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!