NOTES TO SELF

I make the worst soft-boiled eggs in the world. My Mother made perfect ones and I do not remember that she poked holes in them or gently gentle lowered them into the water.
The only perfect soft boiled eggs I have ever made were after my Mother died and I went to visit Dad. He was so sad because what he missed was (well my Mother, of course) his soft boiled eggs he had every morning. So I did them for him and even put them in the little cups I knew she had used for them. He was so happy.
I have never been able to duplicate that. I should be thankful that I could do it that one, horribly important time.

I have two kids who turned out ok. At least I think they're ok. They don't do drugs, they've never been in jail, they did not belong to or tangle with gangs. They sometimes remember my birthday and Mom's Day but we never made a big deal of either. One is happily married the other has a lovely girlfriend. I should be very thankful that my children have not driven me into an early grave. And so I am. They are very thoughtful, delightful people.

I have a husband who is the first and only husband I will ever have. We have had some very rocky times but he has overcome alcoholism and I am unbelievable proud of him for that. If he did nothing else in his life, that would have been enough, but he has been a fine Father, and always there for us.  He is a softie when it comes to the kids and the dogs. He is extremely smart, very funny (altho he thinks I don't appreciate it and sometimes I don't) and extremely intuitive. He has a fascinating mind. It remembers the damndest things. I should be grateful that we made it through the rough years and have learned to love each other. And so I am.

And of course, I have all these dogs! And John has always understood about the dogs and helped and been there when the chips were down. I remember my first Belgian. I took Quiller out to run and we did, in a field. It was only about 70 degrees out but he had a heavy black coat and I was stupid and coming back to the car he began staggering. So I carried him to the car (I was much younger) and rushed him home where we found he had a temp of 105. John grabbed him and shoved him into the shower, and began cooling him down: we set up fans in the living room and he carried my dripping wet soul-mate into the living room and placed him in front of the fans. I said "The rug!" and he said
"We'll get a new one." And I thought, this guy is really a keeper. He was there for the birth of our puppies, he was there when each dog began to fade. He has shelled out thousands and thousands of dollars for the dogs. And every time he says NO MORE, I get another....so I am thankful to have the dogs, the goofy things that make me laugh and keep me going, and to have John. I am.

Friends. I have friends. Friends I have never met because they exist somewhere else, and I speak to them on the computer and I care deeply about them, as if they lived next door. I am on speaking terms, more or less, with people all over the world. Because of the dogs. I lost a friend this year, not to death but because I failed to live up to her expected standards. It's too bad because I miss her, but she has made it abundantly clear that I am persona non grata, so that's that. But I have other friends, here and on the computer who are not expecting me to be anything other than what I am, and for that I am very happy, thank you.

Happy Turkey day, a day in advance, to my husband, children, dogs and friends. May you live long and prosper. (Thanks to Mr. Spock for that line.)

CARING FOR YOUR HANDICAPPED BASSET

Got up at six, a little later than usual. Immediately discovered that Nigel had pooped in the one corner he never poops in and which is pretty unprotected (We have erected plastic shields inside the expen walls to keep poop from being crunched up into the bars and onto the wall behind.) so I found myself at 6:15, tearing the whole pen apart again during which time I, of course, got dog shit on my fingers....sigh....

 

Then I re-did the pen, and while I was doing that, Nigel took a shit which I stopped to clean up. No biggie, that one. Back to the pen: hounds went outside and began instantly screaming. Got them in, worked on pen. Conley wanted to help by standing in the middle and supervising so I could neither move the cloth I had put down or put down the dog beds. Chased him out. Nigel off bed and scooting for the water dishes.

 

 Ok. Finished pen, shook dog poop crumbs out of bedding (Outside) and put it in the dog laundry basket. Put Nigel back on bed.

Just then John came out with treats. I had been trying to re-write the letter to our former snarky landlord in a better format. John tried to help but couldn't figure it out, either. He left. I started over trying to figure it out. Nigel got off bed and headed for the kitchen. I smell dog poop. (What is this, superppoop day????) I look and cannot find anything.

