Very exciting visitors yesterday.

The two fawns below had alread been nursing for a minute before Gary looked up from his book. He was caught unprepared so he was a little rattled.

After they left, I walked to the front yard to watch where they were headed and discovered that when deer are rattled they make a sound like an exploding tea kettle, and then Mom walks away with the favored fawn like in Sophie’s Choice and leaves the other fawn in your backyard.

The fawn stayed by the fence until it suited Mom to come back, I suppose. It was gone an hour later.

(By the way, when the mother begins licking the fawn’s back I distinctly remember saying “Ohh, look.” Yet what is on the recording is a pretty distinct “Ohh, fuck.” Again with the unreliable memories.)

Gary’s biology degree (well, near-degree) has some benefits. For example, our shower never has mold. It has “slime mold.”

I see now there are even more descriptive names for some specific slime molds.

For example, dog vomit slime mold.

(It doesn’t grow out of dog vomit. It just looks like dog vomit.)

Other Slime molds:

Bubble Gum Slime Mold, Tapioca Slime Mold, Moon Poo Slime Mold, Chocolate Tube Slime Mold, Tree Hair Slime Mold

I had assembled all the documents I needed to submit for this Radiation Compensation Claim, but then I stopped and dragged my feet for a month.

I had a plan to scan in one document a day into the online portal, but then I went on a tear and scanned everything from 4:30 to 12:30. It would be so ironic if the scanner emitted so much radiation that I got cancer.

After that the form was easy. But it is odd to see “Manhattan Project” on every page of the form. That’s legitimately a part of history. I feel like Dad’s in heaven drinking with Robert Oppenheimer smoking, eating barbebue, and complaining how long it took me.

Anyway, done now. Now I wait for six months.

Here’s where I left off on the pitcher of peonies:

… when it was originally this: 

Let’s see if I can’t make peony petals look like they aren’t made of bologna.

 

First off, it’s very much like a musical: it was nominated for Tony awards. But it’s heavily orchestrated, and large swaths of it are in Italian.

Okay, [SPOILERS] below.

So, the romantic lead is a woman in her 20s who has had traumatic brain injury. She is touring Italy with her mother who is devoted to taking care of her daughter and used to shooing men away. However, one man refuses to be shooed and proposes.

Does Mom say, “She was kicked in the head by a pony at 12 and now has the emotional and mental capacity of a 12-year-old?” No. Because she wants her daughter to be happy, and because as a man behind me said, “She wants to unload her disabled daughter.”

So Mom doesn’t say those four little words, “Kicked in the head,” at any point. I was listening for it. So that’s problematic.

Also, isn’t there a problem with consent if someone with a mental capacity of a 12-year-old agrees to marry someone else? I suppose not if the parent agrees. I think in Oklahoma you can marry at 13 if your parents consent.

It does have lush orchestration and many comedic moments with the Italian family who is only aware the proposed bride is “special”.

Like I said, problematic.

But as Friend Anne said, “No one gets tossed in a sack and thrown in the river like in Rigoletto,” so there is that.

Where we ate: We have wanted to eat for years at Olive and Oak, and this was the night. I had checked the on-line menu earlier and discovered that other than the giant hundred dollar steaks the food was all a) unfamiliar to my stomach or b) seafood in St. Louis or c) spicy or d) unusual in some other way to make it not reliably digestible. I skimmed past Oysters … Lubina … Goat … Sole … Pork steak/chicken wings with spicy sauce … Carpaccio … until I considered having a hamburger at the best restaurant in town like a child.

Then I saw they had lamb chops. I was careful to start with bread, and only eat two of the three chops given, and then eat just the best part of the butterscotch pudding and it was all delicious. When food is twice as expensive as I might expect then I expect it to be at least twice as delicious, and this was.

What I wore: This week’s performance was about a young woman who has traumatic brain injury. I dressed on theme in a colorful kimono, flowy pants, and a helmet.

I had to swap out my daily wig for a bob that would hold up better in the drizzly rain. I may go back to changing up the wig for every performance. I do have a long barrel-curled one I’ve only worn once because I was just too much. That might suit for Romeo and Juliet. What wig says Streetcar Named Desire?

(Oh, calm down. I didn’t wear a helmet.)

Who we saw: We sat next to a young woman who whooped and showed her appreciation for everything. It turned out she works at the Opera and was showing her encouragement for the extras.

The family SalmonPants brought children again, but different children. I feel like I have imprinted like a duck on SalmonPants and his entourage.

I know former smokers turn to food, and (per my late brother) recovering alcoholics turn to Altoids and baby carrots. Now I see from this Huffington Post article that some GLP1 weight-loss shot users turn to smells now that tastes aren’t as gratifying.

I personally have not had that experience, but I haven’t tried a perfume in years given that Gary can’t tolerate perfumes anymore.

Come to think of it, I have noticed how lush the Pricey Lancome Skin Cream smells.