The Sweet Memories

Mom's 80th Birthday Party

Mom with grandchildren & her aunt Sallie

I miss having a mother.  I missed having a mother for much of my adult life when she was alive, although I knew my mom cared about me.  I was going to write those stories about how we didn't get along, but I've decided not to for now, just the sweet memories.

Shopping with my mother is a pervasive memory.  Shopping at Lee's Children's Store on Central, Fedway downtown, Lynn's at Coronado.  I remember going to the store where she had her hats made.  There were also trips to Henry Hillson's wholesale store, where we picked up cheap dresses and clothing.  When I was older, she took me to her store- CarLin's, the expensive women's store.

There were trips to Vicker's Toy Store, buying Nancy Drew books at the office store at Nob Hill, grocery shopping. 

I remember one Valentine's Day present in particular-- a little brass doll bed with a red and gold bedspread and cylinder shaped bolster.

I remember drives to Four Hills Country Club for swimming, my mother taking us to swimming lessons at Menaul Club and the Tennis Club, as well.

Her cooking and baking- especially golden brownies and surprise cookies.  Her "company juice"- grape juice blended with bananas.  Chopped liver, knishes, packaged scalloped potatoes, and, strangely enough, broiled liver, although not a favorite.  Her special meal, for some birthdays, especially Richard's, was shish kabobs.

When she was younger, mom liked to entertain.  I learned organizing for entertaining from her.  She laid out the serving plate she would use.  I vaguely remember a neighborhood Channukah party when I was young.  Knowing now how hard it is to turn out lots and lots of latkes, I really appreciate that.

I remember my parents coming back from their annual New Year's trip to Las Vegas with Doris and Jack.  My mom didn't gamble, but was proud of the Lalique party favors she brought back.

I rarely give my mother credit for anything, but she gave me my love of reading. My mom liked magazines.  I remember Life, Look, Good Housekeeping, Ladies' Home Journal and McCall's coming every month.  Mom enjoyed seeing that I got the Betsy McCall paper dolls from each magazine.  When I was old enough to read, she saw that I got Humpty Dumpty Magazine, Children's Digest, Highlights, Jack and Jill, American Girl.  She took us to the library, both the Ernie Pyle branch not far from our house and the downtown library.  As I mentioned, she supported my Nancy Drew habit.

Although my mother wasn't very demonstrative with love and affection, I know she was proud of her children and wanted the best for us.  You know, writing this has made me smile, remembering my mother.  That's a good thing.

Taking Care...or Not?

My father died in 2001, and we took care of my mother for five years.  She was an unhealthy diabetic who didn't care well for herself.  It was easier for us than most, we were able to hire people to be at her house-- at first during part of the day and the night until she went to bed.  Later we had someone in the house with her at all times.  For awhile, we had two major caretakers, Erin, the young, talkative woman who came during the day, and Mary, the calm, kind, dependable woman, who came in the evening. 

Erin wasn't the brightest bulb, as I especially noticed when she brought my mother Crispy Creme doughnuts so she wouldn't "need" her insulin.  Erin, I think, really liked being with my mother and treated her like friend, of sorts.  She brought her things and talked to her a lot.  She drove me crazy-- she pretty much did what she wanted-- bought a lot of junk food, and didn't always follow the rules.  In some ways, that was good for us.  She helped my mother take her insulin injections when she really shouldn't have.  At any rate, at some point I felt Erin was getting overinvoved and not doing a good job, so I asked that she not come back.

After a string of temporary people, we found an agency who had someone who would live in the house with mom, with someone covering her on her days off.  I don't remember her name, but she was a small, gruff person.  It was hard to like her, and her demeanor with my mom was much different than Erin's.  At the time, I thought this was better.  This lady turned out to be kind of lazy and not at all to mom's liking, and, was, in the end, the cause of her death.

My mother had several falls at night, both with Erin and the new lady.  My question was always, "Why didn't they hear my mom get up?"  She couldn't have done it quietly.  One winter morning my mother, who could barely walk around or do anything on her own, in her nightgown, unlocked the front door, pushed open the heavy screen door, went down the step she usually had trouble with, and ended up falling in the driveway, where some passerby found her and brought her in.  Where was her caregiver all of that time?

This incident put her in the hospital, and was, what I believe was responsible for her life ending.  She was never comfortable after that.  I blame her caregiver, and, to some extent, myself.  In retrospect, I think I may have deprived my mother of the one friend she had, the one who kept things light and interesting for her.  Perhaps I was jealous that she had more of a link with my mother than I had.  For some reason I thought my mother needed "tough love," rather than enjoyment and flexibility. 

I carry guilt-- for not loving her enough, for not having a close relationship with her, for perhaps precipitating the events that led to her death.  I think she was ready to go.  She sometimes talked of seeing my father.  She didn't have much, if any, enjoyment of life.  I don't know if I said goodbye.  Goodbye, mom.

The End of a Life/ The Beginning of a Story

Four years ago today my mother died. I wasn't sure about the exact date and had to call my brother to ask. Besides the reminder that she died right before Christmas, I thought of her because my friend's father died yesterday.

