Every Day Above Ground (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mallorys_camera) wrote2025-06-09 10:52 am
mallorys_camera) wrote2025-06-09 10:52 am
Scenes From the Life
Mr. & Mrs. Neighbor Ed got a present they didn't want.
A birdfeeder. With a digital camera. Courtesty of a well-intended offspring.
It feeds blurry photographs to various nearby digital receivers and has some kind of AI hookup thing that gives you info about the blurry photographs.
"Well, that seems like a perfectly nice present!" I cried.
Mrs. Neighbor Ed made a face. "When the jays grab the sunflower seeds, they knock all the other seeds out of the feeder, and then the field mice grab them and begin invading the house!"
"When your cat was around, we never had any problems with field mice," she added—and I realized, with a pang, that she was talking about the Meezer, dead & gone these—what? seven years? The Meezer had been the mightiest of hunters!
I hoped the Meezer was eavesdropping from Cat Heaven, where presumably there is an endless parade of self-regenerating field mice and squirrels for her to slaughter. It's always nice to hear nice things about oneself.
And I also felt this almost palpable strand of connection. Veritably ectoplasmic! The Meezer had really been the last link to my old life in California, and when she died, that link snapped: I was no longer someone who'd once lived in California; I was only someone who lived here.
That's the reason why I liked living in Dutchess County more than I like living in Ulster County, I thought. In Dutchess County, there'd been... continuity.
And also, of course, in Dutchess County, I had friends.
###$
I prattled merrily with Mr. & Mrs. Neighbor Ed for an hour, and our prattle was lively and hilarious and entirely without awkwardness, no long-time-no-see pauses or fumbles at all.
Neighbor Ed is almost as good at banter as Ben used to be!
I felt as though I was drinking water from a cool, sweet well.
Before that, I'd hung out with Loraine & Buff Ken & Rami on their back porch for an hour, watching the birds & talking about Buff Ken's latest bear sighting on his outdoor camera.
And before that, I'd got to play in the dirt in my garden for a few hours. There was a Claude sighting!
"When eet get hot last week, I water your garden," Claude told me.
"Thank you!" I said. Adding apologetically, "I can only get over here once a week—"
"I know, I know," Claude said, holding up a hand. "Eet is fine."
Everybody was glad to see me. Everybody liked me.
###
Icky was around this weekend. One of the Spawn managed to graduate from high school.
"He just totally ignored me!" Icky declared indignantly. "I came all the way from the City, and he ignored me! The only thing he said to me was how embarrassing it was that I was taking photographs of him!"
And you think I care exactly why? I wondered.
But I am well-trained in the art of making sympathetic sounds to people in distress.
Icky mistook my sounds for encouragement & began lamenting: It's hard, it's really fuckin' hard to be around the Spawn's mother, the Spawn's mother's new husband, the Spawn's mother's relentlessly cheerful father who'd been imported all the way from Texas—
"I was there all by myself!" Icky complained.
I clucked.
I would have expected him to head straight back to the City after this debacle. He's not supposed to be here till this coming Thursday! But, no. He stuck around. When I left for Dutchess County, he was sitting in front of his ginormous living room television screen, glaring at YouTube videos on how to sharpen knives. He had doused himself with cologne. I could smell it all the way from upstairs.
When I got back six hours later, he was still in front of the screen, watching what looked like the same YouTube video.
He saw me come in, jumped up, and immediately began doing pushups on the living room floor!
Like WTF???
He watched me cook my dinner. "That smells very good," he said, staring at my Cajun chicken.
No, fuckhead. I'm not offering you any.
Then he wanted to have a long conversation about changing propane canisters. He ushered me outside and handed me the wrench.
"I'm kind of a dummy about stuff like this," I admitted.
"Oh, no. Not you. You're a genius—"
Well, I am actually very smart, I thought. So you can can the fuckin' sarcasm. I didn't grow up using tools, so there's a learning curve involved.
But, you know. No need to prolong the conversation. And up close, that cologne was overpowering.
I thanked him for the tutorial, ran upstairs, and barricaded myself in the Patrizia-torium.
And eventually, he left.
###
In the past three days, three new place possibilities have popped up through my various real-life-people networks.
I don't really want to move until the fall, so I'm not sure how aggressively I should be following up the leads. But at the very least, they're a good auger, right?
A birdfeeder. With a digital camera. Courtesty of a well-intended offspring.
It feeds blurry photographs to various nearby digital receivers and has some kind of AI hookup thing that gives you info about the blurry photographs.
"Well, that seems like a perfectly nice present!" I cried.
Mrs. Neighbor Ed made a face. "When the jays grab the sunflower seeds, they knock all the other seeds out of the feeder, and then the field mice grab them and begin invading the house!"
"When your cat was around, we never had any problems with field mice," she added—and I realized, with a pang, that she was talking about the Meezer, dead & gone these—what? seven years? The Meezer had been the mightiest of hunters!
I hoped the Meezer was eavesdropping from Cat Heaven, where presumably there is an endless parade of self-regenerating field mice and squirrels for her to slaughter. It's always nice to hear nice things about oneself.
And I also felt this almost palpable strand of connection. Veritably ectoplasmic! The Meezer had really been the last link to my old life in California, and when she died, that link snapped: I was no longer someone who'd once lived in California; I was only someone who lived here.
