Kingfisher Cove

My Favorite Little Boy

Yesterday (Thursday) afternoon, John and I headed to the Kingston-Edmonds ferry to Nate and Sandra’s new place (that we’d never seen before—and it’s just great!) Here we were in line for the ferry (which was a pretty short wait):

We took care of Quinn today while Momma and Dada worked because daycare was closed, so we arrived last night in time for Sandra to fix yakisoba for dinner. Quinn was so excited to see us, and later when his daddy arrived home, he jumped up and down and shouted: “Nonna and Papa are here! Nonna and Papa are here!” It was pretty adorable.

This morning, after Momma and Dada had left for work at dawn’s buttcrack, and John and I were awake and downstairs with our Starbucks, and Quinn woke up and headed down those stairs, I went to greet him and he was teary and bereft. And he stayed that way for quite some time. “MAMA!” He was not happy that Momma and Dada were not there, that he wasn’t at daycare with “his boys” (although most of them are girls), that his universe had been upended. He buried his quietly sobbing face in the sofa for a long time and didn’t respond to my back rubs and encouraging words. I wondered if he somehow associated our presence with the time back in March when he had the flu and we came to care for him at their previous place (and he was DEVESTATED that we were there and not Momma and Dada). It took a while, but he finally adapted. Ate his oatmeal while hitching and sniffling and watched a cartoony show on the iPad. Softened. Giggled. Reverted back to a tiny human. Later, the hugs, the "explanations" as to why that lollypop was necessary (Papa easily gave in), the little manipulations with a sparkling eye, the joy of watching him entertain himself with his toys (as we listened to the play-by-play), the sweet nap in our company there in the living room, his pride of being potty trained and independent about it, the hilarious vanity of him checking out his reflection in the mirror in his Halloween costume and shaking his booty/checking out his “Catboy” tail. And always that dimple! It is prominent whether he’s a little butt or a sparkling angel.

It is the complexity of him, the hot-and-cold about him, his sense of humor in “pwning” Papa so he can switch off the power to the TV while Papa blocks his path to the switch—only to find a path under a bar stool to bypass Papa to that switch! (“Troubleshooting at Three Years Old).

Sandra got off a little early from work (and we knew Nate would be very late), so we left shortly after she got home. Quinn was over the moon to see his Mama. It’s wonderful to see him so happy to see/be with his parents. He absolutely adores them, even though he experiences Time Out now and then. I remember that when Nate was little and I was surprised that he would stay in place for those few minutes. Quinn does, too. Stands in the corner for as many minutes as his age (which I did with Nate back then). In both cases, there was a difference in behavior afterward. De-escalated, calmed down, contrite. With Nate, I also found that it de-escalated ME.

So, John is back to working on the Miss Squire Shop hydroplane restoration at the Hydroplane Museum (which had ceased operations due to the pandemic for several months), so he’s heading there early tomorrow morning. Chances are…it may close down again soon, since Covid cases are increasing again and the volunteers on this restoration are mostly senior citizens. It’s majorly increasing everywhere, throughout the country (even though trump says in his Nuremberg campaign rallies—maskless and sans-social distancing) that “it’s going away, it’s nothing.” What a fucking shit head he is.

Four Days. We MUST be rid of him. The most corrupt, incompetent, unhinged, unfit, despicable human ever. I’ve never believed he was truly “elected” as president. He was “installed.” And what a fail he has been in every sense of the word. What an abysmal embarrassment for our country.

Raging at Idiots

We’ve been watching “Ozark” on Netflix (which is really good but also cringe-worthy. Hillbillies galore + criming). Today I saw a Facebook post from our “Harstine Community” page and I immediately thought of Ozark:

Is the east island community being hide by a gas theaf???

I’ve had it with idiots. Like the senior citizens (the most vulnerable people affected by this pandemic) in Florida at a trump rally, sans masks or social distancing while cases soar throughout the country. Plus, cases and hospitalizations have skyrocketed in the locations of trump rallies directly afterwards. He’s deliberately encouraging the spread of the virus, but the idiots who adore him and attend these Nuremburg Rallies are also to blame. THEY are the ones who prevent the rest of us from having a normal life. THEY are congregating, not caring, playing politics, and causing this pandemic to rage on. THEY are killing people.

I think about the Saturday Night Live joke when Michael Che during the “Weekend Update” said upon trump recovering from Covid: “It’s like the only survivor of the car crash was the drunk driver.”