My brother, Richard, nephew, Nathan, and I were sitting in my mother's kitchen. Richard and Nathan, I think, were watching a movie on someone's laptop. My mother was sleeping under the influence of morphine in her hospital bed in the den. We knew the end had to come sometime. I went into the den to check on her. She was still, but breathing, I thought. Richard came in to check, and informed me that she wasn't breathing. She had gone sometime while we were socializing in the kitchen. There were tears, even though we were expecting this. I called Hospice,  and, I assume, my sister in Tucson. From there on I vaguely remember the sequence of things, but few details.

I was not overly emotional. We had had a long, hard haul with our mother, and her passing was somewhat of a relief for us and a release for her. Now I am recalling the feelings of the experience of her illness and her passing. Regret. Guilt. Very little obvious, overt love, although there is some love for my mother, some sweet memories and tenderness. Now, after four years, with the availability of this often blank blog, I feel the need to tell our story--my mother's and mine, or at least part of it.

Production

I just finished the ten books I'm bringing as gifts to my book group Christmas get together.  I probably wasn't as careful with them as I was with the batch of BCD books I made, but they're passable, bordering on nice.  It makes me think about perfection .  My initial thought is that mass production excludes perfection.  This isn't what I've been taught.  The assembly line provides, in a sense, mastery, at each stage.  So, then, was it because my project involved so many jobs that I did none of them with precision?  Multiplicity in tasks produces boredom, followed by disinterest, followed by deterioration of the product?

Finally!

I've thought about blogging this past three months--had ideas, experiences--even wrote some while Michael was in the hospital. I've had the interest, just not the discipline. Maybe tonight I have it all.

Today I took Caprice to an animal communicator. I didn't have a pressing need. I saw an ad at the pet store and thought I'd try it and maybe find out how Caprice was feeling and if anything hurt her. I don't know if I've ever believed in this, but it couldn't hurt. The woman started out by saying Caprice had lots of questions. Why was she here?

The communicator knew I had Canon and the ages of my dogs, so it was no surprise that she told me Caprice was annoyed with Canon. Why did I get him? She didn't like him sleeping on the bed. He took her toys. She wanted more walks. There were surprises. Caprice "said" She didn't play with toys anymore because of Canon. She had a pain in her rear area-- spine or leg, perhaps. This is something I've been worrying about, but hadn't mentioned. Her "daddy" doted more on Canon. Near closing she mentioned that there are lots of angels around Caprice. I wonder...

Real communication or not, there were some real reminders about what my dogs need--individual attention, more exercise and play. I'm glad to oblige...

Sunday Morning Here and There

Sunday morning started at 6:30 when Canon and I went for a walk with Roxy, Jasper and Nancy in our old neighborhood.  We walked by those landmarks Caprice and Rondo were familiar with- along the arroyo backing the old neighborhood, to the little strip of park and  play equipment, past 5913 Canyon Vista (where, by the way, our self-landscaping in the front looks great), past familiar houses and garderns, and then back to Nancy's house.  Since I had felt that Canon wasn't quite with it on the teeter in agility class, we practiced the teeter with cheese sprayed on it.  Canon was so busy licking up the cheese, that he didn't even notice the bump when the teeter hit the ground.  Cheese conquers all! 

Caprice got her walk after we got home, with Canon howling in the background.

Then on to Santa Fe for Michael to buy a printer from a photographer who was moving to Mexico after a caretaking gig at a house in the mountains with an absolutely gorgeous view.  The property was for sale for a mere $750,000 for someone who didn't mind riding on a washboard road to a  house in less than perfect condition.  Brunch, then, at nearby Harry's Roadhouse.  Good food, lovely garden.  Not our usual Frontier Sunday, but a nice change.

Dog Walk

Today's start was a fairly ordinary one.   I walked Caprice and Canon.  But it was a special day, too.  This morning we were walking as part of the Morris Foundation's K9 Cancer Walk, as virutal team member of the Bone Cancer Dogs team walking at Estes Park, CO.

I put on my tee shirt from 2 Dogs, 2000 Miles-- the one that has Rondo's name, as well as hundreds of other dogs stricken with the beast.  I also wore my tripawd necklace and the button with Rondo on it that I got at the BCD reunion last year.  As we walked out the gate, I told Caprice and Canon that this was for Rondo.  They weren't interested, but my eyes teared up.

It's hot here by 9 a.m., but it was important for us to walk when those others were walking.  We enjoyed our walk.  The poodles were fairly easy to control when they saw other dogs and I tried to keep them in shade as much as possible.  It was a lonely walk, but in spirit I was with so many others.

When we got home I took pictures of the dogs and my penstemon barbatus "Rondo."  The one that I planted in the courtyard sports two different colors of flowers, just like my two different colored poodles (OK, a bit smaltzy).  I sat down at the computer to upload the pictures and saw that my friend Nancy had donated to the Morris Foundation.  What a great end to our walk.  A sweet morning!

Everybody's Fine!

Just watched Everybody's Fine, a 2009 Robert De Niro movie about a widower who sets out to visit his four children who avoid visiting him, learning about his family, maybe for the first time.  Nobody is fine in his family, as all hide secrets and resentment from their father, who had  high expectations of his children, who settled for slightly lower than his standards.

