Dwarf Planet in Purple

Content warning: grief in the aftermath of death.

( To continue the story of Christmas evening... )

The first few days were ... tough. I cried for almost no reason. ( Read more... )

On Thursday the 26th Maugie and Patches invited me and a couple of other friends over to dinner. They gave me the courage to text Nick's parents from his phone (but identifying myself as myself, NOT as Nick, of course). The next morning Nick's mother wrote back, and we started exchanging messages. Apparently the ME's office had left her a phone message asking her to come to Baltimore to pick up her son's body, and she had thought it was a hoax at first. Well, duh, who wouldn't think that?!? I also had to explain a few things to her. She thought that Nick worked at the National Archives and that he was dating a woman (named Kathy) with a brain tumor. Uh, nope, not true at all. No wonder Nick didn't want me to meet his parents, in case I accidentally told the truth.

Anyhow, Nick's mother (a retired Episcopal priest) made arrangements with a Maryland funeral home to have Nick cremated. In the spring she will have his remains interred in the family plot in southern Michigan, where his grandparents are buried and where Nick's parents will eventually be interred. He won't be alone for eternity.

In the days afterward, Patches and another SCA friend, Clara, helped me go through all the stuff in my storage unit and pull out things that belonged to Nick and that his family might be interested in. (That was a *lot* of work.) Two other friends, Marilyn and Dave, came by my place and helped me take down the Christmas decorations. I'm glad I didn't have to do that alone because of all the floods of memories. Dave also unclogged the bathroom drains for me, and Marilyn brought me a lovely bouquet of flowers.

On January 9th I met Nick's mother and brother at the Blue and Green Cottage. (Nick's father didn't make the trip from San Antonio because he has Parkinson's.) Nick's mother was very pleasant, all things considered, and she didn't want to take too much stuff -- just family photos, letters to and from his late grandmother during World War II, a few shirts he sewed for himself, a couple of knickknacks. Nick's brother didn't say much. He is just not talkative, apparently. The two of them spent only about 90 minutes here.

There were a couple of things Nick's mother wanted that I couldn't find before her visit: a cardigan sweater that belonged to his grandfather and a Japanese sword that was some sort of spoils of WWII. Nick's brother came by, solo, to pick them up once I found them. He wasn't any more talkative.

Nick's mother and I had agreed on the disposition of Nick's stuff: I can keep the household goods, his clothes should go to charity, etc. To be honest, I think I'm going to keep his T-shirts because we took the same size. I just want to find a good place to donate his pants and miscellaneous stuff to -- a charity that will actually give the clothes to homeless people and/or refugees, as opposed to the places that resell only a small fraction of what they receive and throw the rest into either fabric recycling or the landfill. Given how Nick and I teetered on the edge of homelessness a couple of years ago, it seems only right to use his wardrobe to help people who really need the help. Especially in these cold, cruel days of the new Amerikan dictatorship.

I guess I haven't really probed all my feelings about Nick's passing. I'll put them in another post when I get a chance (I've got only a couple of days left before I disappear into the election-judging void for seven straight days -- primary for my county's special election). My emotions have veered all over the place, particularly in the last few weeks. They have taken me into some completely unexpected headspace. It's been an emotional roller-coaster.

OK, it's been ... two months and a few days.

All eight days of early voting ... a long blur of nearly round-the-clock activity. Of course, we didn't have much in the way of "a primary" back in the spring; the U.S. Senate contests were the only exciting things on the Maryland ballots then. But our quadrennial presidential elections bring voters out of the woodwork.

During early voting I spent all eight days at the same-day registration station. It amazes me how people move around and do NOT bother to get their address changed on their driver's licenses, or even get licenses from their new state of residence. It isn't rocket science. I was glad that a couple of the other election judges could translate between Spanish and English, but at times I could have used Korean and Amharic speakers. Our county is SO diverse!

Over the eight days of early voting, we registered 208 people to vote, and we also checked in dozens of regular voters when the check-in judges were busy. I say "we" because I usually had at least one same-day registration judge sitting with me. On most of the days I was paired with an elderly woman who was born in Belize and who refuses to celebrate Halloween because the holiday "glorifies demons." You meet all kinds of people at the polling place.

On Election Day itself, I couldn't do both provisional-ballot work and same-day registration, so I had to explain the same-day stuff to other judges and work the provisional ballot table. I think I had something like 55 provisional voters, which is a LOT for a small precinct with mostly single-family homes. I had a few who were military folks with out-of-state driver's licenses.

Needless to say, the presidential election results hit me like a giant gut punch and I spent the rest of the month in mourning. Of course, this didn't mix well with my need to get my feature article written by November 18. I felt as if I was just going through the motions.

