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!

The First REAL Snow

The weatherman predicted snow last night, and I didn't know whetherto believe him or not. I did, however, peek out the window when I got up in the early morning hours, and sure enough, it was there. Not just the dusting that we've gotten now. Not feet (or many inches) deep either, but enough to call a real snow. I was sure Canon would be interested, and the evidence of it was little pawprints going back and forth.

Would Miss Caprice be interested enough to get her dainty feet wet? Morning play was a romp through the snow, chasing each other. That pesky Canon got rolled over in the snow by his big sister and didn't seem to mind a bit. He laid under her in the snow not seeming to mind a bit. Canon is used to being on the bottom with a strong female on top.

The play was followed by a snack-- snow!

I like to write about things that make me happy. This was one. On Sunday we hosted a brunch/poodle play date for our poodle friends, Jasper & Roxy and Mr. B. and their people, Nancy & Jeremy and Carmen and Mark. The south sun bathed us in warmth as we watched poodles play and ate.

I've always envied parents, who make friends through their children. We have made new friends through our children, even though they wear curly, furry coats. Roxy is, of course, Canon's sister, and Mr. B was in our puppy kindergarten class at Evi Fox's. All three pups have the same birthdate. The white ones are always thrilled when Mr. B walks into class, and he likewise. The three will also be in the novice obedience class together, as well. Caprice and Jasper formed a "friendship" before the pups were home.

Ahhhh. Dogs!

Night/Morning Reading

It's 1:30 a.m. I can't sleep. The dogs are stretched out between Michael and me, Caprice at my feet, Canon between our heads, feet almost in Michael's face, head at my pillow. He is breathing quickly and loudly. Is anything wrong? I pet him, kiss him, rub his tummy. He groans a bit, slows his breathing, but then goes back to his sleep panting. I wonder if the little wound at his nose is infected. Does he have a fever? I lie there, and lie there, and lie there...

Might as well get up for awhile, I reason. Actually my reason leads me to the kitchen to taste the pineapple cheesecake I have made for my poodle play group brunch in the morning. Back to bed. Still can't sleep. I pick up one of the books on my nightstand, Doug Koktavy's The Legacy of Beezer and Boomer, even though I know it will be a tear jerker, as it is about the author's experiences with the illness and death of his dogs. I cry as soon as I open the book and look at the introduction. I see Ana mentioned, and Julie. I smile thinking of them--just for a moment, because the tears are rolling. By now I am sniffling too, probably louder than Canon's breathing.

Up again for a Kleenex and a good blow. Why on earth did I think I could handle this? I'll write about it in my blog.

I feel my way to the office in the dark, so as not to wake Michael. (How could he be asleep with all this action?) Canon follows me. I sit on the floor and pet him for a short while before I move to the computer, he to seemingly quietly sleep on his pillow, although as I look at him, I see his chest quickly moving up and down. As I watch him, I think of how much I love this fuzzy, white creature, and tears fall again.

The urge to write about Beezer and Boomer is not as strong now. Maybe I'll wait to write more after I read more. If I can read more.

Why I don't like to bake

I enjoy cooking (while not exactly the cleaning up afterwards part), but avoid baking. I finally understand why, and it's pictured at the right.

This was the gluten-free version of Mexican wedding cookies, those rich, little snowballs made with butter and nuts and covered with powdered sugar. The recipe came from our last visit to the St. James Tea Room and the cookies were in our little favor bags that we took home. I faintly recall the chef saying something about if your cookies spread too much, chill the dough. I chilled it for about 10 minutes. (Hey, the oven had been preheating for quite awhile!) The cookies spread, looked unbaked, so I left them in the oven a few more minutes. Not only did we have spread, but overcooked! Darn, I'd been thinking about these cookies since I went gluten-free nine years ago. I thought I'd never taste them again. If I have to depend on my baking, I won't.