To me the movie resonated, not because of settling, but more because of the lack of communication between father and children.  My own guilt trip, as I didn't communicate much with either parent, and didn't even know their expectations.  Most likely it was that I grow up happy and successful, but it was never discussed, nor were discussions of hopes, dreams, strengths, successes, or failures.  I'm actually not writing to lament , but because this set me to mulling about relationships, to wondering how others would see this movie, and their family lives in it.  A short mull, however, I'm ready for bed!

Guest Blog by Michael Vann

I am very pleased to be a guest blogger. When you first see the no W symbol your first thought may be no George W. Bush. That is not the gist of this article. What we are working with today is to reduce the English alphabet to a good round number like 5 squared. I will tell you some of my background involving this issue.

When I was a young lad in the first grade I was struggling with my teacher on a number of topics. One such issue was the alphabet. When I got to reciting the last part of the alphabet, T U V W X Y Z, my response was always “tee u vee double vee x y z”. My teacher would say, " No, no it is double u."  I would look at the alphabet and it surely looked like a double v to me. My reply would be,  "This is my final answer," since she would not let me call a friend for the correct answer. This resulted in my spending an extra year in the first grade.

Lo and behold, same thing happened for the next two years. Finally, the schools learned about social promotion and I exited my first grade encounter. To this day, when people ask me who was my first grade teacher, my reply, "Which one? I had three."   This started my public school challenge. When I was in high school, having reached the age of 22, allowing me legally to go drinking with my teachers, they finally said I should abandon my pursuit of a higher education and get a job roughnecking on an oil rig.  (So funny my girlfriend would not even agree to normal necking, more less on an oil rig).  To this day I still say the only thing that kept me out of college was high school.

An example of a sentence using u u instead of W (by the way is double u according to my teachers) is:

UUednesday, uuild UUee UUilly uueasel uuas uuriting uuonderful uuiggly uuords uuhich uuere uueird, uuhen uuishing uuise uuitch UUanda UUhite uuould uuelcome uuise uuhiplash UUally uuabbit (sic) uuith uuet uuater uuith uuhich uuould uuake uuhole uuorld uuide uueb.

Barbara's Note:  I had NO part in writing this!

Happy birthday, Canon!!!!!

We ended our family wedding weekend with a visit to the Albuquerque Museum of Art and History to see the From Turner to Cezanne exhibition and it really was quite lovely.  It is composed of a sample from the Davies Sisters Collection at the National Museum Wales.  It includes work by Manet, Monet, and Van Gogh,  Pissarro and Renoir.  I especially liked the meticulous, detailed watercolor work of Turner.  No picture of this small paintings can do them justice-the tiny strokes, the use of pencil, the layered color.

I've seen works by these artists in other museums, but this small collection was especially nice to see in Albuquerque.  How about these recognizable styles?

What is remarkable to me is the story of the Davies sisters who compiled this art collection mostly during the nineteen centeruy.  What a wonderful legacy, to be able to purchase these works of art and leave them for others to enjoy.  These women were community oriented, putting their collecting on hold during World War I to do their part to help.  I'm fascinated by these women.  The video about them was as interesting as the paintings!

Bad Boy!!!

An internet friend published a blog today titled "Hare Core Chewing"  with pictures of her dogs chewing on bones.  I thought she was talking about Canon, who today tore apart my sister's $200 sandal, chewed on the toe of my brother-in-law's dress shoe, and scattered a bad of Goldfish around the living room (mostly uneater).

Enough said.  Canon may get neutered for his birthday after all!

Neverending Story...

I checked previous blog entries before beginning to write this, not wanting to duplicate.  That in itself would be appropriate, for my story is of pulling weeds...again...and again...and again.

I'd put off pulling the majority of weeds in our front yard (we won't even discuss the back!).  It was too hot, or too dry, or I was too tired, or my back hurt.  My excuses were also neverending.  The looks of the yard even embarrassed me-- obviously not enough, though.  Michael kept saying he'd put week killer on the section near the street, and actually did once, but it didn't put a dent in the unwelcome little green visitors.  So, for the past two evenings I've been out pulling weeds from between the rocks and our "weed protection" layer.  Last night when I went in at dusk, I thought I was almost done-- could only see a few of the tall weedss.  There were just as many waiting for me this evening.  Did you ever notice when you see one and go to pull it, suddenly there are other little suckers around it?  You clean an area and walk by it the next morning and there are more?  I am not fond of the green invaders.  Aliens would be more welcome--especially if they eat weeds!

Warm Fuzzy Feelings

I've often envied my sister and siter-in-law, who have made so many friends in the process of raising their children.  They have a comeraderie based on common experiences.  One of the things that makes me feel good is that I do have that comeraderie from different experiences.  Today, after a poodle birthday party for Canon, Roxy, and Mr. B, I took time to appreciate that.

During my teaching career of 34 years, most of my friends have come from the people I work with.   Then, there's my book group, started by a couple of women who were parents of my students. We have come to share more than the stories of others.

My dogs have led me to other friends-- poodle groups, of course, made on the Internet and in real life.  People I have never met face to face have supported me and given me advice.  Through the Standard Poodle Yahoo group, I met Karen, who's the breeder of my Canon, who in turn, led me to my friends, Nancy and Jeremy, who belong to Roxy and Jasper.  Canon (and Nancy) led me to obedience and agility classes, and the Poodle club.