That's the reason why I liked living in Dutchess County more than I like living in Ulster County, I thought. In Dutchess County, there'd been... continuity.
And also, of course, in Dutchess County, I had friends.
###$
I prattled merrily with Mr. & Mrs. Neighbor Ed for an hour, and our prattle was lively and hilarious and entirely without awkwardness, no long-time-no-see pauses or fumbles at all.
Neighbor Ed is almost as good at banter as Ben used to be!
I felt as though I was drinking water from a cool, sweet well.
Before that, I'd hung out with Loraine & Buff Ken & Rami on their back porch for an hour, watching the birds & talking about Buff Ken's latest bear sighting on his outdoor camera.
And before that, I'd got to play in the dirt in my garden for a few hours. There was a Claude sighting!
"When eet get hot last week, I water your garden," Claude told me.
"Thank you!" I said. Adding apologetically, "I can only get over here once a week—"
"I know, I know," Claude said, holding up a hand. "Eet is fine."
Everybody was glad to see me. Everybody liked me.
###
Icky was around this weekend. One of the Spawn managed to graduate from high school.
"He just totally ignored me!" Icky declared indignantly. "I came all the way from the City, and he ignored me! The only thing he said to me was how embarrassing it was that I was taking photographs of him!"
And you think I care exactly why? I wondered.
But I am well-trained in the art of making sympathetic sounds to people in distress.
Icky mistook my sounds for encouragement & began lamenting: It's hard, it's really fuckin' hard to be around the Spawn's mother, the Spawn's mother's new husband, the Spawn's mother's relentlessly cheerful father who'd been imported all the way from Texas—
"I was there all by myself!" Icky complained.
I clucked.
I would have expected him to head straight back to the City after this debacle. He's not supposed to be here till this coming Thursday! But, no. He stuck around. When I left for Dutchess County, he was sitting in front of his ginormous living room television screen, glaring at YouTube videos on how to sharpen knives. He had doused himself with cologne. I could smell it all the way from upstairs.
When I got back six hours later, he was still in front of the screen, watching what looked like the same YouTube video.
He saw me come in, jumped up, and immediately began doing pushups on the living room floor!
Like WTF???
He watched me cook my dinner. "That smells very good," he said, staring at my Cajun chicken.
No, fuckhead. I'm not offering you any.
Then he wanted to have a long conversation about changing propane canisters. He ushered me outside and handed me the wrench.
"I'm kind of a dummy about stuff like this," I admitted.
"Oh, no. Not you. You're a genius—"
Well, I am actually very smart, I thought. So you can can the fuckin' sarcasm. I didn't grow up using tools, so there's a learning curve involved.
But, you know. No need to prolong the conversation. And up close, that cologne was overpowering.
I thanked him for the tutorial, ran upstairs, and barricaded myself in the Patrizia-torium.
And eventually, he left.
###
In the past three days, three new place possibilities have popped up through my various real-life-people networks.
I don't really want to move until the fall, so I'm not sure how aggressively I should be following up the leads. But at the very least, they're a good auger, right?
no subject
It would seem so!
no subject
no subject
But I am well-trained in the art of making sympathetic sounds to people in distress.**
I dunno if you watched the latest season of "White Lotus" where they were in Thailand, the one that ended a month or two ago. Fancy resort, rich people intrigue, etc.
There was a group of three female friends in their 40s/50s who were sort of on a, "whoo, party!" reclaiming their youth kinda trip. They party with these Russian guys. The night is winding down and vibe is like, "so, is anyone actually gonna have sex, or are we parting ways, or..?" Half the group are having a silly, flirty conversation. The other half has this big Russian dude telling this really intense story about, "they say I have information about the death of their son, but that's BULLSHIT!" All this bummer stuff. One of the gals says, "OKAY! Party's over!" (I am so the gal who lacks that instinct and would feel obligated to listen to some rando's sob story for hours at 3 in the morning when I'm exhausted. And, you know, trying to not be that anymore).
Hurray for new home leads! :)
no subject
At the same time...
When I'm not exhausted, I rather enjoy randos' sob stories. 😀 They're narratives, you know? And I like narratives.
And it's sort of amusing to me that Icky is so singularly clueless that he does not pick up how much I dislike him. 'Cause apparently, he doesn't! It's not a boundary-setting issue for me. I'm quite capable of telling people to fuck off. But there's no upside for me in being more explicit about my dislike. I don't even know that I'd hurl my dislike at him in my parting words! 'Cause I don't think I'll ever think of him again once I'm out of here, so who cares?
no subject
**'Cause I don't think I'll ever think of him again once I'm out of here, so who cares?**
Yeah, good thing to keep in mind. I remember various apartment managers tormenting my thoughts until I moved out and then it was like, "...who?"
no subject
That's one great advantage to keeping the kind of online journal I keep (i.e. spilling all kinds of personal details most people would never dream of writing about. 😀)
I never have the slightest impulse to tell my story in what we laughingly call real life.
no subject
no subject
Home invasion
If he really doesn't want it, I'll take it.
Re: Home invasion
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Glad that opportunities are presenting themselves. Yes! I think it's a good auger.
Do you think he did the cologne and the pushups to try to y'know, appeal to you?
(GROSS, Icky! You know what appeals to women! Having heat in the winter!)
no subject
I gotta say the thought crossed my mind before I dismissed it with a shudder.