Sweets for...Me!

This year I decided that I should be able to have an assortment of gluten-free Christmas cookies, after buying myself yet another gluten-free cookbook-- Gluten Free Christmas Cookies.  I've tried four recipes now, and have about worn myself out.  (I'm not a baker). 

I made pecan praline meringues and thumbprint cookies last week.  The meringues were wonderful.  Yesterday, while it was snowing, I made choclate crinkle cookies, hoping they would be like my grandmother's cookies (not!) and my very first cut-out sugar cookies.

Time consuming.   I resorted to little dog bones after trying a couple of poodles, made with a cookie cutter send by my friend, Ana.  Sorry, Canon, I didn't do you justice.  Caprice ended up blue and broken.  Both dogs have been eaten. 

Not works of art, but somehow, it was satisfying to finish them.  I learned not to roll cookies too thin, and that royal icing really doesn't taste too good right out of the bowl.

Maybe it's not so important to have so many Christmas cookies for two people.  (I can't take them elsewhere.)  Next year, I'll downsize.

Doggie Envy

Just for the record, I'm going to start off by saying I know I can't handle more than two dogs.  Caprice and Canon are quite enough to love, thank you.  But that doesn't mean I can't envy someone who gets another dog.

I went with my friend, Nancy to pick up her miniature poodle Gidgette, who was arriving on the plane yesterday.  The anticipation of getting another little furry body to love is one thing, but her arrival was something else.  She is absolutely adorable.  She was crying and her tiny body was shaking when Nancy first got her out of her crate, but she seemed to get more comfortable quickly as we got to the car and headed for home.  Once we stopped for her to relieve herself, she became perkier.

She must have bonded with Nancy on that ride, because when we got to Nancy's house and Nancy went to get the other dogs, she stood at the car window, whining for her.

The first meeting of dogs was frenzied, with a lot of barking, tail wagging, and some stay-away teeth-showing on Gidgette's part.  None of the dogs was quite sure what to do.  The bigger dogs wanted to play, but didn't know how to handle the little one.  The little one was used to bigger dogs, but wasn't familiar with these.  We spent some time in the house, in the backyard, and on a walk, trying to figure out how to get everyone to calm down.

Although I hated to, I left, because Nancy needed time alone with her new pack.   It was wild and wonderful.  Something I was able to enjoy vicariously and leave it like that.  Envy doesn't mean you have to have the same thing, but have the capacity to enjoy it anyway.  I can't wait to see how this develops. 

Sunrise

I am not an early riser.  The sunrise may be breathtaking.  Rising early may give one a sense of accomplishment.  I guess those things aren't important to me, as 7:30 or 8:00 a.m. is early enough for me.  Some days, even later is better.  This morning, however, I had to take Michael to the airport at 5:00 a.m., wondering, as we drove, if I would be able to stay awake enough to drive home.

As I drove home, I did appreciate the silhouette of the Sandias against the sky as it lightened, that glimpse of sunlight waiting to make its appearance.  As I drove east on Academy, I felt like I was in an unfamiliar place.  All I saw was dark punctuated with lights that looked like a mansion ahead, or a huge building.  It was actually the streetlights at Wyoming, transformed for a few moments.

I enjoyed my experience, but that's enough.  When I returned home, I crawled into bed for another hour. The dogs didn't complain and just cuddled up.  That's the time I appreciate the most.

I supposed I'll never totally forget those I loved..  I think of my father, or mother, or a dog at an odd moment.  And then there are the things that are the reminders of these loved ones.  This week I had a couple of reminders of my father.

For some reason, Michal was talking about how hard it was for him to steam open an envelope without damaging it.  That was one of my father's teases.  He'd write, "Steamed open by mistake" on some of the letters I received when I lived in their house.  Nothing big.  Just something that told me he loved me.  (My eyes are even tearing up remembering this.)

I played bridge with my Assistance League group yesterday.  Another reminder.  My father loved bridge, and played every Monday (I think) night for as long as I can remember.  I remember some of the people he played with, first in the little den right next to our bedroom, then, the the family room when it was added to the house.  Izzy, Leo, Nate Steinberg,...I think of the package of Oreos he'd often provide for snacks, along with popcorn, or something my mother would make.  There were grumbles when someone's partner made a wrong bid or play.