Rondo led me to the Bone Cancer Dogs group.  With these people I share a common, if tragic experience, but one that has led me to grow more than I thought possible at this age. 

I talk about dogs, mostly, books, people.  We make bonds with people with whom we share commonalities.  I have that, too. 

Grief and Anger

Another positive title, huh?

I'm disturbed that Caprice's orbital cellulitis is something that has to be approached through surgery.  I've been troubled lately by the dogs who have had to be released.  I'm worried about my friend, Julie, who is undergoing radiation now for her breast cancer, and my friend Carol's husband who has so many problems right now.  I am angered by THE oil spill, a sink hole in Guatemala, lives lost needlessly every day.

I sit at my computer and cry.  Thinking of some training twenty or so years back, I think of Kubler-Ross's stages of grieving and google it.  Grief NOW has 7 stages!  Why is grief even more intricate now?  When I look at the stages, what has been added is more resolution, working through the grief.  I return to anger- the way the world and my world seem to be crumbling.  Or maybe the drepression, loneliness stage.

This is life.  Mostly we live with it.  We show denial, guilt, anger, loneliness, and perhaps, most of all acceptance.  There is so little we can change.  Are we helpless?  I honestly don't know.  And here I am, back to anger, and lacking clarity and comphrehensibility, above all.

Worries, worries, worries, worries...

I really don't worry about a lot of things, but my furry children are an exception.  Since the poodles can't tell me when something is bothering them, I have to figure it out.  I'm often right, like when Rondo started limping or when I insisted something was wrong with Caprice even though my beloved vet told me it was the heat.

When Persi was a puppy and I had brough her into the vet, he reminded me that "Most puppies grow up to be adults."  I think of that every time something is wrong with one of my dogs, but I still worry.

Most of the time it's upset stomaches, as evidenced by noisy abdomens or less than perfect stools.  Yesterday it was Canon being unusually quiet.  Today Caprice has scared me.  She wheezed a bit on our walk this morning and seemed a bit off, so we came back early.  I didn't think much of it.  Both dogs ate their breakfast, laced with a lamb dinner patty.  An hour later I opened (or tried to open) Caprice's mouth to give her a prednisone.  Usually this is an easy task.  Today she cried and ran away from me-- wouldn't let me get near her, hiding under a rose bush.  PANIC!!!!  I tried to look in her mouth.  She kept her teeth clamped.

Emergency vet?  First stop the Internet to my poodle groups.  OK, vet.  When I got her collar, she perked up, picked up that tucked tail.  We went on a little walk around the block, tail wagging, tongue hanging out of her mouth, as usual.  When we came back, Canon greeted her, she tucked her tail and wouldn't come in.  She was afraid of me again.  What happened?

I've been fighting my "Get to the doctor" instincts.  She ate a little bit of cheese, drank a tiny bit, and is now resting.  Am I worried?  Hell, yes!

Can a Pessimist Believe?

I think I've always been a glass-half-empty kind of girl.  I call it pragmatism or realism, not having expectations that would not be met.  Would a pessimist believe in an afterlife? Heaven?  Would a pessimist pray?  Would a pessimist believe?

I get mad at myself for my pessimism.  In the Bone Cancer Dogs group, I am wary of people's hopes that their dogs will beat the odds which are so damn against them.  Yet, there was the hope that Rondo would be one of those.  How could I not believe?

My friend is fighting breast cancer right now.  I should believe that the mastectomy (and one to come) and the chemo and the radiation she is currently undergoing will take care of it.  There is a part of me that wonders how long she will be here.  Am I staring a fear?  Lack of belief?

A couple of years ago two teachers were discussing the tragedy of our principal losing her son when he disappeared in the mountains in a blizzard.  They said they couldn't get through this without their religion and belief in God.  It may be God.  It may be hope.  It is Belief.

Do I believe?  I don't know.  But I do hope.

If I had only known...

...my last moments with loved ones were last moments, would they have been different?  Would I share the love and joy of being with them or would I grieve before it was time?

I'm crying now over I dog I never knew, owned by a person I'll never know.  I'm crying for them, and I'm crying for me.  If only those moments were different...If only they weren't the last...

There may be such a thing as karma, or an afterlife, but I don't think time rewinds.  A gift? If we are able to relive the "should have" dones would we be happier?  The endings may be the same.

Michael's Memory Drill

My mind is empty, however, Michael's just may be too full. He just told me about his latest mind experiment.  Whatever time he puts into the microwave, he thinks of the cable channel that corresponds-- 44 seconds- Bravo, 35 seconds- Weather Channel.  He's going to have trouble with baked potatoes!

Two Poodle Night/ Morning

It doesn't happen often, but it did last night and again this morning-- Caprice and Canon both slept with us on the bed.  I wish I could have taken a picture, but since I was in bed with them, that made it kind of hard.  When Canon first came to live with us, he slept in his crate, but it didn't seem long at all before he was making his bid for the bed.  Caprice would be on the bed, but when Canon came near it, she growled at him.  I reprimanded her and invited Canon up.  Eventually, Caprice would get up and on the loveseat.  Canon was wary of Caprice.  If he got off the bed in the middle of the night and Caprice was up, he walked back and forth between Michael and me, sticking his nose under the covers-- in our faces, our butts, whatever he found.  I had to get up, show him a clear path to the bed, and beg him to come up so he wouldn't be bothering us.

