More winnowing, friendships

In the  course of looking for other things, I came across more winnowing fodder -- fabrics. This includes the rest of those donated sheets I didn't use because they're mauve, which I don't like, though I did make skirts and a robe from the rest, and a bunch of sari and other fabrics, some with bling,  left over from projects.

Due to be picked up today. I hope it works out for this taker, because earlier their schedule fell apart and they missed the art bag, but were very courteous about keeping me informed.

I'm trying to be realistic about how much I can use these days and what  items can go to better hands. It's not easy, to be honest. It's not about the stuff, it's about saying goodbye to the plans for it. Well, that's why parting with things is hard, not exactly breaking news. It's easier when it goes to nice people.

And having finished all my other reading, I'm now kindling this

I do like Weir's narrative style, and I think her historical settings are pretty accurate. Seymour's the Queen who died after giving birth, just to situate her in the Henry story. 

It's possible that kindling is why I'm not getting on with stitching, hence the freecycled fabric remnants..

I've been thinking about kinds of friendship lately, largely because a rl friend is going through some sad times with family illness, and experiencing some of what I did in a similar situations.

There are people who will drop you, heck, Andy's nurses used to tell me of partners who were abandoned when they got sick, but even friends might do that. They can't handle it even at second hand. 

Then there are people who hang in, very kind and helpful. Then when things start to look up for you, they go away. They're better equipped at having the upper hand, I think, and don't know how to navigate a more even relationship. 

And there are what I call activity friends, who want to share a group or activity, but not want any contact outside of it. 

All this is just part of the tapestry of life, nothing bad about it. But it took me so long to grasp this, that I've been disappointed quite a bit,  expecting to buy eggs at the hardware store, so to speak.

I do think it's a mistake to think your real friends are the people who support you in hard times. I think your real friends are those who are supportive and happy for you when things are going well. That's not easy, considering how fast envy can get into the picture.

Anyway, a few musing thoughts, and I'd welcome yours, too. I learn a lot from your comments, thank you.

Happy day, everyone, oh, I just found out we're doing Thanksgiving on Wednesday next week, Handsome Son's day off. He usually works Thanksgiving. This is the nearest we've come in recent years to the official day.

So enjoy your day, even if it's not on the national schedule.

Yay, new day, I can see!

Yesterday's eye work went a treat. Different anesthesiologist, a woman, listened, noted previous aftereffects, made a plan which she explained. It worked so well. Little to no fentanyl, and anti emetic added in. 

I freely admit to preferring women on my medical team. They face many  more  obstacles in training and hiring so the ones who come through it all are superior.  At this point almost all my practitioners are women and I'm in good hands.

However, credit where due, my male surgeon did a flawless job, and here I am reading, writing, posting on a tiny screen, no glasses. Wheeee! 

I really appreciate the friendship you and other people have shown. I think the real test of friendship is not so much helping when friends are struggling, good as that is, because that puts us into a power position. 

I think a better indicator is when friends are happy when things go gloriously right, even when they wish they'd been as blessed. That's generous 

Yesterday got better and better. Gary stopped over a couple of times to check after Handsome Son left, and we were pottering about outside, got  into the subject of making string. I've shown his grandkids various art forms over the years. The older one is more interested in sports now, but the six year old loves crafts.

So I said fine, next time she's over I'll show her string making, from picking leaves to making her own string supply. Gary loves all the arts and was very happy. I said after she learns, she can show her friends, too. So that will happen. 

While we were in the house rummaging through my string stash, which intrigued him greatly,  I remembered something I've been meaning to do for ages. 

He loves this charcoal drawing, often he wanders around the house enjoying the art and now this one's his, a present. 

He's very excited and is planning a place for it. It's still here for the moment, but I'll deliver it if, and when, as expected, he forgets! 

This one has an origin story. Years ago I noticed the shrubs at a local nursery, burlapped and tied for winter protection, and noticed how human they looked. 