Dad was good at bridge.  He remembered cards and was a good strategist, neither trait inherited by me.

Maybe I like bridge because it reminds me of him.

Ghosts of Halloween Past

Halloween is tomorrow.  This is not thrilling to me.  I must be the Scrooge of Halloween.  I don't like running to the door every minute or so while trying to watch something on TV or finish something in the kitchen, listening to my dogs bark and get excited.  I don't enjoy oohing and aahing at the kids' costumes.  I don't like parents who hold their teeny children out to get candy, when I know full well who's going to eat the candy.  I don't like the kids who haven't even learned to say, "Trick or treat," and just hold their bags out for me to pour the candy in.  I don't like the kids who evaluate the loot and complain if I don't have candy they like.  I don't appreciate kids who can't even say thank you, but turn immediately and leave.

And yet, Halloween was fun as a kid.  We even extended our Halloween to include the night before, Beggars' Night.  I remember walking around with friends, but for the most part, I can't tell you which friends.  I don't remember any specific costumes, but I do remember having to wear a coat over/under my costume if it was cold.  I do remember that getting a popcorn ball was a good deal.  I remember the Beckley's Halloween parties in their garage.  Bales of hay for decorations were a big deal, too.  My memories of Halloween are slim, but I did enjoy it.

What happened?

Being a teacher and having Halloween parties with wild, greedy children?  Being on the giving end, rather than the receiving end?  Being damn lazy?

BOO HUMBUG!!!

All iz well- 3 Idiots

What does "All iz well" have to do with the Bollywood movie 3 Idiots?  It is the film's mantra, but is also how I feel about the movie.  This long, silly movie about the search for a former college friend takes many twists and subplots.  You name the motif, it's there.  Three musketeers.  Check.  Hateful professor.  Check.  Rival classmates.  Check.  Hate/love relationship.  Check.  Findling a long lost love.  Check.  Learning to do what you love, rather than what your parents want of you.  Check.  Genius bad boy makes good.  Among these "chapters" are Bollywood production numbers.  I loved it and am glad that the title didn't scare me away from it.

For a review, see http://lapiskamay.wordpress.com/2011/03/24/3-idiots-film-review/ .

Back in the Saddle

This handsome young man and I went back to school today after a seven week hiatus and this is something to celebrate for lots of reasons. 

First, my cast is off and I feel like going to class!  Not having my dog classes which fill up so much of my time has been hard on us both.  Canon gets to socialize and work, where he's been leading an undisciplined life for the past month and a half.  I expected wildness and willfulness, but Mr. Canon did a good job.  We' had to make a few adaptations- mostly off-leash since I can't correct him with his collar, and we haven't done what the other dogs have, but I'm proud of my boy.

Evi gave him the dreaded ear pinch to make him pick up the dumbell today.  It was hard mto watch, but nowhere near as awful as I expected it to be.  We have a lot of homework to do there.

Ultimately, it was nice to have a job for me to do and a place for us to go.  Being homebound isn't all it's cracked up to be, unless it's a cold, snowy day.

I'm happier than I've been in awhile, and I hope Canon is, too...

I can...

...touch my nose with my left hand-
        I have to bend my head a bit,
        but it's still good,
...pull up my pants with two hands,
...tie my own shoes,
...carry two dog dishes at the same time.

             I am SUPERWOMAN!

Joint Analogies

I know there are some analogies or metaphors here somewhere.  Maybe they'll reveal themselves.

The cast came off my arm two days ago.  What a relief to not carry that cast around, to not clunk against furniture and doorways, to not have to carefully tape a garbage bag over my arm to shower or bathe.  No incision scar rbbing against plastic.  I have all my fingers to use now.  BUT, the elbow still doesn't work.  This is not unusual after my arm has been in forced at a 90 degree angle for six weeks, but it is frustrating. i can straighten the elbow to almost 45 degrees.  I work and work at bending the elbow more, so I could rub lotion on my other arm or blow dry my hair.  It feels like I've made progress, but when I look at my elbow, I still see that 90 degree bend.  I'm nowhere near scratching my nose, unless I try bending my head down to my hand (not easy!).