Things have changed now.  Canon has charge of the bed.  I haven't seen him growl at Caprice.  She just chooses to be away when he's on the bed, using the floor and loveseat, alternately, as her bed.  Last night, then, I was surprised when she jumped up after the lights were out and made herself comfortable lying next to Michael.  

Caprice will pop up on the bed sometimes in the morning, after she and Canon have been for a quick run outside.  Both pound on the bed and Caprice pushes to lie next to me while I pet them both.  That was the case this morning, too.

It sounds sillly, but one of my greatest joys in life is lying in bed with two poodles!

Popcorn Memories

It's been a pretty mundane afternoon-- very windy, a few snowflakes floating around.  I'm just finishing munching on some popcorn that Michael made.  (Yes, Caprice and Canon had a few kernels, too.)  I guess you could say that's his signature dish.  He makes it often, sometimes almost daily.  If I've been out of the house, I can always tell that Michael's had his popcorn.  The warm smell lingers in the house for hours.

Popcorn was my father's favorite snack, too.  He put it in athe big, yellow glass bowl.  I remember him lieing on the couch in the family room, munching, and later leaving it on the bar for later, or the next day.  This is, perhaps, a bittersweet memory, as I think my father was putting the popcorn popper away in a lower cabinet when he had the stroke that eventually ended his life.

Movie popcorn and an orange drink.  I don't do that in the movies anymore, partly because I only drink diet sodas now,  partly because it just doesn't appeal to me, although the smell certainly does, and partly because we rarely go to movies.

Popcorn disasters:  Learning to use the stir-pop with the well for melting butter--I didn't know the popcorn needed the air vent, and covering with the plastic lid would make it soggy.  An uncovered popper when the corn was hot enough to pop.  Burnt popcorn- popper, microwave (especially) and Jiffy Pop on the stove.

Popcorn balls- my favorite trick-or-treat or Christmas booty, especially when wrapped in colorful Saran wrap.

School projects- counting, predicting, making and selling flavored popcorn for a project early in my teaching career.  That, in turn, reminds me of the push for career education 30-plus years ago.  That, in turn, reminds me of the beginning of my teaching career, my first job, my first principal.

From hunger to sad memories to ones that bring a smile.  A kernel is worth a few hundred words.

I am my Mother! EEEEEK!

This is something no daughter who didn't get along with her mother wants to admit.  My admission today is not a surprise to members of my family and Michael, and is not at all flattering to me.  I know I am critical like my mother was.  Even a compliment from her didn't sound like a compliment.  I am picky about my house like her (yet a slob at the same time, if that's possible).  I say the same things: "It wouldn't take any more effort to put the dish in the dishwasher instead of the counter."  (That's all I can remember for now.)  I snack when I'm not hungry. 

Now, something worse.  I am developing my mother's body.  The round tummy and extra ripples around my middle.  The dry legs.  How did this happen?  I always prided myself on taking better care of myself than my mother did, so I'm rather appalled by this.

This is depressing!  I don't quite know how to handle it.  Maybe a list of some ways I'm different from my mother would help.

-I do get exercise.  I go to the gym.  I walk my dogs.  I like walking.

-I do know what a balanced meal is and don't use a lot of processed foods. 

-I am compassionate (most of the time).  I help others.

-I have close friends and am open with them.

-I am playful and can have fun.

-I adore my dogs.

Ideally, I'd write a long, long list.

I also need to remember that some of the ways I'm like my mother aren't negative.  It's OK to take pride in your house.  It's OK to have standards.  Maybe I need to stop thinking about all of this and become the best Barbara I can be.

Catching Up with Caprice

Somewhere along the line, my joyful, energetic puppy, Caprice, became less than that.  I don't know if it's the Addison's disease, second poodle, or something else.  It could be that she's four now, but I don't think that's it.  She prefers to lie down, doesn't chase or catch a ball like she used to, a lies down quietly, mouthing a soft toy.  She is just as likely to lie down and bark muffled barks when she hears someone outside and to rush out barking.  She will chase Canon at times, but often will bark and snap at him while he bothers her.  In a group of playing dogs, she will often stand back and watch.  My vet doesn't have any answers for me, thinking it's just her maturity, and I prefer not to do anything invasive to see.

So, my charge is to teach her how to play again.  She will sometimes get interested in the two toy game I am playing with Canon, so my plan is to play it with her, without Mr. "It's All Mine!" in the vicinity.  Michael plays with her when Canon is at school.  Today I put up the tunnel.  She's finally comfortable with it and runs through it for the potential treat at the end.  It makes us all happy.  Canon, of course, likes to be in on things.  He accompanied her through the tunnel several times.  Fine.  As long as my girl is happy, I'm happy.

As much as I love my dogs, sometimes I just go along with my life and treat them as an accessory-- beings for me to cuddle, pet when I think of, accompany me on a walk.  I need to remember that I need to take an active role in making them happy and healthy, beyond the daily walk and feeding them.  I need to make time to play.  Make that times to play.  That's my job!