Anyway, I'm thinking that with baking, it's got to be near perfect-- there's no going back to fix. If I make a dish, a casserole, a dip, I can tweak it by adding a little salt or season, balancing flavors out. Baking is unforgiving, and I need all the room for forgiveness I can get!

Cream!

I just finishing a cup of Chai, topped with ample whipped cream. I enjoyed it-- enough to want to write about cream. When there's a container of whipping cream in the house, I abandon polite instincts to take a mouthful straight from the carton and hold it in my mouth to enjoy its creamy thickness. (Don't worry, guests, I'd never do this with your cream!) It's not really about the taste, but the texture. For me, the texture of cream gives me comfort- thick, sticking to the walls of my mouth and my tongue, rolling down my throat.

Pumpkin pie is nothing without the whipped cream. Those fancy drinks at Starbucks? Leaving out the whipped to save calories is molesting the drink. I sometimes buy the brand of yogurt that has the cream on top. I eat the cream and give the yogurt to the dogs. Think about your root beer or coke float. What is it that creates that lovely foam? Cream! How do I know that? Homemade floats at Einstein's. Half and half with coke. Ice milk can't offer the silky taste of ice cream.

One of my favorite rock groups in the 70's was Cream.

Cream and dream rhyme. That's no coincidence.

Our book group discussed A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian at our last meeting, not that tractors were the important part of the book. Basically this story about two sisters uniting to "help" their 84 year old father when he decides to marry a 30-something year old "floozie" who is looking for a husband so she can stay in the U.S. There are lots of themes- family relationships, immigrants, history, memories and perceptions, and, yes, even tractors.

I wondered how our discussion would go because our hostess's father, in the same age group as our "hero" was part of our discussion. According to his daughter, he, too, had a "floozie" in his life after his wife died. This was brought up, and I gladly noticed that M did not equate himself with the father in the book, as he shared some of his life, and his writing with us.

The book was a delight to read and discuss in this environment. It was our third "immigrant book," I think, dealing with atrocities in the characters' homelands, but this one was dealt with through humor-- a relief for us all.

All is Quiet

Wendy, Michael's daughter, and her labradoodles, Diamond and Nutmeg, left early Saturday morning and things are exceptionally quiet here now. It was nonstop running around here for over a week. Feeding time was a challenge, because of the dogs' individual needs. Diamond needs a different food, yet she's the one who will eat anything. Caprice and Canon like to nibble from time to time, but couldn't, because their food would be snarfed up by Diamond and Nutmeg.

Caprice, of course, is happy with the lack of activity, however, Canon got up this morning looking for his buddy, Diamond, and sat out on the grass waiting for her to join him. With Diamond here, he had nonstop playing all day long, rather than the morning and evening audiences Caprice gives him. Actually, I think Caprice was thrilled to deal with dogs that gave regard to her growls to stay of the bed or to leave her toys alone, since Canon never does. Nutmeg would balk at entering our bedroom with Caprice on her throne. Diamond was a bit braver.

Things are quieter, and admittedly easier. But I miss them.

Thanks

Of course, the list of things I'm thankful for, not necessarily in order of importance.

-Michael

-My family- That's the newest member on the left- Maxwell, my nephew Philip's and niece Crystal's new baby.

-My dogs

-All I have materially

-Friends

-The Internet- strange, but it's a source of communication and information, as well as the source of some friendships with people I like and respect

-Did I say my dogs?

-Health to to things and exist comfortably

-Being here in this place and this time

-My ability to think- however feeble that may be at times

-The ability to read and comprehend and form opinions

-Having a day to remind myself to be thankful!

Blank?

Damn! I had such a good idea of what to write about this morning-- something I was eager to develop. It's gone now!

Real Men Drink Tea on Their Birthdays

Michael's birthday this year just so happened to be the same day as the gluten-free tea at the St. James Tearoom, so guess where his birthday "dinner" was! We were lucky to have his daughter, Wendy with us, too. It wasn't the regular birthday dinner--sitting on a Victorian-style couch, sipping tea, eating little finger foods and talking with the ladies, but he was charming to all, and, I think enjoyed himself. Happy birthday, Michael.

