Blame it on the left hand

Things I think are funny:
1. Today I tossed a cup of miso soup in my hair and down the back of my neck. Why? Because I was carrying it in my left hand. I was feeding the horses and carrying a cup of miso... and had to go under the clothes line. (Always the multi-tasker) The flake of hay was in my right hand, so I used my left which had the cup in it to lift the line. The part that my sneaky strokebrain contributed was that between me picking up the cup, and me lifting the clothesline I became unaware that I had a cup in my hand. I believe this little trick of stroke-hood in medical terms is called neglect. I call it crazy.
2. Another example. As I have done for years, and I am pretty sure everyone else does, I use both hands when doing things. The difference is my left hand is only reliable until it forgets its supposed to be doing something. I put a glass in my left hand and filled it with water. As I put the water container down, my left hand let the glass drop, breaking it unceremoniously on my stove and floor. When this happens it is always a shock, like, how on earth did that happen??
3. Wilder and I were in the grocery, and he got a piece of pizza. He went off to wash his hands in the restroom as I held his pizza for him. Next thing I knew it went splat on the floor facedown. Left hand. He came back right as I was following the "two second rule" and asked incredulously if I just dropped his pizza. As I was dobbing the top with a napkin I said look at how clean I am getting this!

I decided I am going to try to keep an eye on that hand. Like literally watch it when I give it a task to see if that will keep my brain in the loop. The good thing is that the frustration of body parts not doing what they are supposed to is also turned off... so it doesn't bother me. (Other than hot miso in my hair and cleaning up broken things... ) It is not like I am trying to hold the cup and fail, it is that after a few seconds every memory of that hand is gone. If strokes weren't so damn terrifying this might be fun.

Always the house

Three days after my stroke my handyman Javier came over. (With his cousin, Javier). I heard the kids dad talking in low tones to him, probably about me being sick, and sending him home to Seattle....when I moved out of the prone position and told him to come on in! I wasn't going to pass up work hours for a stroke!
That day they finished trimwork in the living room and bathroom, and wainscoting in the other bathroom. I am sure they did other stuff, but I forget.
That same weekend a predator broke into the chicken coop and killed two birds. It is always the nice friendly fat birds they get. I have not lost a buff orpington to natural causes yet.
In the chicken coop, amiable and gentle gets the short end of the stick.

Weather Analogies

So far there is no reason they have discovered for the stroke. I have had two of every test, a light put down my throat to look at my heart, my arteries scrutinized for signs of plaque and blockage, MRI's and heart monitors. I have a clean bill of health. A good heart and arteries. My neurologist called my stroke "a lightening strike" my GP called it a "perfect storm".
My recovery is interesting. Every day is better, but there are still times when brain strength reaches sensory overload and just shuts down. As in, I need closed-eye time, not to sleep, just to reset. A sleep specialist said it best when describing my uneven nighttime sleep : since the brain had a major trauma, at night it repairs. And that is not a restful process.
At least I can type again, although slow. It was funny to see my typing right after the stroke... my left hand was waaaay slower than my right and so it would come out as typed gobbledeegook but my brain did not register that my hand was not behaving accordingly. Same with balance... I was stepping over a fence and caught my left foot which my brain did not recognize as caught. I know I have a left side, I can see it and feel it. I am just not aware of the space it occupies.

Stroke Update

Hello, I'm Andrea's daughter and I am just updating on her condition. She had a stroke that took place in the right side of her brain resulting in weakness in the left side of her body. She is getting a lot of tests done to see what the cause of the stroke was. She is getting better, but the recovery proccess is gradual. If you didn't know her, you might not notice anything wrong with her. She cant quite type right because her left side can't keep up with the right and that causes difficulties.

Left turn.

This is a little out of the ordinary. On Wednesday I had a stroke. It is Friday, and I am home, but I am not sure how frequently I will post for the next couple weeks. I will however, be reading all of your blogs to keep me entertained!

I can't blog without my camera.

