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Sweat, Tears, Blood and more Blood. And finally, Baseball. - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
Sweat, Tears, Blood and more Blood. And finally, Baseball.
Saturday, Schmaturday. This was perhaps one of my longest days of the year. Also, one of the nicest.

The sweat came at 8 a.m.  Usually, I go to a 9:00 workout on Saturdays, but  had two reasons to move it up.  Mainly, I wanted to be home by 10, since Eleanor was having a gaggle of Buddhists over for the ritual installation of her personal scroll in the room we have repurposed for that.  It also gave me an extra hour of recovery before a blood-donation appointment I'd made, through the gym, for 11:30 this morning.  I woke up before my fairly early alarm, made it there a little early, and was home when said gaggle began arriving.

All together, there were five members of the group (plus the cute child of one of them) all coming here for the first time. I was tasked with some furniture arranging, making coffee in case anybody wanted it, and most importantly helping to wrangle the animals, who quite possibly had never had six OMGNEWPEOPLE in the house at any one time.  Ebony was fine; she got most of her sniffing in out on the lawn, and by the time the chanting started, she seemed either entranced or bored by it all:


Michelle, the evil middle-child kitty, was her usual self: intrusive and loud-MEOWWWWWy all over the place. But the real surprise was Zoey. She's usually pretty personable around company when it arrives one or two at a time, but this group caused her, for the first time in her going-on-seven years here, to out-and-out hide from everybody. I eventually rounded her up and showed her off, and she wasn't especially resistive of the attention, but it was just unexpected.

As was the upshot of the investiture ceremony itself. The scroll goes in a wall-mounted case with swinging doors; Eleanor is building her own permanent wooden one, but was lent the temporary paper model you see to the left of the lamp and above the blonde head in the front row. Unfortunately, when they began the actual loading, it fell off the wall. Nobody wanted that to happen once it had been consecreated, so it's been postponed until the new, real one is finished. One of the women who came this morning- the one who introduced Eleanor to the practice through a random acquaintance at Wegmans a few weeks ago- told us she'd gone years without taking this formal step, so Eleanor's fine waiting until all things are ready.

Since they were all there, they chanted the morning prayer sequence for a good 10-15 minutes. I'm still just learning the most basic of basics about this whole journey my beloved is on, but I took an evil sort of pleasure in wondering if the idiots next door were home and, if they were, if they'd be skeered by hearing some prayers being recited in a fur-ner language.


I cut out just as they were ending, in order to get back for the 11:30 a.m. blood draw.  I did get to donate, but was one of the lucky ones.  They set up outside the gym from 9-12, and classes were running from before the first appointments until the last one ended at 11.  The result was that many of the people who signed up, especially the ones coming straight from the workout, didn't meet the donation requirements; many had heart rates that were still too high (although mine usually comes down into the 60s pretty quickly after finishing), or because they hadn't eaten before their class were too drained to meet one of the other tests.  Because I'd given myself a good almost three hours before going in, I didn't have that problem. My BP was higher than I would've liked, but it was still okay to donate.


Then, after lunch, some joint afternoon napping and me finishing a lawnmowing job from yesterday, we dealt with the other kind of blood: the kind that's even more thicker than water.

Emily and Cam have been out in Palmyra for just over two years now, and while I've been out there many times and stayed overnight with them on several of them, Eleanor had not been back since our initial move-in trip in 2014.  We planned to go out there tonight, and after some fitting and starting, stuck to the plan and we picked up foodage for all of us and then made the 90-minute trip east.

Great time.  They appreciated the food, did some cat-wrangling of their own so we could both see the younger, bigger and skittishest of their kitties, and we watched, and loved, the new Jungle Book movie with them.  By 8, our respective days were hitting the twelve-hour mark and we headed home, but with the joy that is baseball on the radio to accompany us.

Eleanor's taken to watching a Mets game with me most weekends.  She enjoys the wordplay among the TV announcers, who are among the best in the business.  I think, though, this was the first time she got to hear an extended play-by-play from the very different yet equally thoughtful radio crew, which I have an app for on my phone.

And so, as the miles peeled by, and in between the actual events of a well-played, close ballgame, Howie and WayneO managed to work in references to Mark Twain, Spiro Agnew, "Ye Olde WOR Mets Radio Network," the definition of plugged nickels, a Philadelphia Inquirer report of an 1885 no-hitter, and the Nationals' seemingly endless supply of September relief pitchers.  Eleanor asked a bunch of questions about some of the finer points they were referencing, just as I'd been asking her a bunch on the way to the kids about some of the finer points of her newfound brand of Buddhism.

Despite their injuries and occasional bad managerial decisions, the Mets still make a pretty good team. And so do we:)
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