Here's where the metaphoric stuff comes in.   I look at my arm, know how it used to work, how it should work, but it just doesn't for no apparent reason, even discounting the pain.  It's kind of like when your phone or some appliance stops working.  You either get someone to fix it, or throw it away and buy a new one.  Not an option. I look at my hand longingly and will it to scratch my nose, to button my blouse.  Not yet. 

That discrepancy between knowing how my body should work, and how it's actually working is tough to digest.  I do think of the people who have lost limbs or the use of their limbs permanentlt, and can't even think how I would deal with that and be able to make the physical and mental adaptations necessary to go on to having a happy, productive life.  I suppose some never do.

I'm expecting to get past this.  I make my tiny steps towards moving that arm, waiting the six weeks until my doctor's appointment, when the PA will suggest my next steps.  I'm anxious, and suppose I will be for awhile. 

Sounds a bit like other roadbocks in life.  Doesn't it?

This morning...

... I woke up to sunshine...


                and this...

and this...

Not bad after a cloudy, rainy day yesterday!

My latest excuse for not keeping up with my blog

Pain and Poetry

It's been two weeks now.
A walk in the park.  Two dogs. ???
Elbow looks kind of funny and hurts like hell.
Lying on the grass in the park.
Paramedics.  Ambulance. 
8 hours in the emergency room.
 Splint. 
Surgery 4 days later. 
Wires.
 Percocet. 
Swelling. 
Sleeping. 
Helpless.
Still hurts-

 maybe not

like hell,

but a lot.

Staples out in two more days.

 Cast? 

Then what?

Wet

Yes, this a picture of nothing but wet pavement and grass, but that's a good thing.  It's our first real rain of the summer.  Not a downpour.  Not for long.  It's drying up already.  But it's RAIN!!!

The "Orchard"

I picked our five peaches last week (really, four, one was on the ground, pecked by birds).  I'd guess that having only five peaches on the tree, enabled them to get big.  I was as proud as if I had something to do with it.  When you've spent most of your life NOT growing edibles, every little bit is a thrill.

Learning that Stuck

Sometimes we look back and wonder what we learned in our school years and of what use it is to us.  There are skills we've acquired that can't be attributed to one time or place- math skills, reading and writing skills-- those that have been built upon (and eroded).  And then there's a body of knowledge- most of it lost, I would think, and relatively useless.  Knowing Akhenaten was married to Nefertiti, has never really served me well, although I enjoy knowing this. My familiarity with Greek and Roman mythology helps me understand literary references.

One thing that I am guessing has stuck with many people, is the ability to name the clouds- nimbus, cumulus, cumulonimbus. cirrus, stratus.  I don't know why.  Perhaps because we look at them every day-because the sky and weather affect us, because we all are weather forecasters.  Perhaps because the names are fun to say.  We feel very "scientific" being able to identify clouds.  Cloud gazing inspires the creative part of us as well as the scientific.  I've been thinking about clouds the past few days because I keep hoping they're going to give us much awaited rain.  So I'm going to keep on watching them, and naming...

School Memories- Pinon Canyon Camp

Today I went to an Assistance League training session at the YWCA Pinon Canyon Camp in Tijeras.  It brought back memories of Kevin and me taking our classes there a couple of times for a beginning of the year activity.  I think we spent 2 or 3 nights there, learning about the environment from their trainers, enjoying the area, learning to work together. 

I especially remember the bunk rooms- decidedly uncomfortable, cooking and cleaning up in the kitchen with a group of kids, the parent pot luck dinner, singing along with Jeff Burrows, learning to use a compass, and bringing home a tub of earthworms each year for our own mini-composter.  Those worms lasted a year, until I stored them in the garage one hot summer, and the worms crawled out and died.

It makes me want to sort through my pictures, where I know I have pictures of at least one of our trips, so I guess I'll do that now...Voila!

Doggy Etiquette

I am no Emily Post of the doggy set. My dogs are as likely as any to bark at a passers-by or to jump up on a visitor or anyone who has a kind word for them. I am happy to have almost anyone's dog jump up on me and give me big, slobbery kisses. But I do have some expectations of people and their dogs.