The menu, just in case I want to remember:

Savories
served with English Breakfast Traditional Black Tea
King Edward's Smoked Turkey Salad
Queen Elizabeth's Asparagus Morsel
Queen Victoria's Fig and Brie
King Richard's Cranberry Refresher
Traditional Tea Sandwich:
Date Cream Cheese & Cucumber

Scones & Bread
served with Pumpkin Pie Scented Black Tea
Anne Boleyn's Fat Rascal with Cherry Preserves
St. James Traditional Cream Scone
with Lemon Curd and Clotted Cream

Sweets
served with Hesperides Golden Delight Scented Green Tea
Prince Phillip's Pumpkin Chai Pot de Crème
King George's Raspberry Chocolate Tart
Queen Margaret's Maple Walnut Crescent

Yum!!!!!

Cleaning Up

The washing machine is running and I'm crying. Doesn't go together, does it? (I think I mentioned crying in my last post. A trend?)

This is a special load. I am washing the sweats that I wore when, sitting on the floor of the vet's examination room, I held Rondo for the last time.

They've been sitting in a corner of my closet since March. Something couldn't let me wash away that living trace of him. I couldn't see it. I couldn't smell it, but he was there, and I remember that time. I have the box with his collar, his paw print, a piece of his fur, but there was a closer connection with this.

Maybe I'm moving on. I miss my sweet, brown boy. I'll always remember our short time together, but it's time to wear the clothes while I'm playing with Caprice and Canon, to have some good times. To keep the bittersweet memories and to make new ones.

Coffee Time

Debbie, Julie, Carol, Janie, Laura

For the past 4 or 5 years I've looked forward to my weekly visits to Starbucks (during the school year) to meet with some of my teacher friends. It started when I was still teaching at Humphrey, with Julie, Carol, and Debbie. The group's composition changes because of schedules and new invitations. Julie had to stop coming when she moved to North Star, as a result of its earlier schedule. My sister-in-law Shari joined us from time to time. This year Delora has joined us. Others as their schedules permit, or if they happen to run into us there. Coffee time has continued through my first retirement, my two years at North Star, and right into my second retirement.

I remember our first coffee when I started retirement (#1). I cried when Carol and Janie left to go to school because I felt so lonely. When I went back to work, I arranged my schedule so I could still meet for coffee on my workday. Now I can sleep later, but meeting the girls for coffee time is more important. I don't mind getting up to see these friendly faces. To tell the truth, I don't even like coffee that much, but I do like seeing my friends in the morning.

Today's coffee was "special." Julie has just gone on medical leave to have surgery for breast cancer. She's scared. We're scared. But today reminded us how strong our bond is. We will all be together again.

Not thinkin' much...

Poodle-Centric Saturday

Canon had a big day and at this moment is sleeping soundly.

First we had puppy class. I was dreading class, as we hadn't practiced. I practically have to wrestle him into a down, and we hadn't practiced recall on a long lead. The worry was unwarranted. We didn't do the down and recall in class today. Canon did, however, do something unexpected. He threw up. I don't know whether it was the exercise- hearing a loud noise and examining the object, or just that he wasn't feeling well. All I know is when I looked behind me there was a pile or undigested dog food. Oh, well, there are worse things to clean up.

His day wasn't over. The Enchanted Poodle Club held its meeting at Bow Bow Blues, a dog store with a nice fenced in area. At least 14 poodles, mostly standards ran loose and played the whole time, without incident. It was a joy to watch! Canon and Roxy, who should have been tired from class, didn't let up for a moment. They played with big dogs. They played with each other. I got to meet some wonderful poodles, who were more interested in my attention that my own dog.

Canon met a girl! Minnie is a silver pup, about a month younger than Canon and Roxy, who will be 5 months in another week. The three pups seemed to enjoy each others' company. Minnie is a marvel, the way she jumps in the air and enjoys herself, holding her own with the big dogs.

