The California Volunteers marched from California to retake the area, and the only Civil War battle fought in Arizona took place to the north at Picacho Peak. Jimbo's name-twin died at the battle because he wasn't smart enough to get off his horse.
























Confederate soldier.

My problem with re-enactors- their clothing is too clean and unpatched. Back in the day, before they had detergent, clothes got stained and stay stained. In addition, the majority of the 100 soldiers who staffed the fort only had one uniform. They would have been threadbare and mended. Convincing modern folks that they should wear dirty and patched clothes is pretty difficult, I have learned.

A few minutes after this picture was taken Puff vomited.
























Pre-vomit.

He was being greedy and eating his catfood too quick.

Babe. She was the little Shetland pony we had as a kid. After she died we had a second Babe and her colt Bronco. We could never train him to do anything. One day we got off the bus and there was little Haybelly running around- we thought Babe II was eating too much but instead she had managed to get pregnant.

























Elizabeth, Homer, and Babe, circa 1968.


Susan got a horse named Mr. Grub who was blonde and gentle. He was the best of the horses.

























Susan and Mr. Grub.

There was also Cindy and Lady, followed by my brother's Belgium horses whose names I don't remember. He is the Amish farmer now and has a team that he uses to plow fields and I think he also has a carriage horse.

Thinking about these things keeps me from thinking about or worrying about other things. Seems like a lot of unhappiness and hatred in the world at the moment. Honestly, why do so many human beings waste time hating other people because they are different? If we were all exactly the same, what a fucking dull place the world would be.

I probably haven't ridden on a horse since 1987 or 1988. Not that I miss it, what with the horse hair and sweat, the crap, and the fact that a lot of horses have better things to do than carry humans around from Point A to Point B. I live exactly 500 feet from a horse corral and occasionally I walk down and see the horses. The smell of horse poop instantly takes me back to the farm.

By the time a bunch of old straight men decide I can get married, perhaps I will actually have a boyfriend.

I took vacation hours because I was in a bad mood and came home and did yardwork because if you are already cranky, why not do something you don't enjoy. My gardening gloves had cactus spines (ouch) and I couldn't figure out out how to wind the plastic thread on the new weed whacker, so by the time I was done I was even more crankier.

And then I learn that gays and lesbians have to wait even longer to get married because fucking bigots think we will somehow prevent straight men from inseminating straight women if homos get married.

Now I am not a lawyer or a judge, but I can see that this particular argument is: 1). totally fucktarded and 2). even more fucktarded. And if some fucking judge cannot see this, then maybe they should drag their asses back to law school for some of that education stuff.

I thought I would feel better after Sam's memorial service but I didn't feel better. I was just sad.

Patrick and I flew north Friday night and got into the rental car and drove to Mark and Rodger's house. We spent a couple of hours drinking and talking and I was pleased that they liked Patrick so much, of course I want my friends to be friends. The next morning we got up and had breakfast and then drove around Portland and ended up at this bizarre place, the Portland Memorial Mausoleum. An eight story maze-like building with thousands of crypts. Scattered about were 1960s chairs and the bottom floor had a very distinct smell of chemicals- we guessed embalming fluid. It was so strange (we were not allowed to take our cameras in).

We went back and collected Mac and went out to Sauvie Island and finally found a parking spot and walked on the beach.
























Rodger.

Mac loves to play fetch in the water.

























Mark tosses a fetching toy into the Columbia River.




















Mac.

It was nice to sit in the sand and look at the mollusk shells.

























Patrick.

The nearby bushes were loaded with blackberries. I ate four handfuls.
























Blackberries.

We went to our hotel after an early supper and got ready to go to Sam's memorial. We made the mistake of wearing long-sleeved shirts and jeans- everyone else was in tee-shirts and shorts because it was so hot in Portland.
























Allergy eyes.

Sam would have loved all the attention he got. It was sad to hear Greg and his closest friends speech. It was sad and funny to listen to an NPR radio show with Sam talking about his love of Legos. I drank gin and tonics and was maudlin and left a bit before midnight and sat on my hotel bed and bawled.