Image: The birthday boy during his nerf war party, in May.
I cannot find my camera. That means I don't blog. I can't show you pics of my half-torn out bathroom nor my new tile nor the new chicks being batty nor the cauliflower, rabe, basil growing (since we are finally having 3 days of sunshine and above 70 weather). I think I "put it away" when cleaning. Not really sure where that "put away" spot would be. I hear short term memory is the first thing to go.

Abandoned Farmhouse - NW Finn Hill and Urdahl Rd Poulsbo

While my son was brushing up on his batting for Little League this spring at a giant sports complex built in the middle of farmland, I walked across the road to acreage for sale. Set back on the property was this farmhouse... obviously abandoned and a little on the creepy side with the weather torn curtains and kicked-open door.
I have some sort of a weird obsession with old houses. They have stories in them that I want to know. There is something particularly disturbing to me when they are abandoned.
When I was walking through the weeds I thought : if my old house was in a more public place... in an area of development, it would have ended up like this. Once development starts on farmland, there is not alot of room for farming any longer. Some folks get cranky when they have to drive past cow smells, and no one likes the sound of roosters, especially the nutball type that sporadically crow 20 hours a day (which, honestly, seems to be the only kind I have ever had.) This vandalized building was once a loved home. There are chintz curtains moving against the broken glass, bright paint in the kitchen and still great condition furniture in the living room. Once an efficient working farmstead surrounded by level agriculture fields, it is now ready for the bulldozer and another big box store. This property is a stones throw from the Home Depot-Walmart-Starbucks-PetSmart-Office Max complex so I am sure the value is in development. And that is the rub. If I owned this, and it was worth 1.2 million as retail property and 440K as a farm... what would I do? What would you? I always like to think I would consider the longterm good of a rural community (which to me is more land, more agriculture - otherwise I would live in a city...) but self interest is a strong motivator.
For the record, I am not saying no to big box stores or to development, (stay tuned for my post of where I got a temp job) but am seriously questioning our need for a monster complex of them every 6.5 miles. I don't remember seeing "shopping" in Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

Old House Histories

Photo: Lemolo Schoolhouse, 2011. I realize it is not really a 'looker' in this image... I will post more interesting photos when I find my elusive camera. One of the more interesting tasks of my previous museum job was helping visitors and researchers document building histories. Since moving to my old house, I have sporadically been searching for information on my property since a 1904 house in Washington state probably has some sort of provenance. I realize this is nothin' to folks on the East Coast or across the ponds toward Europe and Asia, but in our wet Northwest clime, 107 years is a bit of age. Things have a tendency to be torn down around here.... progress you know. Or, just molder away in the wet moist environment. Last week we visited a gal that just bought an old community schoolhouse located in Lemolo. I got a bit giddy with finding out information on her building... since old public one room buildings in Kitsap are torn down without a second thought - Grange halls, schoolhouses, churches have been bulldozed more often than not. And she actually likes her building - yay! To find material about her school and my home I made my first venture to the Poulsbo Historical Society and was pleasantly surprised by their knowledge and friendliness. They not only had citations of all available references from the local newspaper for the last several decades but also gave me names of oldtimers that live in the community and can share what they know. The other major resource is the Kitsap Historical Society which I only dealt with by phone or email after my first in person visit. They are still working on finding early schoolhouse pictures, but the stunner is that the director is the granddaughter of the man who built my house, if my house is really the Paulson home. Unfortunately, she has no pictures, but she does have tales. There is a part of me that does not want to find out the details of my previous house residents... since if there is something wacked I don't really want to think of it going on within these walls. BUT then again, this house has no bad vibes, even when it is really dark, and I am really tired, and the kids are with their dad. The only thing I have a question about is why every door has a lock on it upstairs, but am going to attribute that to this being (previously) a hundred+ acre farm that probably had farm hands and maybe boarders during the Depression and after. I did find out that there were extensive gardens, a dairy, giant chicken barn, and they sold produce to Port Gamble residents when Port Gamble was a monster lumber mill and community. I am going to search for the foundation of another smaller house somewhere on the property that the wife moved to when the husband died. Why didn't she stay in the "big" house?