It would be nice to think that we are all good dog handlers and that all dogs are trained well, but most of us know better.  Think of all that forewarned, forearmed stuff.  Case in point:  Don't get close to strange dogs (may work for people, too) when you don't know how they'll react.  When we walk, I give other dogs and their walkers wide berth.  Mine tend to get crazy and bark a lot, scaring others.  (I told you I'm not the expert!)  and who knows about the other dogs.   The park where I walk Caprice and Canon has some narrow walks along the drainage ditch, which we call "dog alley."  There's really no roon for two-way traffic, without pushing someone on the edge of the ditch.  When we come to one of these alleys, I watch for walkers coming the other way.  If someone enters from the other direction, I circle back with my dogs and wait. 

Others, trusting me, I guess, are not so thoughtful.  They forge into the alley, leaving me to backtrack, or try to handle my dogs (sometimes I can, and sometimes, I can't, depending on space, preparation, and my dogs' frenzy.)  The other day I couldn't.  The space was small; the grass was wet; I had to turn at a funny angle.  Result:  my dogs got very close to the little black dog coming towards us, close enough to possibly scare mom and dog, and I ended up twisted in the leashes and on the ground.  "That's your problem," you might say.  It certainly is, but I still think some common sense and consideration by others is called for.  Manners can make walking the dogs a bit easier for whimps like me.

Memories of HP

Harry Potter and I have not had a lot to do with each other for a long time now.  If the truth be known, I never finished The Deadly Hallows and I'm wayyy behind on the movies.  But I still have  a strong affection for him, and the big opening of the last movie has brought a wave of nostalgia to me.

I vaguely remember reading about Harry in 1997.  I was so intrigued after reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone that I ordered a paperback copy Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone from Amazon.uk, thinking it was a sequel.   It was actually a matter of changing the title for American audiences-- something about a sorcerer being more intriguing.  I enjoyed comparing the two- really a matter of changing a few spellings and Britishisms.  The original illustrator was not Mary GrandPre, as well.

I closely followed the sequels, looking forward to the delivery of each, but my greatest joy and memories of HP were sharing the first two books with my students.

Reading aloud was always a favorite thing for me to do with students.  Favorite enough to base my dissertation on reading aloud.  HP was one of the most memorable read-alouds.  The books are long, have flowing descriptions, and varied characters.  They invite taking on the voices of the characters.  I had a bit of difficulty keeping my characters straight.  Sometimes Hagrid would change accent and voice (I wasn't very good with the accents); I would mix up my characters, but there always seemed to be life in them, no matter what the voice rendition.  J.K. Rowling's writing was a teacher's dream.  What wonderful examples of descriptive writing, showing, not telling.  I fell in love with the book all over again when reading it aloud, and I believe my students were right there with me.

I usually do not reread- not time, but for Harry, I might make an exception.  Or there's always a movie marathon.  By the time I get through them, Hallows #2 may be available!

Simple things

Sometimes we underestimate the simple things that can make us happy.  For me today it was running with Canon in an agility fun match, no matter how clunky I was or how hot it was, having lunch out with Michael, and finishing it off with frozen yogurt at Menchies.

It's probably been about ten years since I had ice cream at an ice cream place (other than the plain stuff at Souper Salad.  It was a thrill for me to get to taste yogurts and serve my own today.  No get-your-yogurt-and-run for me.  I sat there and savored every bit.  A new favorite.  A refound happiness.

Breaking the rules with grace

Creativity means learning where the rules exist, and them breakiing them!  Saying, "It's better this way."  But you have to know the rules in order to break them with any grace.  

                   -Alan Arkin in an interview in New Mexico Magazine, 6/11

This resonated with me when I read it in the hospital waiting room the other day.  I like the image of breaking the rules with grace.  This fits in with my idea of education or learning:  a basic foundation will serve you well as a platform for creating.  It probably is my platform for learning, why I want the facts and procedures first, before I run with it and create my own learning.

Michael sometimes makes fun of me for being so concerned about the rules and the "right way" of doing things.  I guess I'd just like to do everything with grace!

Justice?

Two posts in one day!  Since I sat down to write, I might as well...

 

 

Do I recap the Casey Anthony case?  An early 20's mother, who, it seems, did away with her 2-year-old daughter three years ago.  Lots of evidence, including not reporting her daughter was missing for a month, points to her guilt.  I, as well as most people, it seems, believe she is  guilty.  Today she was was acquited, most likely because the prosecution did not make its case.

