I was really hoping to have a strong start to the quarter–I was especially hoping to have a deep-cleaned house, since this quarter will be so busy.

The universe, of course, had other plans. While in Vienna for a conference, my medicine bag was lost (stolen?) and my phone straight up died.

And I’m really sick from something I caught on the plane back, so today the classroom is my dirty home. I will greet classes 342, 343, and 344 on Zoom!

Our old couches are really old: they were used when I bought them in 2007. They bear cat scratches and have almost no support, so hubby wanted something more comfortable.

I suggested doing a curb search: it is move in/out season in Davis, after all.

He shot me down, but I didn’t really know where one gets new couches. Then I remembered hearing that some conservatives think a furniture company traffics children, so I went to that company’s site & looked at what was on sale, opting for a couch / chair combo.

(Not because I endorse child trafficking, but because that’s not happening & I figure this conspiracy theory might be hurting their bottom line.)

I knew we needed some pillows, and I remembered seeing some cat themed ones years ago, so I ordered the slips and shoved the old couch pillows into them.

At the same time, I have been undertaking an organizational clean up around here. I’m not going to post pictures of the closets and under sink cabinets, but I sometimes open the bathroom cupboard when I’m stressed just to remind myself that I am getting things done and that, for this brief time, things are actually where they should be.

(Why am I stressed? The usual health stuff, some less usual family health stuff, having been forcibly moved to an academic “unit” & not knowing what that means, and the oncoming storm that is five courses (four preps) for Fall.)

The reorganization has necessitated some accent shelves and a small spice rack.

As the hubby and I are both bad about putting things up straight, we contracted a task rabbit, who then didn’t show up cause they were sick. A week later, they were still sick and then a different task rabbit just didn’t show up at all, so I figured out how to do the straight and even thing, cussed a lot, because the drill and I are not friends, but got it all up!

My husband has what he describes as “man feet.” Last Friday, I went to a very overdue pedicure & insisted he go with me. When I told him he would get to sit in a massage chair, he agreed.

He proudly announced it was his first time, and the ladies who worked there made a big deal about him–telling him he was lucky to have a wife who cared about his feet, etc. They clapped when they learned he’s an AEMT.

He was enjoying his pedicure so much that he let them upsell him to a manicure. He didn’t go for any polish, but he got the works, including paraffin.

I let him pick out my toe color.

Today, he went back to buy the bottle, so I can do my hands to match. On the way, he picked up some thank you flowers for the women–one of his toes, which had chronic pain, no longer hurts.

They gave him the nail polish for free.

This morning, I was honored to be on a remote panel for World Con.

I logged in and went to the space where you check your camera and mic. I adjusted the lighting, talked to the cats, and then admonished myself: “You haven’t had diarrhea for a couple of days, so of course you’re going to do it this morning.”

I went to the bathroom, took some anti-diarrheal medicine, came back and hit “join.”

Only then could I see a private message sent from the poor tech person responsible for our panel:

When sick in Oxford on a rainy day, what’s an American to do but cuddle up with a cuppa and read a book set in Oxford?

I started The Moving Toyshop, by Edmund Crispin (1946). The series features an Oxford literature professor as the detective and lines like the ones below, so I thought I would love it:

“I am getting old and stale. I act with calculation. I take heed for the morrow. This morning I caught myself paying a bill as soon as it came in. This must all be stopped. In another age I should have devoured the living hearts of children to bring back my lost youth. As it is . . . I shall go to Oxford.”

“Oxford is the one place in Europe where a man can do anything, however eccentric, and arouse no interest or emotion at all.”

But then there was the first look at the murder victim:

“There was no ring on her left hand, and the flatness of her breasts had already suggested that she was unmarried.”

Later, we’re told that a picture of the victim is surprising: “it was not the face of an ineffectual spinster.”

In these instances, my brain threw up defenses: “hey, we’re not all . . .”

What’s weird here isn’t so much that a 1946 novel written by a man was sexist.

I’ve been married and divorced, and I’m married now. I’ve been a mother every single second I’ve been an adult.

What’s weird is that I’m not a spinster, but my brain decidedly thinks I am. It’s always had a “we” response to statements about us . . . I mean, them . . . ever since I was a little girl.

I guess I was always a black sheep enough to know that I was destined to be the maiden aunt, well, not the maiden aunt, but the eccentric aunt who was a “bad” influence on the children.

It’s been a difficult few months. Some of the household stress isn’t mine to share, but I’ve been ill, with three separate trips to the ER.

Luckily, I’m more or less stable now, and I’m leaving the country tomorrow. For the first time in five years, I’m returning to Oxford to teach. The class is new, though. Instead of fantasy literature, we’ll be doing a writing in film studies course.

We get to watch some lovely things together, visit the Wilton House (featured in Outlander, Bridgerton, the Crown, etc.), and have Dr. Liam Creighton do a guest spot. Vanessa is my on-site coordinator, and we get a few days in London before we head to Oxfordshire.

Fingers crossed for continued stability!

Wallie William Waltonen married Winca Jewreen Graves. They went on to raise four children (Kativa, Monty Ree, Marty Dee, and Mindy Lee) and a trouble-making granddaughter, Karma Jewreen.

Today was the birthday of my paternal Grandfather’s Gma, Eleanor Maxwell, who was born and raised in Tennessee (1836-1919).

Eleanor’s daughter married Eleanor’s sister’s son.

In other words, my paternal Grandfather’s parents were first cousins, in case you were wondering how white trash I am.

A week ago, my husband made me go to the ER, due to an injury. They noticed a growth while examining me, and said I need a biopsy (which will happen Tuesday).

I was in so much pain on Monday that I couldn’t really walk, but held my three classes and my office hours over Zoom.

I’ve also been juggling appointments (my primary, my therapist, my allergist, my chiropractor, since I woke up yesterday unable to move my neck).

Getting a med I needed took four not-quick phone calls and two visits to pharmacies.

This is all on the heels of weeks and weeks of extraordinary stress about work, family health issues, and family conflict.

This has definitely made me less sympathetic to a student’s proposal that college instructors should allow students to miss 2-3 classes per term so the students can sleep in.