Maybe she was like me, and hates cleaning floors. I often think of moving to a one room condominium with no animals and all white furniture when I become slower and longer in the tooth. I think it keeps me motivated and somewhat sane... to think there is an out to the endless maintenance I do. As far as I can see, the chickens are the only creatures earning their keep around here by supplying me with eggs. I was trying to talk Amanda dog into weedeating yesterday since my arm was sore. She just gazed at me with dog admiration, I told her that only goes so far, that unconditional love thing. She needs to start helping around here, and that does not include her yippy barking. I know when my neighbors drive by since I see them...I don't need her barking-yipping-noisy narration. Dogs.

The 4th and fireworks

Pic: The fearless fireworks watching cat Bella. (Can you tell we got her during a Twilight saga?)

Last night, Rose and I sat outside in our driveway watching the neighbors shoot off WAY LARGE fireworks, not the little "cones of sparks" or "happy pagoda house" that we used to do. The kind that shoot in the sky and force out an "ooooh" or "aaah" from your body. The bonus of living near a reservation (well, depending on if you like loud noises).... is all our neighbors spend oodles to buy big fireworks for the 4th, and then we get to watch them. Our chicken dog Amanda sat under our legs trying to bury her head anywhere. Our cat Belly sat in front of us and the horses stood next to us, watching the sky. Afterwards, Rose found the big dipper and then we spent a good ten minutes using the big dipper to find the north star and little dipper. We are not so quick in these constellation searches. As soon as we found the little dipper, a shooting star fell across our line of sight. We both laughed, Rose said it was the stars telling us 'good job' after our lame long search for the small dipper.
Yesterday was also the culmination of four BBQ's in three days. I am a little tapped out on burgers right now. I think I could eat the strawberry shortcake again, however.

Horses, Boys and Salons

Yesterday we took Strider into the vet to get a laceration three stitches. I thought once I fixed the dilapidated fence that the horses would float on a cloud of safety. Nope. Went out a couple days ago and Strider had a one inch cut under his eye. I cleaned it with betadine, put some antiseptic ointment on it and it looked good for about 36 hours until it started healing in the wrong way (the skin was aligning unevenly). I had previously scheduled a salon appointment at 4:15, and normally a 2:30 vet appointment would be fine since they are all in a five mile radius from my home. It would have worked until..... the vet was an hour behind schedule and the laceration took three stitches instead of one and Strider needed a tetanus update. When we left, instead of dropping the horse off, I drove the horse trailer and Wilder and his friend to the salon. We parked in a bank parking lot that was big enough for the trailer and horse and I gave Wilder my debit card to get cash out of the bank and while I ran over to the salon where I was 10 minutes late.When I was done and paying the gal behind the counter told me how mature the boys were and how they regaled her with horse stories and getting cash for the first time out of a cash machine at the drive through window. As we left the salon, Wilder's friend told me he "was not really a salon type man." When I looked at the magazines in the waiting area I could see why. Probably not so keen on the fancy hats of the royal wedding, how to keep their man satisfied and getting ready for bikini season. They are good sports.
My vet visit cost $229. Anyone considering horse ownership because it is "fun" and "you have always wanted to have a horse" needs to realize how dang expensive their upkeep is. And you can't scrimp, they are big creatures that take alot of maintenance and if defered can cause your horse to be good for nothing but the glue factory. Hooves, teeth, worms, vaccines... monthly, quarterly, annually. Dollars, dollars, dollars. Sorry this got a bit rant-y. My horseshoer just was out telling me horse ownership horror stories --he sees alot of them, and some are hard to hear.

Upstairs bathroom door

Pics: Top to bottom. Door lock with layered paint that needs to be removed. Interior of lock. Same lock with my specialized paint removal tool, a free plastic dinner fork.

I am beginning to tackle the upstairs bathroom remodel. I should probably call it a readjustment or finishing rather than a remodel, I am not gutting anything like I did downstairs.