 

 

I go to get Nigel. He is squirting all over the kitchen and dining room as he drags. I am trying to get a towel around him but he is a moving target, he doesn't really wanna go back on the bed and is amazingly adept at avoiding the towel. I finally snare him and march him back to the bed where I discover he must have pooped getting off the bed and starting for the door. I drop the towel and he immediately heads for the kitchen, squirting as he goes. I clean up the dog poop that is under the bed where it had rolled or been kicked, and along the edge of my rug.

 

 

Then I recapture Nigel, clean up the squirts and deposit him on the bed with instructions to the effect that, if he moves off the bed again he will never leave his pen again as long as he lives. This time, I really mean it.

                                                         UH HUNH

WALKING WITH NIGEL

It is a wild morning. Began with sun and wind and now is overcast, going to rain, but the temp is a balmy 61 degrees at the moment despite the wind, which is at a steady 10-12 mph with gusts up to 20  and up. I thought since he had not been out yesterday it would be good to get Nigel out and moving not that it would hurt me, either.
So we saddled up and headed out, leaving the rest of the dogs screaming in dismay.
We have been going around the block. It's really about a block and a half long.
This time I took him on our old route, when he had 4 working legs, through Winnebago Park.
It has nice, asphalt paths and a couple of little wooden bridges and I want him to get used to different surfaces.
We saw not one single other person and no birds.
I am sure the birds were there, but clinging to their branches.

On the turn for the homestretch there are 5 or 6 very fragrant pines all clustered along the houses. It smelled so good. It made me want to plant a pine tree and then I remembered what we paid to have the sewer pipe replaced where Roger's and Sara's trees-- on either side of us-- had shoved roots through the old clay tiles and torn the pipe to shards. Maybe not. Maybe I will stick with annuals--petunias and a few marigold.

Anyway we were maybe a full block from home with the wind right in our faces when Nigel's head snapped up and he stopped and I could see he was air scenting. I looked ahead and saw John working in our yard trying to level off the huge piles of dirt left behind when they relaid the pipe.

Nigel broke into what for him is a full gallop. It is a rapid and rather awkward trot but his tail began going full speed, to propel him along. I took the leash off-- I was only a few steps behind him-- and let him go. He adores John. I will do in a pinch.

Later I took the dogpoop to the garbage can which meant opening the gate. John was right there and despite both of us being there, Conley shot between us and out the gate. He came right back, thinking he was going to get a treat because I shamelessly lied and offered him one. That he did not, in fact, get a treat for returning is probably something he will remember next time. And there will be a next time because he is unbelieavably quick when he wants to be.

Bassets are so strange.

Coming Home



THINKING AT 4 A.M.

I was up with the dogs at 4, this is typical. I happened to look out the window and of course it was pitch black and for some inane reason (you will find that word applies to this particular blog because who else cares what I think at 4 in the morning.) Anyway I remembered the little rhyme:
Red sky at night
Sailor's delight.
Red sky in the morning
Sailors take warning.

And I cannot remember NOT knowing that rhyme, and wondered why I knew it--I certainly don't sail-- and when I learned it and who taught it to me.
Then I thought about an incident that occurred at the International Dog Show one year:

I had Cooper and was walking around with him, and a man and his daughter stopped and wanted to know what he was and could they pet him. The girl, who was about 10, asked me his name. I said "Cooper" and she said "Does he make barrels?" and I laughed and said "No, but that is VERY good!"
She had this huge smile and her Father, and John who were standing nearby, frowned and said "I don't get it."
I said,"Cooper-- his name is Cooper. A person who makes barrels is a Cooper."

This little girl was so thrilled. She knew something her FATHER didn't know, and someone else appreciated it and understood. The look on her face was wonderful, she just glowed.

When I told a friend about it, she who was then still teaching, said "She learned that at school, in some unit they were studying." and I thought yes, she had, and wasn't it cool that she knew that.

So to all of you who are teachers, or were teachers or are going to be teachers, I thank you on behalf of that delighted little girl and a wonderful memory.

BACK ONLINE

No pictures. They are all on the flash drive, or most of them, or the external hard drive but I have none on this new computer yet.

The other day when we were saying farewell to my son and his lady, I left the dogs shut in my room. My constant can of coke on the table next to the computer, which was on, probably.

