The vexations of the modern world

I had a plan to get a few things accomplished this evening, I truly did, and that seemed like a sign that maybe I was emerging, if only ever so slightly, from the state I've been in for just under a week. Oh, 6:45 p.m. PST, of November 8th; how I miss your hopeful outlook. Oh, it might not have felt hopeful at the time but, comparatively speaking, it was. I was still playing with being worried about the outcome of the election; the horror had not truly dawned as yet. My first thought on waking Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday was, "Trump will be president." On Sunday I made progress: it was my third thought. But it's not been cheery in my head, even as I recognize just how privileged my head is.

 Tonight, though, I was going to log my miles for Ride in the Rain and then create this cheery little post that was to segue from politics to events in the yard. But alas. I changed my Luum password while at work a week ago and now I can't remember what that new password is and the work server seems to be taking a break so I can't change the password again so here I am, back in the pre-election land of first-world problems. How I've missed being vexed by things that don't matter a damned bit. But I'd still like to log those wretched miles.

 After devoting a few hours of Saturday afternoon to shifting the geraniums into the garage for the winter (because, despite it feeling like a "now we can swim any day in November" sort of winter, there is talk of snow in the lowlands this year. We'll just see about that.), I made the rounds to pick what remained of the roses for what I assume will be the final bouquets of the year. But then, I've thought that before. Still, this seems pretty nice for November 12th:

While I wasn't entirely surprised by the roses, what with seeing them every morning I shift Bessie out of the garage, I was startled to come across a handful of raspberries while setting out some peanuts for a persistent squirrel on Sunday.

They were not, sadly, the sweetest or most flavorful raspberries I've ever had but given that they were there at all, doing their best to suggest there is hope in this wretched world, is something, right? Oh, the more scientifically inclined might suggest that it's not a good sign that the primroses are rioting in the kitchen window box, the camellias are showing flowers, and--well--I've got these late-appearing raspberries, but I say phooey to such an attitude. Logic is a pretty flower that smells bad; raspberries in November are a gift from the gods.