Many are saddened, disheartened by the verdict, and feel that Caylee did not get justice.  Caylee did not get justice three years ago when she was murdered.  The justice of today is not about Caylee, but about the rest of us not getting the satisfaction of a heinous misdeed being punished.  It may be a travesty of justice, but not for the little girl...for our own need for revenge.   (Do I sound like the Barbara that supports the death penalty?)

 

 

Too harsh for people who are heartbroken over a senseless death?  Maybe.  But the dead never really get justice.

Catfish

We watched a very strange movie last night, Catfish, one of those Netflix choices that made me wonder how I picked it.  It's a documentary about a Facebook relationship based on lies, and how one young man (who happened to be a documentary maker) traced down the truth.  Truth is a funny word to use with this movie, because the film itself seems partially faked.  Neverthelss, I watched the whole, thing, wondering what the truth actually was.  I did like the explanation of the movie's title:

Cod, explains to one character near the end of the movie,  are kept in tanks with catfish – the catfish nip at the cod’s fins, keeping them sharp, alert… keeping them on their toes, so to speak.

Is the movie explaining itself?  Warning us?  Justifying the deceit of the woman who claims she is other than what she is, who has created a cyberlife for herself?

Catfish has stuck with me because of its uniqueness and because it leaves questions in my mind.  Just what I like in a movie.

 

A "Not the 4th" Picture...

,,,but a memory.  I'm guessing I was 5,6,7, making Nancy 3,4,5.   I think the sailor dresses (there's the patriotic part of this for you) may have been brought to us by our grandparents.  Somehow I think they were quite crisp.  I kind of remember my braids being pulled real tight.  We even look like we might have gotten along, but I don't know that for sure.

I was looking at a file of family pictures.  Most brought tears to my eyes because they were of my parents.  As I leafed through them, I could see mom and dad and their friends and family age.  Sometimes I just miss having parents.  Miss  moments we had and could have had.  Today was one of those days.

Crazy Proud

I titled this entry because I am both.  We had our second Show Obedience class today, and Mr. Canon did pretty well.  Did he down easily?  No.  Did he sit up easily?  No.  He did heel well, and he went right over the jumps and back to me.  Even went after a toy, which he doesn't usually do in classes.  Am I proud of him doing what he should do?  Yes.  Am I crazy for driving across town with Nancy for two dog classes on Wednesdays?  YES.  Am I glad to do it?  Right!

The Dark and The Light

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

The battle between dark and light fascinates me.  I'm not sure whether it came from my reading of fantasy,  or whether my love of fantasy built up this interest.  After I read the Martin Luther King, Jr. , posting on Facebook, I was brought back to the idea of this struggle.  It's not just a fantasy issue, but a part of our everyday lives, expecially in terms of what is going on in our world today.  I thiI nk that there are times when it's hard to distinguish the dark from the light. The celebration of a death- is that light...or dark? Do we have control over either?  When will the lightness overcome the dark?  Morning, for sure, but it seems we need more.

I'm thinking of going back to Susan Cooper's Dark is Rising series.  Children's books, yes, but a dramatic struggle between dark and light, and, of course, a happy ending, but not without costs.  And then I think about the Wrinkle in Time trilogy, and Dianna Wynne Jones, and...

Maybe it takes fantasy, and for me, right now, children's books to give us hope.

The Minority Voice

I've been watching the reports of Osama bin Laden's death for about a half hour now. What a strange state of affairs! Yes, this man was an enemy of our country who had a hand in orchestrating the death of many and unthinkable destruction. His acts perhaps precipitated our engagement in wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and even more deaths on all sides.

Yet, I have trouble with rejoicing over murder and death. What have we come to? Is it fear speaking? Our inability to defend ourselves and our country? Murder is a victory? Really-- is the world now a better place? IS justice served? I guess I still don't understand war... Or mankind...

Barbara Barely Blogs

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A Smile after a Rant and Rave Session

I got this message on Facebook today:

Cass Malloy posted on your Wall.
"Hi Ms Friedman,
Diana Wynne Jones passed away this morning. I wanted to say thank you for sharing her writing with us. DWJ was a huge part of my growing up and I'm going to miss her terribly."