One of the dogs-- most likely Conley-- got on the table and knocked the pop over onto the computer. It was at least a half hour before I found it, so it had plenty of time to run through the keyboard into the innards of the 'puter. Apparently Coke is not the drink of choice for Toshibas. It was, i suspect, the death knell for it. I did take it in and paid to have it sent away to be "evaluated". But the people I have talked to have not given me much hope.

So John decided it was better to let me have a new computer than for him to try to live with me for a month while the old one was (maybe) repaired. This is also a Toshiba, but has some features I don't like-- I'll get used to it. It was much less expensive than the old computer so that's one factor.

__________________________________________________________

Took Nigel out for a walk. It is very windy and he liked the smells.  On the way back he saw John carrying out trash and boy, his tail started like a windmill and he tried to run, but can't quite do it. No question whose boy Nigel is.

NICE WEEKEND

This turned out well. My son and his girlfriend--you understand she is a woman but what do you say, "womanfriend"? Ack. "Lady friend?" sounds...cold.) came up from Knoxville, TN so he could do a job interview. (Altogether now, start thinking positive interview result thoughts.) He won't know for several weeks.

Anyway that was Thursday. Friday the three of us went to Navy Pier downtown to see the SOFA art show see yesterday's blog.

Yesterday they came over and decided to work in the yard. In our back, we have a 6 foot privacy fence. Behind that fence live Oreo and Quentin. Quentin is a huge black lab possibly mix but maybe not. Oreo is a totally live-wire Border Collie with the brains (maybe)of a physics professor and the energy of 37 two-year olds who are hungry and need a nap and just ate 3 candy bars. Oreo barks. My dogs bark. They run the fence barking and growling and throwing (since they are separated by a 6 foot fence quite securely) meaningless threats of bodily harm and taunts.

To stop this nonsense, I put up, using a series of old ex-pens, a fence about 8 feet inside the big fence, to keep the dogs apart. Yeah like that worked.

In the meantime, the buckthorn and wild roses and weeds and so flourished in that 8 foot strip until I had a veritable jungle back there, really bad, and ugly and impossible for me or John to tackle alone. And then, to top it all off, we were gone for 4 months and did no gardening, no weeding. That section and my garden went to hell in a handbasket. Huge stands of Tickseed hung over the fence into Roger's yard on one side. A baby Buckthorn leaned heavily against the fence, making it sag. Wild roses grew canes up into the trees which was kinda pretty and weird but not exactly the suburban yard look we were hoping for. Juniper from Oreo's yard leaned into the OTHER fence and hung heavily over. Buckthorn suckers were everywhere. Maples began to thrive in the garden. It was awful.


So for most of the afternoon, Christopher, armed with a tiny electric chain saw, and Stacey, covered in tickseed (I could easily have entered her in Sofa as Sculptured Object if she could have held still enough.)cut and piled, and cut and piled and cut and piled and now...it is a miracle land. Not clear cut, but so much better.

Before we took the ex-pen fence down (I really do not want the dogs back there--we have found things thrown over the fence that would not be healthy at all--) All the dogs came out, Nigel in his cart-- and for once he seemed happy to be in the yard and roamed around and wagged his tail. It was great.
And then my daughter Stacey and her husband arrived, and we  had a lovely dinner-- stuffed manicotti with a tomato sauce that Stacey the other Stacey not my daughter Stacey (see how complicated this is getting?) made and bottled and brought, and garlic bread and a fabulous apple upside-down cake my daughter Stacey not Christopher's Stacey made. And by then the day was reluctantly almost gone, and my daughter had to leave to take care of their dogs-- they have an hour's drive-- and the other two could barely keep their eyes open, and we wound it down.

This morning I am going to have breakfast with Christopher and Stacey and  then they are headed back to Tennessee. Nigel is on my bed, Llewis with him.
Things are creeping back toward normal altho I still have some dishes to wash and laundry to do and Nigel to walk, and some limbs and brush to move from place to place in the yard.

I liked my weekend. I am sorry Christopher and Stacey will not be here for Turkey day, but on the other hand, it was the best non-Turkey day weekend I have had for a long, long time.

Pictures later.