When choosing the deadline months ago, I had assumed that Holiday Faire, an annual event in the Barony of Stierbach, would be held on the Saturday before Thanksgiving. For whatever reason, though, this year it was held on the Saturday before the Saturday before Turkey Day, so I had to skip it. Philcon, though, was on the weekend before Thanksgiving, but no way was I going to go to that and listen to 48 hours of R. crowing that the Orange Poopyhead will bring me SO many job opportunities. He sent me SO much crap from Breitbart and the NY Post with his own vaguely racist comments appended. I have been questioning my 40-year friendship with him.

There's a lot more, but the early holiday dinner is almost ready. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah, and I hope you had a Good Solstice too.

I have to pick the boy toy up at the airport in a few hours. He's flying back from a week with his parents in San Antonio. I always insist on knowing the flight number when I'm picking someone up from the airport, because in 1989 I was supposed to pick up a co-worker at the airport, heard about a jetliner crash in Iowa (I think, IIRC), and had a panic attack because I had NO idea where she was coming from, which airline she was using, etc. (She has family and friends all over the country.) Fortunately, she was NOT on that plane and was waiting for me at Logan Airport.

I'll be glad to have him back, because he keeps me on schedule (in an "accountability partner" kind of way). I have been in major ADHD mode these last few days. Baronial newsletter, finishing "get out the vote" postcards to get them to Florida before Hurricane Milton, watching TV, reading news stories on the computer, blah blah blah. Meanwhile, I have a highly technical feature article to write.

The good news about early voting: I'm scheduled to work for all eight days of it. The bad news about early voting: I have been assigned to a different early-voting station. Not that much farther away, but still, I was looking forward to seeing the folks who work in College Park. Particularly that lifestyle blogger who supports her whole family with that blog. Dang, I wish I could do that!

Now that I am a baronial chronicler, I really find this piece hilarious. And eerily aligned with today's Nobel Prize in physics.

I had thought I was going to work as an election judge only on Maryland primary day, May 14. When I went for the usual training session, I was told that the early-voting slots had been filled during previous training sessions. Oh, well....

Then last week I received two email letters from the Board of Elections, one calling me in for the odd-numbered days of early voting and the other stating I would be working on the even-numbered days. Huh? I checked with the office and found that I am indeed supposed to work all eight of the days from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. Hmmm, interesting. Since I've been specially trained as a provisional ballot and same-day registration judge, I speculate that perhaps there's a shortage of election judges in my specialty. Or maybe someone quit suddenly. Whatever.

At any rate, I have to prepare for eight straight days of getting up really early, being off the Internet for long stretches, and toting my food (at least there's a small kitchen with a microwave and fridge). The boy toy will not have the car for eight days, which will annoy him, although he does plan to take the Metro to downtown DC for the non-EU embassy open houses. Oh, well, he'll be going to see his parents in San Antonio for a week later in May, so he'll get his "change of scenery" then. And I'll be getting a nice big paycheck, almost as big as one for a feature article.

In other news, I noticed that "Three Weeks for Dreamwidth" is happening. I have never before participated, but I guess I'll check it out. Anything that gets me to interact with this site more often is probably a good thing.

More than a month since I last updated this journal. Aack! I didn't even get around to making a note on February 29th, that rare day.

The covid is long gone and I am back in the swing of things. Which is good, because I have a feature article due next Monday. Double aack!

Still enjoying the Blue and Green Cottage. The temperatures have been jerking up and down, but I am starting to get eager to plant herbs in the various five-gallon buckets that my landlady and landlord have been using as pots. Maybe even some veggies. Their semi-feral (spayed) cat, Peaches, patrols the property, so I'm not as worried about squirrels raiding our edibles.

Some good fortune dropped into my lap last week. On my 2007 trip to Hawaii I bought a $10 ukulele, but it turned out to be no better than a toy. I mean, it goes out of tune as soon as you let go of the tuning peg, before you even get a chance to play a chord. Still, I had hope, so the last time my church held a fundraising auction, I bid on some uke lessons and won them, and then I told the woman who offered the lessons that I didn't have a decent instrument to learn on. Fast forward to last Wednesday, when the woman sent me an email that someone had given a new ukulele to her uke group, and it was mine, free, if I wanted it. HELL YES!!! It seems to be of a decent quality for a beginner instrument and comes with a nylon bag, extra strings, etc. So as soon as I finish this feature article, guess what I'll be doing.... :-)

(P.S. On Thursday I'll be "six months to Medicare." Can't wait. Friday will be the 20th anniversary of my firing by the Frosty Lady and the Marathon Man. That publication was bought and sold a couple of times and no longer exists.)

I meant to include this in the previous post, but...

My church has sold its property -- the buildings and grounds. Closing date was January 26th (the day after my last post). There was one document that all of us trustees had to sign, but the board chair handled the rest of the paperwork for us. We now have a nice chunk of change that will go into a separate account; a group of Ethiopian Muslims have a new religious home; and we'll find out in a few weeks, during our annual pledge drive, how many of our members have taken a permanent hike.