I've always wanted a poodle ranch, where dozens of poodles play. This is the closest I've gotten to it!

We ambled and dawdled...

...instead of dashed at today's Doggie Dash and Dawdle sponsored by NMAHA. It was Canon's first big social event and I was very proud of both Canon and Caprice who seemed to enjoy their outing, but maintained very respectable behavior for the most part. Their favorite part seemed to be meeting other poodles near the Enchanted Poodle Club's booth.

They turned especially joyful when they met their friends Jasper and Roxy (Canon's sister). It was obvious the four dogs knew each other by the tail wagging, jumping, and rolling around andplaying done by Canon and Roxy (and I got a nice kiss from Jasper).

In the end, we passed on the official 2 mile walk. By the time it came around, our two pups had strolled and done much visiting, so we took a very limited dawdle up the road and back.

Canon was much admired and both were repeatedly praised for their looks and good behavior. On the way out the visited with Louie Lobo, which Canon took in his easy going way and which Caprice was not thrilled with. It was an encouraging day. My dogs are great, and I'm not the only one who thinks so!

Balance

I just finished making dinner- pasta with butternut squash, onion, garlic, a little Parmesan cheese, toasted pinon nuts, and salt and pepper. I was tempted to add some red pepper and some goat cheese to make it creamy, but decided enough was enough. The flavors were already balanced. While I was eating I chose this as my inspiration for my writing tonight, but I'm really not talking about my cooking.

Balance was always been a guiding force in my teaching. Balance in the types of activities- sitting and active, speaking, writing, reading, listening. I chose to include each of Gardner's multiple intelligences- artistic, movement, verbal, mathematical...

So, the meal made me wonder if there is balance in my life. Maybe it's not there. I spend so much of my time at my computer. Free choice reading is usually mysteries with female detectives. So much of my time is spent with my dogs, caring for my dogs, talking about my dogs.

Is there any balance? When I "create" a dish rather than follow a recipe, I think of a balance of tastes and ingredients. Visually, I think I look for balance in shape, color and weight, which may be why I have so much trouble hanging pictures in my house. Do Michael and I balance each other-- he, the talker, me the listener? Caprice and Canon, black and white.

I'm now on a balance hunt. What is balanced? Where can I add balance? And ultimately-- how important is that balance?

Give me my daylight!

This is very simple. I like my daylight. I like the sun. The end of daylight savings time messes with my life. The dogs get up an hour earlier and want to be fed at 4. Michael, too!) I twiddle my thumbs figuring out what to do when it turns dark. No good TV yet. Too early for me to sit and read. I can't run out in the dark and pick up the day's dog poop. I should have planned for earlier. I don't want to go anywhere.

Be prepared for six months of whining...

Flags

This is a video of the Tibetan prayer flags at the Bone Cancer Dogs Angel Ceremony. There's no action, nothing amusing or terrifically interesting, but meaningful to me or someone who was there. Rondo's name is somewhere after 2 minutes.

Halloween with the Old Farts- apologies to my friends

We've spent the last few Halloweens with our friends, Becky (devil) and John (green hat). We don't do a lot of crazy stuff, but celebrate a tradition of half-assed costumes and an activity.

I dress minimally (costume-wise, not amount of clothing). Michael always suprises me with something clever, but simple. This year he clipped a yellow flashing light on his fly and called himself a flasher. Becky, probably enjoys the costumes the most. My favorite is her granny on the back costume, which this year, she said, had a hole in it.

Our first year of celebration we went to a Haunted House, standing in line forever to get in. One year we carved pumpkins. This year we dressed up and went to see Dracula, The Musical, a campy melodrama where we could hiss and boo and cheer.

We rarely stay up late. We don't get into trouble, and don't even trick or treat, but it's nice to have a comfortable, easy tradition to share with friends--even if we're home and in bed by 10.