Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

You know how when the temperature is below freezing, fog can form ice on streets? Yeah, I wiped out going down Phinney Ridge on my bike this morning. TL;DR: I'm fine, but my bike isn't.

I spun around a little as I slid down the hill. That must have looked kind of cool if you weren't experiencing it.

At least this time there were no other vehicles involved. The driver of the car behind me stopped and checked in, which was nice, and said that it was a narrower escape for me than it seemed. Uh, yikes?

I landed on my right hip, shoulder, and elbow yet again, but this time I'm completely ambulatory if bruised and scraped. Yes, I have taken ibuprofen.

Here's the property damage:

1. I tore a hole in my serious mittens. That's not too bad; the grippy stuff on the palms was already wearing off due to — wait for it — riding my bike in them.
2. I tore a hole in my hi-viz jacket. It, too, was looking pretty grungy and therefore less hi-viz. Not so bad.
3. The handles of both my brakes are pointing in weird directions. I stopped halfway home and walked the rest of the way.
4. I couldn't even find the LED from my headlamp. Mind you, I wasn't too inclined to look hard for it because cars were trying to drive on the icy street I'd just wiped out on.

So, shopping at REI is in my near future.

As for the necessary bike repair, that too comes at a good time. My rear derailleur has become unreliable, which probably means I've worn the cassette down. I've ridden it about 3000 miles.

You know, the streets didn't look questionable for the first mile or so of the ride. It only takes one icy patch, though, and Seattle's many steep slopes don't help. Am I some kind of maniac or what?

Edited to add: I hope that wiping out on your bike isn't one of these things that come in threes.

When I was a child in Florida, I heard of people putting salt on the roads in places far to the north. I marveled at the idea. Yesterday afternoon, at the age of nearly fifty-six, I salted my front steps and walk for the very first time.

And then I observed the next morning, after a night well below freezing, that there was no ice in places that didn't get salted, nor was there liquid water. The places that I salted? Damp. Somebody forgot to tell the local weather gods that sublimation isn't supposed to happen on this planet or something.

Hurricane Idalia – gotta love that hillbilly-sounding name – has passed through north Florida, delivering to my hometown of Gainesville the highest winds that it's seen in my lifetime so far.

Said my son the news maven, trees got blown down and cars got flipped, but there was no flooding in Gainesville. My friend fizzgig described it as a "yard cleanup event". Florida, man.

So it looks as if Gainesville continues to lead a charmed life, as in many ways I did when I lived there. The same can't be said of Cedar Key, FL, a sleepy little beach town on the Gulf coast due west of Gainesville where I've been many times. My parents loved it. It's underwater right now; we'll see how well it recovers.

I've texted the Death Doula. She's fine, and as far as she knows, Mom's memory care facility is too. Most of the city has not lost power, but those falling trees took some power lines with them in outlying areas, natch. Honestly, a quarter million people without power across the state isn't that bad by hurricane standards.

But in case you're wondering, a hit this hard has been historically rare in the northern half of the state. Idalia is the worst in that part of Florida since 1896.

I was awakened at 0352 by the fire-and-CO alarm in my foyer. It wasn't the discreet chirps that mean low battery; it was a full on alarm. I figure this may have had something to do with yesterday's poor air quality, even though I had the windows closed and the HVAC on. That, and I've been a bad girl and not replaced my smoke alarm batteries since I moved in last spring.

So I replaced the battery in that alarm. (Mental note: I have two others, and only one battery left.) About two hours later, the alarm sounded again for about five seconds. It hasn't sounded since.

And I'd been sleeping so soundly. Sheesh.

Woe #1: In sex toy news, Zelda – cleaned up Griselda – isn't quite cleaned up enough. She works fine, but she has enough small, alarming-looking artifacts, including one at the very tip, that I wouldn't feel comfortable asking anyone else to try a copy. Edited to add: it says something about the precision of 3D-printing that I saw the artifacts on the physical object before I could find them on a screen.

So, I fired up Blender. The broken-up mesh had a few patches of much denser vertices corresponding to the artifacts, so I did a merge, busted the mesh up again, and did more smoothing. I think we're good now, so I've sent it off to the fabrication shop, which is sending me a t-shirt for being such a good customer. Meh, it'll be better to do market research after the holidays anyway: people will be home with less to do.

Anti-woe: This time last year I had no sex toys that worked for me. I now have three at the very least. If you count Blanca II, which works if not for frequent use, and the three sisters of Clara that I haven't tried, I have seven. I'm kind of wondering what to do with the rest of my sex toys. The Tickler says I should hold onto the (large, expensive) Sybian in case I throw That Kind Of Party, which isn't inconceivable.

Woe #2: I'm wearing head to toe black stretch velvet now because it was below freezing this morning. I'm supremely pettable, but there's no one around to pet me. Le sigh.

Woe #3: Speaking of the cold, simultaneous numb toes and boob sweat shouldn't be possible, but they are. Tomorrow morning there will be more socks during my bike ride.