This might have contributed to some of my tears and fears today, but it's also a wonderful memory of sharing books with children.

Golden- Smolden!

The golden years are a myth perpetuated by advertising and do-gooders.  The truth is I'm facing my mortality and it ain't great!

I've probably always been a pessimist, a kind of half-empty (or in this case 4/5 empty) kind of gal.  I seem to be in a perpetual state of mourning right now.  I see old people around and realize I'm one of them.  I'm realizing that getting up slowly from the floor is a need rather than a choice, that waking up with aches and pains is not a matter of a new mattress, that I'm probably not going to do that yoga pose again.

This has been going on awhile, but came to a head when I've been struggling with learning to handle Canon in agility.  At first my goofiness and inaccuracy could be attributed to being new at it.  Now I see the people I've been learning with growing and leaving me in the dust.  I am learning, but more slowly.  I have trouble thinking on my feet and remembering what kind of cross I'm going to make where, to call out an obstacle to my dog ahead of time.

This sucks!  I use that word rarely, but it seems to encapsulate my frustration.  I look at my bookshelves and see books I may not get around to reading in my lifetime.  I have dollars in the bank I may not spend.  There many be no more dogs in my future.

When am I going to get that kick that tells me to just do it, and get on with my life?

Another "Aren't My Dogs Wonderful?' Post

Today:  Caprice's birthday.  Wendy's Diamong and Nutmeg are still here, so I put up the tunnel, weave poles and a jump for the dogs.  They weren't interested in the weave poles and jump, but they all took their turns in the tunnel, Nutmeg, after some private lessons.

2 Year "Anniversary"

More tears today-- for a different reason.  Just thinking about this day has been bringing me to tears.   It’s a day to renew the beautiful memories of my boy Rondo.   One of my favorite things, although there are so many,  was when he came up to me a chewed on my hair a little bit, nuzzling my neck.  He followed me everywhere-- including to the bathroom.

  I remember our terrible fight against osteosarcoma.  Those are not the good memories.  But there were always smiles, as he retained his wonderful good nature.

We'll be celebrating Caprice's  fifth birthday in three days.   I love Caprice and Canon dearly, but will always have Rondo in my heart with the others I love and have loved.  My experience with him has changed me.  I’m more compassionate, have made some wonderful friends at BCD, and best of all, I remember that every day with my dogs and loved ones is a special one. 

Thank you, Rondo.

Tears

Yes, I shed a few more tears for our retiring veterinarian today.

This evening, however, I watched a 60 Minutes segment on homeless kids- kids living in cars, motels, with neighbors.  I watched them explain what it feels like to be hungry, how they use the Walmart bathroom to clean up before going to school.  A girl smiles as she tells how it embarrasses her when her father has to beg at the side of the road to help pay for their cheap motel room.

This is American, goddanmit!  Kids shouldn't have to go through being locked out of their own homes, their belongings being auctioned off.  (Not that their parents should have to go through this either.)

Got a good deal on a foreclosure house?  Just think about who used to live there and what happened to them.  These times suck.  This is something to cry about!

My vet is retiring.  My dogs will have someone new caring for them.  I can pay their bills.  I really ought to shed my tears for something else! 

Goodbye Dr. Larry

I had a feeling what was in the envelope.  A sense of dread overcame me as I saw it was a letter.  Sure enough, tears silled my eyes.  No deaths, or terrible things-- my dog's veterinarian is retiring. 

Silly me, I'm crying as I write this, and hate myself for overreacting.  It seems like I'm losing a member of my family, someone who's been with me for ups and downs.  Larry has greeted four poodle puppies for me.  I won't forget how he laughed at Rondo's long ears and called him a hound dawg. Two spays, two neuters, an intestinal resectioning, old age, Addison's disease, cancer and numerous worries from me.  He's been to my home to put my Persi to sleep forever.  He's cried with me as he put Rondo out of his pain.  There was a long series of shot-giving lessons as I got up the courage to give Caprice her monthy Percorten shots.  The phone calls checking up on and discussing my dogs.  He listened to concerns about shots, diet, doses of prednisone.

I've never been upset when I've had to change doctors.  It's happened and I've moved on.  But now we're losing someone I trusted with my dear dogs' lives, a friend, someone who cared.