ART ON FOOT

This weekend at Navy Pier here in Chicago (or there in Chicago because we do not live IN Chicago.) is a huge art exhibit called SOFA. This stands for Sculptured Objects and Functional Art.
It is one of those things that some people attend every year and others hope to but rarely get to go. I am one of the latter.
The SOFA show is a collections of Galleries and their art.  Some individuals have their own studios and so represent themselves but usually a Gallery will send 5 or 6 pieces by several top-notch artists and their Gallery reps go along to explain the art, discuss it, and of course, sell it.

This is a brooch. It is by an artist named Biba Schultz and is made of sterling silver, antler, green garnet  and coral. This almost the size of it. I think it is wonderful. It has the components in it that I most love-- natural things. I wish I had thought of it first.
(Don't worry, I won't bore you with a lot of detailed stuff.) I am going to put in a few things and that's all. You wanna see more go to SOFA next year.

This is one of my favorites because I am a freak for Tourmaline, which is what these stones are. It is by Isaac and Orney Levy. They had another there with Watermelon Tourmaline, which is where you see the color change on one stone: it will be rose in the center and gradually paling out into greens  and golds--they are quite stunning.

This is ceramic and by Lars Calmar. You can see why I liked it. (No, not the guy.)
One more because it is glass. I went to this with my son the glass-blower and his lovely girlfriend, Stacey. I have not seen so much glasswork under one roof since I visited his studio, Marble City Glassworks, in Knoxville, Tn. The true delight of this show for me was being with my son and listening to him explain how some things were done.
We did not take cameras, because normally you are not allowed to photograph artwork. Artists do not believe that copying their work or methods is the sincerest form of flattery. They consider it thievery.
So these photos are from the SOFA catalog. However, EVERYONE had cameras, and everyone was photographing the art. I am sorry now, that we did not, altho we felt very virtuous.
There were some glass pieces there you have to see to believe, seriously. Huge pieces of tiny, thin, very sharp looking pieces of glass made into large whorls and with the lighting, a billion different angles and lights. But this one was in the catalog and so I include it:

Oh and here is one more-- about 5 feet high:

Oh just this last one..or two or three....................................................

 

DOGS AGAIN

The weather was really crappy today and Nigel did not get his walkers. However he got more than he needed yesterday.
We want him to use the cart in the backyard.
He doesn't agree.
I took him out (read "dragged") to the backyard. He had already had a walk earlier which consisted of walking across a lush baseball field infield. So I knew he could do it.

"What? I'm supposed to DO something? How about if I just stand here?"

So I got a leash and with some less than delicate coercion, got him to go to the end of the yard, but he wasn't happy.

 

                               "You do what you want. I ain't movin." My problem is I am impatient. DadPerson is not. So while I was swearing and stomping around the yard hoping all the dog poop was picked up (it was not.) out came Gentle John.

And he went out and knelt down and talked to Nigel, the way he used to talk to our son we he was a toddler.

The other dogs-- Llewis and Conley-- were deeply concerned and tried to show how much fun Nigel would not be having again for a long, long, long time and maybe never. They are so thoughtful......

But DadPerson was still out there. Talking away. Doing his Psychologist Thing on Nigel.

And lo and behold, here came Nigel, plodding along reluctantly through the newly mown grass.

     While Conley and Llewis continued to show....uh....themselves off.

But DadPerson can be very persuasive. And he continued to encourage Nigel to come back toward the house, toward TREATS!! Yes, for goodies. And so he came, did Nigel....
Until he had passed me by on his way into get treats and a well deserved rest.

And now it is late, and it is time for me to go to bed in my own bed, and for Nigel to ..... uh....oh Nigel, please--- can't you go to bed in your pen?Do  you really have to look so comfortable on my bed??

Well......maybe I can sleep in the chair tonight.....

SOME LANDLORDS (Long one)

As many of you know we spent most of the summer as displaced people. Due to a poorly placed tarp during re-roofing, a monsoon, tons of rain, we ended up in a motel for three weeks, dogs (except Cooper) in boarding while our real house was gutted due to the rain rot. (No pony with rain rot ever looked as bad as our living room....)

Anyway eventually a placement company found us a house not far from where we really live. The Landlord who shall at least at this point remain nameless, had a no-pet clause in the contract but, let's face-- he was going to make a BUCKET of money off our insurance company if he allowed the dogs in. So he did. And we had them bathed and cleaned and nails trimmed before we took them to the "new" (read: Rental) house.