I didn't say "Happy Pride" anywhere on the internet. In light of the abortion situation it didn't feel right. Yet another reason to resent the bastards.

Friday: On my way to Capitol Hill on the train, I ran into a Goth who was on her way to a protest that I found out about from her. I didn't join her. Instead, I got something to eat, and proceeded to drink and flirt my way through Friday night outside the Wildrose. My main regret is staying out too late, but it's not my only regret.

Saturday: Met up with Taller Woman and Lady K on Broadway for some strolling, plus some sitting in the shade with eats and drinks. I took Lady K's wise counsel – she's my age – and got to bed at a reasonable hour. Ran into Shiny H and R of R and namoda fame. For all of five seconds, I thought they knew each other, but I ended up introducing them. Of course I lost Lady K in the crowd right then, because Pride.

Sunday: Donned my black leather bikini, vintage black patent collar, and black Stetson. Caught the start of the parade. Found the dykes on bikes where they parked and chatted up the one who had the Leather Pride flag on the back of her bike. Got cruised by a third woman while doing so. I may actually see the biker at my next play party; if so, she becomes the Biker.

Walked back up the parade route looking unsuccessfully for the Lambert House contingent. Got asked to do an interview by a local TV reporter about Pride happening for the first time in three years, plus the impact of abortion thereupon. Again, it didn't feel right. I declined the offer. The people who need to be given the mic are the ones more directly affected than I am: younger cis women and trans men.

Bopped up to the 'Rose. Chatted with married lesbians. Are they worried about the direction of things? Yup. Were they still hanging out at the 'Rose? Yup. Had to educate one of them about how you don't ask trans people for their dead name. Had spontaneous dinner with R & namoda. Hit the 'Rose again. Went melty for a pair of big brown eyes – hey, at least she's over 30, she said. Went home. Crashed.

Did I hang around too many people when the pandemic isn't quite over? Yup. Did it help my mental health when I needed it to? Oh yeah.

Irony: I woke up too early this morning because I'd set the temperature in my bedroom too low. That, or leaving the windows open upstairs had cooled the whole house down too much.

Edited to add: I have two sunburns about the size and shape of corn chips, one on each shoulder, but they're not severe. SPF 50 FTW.

I've been holing up in the Devil Girl Pad even more than usual because Seattle has been soggalicious all weekend. It's been rainy enough that I'm going on my third day of walking over the ridge instead of riding FM Bike in the morning. I miss her.

I woke up around 0300 and never went back to sleep. Arg! I dreamt that I was working, and that dream is about to come true. I agreed to do Lambert House stuff this evening, but at least they've been good enough to set things up so I can do it remotely. This is going to be a long day.

I've heard that if you dream that you start reading in a dream, you wake up. That's exactly what happened this morning.

So in keeping with quarantine and the possibility of losing access to my stylist again, I've been growing out the black color in my hair to reveal epic grey roots. Grey is, of course, much easier to color than black or my former natural brown. The grey part of my hair is now a deep violet, and the ends are black. I love it!

And since I'm spending next weekend with the Tickler, I've resolved to get beautified: zappy Sunday, waxing by someone new, and nails by yours truly.

And may I say how fabulous it is to have sunshine and high temperatures in the eighties? Summer in Seattle really does make up for the yuck that is winter here.

Shallow fashion details, bike ride edition:

• burgundy print headband from the 2011 Burn under my chartreuse bike helmet
• sports bra, t-shirt, and two turtle necks under a black hoodie
• light gloves under mountain climber's mittens from Outdoor Research
• black workout tights under my Pride flag/US flag leggings from Bombsheller
• two pairs of wool socks and one pair of Pride socks under Merrell hiking boots

Was all that adequate? Barely. I'm warming getting the sensation back in my toes with a pair of nuked mittens filled with, I think, rice, which are a long-ago gift from my ex.

I tried posting a variant of the above to the Leading Data Mine, but it assumed my post was a list of items for sale. Twice. So I deleted it. Goths: we break your machine learning model.

ETA: I hadn't ridden since Saturday because of all the ice. Watching the sunrise from FM Bike did wonders for my mental state. Yes, there are icy patches on the Green Lake inner trail, mostly on the south side, but the Seattle Parks Dept. is pretty handy with salt and, for the really slick bits, traffic cones.

I went on a stay-in date with the Tickler Monday night. It involved small-scale logistical planning and liberal use of my bus pass. In addition to the Tickler's prodigious charms, she had the extra attraction of known electricity at her place: high winds had knocked out the power to much of my neighborhood. I saw from my microwave clock, however, that my building never lost power.

Speaking of the annual vileness that is November weather in Seattle, I would like some sunlight and dry now, please. And no snickering from the Goth Gallery.

Gotta get going on the birthday preparations now that Halloween has come & gone, namely Eyelashes for the skirt, the Siberian Siren's partner A about boozes & bartending, and above all food. Gluten free is an absolute must because the Tickler and one other guest can be laid low for a day by gluten. Lambert House inspired a plan for the sweets, and yes, it's a surprise.