Yes, this is probably what he wants and needs.  A year ago he suffered a heart attack.  I missed him dearly during the time he was gone.  I wish him well, but I wish him here, where he's done so much for us.

Processing...

I have an idea that won't work (yet), but I'm so interested in the process that I felt compelled to pull out my iPad (the closest and quickest device) and write about it while still in bed.

As my usual morning routine, I got up, dragged myself to the bathroom and opened up the February issue of O Magazine, which by the way, had a creativity theme. I read the interview Oprah did with Julie, creator of musical The Lion King. They were talking about Taymor's new musical, Spiderman. I was interested in several levels. I'm a fan Taymor's work and love the idea that she works out of a background of folklore and myth.

Bathroom reading time done, I decided to give myself 5 more minutes in bed and cuddle next to Caprice. Next thing I know, I'm thinking comics, then of using the comic application on my Mac, then I, for some reason, am thinking of my BCD (Bone Cancer Dogs) friends and the next reunion. That involves a gift to bring. For me, ideally that would be some sort of little book. A comic book? With dogs? "Bone Cancer isn't Funny.". OK, here's where the idea goes bad, but isn't it an interesting sequence of thought?

Dog Moms

There are, I believe, people like me, who think of themselves as "Dog Moms"-- not so different from Soccer Moms, or any other type of mom.  While some may roll their eyes when I talk about my furry "children,"  their behavior, needs, and lives, are as much a part of my life as the human children of others.  My life is entwined with theirs.  I prepare meals for them, take them on outings, visit the doctor, see that they are groomed, and spend quality time with them.  And yes, I talk to them, too.

So it's not surprising that I have the same hopes for them.  Not, perhaps, hopes of them becoming rocket scientists, but hopes for good health, happiness, and maybe even productivity.  My guess is that I project those hopes and fears, on my dogs, as others project parental expectations upon their children.  There's no threatening about making good grades, but I think my dogs know what I want of them.  In turn, I think they also know how to work me.

With my past history, I'm worried about my dogs' health.  Somehow, I think Caprice knows that.  I'm so concerned about her eating before she gets her Prednisone, that I'll hand feed her her breakfast, or bring her "breakfast in bed."  She knows she has me wrapped around her paw.

The more I worry about Canon's performance in obedience and agility, it seems he becomes more unpredictable.  When I stop worrying, things seem to go smoother.  I hold my breath when he goes on the dog walk or A-frame.  No wonder he'll sometimes bypass them.  

As a teacher, I often noticed that parents created the kids they got.  Dog mommas are no different...in lots of ways... That's probably why I especially like the bumper sticker that reads, "My dog is smarter than your honor student."

A Smile and Tears---for People Being Nice to Each Other

This video of people offering free hugs in a small town in Italy is amusing.  It made me smile, but with tears in my eyes.  How wonderful to share with strangers, to accept them!  I've watched the flash events, where members of a crowd break out in song or dance, and wouldn't dream about staging that, but how simple would it be to offer free hugs?

http://www.flixxy.com/free-hugs-sondrio-italy.htm

Do they still use "wicked" to say it's great?

It was a Wicked weekend for us.  On Saturday, we went out to lunch at the Frontier before walking over to Popejoy to see Wicked.  We arrived early, so we wandered around Popejoy for awhile, then sat in the lobby and talked.  It was then that I took out the tickets.  Something was wrong!  Wasn't this the 5th?  My Saturday tickets said the 6th.  Yes, I got my date wrong.  Poor Michael was kind and said he'd return with me on Sunday, even though he had been looking forward to watching the Super Bowl.  And so, Saturday and Sunday were both involved, in a way, in seeing Wicked.

I didn't have high expectations.  I had been unimpressed by the soundtrack a few years ago, but I was eager to see the show.  It would have exceeded by expectations, no matter what.

I'm familiar with Greg(ory) Maquire.  I met him when I attended Children's Literature New England way back when.  I loved his book The Dream Stealer and have fond memories of reading it aloud to children.  Greg has quite a history of reworking fairy/folk tale material.  The Dream Stealer featured one of my favorite literary characters, the Russian witch, Baba Yaga.  I remember my students making cars from the train featured in the book.  Yes, I digress....

