The time we went to Hollywood

Assuming it hasn't been removed from YouTube for copyright reasons, what you see above is a clip that was recorded in Hollywood in 2003 and included among the DVD extras for Cold Mountain.  (Wait... this is ringing a bell.  I wonder if I've posted this already.  If so... apologies for repetition.) Jerry's in the red tie, in the front row of tenors.  (Despite what the title says, at least as of this writing, it was not the recording session for the film, but a little extra tagged on at the end of the "Words and Music of Cold Mountain" concert filmed in conjunction with the movie's opening.)

In other news: the new old range is just fine: it took several hours of scrubbing and scouring, but it's clean and shiny and has only a few dark spots; the copy editing course continues; and while I was standing outside on the patio the other day, the weather gorgeous, warm but not too warm, the tall old trees waving in the breeze around me, I realized I don't want to leave until later in the summer: it's just too lovely.  Of course, it's already late June, and I'm still here, so it's happening by default anyway.  And while it is a little less than optimal to put the house on the market closer to the start of the school year, it feels right.

Oh, and one more thing: if any of you are dealing with issues concerning widowhood, either as a widowed person yourself or as someone who loves a widowed person, and you have not discovered the amazing Carole Brody Fleet, I recommend you find out who she is.  Check out her website here.  She doesn't know me from Adam, but in a few online interactions she has given me unselfish and generous support and advice.  Bless her.  And bless my known and unknown friends and loved ones for your continuing care and kindness: you don't know the strength I take from you all.

"Call me maybe"

Back to our regularly scheduled programming, which, yes, will be about ME (as I posted a long time ago, that's what this blog is: a place for me to record MY feelings and MY actions and MY life, in a way that I don't focus on it anywhere else or in my day-to-day interactions with other people - if you don't want to read that much focus on me, then DO NOT READ MY BLOG - go harass someone who cares about your contempt and criticism).  Anyway, a friend on Facebook posted this, and I thought it'd be a crime not to share it:

Meanwhile, house stuff continues.  My jewel of a friend Steve suggested looking on Craigslist, and lo and behold, I found a bisque-colored five-year-old gas range in a nearby town for $150, which Steve went and looked at yesterday, as that's the town where his office is, and got it for $125 - it apparently has a few scratches on top, and I'm not sure what that means, but it'll work, and Steve will pick it up for me tomorrow.  He also removed the track lighting in the bathroom and covered the big hole with a white plate, since there are sconces ("scones," Jerry inevitably call them) on either side of the mirror, so there is enough light in that room as is without going to the expense and effort of replacing the track lighting.  I got the kitchen cleaned up, including using something no doubt horribly toxic to get mineral deposits off the drains in the sink, and still need to polish away the scratches in the Wilsonart countertops, but that leaves only a few rooms left to clean, the porch, the garage and the yard to neaten up.

I've also started an online program to obtain a certificate in copy editing - finally.  It's a little less rigorous than I expected - well, a lot less rigorous - but it's useful, because I've never actually worked with a style manual before, and although I'm finding dealing with the nitpicky differences between the AP and Chicago stylebooks annoying, I know it's a major part of professional copy editing.  And I do find it fun, given that I'm what the instructor refers to as a "word nerd," so, at least so far, I'm thinking this is the right path to be following.

So: working on getting rid of a headache I woke up with, then it's back to the AP Stylebook and my homework.  "Homework" - wow!  Very curious to be using that word for the first time since my abortive attempt to learn Chinese in the early 1990s.  And I think this is the first time I ever studied something with a purpose in mind, too - how very liberal arts of me.

Wow.  An entire blog post focused entirely on ME.  How totally bizarre and inappropriate for a personal blog (thanks, Alicia!).

ETA: Oh, whoops, meant to post evidence:

To the anonymous commenter who thinks I'm whining

To the anonymous (of course) commenter who sent me a huge long screed about how self-centered and childish and whiney I am (I think that's most of it: once I realized how completely this commenter was spewing hatred and contempt at me, I stopped reading): How about, if my blog pisses you off so much, you do this: STOP READING IT.  And as for your comments?  Don't waste my time.  Fuck off.

