Little Bits of Christmas Have Arrived

 

After

As in, this is the after photo of the PreCogs, mutants who can see into the future in the movie Minority Report. Agatha and the twins were trapped and hooked up to machines while they babbled incomprehensibly about upcoming crimes so that they could be stopped before they happened. I won't get into the moral inequities of imprisoning people to take advantage of their unique abilities to serve mankind. I only wish to linger on their apparent calm and happiness in a quiet, safe, and comfortable place where they can live out their lives free of their past life. Because that's how I feel after moving here. I have a quiet, safe, and comfortable home after a difficult and painful existence for the past five years. My PTSD has calmed to a manageable state and the panic attacks have subsided. This after is so much better than the before. I'm home. 

Hello, Tigercat

This adorable little scoundrel broke into the crawlspace under the house. The son managed to lure her out with some bits of turkey. I'm wondering if she chose us and might perhaps be interviewing us to serve as her house staff. But first we will see if she has a family that loves her and is missing her.

Happy Cactus

 South window plus water equals a happy bloomer.

Lost and Found Dept

I am directionally impaired. This is not a good handicap to have. When I bought my Outback, I was delighted to find that a direction readout was on the rearview mirror. At last! A directional aid that will prevent me from getting lost! It hasn't quite worked out that way. But it does help me get back to where I was and take, usually the opposite, the correct turn. In Colorado it was easy. The mountains are west. Wherever you are, the Rocky Mountains indicate which way is west. Out here, it's less clear. I can't seem to get my bearings! Maybe it's because Interstate 5 runs mostly east/west across the north side of town.Then it more or less takes a sharp turn south on the western side of town. Then there's all the water making it so that you can't get there from here. At least not in anything resembling a straight line. The thing is, I have lived most of my life out on the Great Plains. Where you can see things from a great distance. Makes it obvious. I like things to be obvious. Then this poem was featured on The Writer's Almanac a few days ago. It describes perfectly how I feel about directions and my wavering ability to go in the correct one. Aside from that, at least there's Google maps on my phone. And I still swear by this.

 
 

Electric Spaghetti

What a lovely sight! The north wall in my somewhat organized garage. Hanging on the wall is my extension cord collection. One accumulates an unnatural number of extension cords while living in a house constructed in the 1950s. Which is what I moved out of eight months ago. Looks like colorful spaghetti. I have only had to use one or two while setting up the lamps and various appliances here since there is an outlet every couple of feet. Some of which are unused! The bar cabinet has a small lamp on it only because I felt I should plug something into the outlet behind it. I expect I'll use a few more when putting up the Christmas decorations in a few weeks. The switched ones hanging on the corner of the shelf unit are particularly useful for holiday decorating. Until then, my extension cord collection waits patiently for a task. Drop on by if you need a couple. I doubt I will need this many ever again.

   

Well, Hello

How is it that one third of November has already elapsed? And I have fallen off the blogging wagon for over a week. This post shall serve as evidence that I have survived the falling back into standard time. In other news, I have completed watching Shameless. So many things still running around in my head regarding that series. Like, at some point later on in the series, past the halfway mark, there began to be far less graphic sex and fewer instances of the characters smoking. Given that this originally aired on Showtime, all the naked stuff and smoking anything are allowed. So did the actors complain? Or did Showtime wish to show better standards of behavior? I have no idea. Though in the next to last episode, there is a quite graphic scene of shooting heroin. Needles don't bother me but I seriously cringed. Now that it's over, I sort of feel like I have a life again. Binging a series does remove one from the normal passage of time. Also, after refusing to jump on the Wordle bandwagon for months, a few days ago I played. Now I'm hooked. I wish I could go back to the beginning! I missed so many five letter words! Not that anyone might be interested, but I have just gotten bangs again after the third time in the last few years successfully growing them out. This must be something I do to entertain myself. As soon as Michael Stipe has finished losing his religion, I'm shutting things down and getting ready for bed.