First job is to paint the door. When I bought this home, most of the interior of my house was farmhouse white. Which is nice, bright and clean. Until kids or dogs or cats are involved. (Who am I kidding, me too.) I am liking more and more that trendy beige-y taupe paint color, I bet it hides everything. Nothing can hide on my white walls. Have a kid that doesn't wash his hands? Just look on the door edge. Have a cat that smooshes her nose on the edge of the kitchen door while waiting for her food or a dog that pushes open the bathroom door when you are 'busy'? Well, glory be, white lets you see all those lovely nuanced moments of everyday life. In two plus years the upstairs bathroom door is disgustin'. It does not help that everything white is painted in a flat chalky white that rubs off on you, and gets a smudge on it if you walk by. I used to think that they painted the house in a primer. Now, I just think they bought the dang cheapest paint they could find. If MacDonald's had paint available on their 99 cent menu I swear my house would be painted in it. Thank you MacDonalds for sticking to food products.

Back to door. Took off the hardware to strip the layers of old paint off. It looks like there are only three coats of paint on these, not including the black paint on steel that was the original color.

My handy trick for removing a million (or three) coats of paint off of metal is simple hot water. Hot water that you keep replacing to keep it hot and something to scrape the paint off. Here I am using a plastic dinner fork, but I have used a paint scraper, pottery tool (for detail) or a brass brush. I was smarter this time, and took a pick of the lock innards. I am not always so mechanically skilled to put things together correctly, the downside is I love taking things apart. I think those two are a lethal combination for having things work correctly, so pictures save my butt.

To see the downstairs bathroom door hardware finished product click here.

Betty MacDonald's Egg and I

A friend and I were up in Port Townsend walking through the shops. We went into William James, Bookseller (best bookstore ever) and both bought used copies of The Egg and I. Having never read this Northwest classic we thought it was high time to read it.
End result... it is a pre-Depression tale of : newlyweds move from the big city Seattle to the country and a chicken farm and meet stereotypical country neighbors and various wildlife all under the snowy flanks of the Olympic Mountains. It is definitely dated, has some things that made me cringe in my 2011 sensibilities, but she is a good writer and it was a quick read.
After it's 1945 publication, The Egg and I was such a huge hit that Hollywood bought the rights and made a movie. The road where they lived for four years - which gave her the fodder for her story - is now the Egg and I Rd. in Chimacum, Wa. I drive by it on my way to Port Townsend, and for twenty years just thought someone was a nutty fan of author Betty MacDonald and named the road for her book. Little did I know this was the road she lived on! Their little place is long gone, but I swear there are a couple old homesteads that fit the era and descriptions from her book --she did not have nice things to say about her neighbors. Funny, it is a road that looks and drives like a kajillion other roads around here, but now feels different because of those tales created 80 years ago.

Lawn tractor maintenance

Pics: Detail of the right side of my lawn tractor. See that thing with the black cap sticking out? I didn't notice it for two years-- the easiest oil change plug I have ever seen in my life.

Ours is a LA102 John Deere little green one I bought with the house. Or,more accurately, I paid the seller $650 for it when I got the keys to my house. The realtor would not give me the key if I did not give him an envelope with cash. It has been one of my favorite things... I use it to haul manure, dirt, and of course, mow the lawn. My fence building men even used it to haul the large batches of cement to fix the round posts.

I just spent 40 minutes crammed underneath it (I suppose I could have driven up a ramp or somesuch so I could fit better- I didn't) cutting off hay baling twine that had wrapped around the blade. After about 10 minutes of cutting through different colors....I realized what I was cutting was multiple layers of baling twine, and that stuff is tough. I did not think I had driven over THAT much twine. I will be more cautious in the future, this was grueling. I also changed the oil for the first time in two years. I feel shame in even typing that, I am one of those "hyper vigilant about oil changes" type of gal. I thought it would be really hard, really involved, with all sorts of special tools needed, so it took me about two years to get the gumption up to tackle it. (This realization does not bode well for my bathroom tile which is still undone two months after I put the shower in...) (hopefully, I will cut that two year timeline down to maybe one year for the tile)