Now we did notice on moving in that the last tennants, who I believe were forcibly evicted, had kicked in both front and back doors, splitting the door jambs which had not been fixed altho the doors had new locks. For the most part the house was clean altho there were crumbs inthe drawers, no towel rods in either bathroom... but this was the house. See? Clean. No piles of poop on the floor, no puddles of pee...

Ok. SO. Sept 9th OUR house was done and we were ready to move out. I called the Landlord for several days ahead of time--- we are leaving on the 9th we are going to be gone on the 9th if you want a walk-through we will be leaving the house on the 9th and we got no response. On the 9th the guys came and took the rented furniture. I swept and swiffered the laminate floors, I vacuumed the carpets. We had picked the backyard perfectly clean-- the dogs were back at the kennel, and we went over it and over it, getting every bit of poop.

While we were there, we had raccoons in the ceiling, mice in the cupboards which I trapped with old fashioned, kill'emnow traps. The sewer backed up and the pipe had to be replaced in the front yard  and when they laid sod, we watered it.
We trimmed the bushes, cut the grass, planted flowers, kept the yard picked up, bathed the dogs, threw sheets over the rented furniture (not the Landlord's) and kept the dogs downstairs.
Nobody puked in the house, nobody pooped on the floor, nobody peed on the walls.

***********************************************************

So Now the Landlord starts calling. It seems the "pet smell" from our "five dogs" was overhwhelming.
It is strange that the Insurance company people, the re-habbers, the movers, the guests we had never mentioned the overwhelming pet smell. (Nor have we been able to locate the mysterious 5th dog.)

Well anyway they never showed up for the walk through when I left. We called them maybe 5 times after that asking for a walk through and were never able to get one scheduled in fact at one point I was told "Oh we're not worried about YOU". This guy rents to Section 8. We were NOT section 8, our insurance people almost doubled his usual usurers rent.

Now they are saying that they cleaned the carpet twice to get rid of the "pet smell". This would be a living room and one bedroom where the dogs were allowed. Then because it was still there they cleaned again with a deodorant. (Yes, are you, too wondering why they didn't do that to begin with, if the smell was so bad? I have been wondering that myself.)
And then
AND THEN!! It was still soooooooooo bad, that they RIPPED OUT THE CARPETING and put in new and you know what it STILL STINKS IN THERE!!!!

Here are our dogs stinking up the rental house. See the urine and poop everywhere? See the mud on them? Disgraceful! Owners should be whipped.

So now, of course, the Landlord wants MORE MONEY. $2000 more. He tried to collect from the company that paid the rent for us while we were there, and they paid what they thought was reasonable, called us, and when I hit the ceiling they refused to pay him more.

He had his secretary call me. Oops. Maybe not a good thing, since I was already furious. Maybe his secretary got in three words or maybe not. I reminded them that we did not kick in the front and side doors and split the door jambs like the people before us, or put the dings in the metal door to the fridge. I reminded her that we took care of the lawn and the house and called about raccoons and trapped mice and had they checked to see if something dead was in the house (maybe that 5th dog). I told her we were better tennants than the last 10 people they rented to (I had this on good authority from the neighbors) and that I wasn't going to roll over and whine just because they were trying to rip us off. She said
"But you had that SICK dog"--- referring to Cooper, whose only problem is a missing limb and the fact that yes, he probably does have cancer crawling around his body someplace, but we haven't found it and besides today is his 11th Birthday.

When the call ended I told the secretary to tell Mr.__________ what I had said and also to tell him to "Take a hike". She laughed. She said she would.

There we are except now he is still trying to collect $2000. I am not even sure he replaced the carpet, because he declined all walk-throughs, even from the placement company. I asked them to pass the word that Mr._________'s office is not to contact me again or they would be contacting my lawyer.

This guy owns another house on that street with broken gutters and a guy who yells and screams and smacks his wife andkids around, who threw his wife through their window right after we moved into the rental. This is who he usually rents to. The neighbors we had all said they were glad to see us and sorry we left. I still talk with them. The house behind us had tennants evicted by the Village 3 times in a row. Not for non-payment: for criminal activity.


Sure wish I knew where that 5th dog was, though. I wonder if they counted the neighbor's beagle, Maddie.

                   Nigel at the rental house, looking for the 5th dog.