The Ink-Pot and the Palette

As ravurian pointed out when I sent it to him in the UK this afternoon, this picture might have been taken almost anywhere in the world.



( Spoiler: it's in Portland. )

Inasmuch as I'm feeling a bit invalidish today, it's nice of January to act like April. I'm sitting out on my porch soaking up vitamin D in the hope that it will make shorter work of the cold that has settled, as my colds always do, in my lungs.

I'm not wrapped in an afghan, nor am I in a rocking chair, nor do I have tea (that last omission owing mostly to the lack of milk in my fridge today), but there is a cat lying in the sun next to me, and any second now I'm gonna take my cane and go threaten the Weiner Dog of Unending Yippitude who lives across the street and is spoiling my outdoor moment. So there's not a lot lacking to complete the Old Lady image.

Gah! I think I'd better get on my bike and go somewhere. Coughing be damned.

Wow. That was...really dull.

Almost exactly a year ago, someone climbed in through my kitchen window during the workday and stole some stuff. The police came, got a good solid handprint off the kitchen windowsill, and eventually made an arrest.

Today was the grand jury, where I was subpoenaed to testify that I'm the victim of a crime and that there's something to prosecute.

Let me tell you, it is NOTHING like on TV. I entered a dowdy little 8th-floor room with plastic chairs and sad carpet. The arresting officer introduced himself, and in the chit-chat that ensued, he told me a surprising amount about the guy he arrested. Drugs weren't an issue in this case, he said; just plain poverty and young men's desire for stuff and the money to buy it.

Of dozens of this guy's victims, I was the only one testifying because my house was the only one where a clear print was lifted, making mine the only charge the guy pleaded guilty to.

I swore to God (it wasn't worth the trouble to make the atheist argument) and answered three or four questions about the burglary--did I know the guy and had I ever let him into my house? (no, and no.) How did I know I'd been robbed? (Interesting question, when you think about it.) What was taken? (Computer, camera, cash, jewelry.) Did I call the police? (Yes.)

And that was it. Thank you very much. We'll subpoena you again when the trial begins.

So that's that. And I have tomorrow off! Yay!

I've taken up running.

The urge came over me one day a month or so ago. It's "running" in the sense of breaking gravity by having both feet off the ground at once--albeit by a millimeter, for a millisecond. Somewhere between a jog and a shuffle. A juffle.

At first it was four steps juffling, four walking, repeat, and then be uncomfortable. Now I can juffle for a whole city block at a time, then walk a bit, and juffle another block. No special gear required, no athletic critique invoked--I just look like I'm running for a bus.

I told my healthcare practitioner (who was very encouraging, by the way), that I'm training for the Olympic Hurrying event. My brother the artist made me a logo, q.v.

Here's the amazing thing: even just a couple of minutes' hurrying clears my mind, elevates my mood, energizes me for an hour, makes achy bits stop aching, and improves my eyesight (really!).

Also, my bus-catching stats have improved dramatically.