When I sat down next to the mower, on my mat, with tools, oil and filter next to me I realized.... this mower does not even have an oil filter. And to drain the oil? Is the simplest little notched plug - no screw, no wrench needed - sticking out from the side of the engine. When I started it up with new fresh oil, I am fairly sure my greenie was purring. Note: I am sure you know this, but disconnect the spark plug wire or battery before hauling off on the blade to unwrap anything. You don't want to be startin' your mower engine when you have your arms and hands all wrapped around the blade.

Lastly, a follow-up note: Today I asked the Master Gardeners at the farmers market what was wrong with my peach tree (fungus/damn rain), linden tree (some sort of leaf eater), and was my mystery plant a weed (yes, a Class B noxious weed for Washington - wild carrot - more commonly known as Queen Anne's Lace.) I knew it was too healthy to be one of my 'real' perennials.

Garden - Land of Mushrooms

This dangerous looking mushroom popped up in my raised bed. With our moist-- who am I kidding... WET and cold spring I have seen more exotic mushrooms randomly showing up. Orange, white, lacy, round, toadstoolish, small, big, purple... all sorts of things are out there. They in particular like the horse manure compost. My mom used to mushroom hunt for morels and shaggy manes when I was a kid, but I also heard too many stories of someone eating the wrong ones. Those types are pretty much instant death. I will stick with my little package of button mushrooms in the store, thanks. (Note: This mushroom is a shaggy mane - the little 'shaggy' whitish mushroom next to the tall black topped stalk -- so much for the accuracy of my poison assessment, I am, however, still not eating it!) (Note 2: I did not like mushrooms as a kid, but these were pretty good)
The bottom right greenery is in my perennial bed acting very much like I planted it there. I am thinking it is a weed, but will wait a bit since I tend to just shove random things in this bed and honestly don't remember. Tomorrow is farmer's market day, and there are always master gardeners present. I may take this and a sample of my peach and linden tree leaves... some bug is doing strange things with those and I want to know if I should worry.

Rhododendron Garden, Garden Garden, Informal Horse Training.

Today I went up to Port Townsend and the Rhodie Garden,
Weeded the mini weeds growing in the raised beds with the broccoli and peas, and did some informal horse training with Bey. It may look like he is sauntering by, but he is actually being trained not to whinny like an insane horse when I remove his friend from his field.

Movie : Super 8

We went to Super 8 last night. It was a huge nostalgia flick for me... back to the 70's and a gentler time, where men are men and bottle feelings, Farrah Faucet hairstyles reined supreme in the younger set, cars were big, gas was cheap and kids had the attention span to do detailed things for hours without interruption. (film making, explosive creation, model building) I think I actually screamed in public during this movie. I actually can't be sure if it was me or the man next to me, I did startle at least ten times during this show. My point being it was action packed and thrilling and sweet and funny and I kept thinking "aw, I haven't seen a movie like this in eons." It is the summer blockbuster.

My son should not see this, he would bite his fingernails off. It was even a bit much for our newly minted 16 year old. When I said I could see it again she said it was so stressful, she couldn't. She is going on her first date today, and they are going to see Kung Fu Panda 2.

