SandLizard of Simmer

Yesterday's post got derailed due to a late-night surprising development: my cousin Pete (not his real name) emailed me to say that he and his family (wife and two grandchildren) would not only join us for dinner after my mother's burial, but would accompany us to the grave. I had written to my cousin Shari, and she called Pete, her brother, and told him about it. I kind of freaked out. It's complicated--my cousins are all still devout Catholics, as far as I know, and we had not planned any kind of official religious thing for the burial. We were apparently just going to show up with the ashes and . . . do something or other. The extreme ambiguity of it all bothered me a bit, but not enough to get back into cat-herding mode and try to get the siblings to agree on a program. Knowing that Pete and family would be there, out of the goodness of their kind, down-to-earth hearts, and that we'd all be falling about doing whatever, was disturbing, however.

I emailed the sibs and requested advice. Mr. Science, bless him, said the funeral home could send over a priest or deacon to say a blessing. Although the time was short, he thought he could make that happen. The Duchess and Queenie both agree this would be more appropriate. So, problem solved. Wow. And here . . . a miracle occurs. I'm not 100% enthusiastic about priests, either, but I've looked up the prayers for blessing a burial, and they're pretty basic and simple. I can handle that. And everyone else is happy with that! Amazing! Also, the terrible, terrible priest who officiated at my father's funeral has moved on to what we hope is a better place. The new one can't possibly be worse. We'll all love to see Pete again, especially Mr. Science, who adored him when they were both youngsters. Shari can't come, because she'll be visiting in Kansas.

I saw Madame the therapist this morning. I think I'm actually making some progress after lo these many years. Then I went out and attacked the thistle forest along the outside of the fence. They were taller than I am! I put them in plastic garbage bags, because they are terrible and I don't think anyone wants them in the compost. I got to them just in time, before they blossomed. So I have prevented them from sowing their seed all over creation, like the sons of Genghis Khan. Here's the most efficient way to take them down, in case anyone wants to know: cut all the side branches off with clippers, then cut the woody, hollow stems into segments. Put the stems in the bag first, then pack with leaves and branches. I used the clippers like a pair of tongs. It's tempting to try to pick them up with your hands and jam them in, but don't. I was wearing gloves, but they still stabbed me with their spines. They're like cacti. After an hour and a half, sweat was running down my face, and I was all over prickles. I went back inside and drank a bucket of ice water. I'll have to go back and dig up the roots with a shovel.

The other fun thing that's been happening here is that the alarm on the sump pump started going off. And we knew it wasn't the battery, because even when we unplugged the main power source, the high-pitched whistling noise continued. All day and night. Fortunately, we couldn't hear it upstairs on the second floor. Nonetheless, it was SUPER ANNOYING. This afternoon, the plumber came and replaced the main pump and the auxiliary. They had both stopped working. The battery is fine. Finally, blessed silence.

And I actually wrote a few lines of fiction today. It's pretty ad hoc and rusty, but at least it gives my brain something to work on. It made me feel better.