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...