The story of Wicked was one of these fairy tale twists.  The music that was unmemorable to me before, fit the show well.  The lyrics were meaningful.  (I have to look some of them up.)  The dialogue was witty.  The staging and costumes were great, especially the OZ, green costumes.

A long, Wicked weekend, but a good one!

Walking Along the Rio Grande with Poodles




 

I almost turned down the invitation to walk my dogs with a group of people from the Enchanted Poodle Club that meet most Sundays to walk theirs.  I'm glad I didn't.  Caprice and Canon got to stroll the North Valley with ten other handsome poodles.  Both were extremely excited when we arrived-- Caprice barked crazily, while Canon pulled me for all he was worth.  They did, however calm down enough to stroll amid the rest of the well-behaved dogs.

Being with a pack of poodles is the next best thing to having them as your own.  They're there to admire, pet, and talk to, but you don't have to handle them.  It's nice to be with a group that you have something in common with.  All in all, a wonderful way to start a beautiful, sunny Sunday.






The Pack

  

Little Things that Make Me Happy

• Watching Caprice and Canon sleep next to each other
• Watching the dogs play
• Fresh paper and a clean pencil
• Waking up naturally, instead of by alarm in the morning
• A clean, neat house
• Friends
• Jelly bellies in my favorite flavors
• Trees turning green again in the spring
• Warm days
• Brand new dishes
• A clean desk
• A good workout followed by a high energy day
• A long, hot bath and a good book
• Buying things on Amazon.com
• e-mail that's just to me
• Music from Bride and Prejudice
• Fresh sheets

Full Moon

A full moon always seems to draw my attention.  Perhaps it's like that for many people.  I appreciate its brightness in a dark sky.  Its perfect roundness.  The suggestion of a sphere.  Its contours.  The way it peeps out from behind the clouds.  It's largeness when it is near the horizon.  The idea that this dime-sized object is actually over 2000 miles across.  That it has an effect on our earth (and vice-versa).  That it is actually reflecting the sun's light.

Its effect on people?  Fact or fiction?  Crazy things happen on a full moon.  No wonder there are ancient beliefs of fairies dancing in the full moon, men changing into werewolves at the full moon.  What a wonderful image that is of a witch riding in front of the full moon.

It's magical.  It makes the darkness of night seem less scary.  It makes me wonder about space, life, light, mysteries.  I love the watch the clouds race by a full moon.  It gives me the sense of movement, lightness, time passing by.

Eleventh Hour Rescue Miracles

I've never adopted a rescue dog because I'm so into my poodles, yet this moved me to tears, and perhaps to action.

Why Can't We Speak English?

By law she should be taken out and hung,

For the cold-blooded murder of the English tongue.

One common language I'm afraid we'll never get.

Oh, why can't the English learn to set

A good example to people whose

English is painful to your ears?

There even are places where English completely

disappears. In America, they haven't used it for years!

                           -Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady

I'm afraid I'm as much of a curmudgeon as Henry Higgins, who'd be appalled at the way people speak in this part of the country (and it may well be in other parts, too). 

Vwels disappear or become interchangeable.  Pens become pins and vice versa.

G is perhaps the most left out consonant.  We're goin' and jumpin' and singin', but where is Mr. B?

I'm by no means perfecto, but lazy speech bugs me. 'nuf said.

New

New year. New friends. New experiences.

Isn't that what we expect of a new year? And of course, we want a better year, or at least an as good year.

What's new with us?

Michael, in essence has a new life after a close squeak. It's hard to believe he almost didn't make it when I look at him.

My new "career"--training Canon for agility, obedience, or whatever path we choose.

New friends. The idea of new friends struck me today when we attended a New Year's brunch hosted by two new friends from Canon's agility class. Although we knew no one but the hosts, we had a pleasant time talking to people we wouldn't usually meet--barrel racers and horse competitors. It was as refreshing as the dinner we had earlier in the week at the home of a friend who was a parent of a former students. For over 30 years the majority of my friends were teacher friends. This expanded to bridge friends, and eventually parents of students were friends. When I moved on from teaching, I found there were other places to find friends. Dog friends. Poodle friends.  Dog cancer friends.  Assistance League friends. Friends I can't even label.

New experiences.  After staying home with dogs for over two years, I think I'm ready to get out there again.

New is not always better, but it is....new...