Car buying tales - Honda Fit and Civic

I get rather distracted when typing these continuation type posts. This is part two of three car buying stories.
The first was about my venture to buy a Ford Fiesta here. Next on our saga was trying to find a Honda Fit. I was sent to find a Fit, Fiesta or any cheap small car. The problem right now for these wee little Fit cars is Japan. As per the salesperson at the Honda dealership...hundreds of these minicars were swept into the ocean during the earthquake and tsunami and the plant has been shut down. They have become rare, so dealing on them is not likely. Instead, we looked at a Honda Civic, which there are tons of on the road, and sitting at the dealer. The price point we were looking to hit was around $13K, so we were looking at used 2008's.
Nice cars. The first we looked at was a stick, 29K miles, with a dead battery. The second was an auto with 36K mileage. We made an offer on the first car (after the battery was charged.) I asked to see any paperwork they had on it, and would the salesman explain the numbers on the shop report. What does a "5" mean for tread life left? What does a "3" mean for brakes, etc.
The sales fellow got very testy with me, like all these numbers were fine, the car was great, it is the best car in the world, number one seller, there were no problems, I was basically lucky to be in the running to drive one. When buying a new car for thousands of dollars it would really suck to have to pay right away for new brakes or tires. Hence my questions.
They couldn't get down to my price ( we were $300 off) so I drove home without it.
Pic: 2008 Honda Civic image courtesy Saku Takakusaki

Who are you?

In the upper left of this blog is a page counter that tells how many times the main page of lucky-days.blogspot is viewed. I know my mom in Michigan and I have not viewed blue shoe farm 2,444 times....or I hope we haven't.
Who are you all? Why are you here? Do you have a blog? Can I answer any questions for you? I am good at making things up.
Pic: Need any chairs? I am garage sale selling these this weekend...

Pissed Seattle Driving - Ranting Post

Not pissed like drunk, pissed like I get around inattentive unfocused illegal drivers such as those I drove with in Seattle for two hours.
Arghh. Any nostalgia I had for missing Seattle and it's amazing stores filled with junk I don't need, but boy, is it fun to look at; my old breakfast haunt Vera's in Ballard that I have been going to for 26 years and ordering the same thing all that time(it is not even on the menu anymore); or the hyper-eco bicycle backpack wearin' grannies standing in line in front of me at the coffee shop with their 'put-a-bird-on-it' wallets.... all these lovely Seattle moments have been obliterated by flippin' holier than thou must drive under the speed limit in all four lanes of the freeway cars. People! Move your damn car over one rippin' lane. I swear to god you will not be any less of a man, or woman, or whatever to get your car out of the fast lane when you are going 54 mph. I really promise. I think people who drive in the appropriate lane for their speed are HOT. I don't even care that you drive under the speed limit (well, most of the time) if you are in the furthest right lane for your rate of travel. Did you all even read the driver's education book? This may be one of those posts I should count to ten before posting... nah.
Question for Seattle : What the heck are you doing with traffic and your roads? I drove around through Tacoma to get to Seattle this morn, usually a leisurely hour and a half drive which was right on time until I hit Seatac... then the freeway stopped. No problem, I bounced over the highway 99 to take the back way. Absolutely stopped. No problem, I will get off of 99 and go along the waterfront. Stopped dead, me and about 30 semi-tractor trailers that were also not happy. Then, the waterfront road is closed, and we all get back on 99 (except for those semi's who were picking up loads on the waterfront) Geez Louwheezie, it was dadblame impossible to get into the city today. It took me 2.5 hours. I am going to kiss my front door when I get home. Land of quiet and low density and horses and yard that needs weeding. I can also tell my personality is beginning to match my county. I want my calm two lane roads again. Where traffic is (shock) 11 cars waiting for a light to turn. Pic: The only traffic in my neighborhood, the wait for the Sunday ferry back to Seattle. Which actually, looking at this, is a bit daunting and why if I ever have to go to Seattle Sunday afternoon I take the Bremerton or Bainbridge ferry.

Survived the birthday weekend

This birthday weekend was great, two days of parties, it did not rain, the grill worked, I had enough food and only one child went to the emergency room for stitches.
I guess actually that last one sucked, but keep in mind, only one child went to the hospital. It makes it sound so rough at my house. Yes, nerf guns and ping pong can get craaaaazy. He made it back in time for a burger and s'mores, so all was not lost.
My mom was here visiting from Michigan, and brought her local gal pals. She said she couldn't believe how many people showed up. I have not actually invited many people over since moving here. My house has been in various states of assembly and disassembly... so I think when I sent out the invite curious friends braved the weekend ferry and fees to visit. It was a blast but boy, today I am tired. Bonus: my flippin' house is clean!