Something-o-phile

I like to read.  Mostly I read for plot, but I just can't help admiring good writing, the kind that paints pictures in my mind, that gives me words to savor.

I like to write.  My approach to writing is similar to the way I read, get the plot.  Get down what you need to say.  That's why journalism was eventually my choice in college.  Neat and to the point, where you had to limit the number of words.

So, then, I appreciate those word crafters , who let me savor the phrases, sentences, passages that they put together.  Authors like Barbara Kingsolver and Geraldine Brooks (those are two that quickly come to mind, although there are many others) entertain and involve me.  Then there are those who communicate beautifully in writing.  My friend, Julie, who shares her wisdom with the Bone Cancer Group, and with me is one of those.  She recently began a blog, and I'm looking forward to reading more. 

I am a connoisseur of many things I don't produce well.  Music and art come to mind first.  I get by with writing, and sometimes I can create word pictures that entice others, but  I especially appreciate gifted word crafters.  I'm looking for a word that describes this appreciation.   A member of my book group says it is part of our "bookiness."  The name for a word lover is "logophile."  It's not quite my word.  I'll keep looking for it.

The Finger (not what you might think!)

Yesterday was another Enchanted Poodle Club meeting with dogs at Bow Wow Blues.  Canon got to come without Caprice since she didn't seem to especially enjoy it last time.  He's a wild man by the time we get to the entry gate, pulling without any regard for anything else besides those dogs in there.  Unfortunately, I'm the one who had to release his pinch collar.  I used it because I know he'd be pulling like crazy.  I had the vague recollection of having trouble unfastening it the last time we came.  It was even worse this time.  I got my finger caught in the links as he was pulling.  If I hadn't been able to get it out eventually and let go of him, I think I would have lost my finger.  And so, my wild boy/man raced around the other dogs dragging his leash while I coddled by throbbing index finger.  Eventually it took two others to catch him and release the leash.  Later Nancy was able to take off the pinch collar.  Notwithstanding, Canon had a good time.  While not a major player, he flitted from group to group, socializing with his breed.

And so, this is my time to whine.  It hurt!  It still hurts.  There is bruising under my fingernail.  Yesterday I couldn't even take many pictures because it hurt to press the button on my camera.  I did minimal typing on my computer because it hurts to press down on the keys.  Poor me.  Canon is angelically lying on a cushion right now as I type this.  How can I hold a grudge?  (But next time there will be no pinch collar!)

Belated Trek

Actually, all my movie reviews would be belated, because we view on Netflix-- when I get around to ordering.  Tonight's move was Star Trek and I loved it.  Maybe I liked it because it was like visiting old friends and finding out something new about them.  It was comfortable being with them and learning their history.  The special effects drew me in as well.  What really blew my mind was the concept of time overlapping.  I don't really understand it all, but I found it intellectually interesting-- something to revisit when I can think clearly and play with ideas.

I rarely watch movies or read books more than one time.  My relationship with the 2009 Star Trek  may be different.  It may even send me back to the original series.

Agility .001

Today Canon started Puppy Agility Class.  No sweat, huh?  He's in an advanced (maybe intermediate) obedience class where he's doing well, has a tunnel in his backyard, has the comfort of his sister Roxy being there, and is one of the oldest in the class.  Well, here's how it went...

Class exercises:

-Getting attention by calling his name and rewarding him- no way was he interested in looking at me and getting treats- all those potential new playmates!
-Sitting on both sides and rewarding (you use opposite hands from obedience)- ditto for caring about that
-Play with two identical toys, moving from hand to hand, as he plays with one, move it behind the back and pull out other toy so he moves back and forth.  Canon’s version- ignore those stupid toys; the visla next to us (with a muzzle, no less) is much more interesting.  Note:  We tried playing at home, where he was more interested in the toys, but was smarter than the game. He went behind my back so he could keep playing with the one toy he had already caught.
-"Touch me"- hold one hand out until dog touches hand with nose, then reward
-Walking on a plank on the floor- when dragged part way, he made it.  Good boy!
-Going through a very short tunnel-his best, as expected
-Walking through the rungs of a flat ladder- GOOD BOY! walked in most of the rungs
-Sit and recall- not bad

Canon’s exercises:
-Don't look at mom when she calls my name--Let them think I'm really some other dog
-Looking around and trying to play with other dogs
-Sneaking around to play with the dog behind us when I wasn’t looking
-Seeking out the other poodles to play with (his sister, Roxy, and a younger poodle pup are in the class)
-"Touch me"- wait until mom touches my nose with her hand and then let her reward me
-Whining when we weren’t doing anything
-Make mom think I'm going to break my stay and embarrass her- Heck, why not just do it!
-Making it look like we haven’t gone to an obedience class in his little life (he’s in advanced obedience)

People say it will get better and I have to believe.  This makes obedience classes look easy!

A Wild Birthday, as well

You'd think that all I cared about on my birthday was eating,  Well, maybe so...but actually we went to one of my favorite places on Wednesday-- the zoo.  If only there weren't so many school groups there-- it would be less wild.