At breakfast, by chance, the waitress sat Patrick and I in the same booth at Doug Fir that Sam, Greg, and I had had supper on May 25, a lifetime ago.

Afterward, we went to Washington Park and wandered among the roses.
























I like Primroses best.

























Patrick told me the secrets of his moustache.

We got lost returning to Mark and Rodgers and then had a hard time finding a gas station near the airport. On the plane an elderly man near us started having problems and the flight attendant had to ask for doctors and nurses- luckily there were plenty of them on board. On the drive back I drove through first a dust storm and then a thunder storm. I called Chas to have someone to talk to, and it was nice to talk about stuff with him.

I'm heading to Portland with Patrick tonight. We get in around 9:30 or so and then drive to Mark and Rodger's house, where we will sit around and have some drinks and snacks and enjoy the scenery. Saturday morning we will run around so Patrick can see what a nice place Portland is.

Tomorrow night is Sam's memorial service. It still seems so strange to think that someone who was so alive is gone. I miss reading his pithy and sarcastic comments.

Panchesco gave me a couple of copies of this photo to give to Greg and Danielle. It was taken back in 2002, a few months before I met that rascal.
























Sam, Rhino, Panchesco, and Kurt.

Alex came down from Phoenix and we went out to the Sweetwater Wetlands. The water was specially nasty.



















Green slime.

Not many birds were visible, and the only turtle was sticking his head up through the green slime.




















FROG!

I heard a frog calling before I saw one. They were huge!
























Alex.

Afterward we went to India Oven and had delicious Indian food. I also helped Alex with his family tree and the story that his great grandfather had invented something to do with typewriters turned out to be true.

The basil-watermelon pickles came out nice- a bit tart with a mild basil taste. I wonder how people will react to them?



















Basil-watermelon pickles.

I am going to buy a big canning pot with a liftable insert, my double boiler leaks water everywhere on the stove.

Afterward, I took Paul down to Cobban and Ray's house to play in the pool.




















Ray, Paul, and Cobban.

The monsoon is in full force and it is raining a lot in southeastern Arizona. Everything was so lush and green and the wild sunflowers are blooming.

For supper I had made pimento cheese wraps and Ray made a nice pasta salad. I ate too much and got a little acid reflux.
























Rainbow!

It was a nice way to spend the day, domesticity and friends.

Double Rainbow in Tucson.



















It was so intense.

So fucking hot out at the dig site and of course it is near one of the sewage plants so I got to try out some new, disgusting smells.

I was off working by myself so there was plenty of time to think things over. I thought a lot about Sam, remembering the good things about him. His charm, the sly smile, his enthusiasm for certain things (once, obsessing over McNuggets). My heart aches for his partner Greg.

And then I thought about that nasty Maggie Gallagher, trying to understand why she hates us homos so fucking much. I hypothesized about various scenarios, as a scientist is apt to do. My guess, the man who knocked her up and wouldn't marry her was gay. Maybe she was his fag-hag? I wish a reporter would ask her these exact questions (maybe throwing in, "So when your bastard child was born, did your parents hate you?" Note, my father was a bastard child, so I know that can fuck you up pretty bad).

At lunch time someone said something they shouldn't have said and I blew up. I never, ever lose my cool. But today I did and in front of various assorted permanent and temp workers I got downright nasty over something that has been going on at work for a year. Said things like, "I'm tired of this bullshit and I am not going to take it anymore." Very loudly. Stunned faces ensued. And I'm not going to take it. Certain people need to act their fucking age and stop with the cliques and deciding not to hire perfectly competent people because they are friends with so-and-so. The boss is on my side, so they better mind their fucking manners.
























Post rant.

At pool volleyball I forgot about things I wanted to forget, bit the inside of my lip, and got saltwater stains on my glasses lenses, which I haven't figured out how to get off.



















The guys.

I was mostly on the winning team and played alright. My long monkey arms come in handy at batting the ball across the net.




















The coconut cake was delicious, and it was nice to spend time with my friends.