I also think of this. We grew up asking, “How did the citizens of Germany allow that (Nazis, Holocaust) to happen?“ I mean, they voted for Hitler! What will future generations ask about us?

TEN DAYS, people. Ten days and we can have a very different future. Hope. Common sense. A path out of this insanity.

Oh! Also? I'm still thinking about what conservatives' response would be if there were tapes of Michelle Obama saying "fuck Christmas." (Lordy! There are tapes!)

Twelve Days

“Honestly, at this point if you don’t know Donald Trump is a terrible person, it’s because you’ve decided you don’t want to know.” –Mary Trump

In just 12 days, the voting ends, but chances are we won’t know the outcome for at least a few days afterward. Which isn’t abnormal—it’s only a bit different this year because so many people are voting by mail because of the pandemic and it takes a little longer to count them. I wish they would start counting them as they come in, but I don’t think most states do. I have a hope (please, please, please) that the voting for Biden is so staggering, so conclusive, that all of the idiocy with trump’s threats to sue or refuse to accept the results or to take it to his stacked supreme court is MOOT.

On Monday, John and I drove into Shelton with our completed ballots and drove directly to the Elections Office, entered, and inserted them into the small interior ballot drop box as we watched employees through a window sorting ballots. There was a large drop box outside on the other side of the building that most people were using, but we decided to go inside instead. It just felt necessary. On the website later that evening, we learned that our ballots were RECEIVED and ACCEPTED. What a relief. Never before has there been such an important election. (I felt similarly in 2016 because I absolutely knew who and what trump was and what we would be in for if he won). This time, it’s even more dire.

Afterward, we drove to the pharmacy at our grocery store and got flu shots. I had to chuckle because John complained several times that evening that his arm hurt! (Mine did not).

It was a very productive day!!

---

I had a doctor’s appointment today (Wednesday—it’s just past midnight as I’m writing this—and on my way home, I experienced such interesting weather! As I wrote in Facebook, the sky was pocked with coal black clouds with swaths of blue skies in between. My route mostly took me beneath those blue swaths. But I saw dripping cars with windshield wipers pumping, and I frequently passed from dry payment abruptly to nearly flooded pavement. Only once did I have to turn on my wipers, and that was just on intermittent. When I arrived at our (rural) mailbox and got out of the car, there was HAIL all over the ground! (I never encountered any while I was driving!) And when I arrived home and was heading down the steps to the house, the HUGE thunder clap just about shot me out of my shoes! But the most remarkable part was when I was crossing the Harstine bridge and I saw a DOUBLE RAINBOW. It was stunning against the coal black/blue skies. And uplifting. Hopeful, even.

I honestly don’t believe in religion or the supernatural or anything that can’t be explained by evidence and facts, but I have to admit that I felt some goosebumps.

---

Some Quinn pics (of course!) These first few were taken at his daycare. (He loves his daycare peeps! He calls them “my boys,” even though most of them are girls. Over the weekends he tells his parents, “I miss my boys!”)

(He “helps” with the babies).

Last weekend, the kids took Quinn to the Seattle Japanese Garden. What a beautiful place!

The other night we had another stunning Harstine sunset and I think it’s fitting that I end with that (wish I had a pic of the double rainbow!)

Time for a New Post (Finally)

I’ve been in a funk, and I suspect I’m not a bit alone. I think of all the things that keep me awake at night, all the things that exacerbate my ongoing gastrointestinal issues, all the things that flare my rage into an uber-active volcano. Most of the time I want to spew white-hot lava into the crotches of old, white conservative men. And oh hell, while we’re at it, whack-conservative women as well.

We got our ballots yesterday and today I voted! We’ll drive them to the Elections Office early next week and I can’t tell you what a feeling that is. We’ve been waiting FOUR HELLACIOUS YEARS!

I will NEVER EVER vote for a republican. (I have, on past rare occasions, voted for a republican down-ballot person, but never again). It is now the party of trump, the party of authoritarianism, the party of corruption, the party of protecting the rich and demonizing the rest of us. Done.

The kids visited last weekend, and it was a wonderful time, even though the weather sucked. Here they were on the ferry on their trek to our place (I love this!!!):

Friday night we enjoyed Lavender Drops on the deck for a brief time (it got cold!) and mostly just enjoyed Quinn. What a character. I love listening to him talk, I love observing his brain working—and his memory. “Where is the dog?” John and I looked at each other and tried to simply explain that Bailey was old and…gone. (Cringe). He then grabbed John’s finger and led him back to the guest bedroom and pointed to a collage picture frame that had a photo of Peanut (who died before Quinn was born). Kids understand so much more than what they are able to communicate.