Happy GF Birthday to ME

Most people don't stick the words gluten-free into their conversations that often.  They seem to appear more often in mine.  Having food that tastes good to me AND seems like the "normal" food I used to eat before being diagnosed as a celiac makes occassions more special to me.  So, of course, Michael took me to Paisano's for my birthday dinner.  There's not a lot of pasta variation there- the gluten-free is of one kind-- halfway between angel hair and spaghetti, but I can have it so many ways.  Al la carbonara is one of my favorites, full of fat from the cream and bacon- salty, tasty, and something I don't make at home.

Paisano's, you make my day.  Someday I'll come in hungry enough to try a dessert- Italian wedding cake, molten lava cake, canneloni.... Lunch is a treat there as well-- meatball or sausage sandwich with homemade potato chips--no matter that the bread falls apart like most of the gluten-free ilk.  It's a sandwich in a restaurant.  That's a big deal for me.  Paisano's has single-handedly made eating gluten free out bearable for me. 

My gluten-free birthday held another gf gift for me (besides the brownies I made myself for my birthday.  I entered a drawing on someone's GF blog and won!  On Wednesday I received a box of assorted gluten-free pastas- lasagna, ravioli, gnocchi.  It's been well over ten years since I've tasted some of these things.  Look what's available now!  I don't know what they taste like yet, but I'm eager to try.

Time for Memories and a Few Tears

This isn't the best way to get back to my blog, but one I feel I need to write.  I just found out that one of my parent's friends, Bob Katz, has died at 92, a respectable age, I know, but I grieve nonetheless.  Whenever one of my parents' friends dies, it leaves me grieving for them (I must admit, especially my father) again. It's another door closing on my secure childhood, another reminded that I am the adult now, the oldest living generation. 

Bob was at my parents' wedding, lived around the corner most of my life, and was my dentist.  Pammy and I grew up together, as did Mark and Richard.  He was a nice man, the kind of dentist who kept talking during the examination and cleaning.  He could show his temper.  My memory is a bit weak in regards to this incident, but I believe he slapped either me or Nancy when we fussed too much at the dentist. 

His wife, Polly, was hard as nails, but good-hearted, too.  She was involved with German shepherds and obedience training.  She guided my father through showing Gigi, our first standard poodle. Polly was equally in love with her little chihuahua, Jose, who she taught to smile, among other things.  Polly died of lung cancer quite a few years ago.

Several times when my parents went out of town, I stayed with Pammy, at the Katz's.  I remember their house well.  The living room was always blocked with dog jumps, designed to keep the dogs out.  Mark was the terror of the neighborhood.  Five years younger than I, he still made me nervous when I had to drive him to Hebrew school.  Mark died from pneumonia couple of years ago. 

I have a lot of little memories, but they are fading, as is my past, the core of my childhood.  I shed tears for Bob and for me...

Getting Up to Date

It's been a long time since I've blogged.  I got out of the routine of making myself write every night.  There were many days I thought I had nothing to say, but in retrospect, there was quite a bit.

Most recently (yesterday, actually) it was Caprice's 4th birthday.  We took the dogs to the park we used to walk at, and then to Starbuck's and Three Dog Bakery.  A large pit bull mix was having a family birthday party and shared a piece with Caprice.  His? sister was HUGE!  Between the two and a tiny Yorkie, they ate the whole cake, and it wasn't a small one.  Between that, and Canon harrassing her, that was enough for Caprice as far as celebrating.

Canon graduated from beginning novice obedience class last night.  He'd be so great if he had a handler who would practice with him.  We're going to continue with intermediate classes, as well as start a puppy agility class in April.

Going back a few days, to March 10, I commemorated Rondo's passing with Tibetan prayer flags hung in the backyard.  It surprised me how hard it was to work on them, when I had planned this for so long.  There were lots of tears in my eyes as I worked.

What else is notable this month?  I started working with a trainer, Brandi, and actually went to the gym, which I hadn't visited since August.  It would be nice to be stronger, more fit, and yes, to lose weight.  I think my posture has suffered with my lack of fitness.  It's hard to believe it's been about eight years since I seriously worked out.

Julie's next to last chemo was the end of this week.  There is something to look forward to there.

Presbyterian Hospice Daffodil Days this weekend.  I think hospice programs are a wonderful and needed service. The help (even though it wasn't Pres) meant so much to me when we were caring for my mother.

An Odd Movie/ An Odd Review

Tonight we watched the movie Pumpkin  and I'm going to have a hard time describing it.  I can't for the life of me figure out what caused me to order it from Netflix.  I don't know who I could recommend it to, although I liked it, mainly because I can't type it.

It's a parody, a satire, a comedy, a drama.  It's a parody of a snobby sorority girl movie, girl finding herself, triumph of the downtrodden, love story.  A California sorority girl serves as a mentor to a "challenged" athlete, finds the young man to be the only one who understands her, ending her romance with Ken, the tennis star, and encountering the disdain of her university, sorority sisters, family and Pumpkin's mother.

