The scuttling

 Was anyone else captivated by this last night? 

Between the music (uncredited and probably AI generated) and the lighting,  I couldn't stop watching until the last bubbles boiled up and away and CSpan thanked everyone for watching. It was unsettling and beautiful at the same time. 

Not lost on me that the name of the ship, the SS United States, who we have come close to losing, was deliberately laid to rest in the GULF OF MEXICO for the purpose of providing living, growing, breeding space for sea creatures.

The sugar-white beaches off the Destin/Ft. Walton area have become my favorite even though I was raised a child of Cape Cod. Each time I visited the Gulf, I marveled at how sterile and lifeless the waters seemed to be, compared to what I recall of the freezing waters around Cape Cod. It doesn't even smell like the ocean the way we could smell it as we crossed over the New London Bridge, the Atlantic sparkling to our right.

 I will never forget standing on what I thought was a rock only to have an enormous horseshoe crab carry me out until I had to paddle. I thought it was the tide. 

We made a pastime of ranching hermit crabs and sand fleas there. I murdered three enormous conchs in the hopes that ants would clean the meat out in time for me to bring the empty shells home. At the end of the week, the smell around the steps to the cabin was horrible, and I knew I had screwed up.

Nothing much seemed to live in the waters off Destin, although the locals take pride in the fishing. I wonder if the SS United States will change that. 

As the camera angles changed, I kept remembering the spectacle of seeing "The Titanic" in the theater when it first came out. 

I was having a hell of a time enjoying Rose and Jack's mad romance until the big chunks of ice fell onto the deck, and I said, "OH SHIT!" out loud. Jimmy cracked up because he knew I had forgotten where the story was heading. Most of the characters that I had become invested in would likely perish. It was a two-hanky movie, and he was prepared, passing me a clean bandana and a comforting arm.  

Last night, it was just me and Salem saying goodbye to the Fish Hotel and Resort.

There was a weekend

 

It was brief, but fulfilling. Milo is growing up. Not dispensing love with kittenish wild abandon. I brought a new catnip toy and he stood back and let Nibbler make a fool of herself over it. 

I brought this banner plucked from the front lawn of the library, but Charlie asked me to hold on to it for him.  It was great fun watching the relief fill his eyes as I described the Blue Tsunami. 

Red was excited to see me and receive her apple, nickering and pawing the ground as I made my way across the ditch to the fence. "Hurry, old woman!"

I would like to comb out her mane.

There were Halloween spoils to plunder. The child had never collated  his M&M's!

 

I paid for that nonsense with yet another migraine. At least, I can pin that one on what's passing for chocolate these days. Real chocolate doesn't bother me at all. Whatever the manufacturers are cramming into these mini packages feels experimental. 

I've been having "silent" migraines in my sleep almost nightly. Little pain, but the whirling, crystal rainbow light shows wake me and getting back to sleep has been hard.

By way of restoration

 

My favorite card of the day. Anything goes!

For now, I keep reminding myself of what I told Charlie when my reports from the front made him anxious:

"There are more competent, good-hearted people out there than there are greedy, self-serving assholes." 

I helped myself to an OSSOFF lawn banner from the library for him. Given that Charlie is just twelve, it could come to pass that his very first vote might be cast for John Ossoff's second term as president. Stranger things have happened. 

The old tv in my studio flickered its last the other day and I've chosen to not replace it for now, opting for a return to listening to audiobooks, but only if they are human narrated. The AI voices are so off-putting. I am having trouble listening to many female narrators. The high-pitched, breathy deliveries that all seem to end in a question mark are nearly as bad as AI. I'm such a picky bitch. 

This is what I was working on while I listened to the run-up to the election and the results as they came in. Steve Kornacki was the least hysterical and seemed to be wisely protecting his vocal cords throughout the evening. 

I have to think back to protesting the Vietnam war to recall a time when I had so much vested interest in politics. It's exhilarating and exhausting.

The library came through with some holds to assist in my decompression.

I may have a local outlet for this baker's dozen of WildHeart patches and I've figured out a way to finish the Ravager patch for Charlie. As yet, he has no vest to display his colors, and who knows if that will be something he's interested in doing? No telling.  

A handful of sets of Dirty Threads went to the post office yesterday. The sun made a brief appearance this morning, so I took the time to post a few new sets and, Lo-and-behold, this pack of rowdy devils jumped up, grabbed me by the throat, and leaped into my private stash.

Speaking of little devils, is anyone else watching Apple's 

"Small Prophets"? 

Strange and wonderful them Brits.