We also celebrated Quinn’s birthday since we weren’t able to get together on his actual birthday. I was tickled (and amazed) that he was very excited to get BOOKS!)

We’ll be taking care of him for a day the end of the month because Nate and Sandra have to work and daycare will be closed on Friday the 30th. We’ll finally have a chance to see their new place they moved into a couple of months ago. Woohoo! Ferry trip!

We had to close the bedroom window we keep open during the warmer months (because: COLD!) and Nikki has yet to figure out the pet door (“cat flap”). And so, she has been punishing us for her apparent sense of incarceration. Multiple times the last couple of days she has pulled down the towels in our bathroom, and then made a nest.

Oh! And then we’ve been dealing with LIVE MICE running around, and I think Wylie brings them in for Nikki’s entertainment. We have dealt with a whole lot of live critters (birds, mice, lizards) all summer long. It’s obvious that Mojo is…no longer here. Piles of guts are no longer a “thing.”

Zero Sympathy

To quote George Takei, who speaks for me:

Actually, I’m angry. I’m angry at the way Trump mocked masks, how his children refused to wear them even at the debate, how they’ve held rallies and put so many at risk, how reporters for the White House are now coming down with it. It’s a pattern of callous, gross negligence. I’m angry.

Trump (and his wife, plus so many others) have tested positive for Covid-19, surprise-surprise (not) after unconscionable behavior at super-spreader events. And now trump is hospitalized. I’m only shocked it didn’t happen earlier.

As the law scholar, Laurence Tribe, illustrates:

A wealthy prince throws a huge party in his gaudy mansion during an epidemic for his asymptomatic friends while the peasants die. Then the virus shows up and tears through his fancy guests. Familiar? It’s the exact plot of Edgar Allan Poe’s 1842 classic, “Masque of the Red Death.”

I am so sick of this. I am so tired of feeling rage. I’m weary of feeling such targeted hatred toward this sub-human and his family and his cult followers. If he dies? “I don’t care, do U?” Ultimately, I would prefer that he suffers, that he feels terror and misery that the 207,000 people who have died felt, and then survives to see himself lose this election as if a tsunami hit him, and then lives out his final days in prison. He is a fraud, a con, a criminal, a monster, an abomination.

If you don’t see that, you are not paying attention.

I think about how our lives have been halted, and with common-sense leadership, it did not have to be this way. We do see Nate and Sandra and Quinn from time to time, and we are thankful (albeit knowing we’ve chosen to take somewhat of a risk); but we don’t go out to restaurants, or movies, or anything coming close to gatherings beyond five people. Our three-member Book Club has been conducted through Zoom since March. I think about my friend, Margaret, who had to miss the birth of her first grandchild, and then a couple of months later, traveled uber-cautiously across the c0untry to finally see that grandson but quarantining for two full weeks in an AirBnB near her daughter before being able to see and hold that baby. The sacrifices we’ve all made, and yet trump and his circle of “above-it-alls” have behaved “above-it-all” with maskless and socially distant-free Gatsby parties and golfing and sneering attitudes toward the “unwashed masses.” They don’t care. And they, and the likes of them across the country, have exacerbated the spread of this virus and prevented us from moving beyond it, with their cavalier, narcissistic, and cruel behavior. I loathe them. Never in my life have I seen such depravation in the so-called leadership of our country. I said from Day One of this regime that trump was not my president. He has never been my president. Ever.

One month from today. WE WILL RID OURSELVES OF THIS ANATHEMA.

---

A few things: The kids were planning to visit us last weekend, but it turned out that Nate had to work. The plan now is for them to come down for “Columbus Day Weekend” (now known as Indigenous Peoples Day, of which I approve!) The Navy has that as a 3-day weekend, so it will be wonderful to spend some Fallish time with them. Next weekend! Squee!

To escape this nightmare, I continue to read. Book after book after book. I’m loving the Tana French Dublin Murder Squad series; the Shetland series; the new Cormoran Strike series book; and the Ruth Galloway series. I’m so stressed and despondent that I can’t stand NOT being obsessed with a book to read. I must fill my brain with stories.

And I’m also obsessed with pictures of beloved Quinn.