It's campy and "thinky" with lots of witty dialogue.  The scorned and embarrassed boyfriend dramatically drives off a cliff, becomes wheelchair bound, yet becomes the good guy, who coaches to the challenged athletes to victory.  Our Pumpkin becomes the hero of the day and walks off with the girl, who asks him, "Is that metaphorically or literally?"  Pumpkin is too simple to understand this and the film leaves us wondering about the couple's future.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0265591/

Look into My Tiles

I think almost everyone has looked for images in the clouds-- the puffy rabbit, the elephant.  Since moving into this house, I've looked into my shower tiles.  I find a new image every time, but there are also some old favorites I look for every day, ome that I find familiar and comforting.

The tile on the left is my dog tile.  Most importantly, in it I can find poodle images, one in which I see Rondo's head, another a sitting poodle.  Another tile I consider my "DeLayo" tile, in which I can see the nice, big, broken Italian nose of one of my father's closest friends.

Am I strange, or just admitting or noticing what others won't or don't?

Poodle games are good for people, too.

Today Nancy brought over the agility tunnel she had bought for the dogs to use during their play dates.  At first no one was interested in going through, even Jasper, who has been doing agilility for awhile.  With liver treat enticements thrown in, Roxy and Canon soon followed.  Roxy earned the speed record for going through, especially when she developed the zoomies near the end of our time.  Canon  quickly learned to U-turn, and then claimed the tunnel as his cave, a better place to hide from Jasper than between someone's legs.

Caprice, as usual, was the cautious one.  I had to start slowly- giving her a treat in front of the tunnel, then placing it near the entrance.  Throwing it in the tunnel invited the other three dogs to dive for the treat, so I did the only thing possible.  I crawled into the tunnel.  Mind you remember that this is the middle of winter.  We had a snow last week, and the snow was still melting and the ground was wet.  Slightly colder and muddier than I was before, I crawled midway into the tunnel offering a treat.  Do you think having a big human in there deterred the other dogs?  Before I knew it, Canon and Roxy were all over me, looking for a goodie.  They had no inhibitions about getting on me, over me, and past me.  It paid off.  Caprice came for me, got her treat, and moved along to the exit, again, right past me.  Slowly, as my 60-year-old body took me, I backed out.  As I got to the end, again, dogs swarmed me, looking for liver. I think I was yelling and laughing at the time.  It had been awhile (perhaps a long time) since I got silly and enjoyed a genuine laugh.  Nancy took her turn in the tunnel.  More agile than I, but still greeted by poodles and laughter.  That's her in the picture.

Nancy was kind enough to leave the tunnel so I could practice with Caprice with less distractions.  Later in the afternoon, Michael and I achieved success, and it only involved crawling halfway in once.  Two times through, and that was enough for the day.  A day of poodle games for the dogs, and Nancy and me.

So what have I been doing lately?

• Watching grey skies and wondering if anything is going to come down
• Sniffling
• Thinking about what to write
• Reading mysteries
• Moving two objects on my desk and then putting off cleaning it
• Loving my dogs
• Playing Facebook games (maybe I'll make another promise to quit)
• Cooking- I made some edible gluten-free French bread (I said edible, not wonderful)
• Thinking about friends having a hard time
• Watching too much TV (but I'm glad American Idol is back)
• Looking for a chiar for the living room (but at least I bought some new pillows for the couch)
• Avoiding laundry
• Taking naps
• Drinking tea
• Wondering what I could do/say to make me seem more vibrant
• Reading and writing e-mail
• Enjoying cozy days at home
• Making lists

Childhood Memories

Not my memories this time.

Coincidentally, and usual for me (nonfiction is not my first reading choice!),  I finished reading two memoirs last night.   The first was Nonno's Monkey by my book group friend, Isabel Bearman Bucher.  The second was Stitches  by children's book illustrator David Small.  Isabel's is about her childhood with her Italian-born family's life in this country.  Small's is in graphic novel form, telling of his upbringing by a radiologist father who unknowingly  caused his son's cancer and an unbalanced, unloving mother.  Very different families, but similarities exist.

Isabel writes about her family with love, yet also with childhood resentment.  She's resolved her issues with her mother, who didn't know how to act like a mother, yet shows how she felt about this as a child. She writes about how her family directed her, pushed her, embarrassed her--all childhood feelings.  It was foreign to me, her life living in the country with extended family, but familiar as well.

Small's family life was, perhaps, more like mine-- urban, middle class, but more foreign emotionally.  As a child his father treated his asthma with radiation, which eventually caused cancer.  He had surgery, which damaged his vocal cords, without even being told about the cancer.  His mother was always angry, distant.  He eventually discovered she was a lesbian.  His father was always working.

Both resented their families.  The wisdom of age has mellowed and resolved this resentment, but the childhood anger clearly shows.  I supposed I feel like this too.  I regret not having close relationships with my parents, and know I resented my mother's treatment of me.  (Nothing bizarre, we just didn't get along.)  I'm wondering know how common this thread is; how many people do have some anger or resentment towards their treatment as a child or relationship with their parents.  For a long time I thought that others all had ideal family relationships and I was odd.  So many women are good friends with their mothers, while I never had that.

When did a book review turn into being about me?  A bit heavy for my blog comeback.

Why I haven't posted in a long time...

• I'm lazy.
• I have nothing to say.
• I have so much to say I don't know where to start.
• I'm unorganized.
• I'm spending too much time playing computer games.
• I don't have any good pictures to go with what I write.
• I just haven't!