I did a few drawings, in charcoal, of them, on various papers,  some showing the support stakes. When exhibited, people insisted they were people, refugees, look, that lady's pregnant, where did you see them? I pointed out the stakes, but the illusion persisted. People even got a bit annoyed over it because obviously they were people!

This is the best drawing, I think, and I eliminated the stakes! The photo is a bit distorted here, but the framing isn't, in real life.

I just went further into the illusion, guided by my audience.

Here's the original old film photo, now attached to the back as part of the story.

So that was a really vintage day. Everything's so bright now I'm wearing sunglasses in the sunny living room even. Who is that mystery lady in the wraparound dark glasses! Just back from Mar a Lago?? 

Happy day everyone, hope we can all see better through the fog of fascism and fight back. I'm hoping Jared goes down next..

Friendship, Festival, Friday and neFarious other stuFF

Yesterday I was at a loss for what to cook, but frozen baby bellas worked again. Cooked in butter until almost browned, roast chicken from freezer, the last of that chicken I bought ages ago, bechamel sauce, farfalle pasta, all cooked then mixed in a buttered souffle dish, old Bay seasoning, warmed through at 385°f.  Colby Longhorn grated over.

Served with garlic scapes, already big enough to pick.

I hadn't thought of these ingredients going together, until I ran out of ideas and just tried it. This made three meals. The mushrooms are what makes it good, though.

Nice touch of garlic flavor.

The English breakfast tea I ordered at the suggestion of a friend arrived yesterday, along with the Answer to a Single Lady's Needing a Cup of Tea when she's not Up to Making it Right Now.

The thermos with two, count them, cups, is going to be the future early morning tea in bed, all being well. 

And the tea, though not as good as my original that was replaced by an impostor, is acceptable, with none of the twigs and dust of the inferior stuff. What my mom would have dismissed as floor sweepings. So, for now, the whining is down to a dull roar.

Great report on the bolted flour. I made this batch of scone things, raisins and walnuts, and the texture's great. Not heavy but it holds together, doesn't crumble when you cut into it to insert butter. A keeper.

Tree expert  blogistas: is this a sycamore? I'm going by the bark, didn't check the leaves.

It's beautiful from all sides, anyway.

And Maggie Rudy is working on a mouse sized diorama for the Washington State History Museum. Here's Captain Vancouver.

Isn't she great? Pitch perfect always. Check it out if you live near. 

Report on the Film Fest: Clueless was up yesterday and I realized I had in fact seen it before. But the lines are so funny it's worth a second look.  I had subtitles enabled, to make sure I caught them. Good start.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar is wonderful. I read it several times so as to catch the detail.

In current reading, the essays by Tim Kreider are oddly dated, though only about 12 years old. They read like the work of a man who can't really believe women are actual people. 

The sort of man who says people meaning men, and kids, meaning boys. It's particularly poignant in the account of his trying to understand the situation of a longtime male friend who transitions to being a woman. He tries so hard, wanting to be there for the friend, but without the insight that would help.

Likewise the essay about being ghosted by another longtime friend,  where he's baffled, can't grasp why, makes repeated attempts to reconnect without success. Which makes the reader wonder how he failed to read the room so completely.

I do wonder about people who profess total bewilderment when they're ghosted. They didn't see the signs, messages, attempts to detach? They see it as a full on friendship that suddenly screeches to a halt, the end.

Or perhaps they didn't realize that what they thought was a friendship was more situational. Once they'd fulfilled their purpose in the friend's life, gone.  Or the friend's life changes to the point where an old friend doesn't fit any more, and is amazed to realize it.

It's true of activity friends, once the activity is done. Workplace friendships, too,  often don't survive the departure of one of the group. 

When I've been ghosted I've generally managed to detect, eventually, what happened. It's not kind, though. Better to detach gradually I'd say, try for the least hurt.

Arabic has a whole lot of words to describe degrees of friendship. English is a bit lacking.  I wonder if friendships have a lifetime as partnerships do.  And the lifetimes vary.

Please let's hear your take. I wonder a lot of things on this subject.