The Ukrainian-themed SCA event was awesome! My breads were one of seven entries, and even though I didn't win, I got lots of compliments. Many of the activities and classes also had Slavic themes. My friend did a great job organizing the event!

Unfortunately, this past Tuesday I started feeling sick, exactly like the last time I had a virus back in August 2019. Well, that couldn't have been covid, right?? Finally I got around to swabbing my nose today, because I need to decide whether I'm going to dance practice tomorrow night, and ... dammit!! I have the damned covid!! I hope I didn't give it to anyone else at last Monday's dance practice before I felt sick.

First of all, I honor the anniversary of my mother's passing, 27 years ago tonight.

Now about the heading of this entry. At church on Sunday I stayed after the service to rehearse a hymn for next Sunday's MLK Jr. service. I kept my mask on while singing, but not everyone was masked. Late yesterday afternoon I received an email from our minister -- who tries not to work on Monday, her personal sabbath -- stating that if we stayed for the singing practice, we were probably exposed to covid. She sent it out BCC, so I'm pretty sure I know who the other recipients were but I don't know whose name was left off (and was thus the person who exposed the rest of us). So now I feel like a pariah. I skipped last night's dance practice out of an abundance of caution, and during tomorrow's errands I will certainly wear a mask. I need to find a non-expired covid test before Friday so that I can determine whether I can do anything this weekend (singing practice, Maugorn's birthday, church...).

Today my self-isolation was a no-brainer because a "winter" storm is blowing through. I put "winter" in quotes because the weather is not cold enough for water to freeze, so we're just having lots of rain and wind gusts. Fortunately, we still have power here in the little cottage, which is just outside the Pepco area in BGE's turf.

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! If Hanukkah is your holiday, I hope it was a totally happy one.

This month has been fairly busy, with the usual activities. Unevent, the Kingdom of Atlantia's annual business meeting, is permanently online, which means it's easier for people from all parts of the kingdom to attend (the kingdom stretches from Baltimore to Hilton Head Island). Dun Carraig had a baronial investiture at a lovely site on the north bank of the Potomac River; they'll use it again for the 2024 Spring Coronation. I managed to convince R. to attend the Washington Christmas Revels; the parent organization cut back from two weekends to one this year, ostensibly because renting Lisner Auditorium is more expensive than it used to be. I hope the Revels will be around for many years to come.

I also wrapped up the Year of Many Vehicles by purchasing a new-to-me 2011 Subaru Forester. My first Subaru. Remember how I explained that I bought a Hyundai Tucson, but it couldn't ever pass inspection? Yeah, I kept on driving it without renewing the temporary registration and hoped the cops wouldn't catch up to me. Then I brought the Tucson to the Sunoco near where I used to live. I had thought, gee, maybe the first inspection station I used was acting all tight-assed because I'd never patronized them before, and the Sunoco has a good reputation for fair dealing. But the Sunoco fellow told me the exact same thing -- sorry, way too rusted out to pass Maryland inspection, ever. And as this year winds down, having a "23" sticker on my rear license plate instead of "24" or "25" will be a giant clue to the local constabulary. So I went to a *real* dealer and bought a car that PASSED inspection. It's a joy to drive.

(I am calling this the Year of Many Vehicles because I started out with a 1999 Toyota Corolla; then I had a rental Grand Cherokee for one weekend after the Corolla was totaled and taken from me; then I drove the CR-V belonging to my temporary housemates; then I bought the 2008 Tucson; and now I have the Forester. That's five vehicles.)

Despite the new wheels, I've spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day here in Maryland. I haven't heard from any of my Massachusetts cousins, so I guess they have gotten used to my not traveling up there, so they didn't invite me. *sigh*

So this is what 60 years feels like. November 22, 1963, is the first specific date that I can remember. As I recalled 10 years ago here on DW, the JFK assassination made a definite impression on me, even at the age of 4.

I didn't realize until I was an adult that my cousin Tim's birthday is November 22. He'd spent his 15th birthday at the dentist -- ugh. Today he's 75 years old.

Last week was rough: first my church's religious education director died, then a member of my Laydes Fayre singing group had a miscarriage, and then Devora's 1-week-old niece died of an infection. Horrible. At least the JFK anniversary is much more distant in time and thus less emotionally fraught.

I mean, once a month, really?

Anyhow, the highlight of the last few weeks was Fall Coronation, held in southern Maryland. I decided to camp over the weekend because I would be performing with the Laydes Fayre singing group in the morning and I didn't want to worry about traffic. I also didn't have to worry about futzing with my tent, because my friend Nellie from the dance group let me stay in her tent. We even carpooled together. I had a grand time, especially playing in the band for the dancing, and I received two roses and a small ceramic cup from our new Queen for my efforts.

Of course, while I was blissfully playing with the SCA instead of hanging around online, I didn't notice until I got home that Hamas had attacked Israel. Why does the world blow up when I'm having fun with the SCA?