And that goes for anyone else who feels moved to point out my many flaws and my overwhelming selfishness and whatever else anyone may hate about me: go read someone else's blog, or, as Jerry would have said, go pound rocks.  What you shouldn't do?  Waste your time and mine by sending me comments or screaming contempt at me in the guise of advice or anything else that you know perfectly well is only going to make you feel superior and smug and not help me one bit.

To repeat, in case you didn't get the message: fuck off.

Hello, Badger!

My dear friend Chip just became a grandfather for the first time, and his little teeny tiny grandson is just so adorable, I have to post his picture here.  As you can tell by his nickname, Badger, one of his parents is an alumnus of the University of Wisconsin.  Congratulations again, you guys: he's beautiful.  (P.S. When I first met Chip, Badger's father was... oh, wow, I think he was eight years old.  Wait, is that possible...?  [Counts on fingers...] Oh, wow, I think that's true.  As Chip and I were saying the other day, apparently the subtitle of "Sunrise, Sunset" is "Holy shit, we're old.")

Jerry

Two years

So here it comes: in 10 minutes it will be June 13.  I have been a widow for two years.

Not really much to say besides that.

Explosions

Like, literal explosions.  A power surge at 6:30 Monday morning followed by a power outage, due to a suicidal squirrel coming into contact with a transformer.  Two of my surge protector strips making a loud popping noise, glowing red and smoking with a horrible burning stench.  Gas leaking into the kitchen after (it turned out) an electronic valve in the oven was fried by the surge.

All that excitement done with, I'm left without a functioning range - because what I really want to do in a house I mean to sell is buy a new major appliance: it would cost more to repair it than to buy a new one, and of course Jerry and I picked "bisque" as our appliance color, and of course that color is more expensive than plain ordinary white.  The track lighting in my bathroom isn't working (I heard a pop from there, too, when the power surged).  My Blu-ray player was fine until I paused a DVD last night to go get coffee: came back and found it won't read disks anymore.  Warranty?  Nah, of course not.  The DVD/VCR combo player won't even turn on.  (So much for the efficacy of that surge protector they were all plugged into).  The deductible on my homeowner's insurance is $500, but I may be getting near that, except that I don't plan to replace all the electronics, not right now.

[Oh, and might I add, Com Ed, the power company in these parts, doesn't reimburse loss if the number of people affected is fewer than 30,000, and/or if the outage was caused by, among other things, an animal.  Excuse me, but WTF???]

It's just... really?  I needed this?

June, again.

And here we are, back in that least favorite of months, June.  Actually, it's not really worse than any other month now, or at least I don't think it is: the days are lighter, warmer, the world around me is greener, the heating bill is lower: but I suspect that somewhere in my subconscious, as has been suggested to me, this time of year does have an effect on the way I feel, the way I am.  Namely, in 11 days, I will have been a widow for two years.  One-fifth of the amount of time that I was a wife.  And life will go on, presumably (although, as I read after Jerry died, in a phrase that I've come to feel so acutely now, tomorrow isn't promised to anyone).  Eventually, if life goes on that long, I'll be a widow for longer than I was a wife.  How strange, and how unfair that is.

And I'm still in the house, and it still isn't on the market, and I'm still working on it in fits and starts and stalling and starting and stalling and starting again.  This week's big undertaking was beginning to tackle the jungle that surrounds the house, the thing that goes by the misnomer of "yard," although "forest," "tangle," and "liability when trying to sell the house, probably" would all work better.  There's actually more grass growing than I would have expected, given that I'd thought all the sod had died: so the first thing I did was haul out the lawn mower, which I hadn't used since before Jerry started his transformation of the lawns into native plants, and deal with the sod-covered portions.  Next, I got out various clippers and shears and trimmers and set to work grappling with the euonymus and buckthorn that have grown completely out of control in the past two and a half years, and I now have both a view of the road in front of the property and a huge pile of cuttings to deal with, and I'm not done yet.

I actually did some paying work as well: was sent an essay written by a Russian mountain climber to translate into English for a book on alpine training.  Ah, yes, paying work: I remember that, vaguely (not highly-paying work - that I don't really remember at all...).  Need to buckle down and get on with finding more of that.  And putting this house on the market.  And figuring out where to live.  And doing all that in the right order.  And that, dear readers, is where, as I've lamented before, I freak and stall.

Will talk to Dr. Psychiatrist next week about upping the Zoloft dosage just a wee bit.  Get this girl back on track.