THE TROUBLE WITH CIVILIZATION

Here we are just finishing the space age and trotting around carrying our Tablets and iPods and Smart Phones and other space age gadgetry: phones that tell you where to park and cars that do it for you and food you heat up in a microwave right in the package and $3000 grills for your outdoor kitchen....

and here is what I know.
When it goes wrong, it really goes wrong.
Like when a simple tarp is not on a roof correctly and it rains and your house drowns and you have to live someplace else for 6 months.
Or when the snazzy thing on your car that keeps the fumes from poisoning the atmosphere blows a hole and you don't HAVE the $500 to fix it.
Or you have to stay in a rental house where the insurance company is paying almost $2000 a month for you (because, remember the roof?) and suddenly you notice that water is pouring out of the sewer pipe two feet from the front door and then you notice it ISNT JUST WATER, that it is RAW SEWAGE...... and you had called about this before and the landlord did, in fact have someone come out and rod the pipe twice....
And here you are in your $2000 a month rental home and you cannot flush the damn toilet because it is going to run out that pipe down the sidewalk.
And you are NOT HAPPY.
And you want to bathe in bleach.
And when you said please get someone here now, you meant an hour ago.
And you went out and poured pure, 100% chlorox bleach all over the lawn to hell with the grass anyway.
Not a good day. Where's the wine.

DOG DAYS OF JULY

As most of us know already this summer the weather has been passing strange. Not to mention horrible. It has been one of the muggiest summers I can remember and I remember a few.

The Basset 500 has been re-invented in the rental house. Inside. The track is on the bare laminate floor so as to get the greatest effect from the sounds of nails hitting the floor and the echo of the ahroos as they circle the dining room table. We are so impressed with the impermeability of the flooring to dog nails that we are going to install it in the real house, if and when we get that far.

Sunning has been adapted to climate change as well, now being no longer than 5 or 10 minutes on the incredibly hot cement before they want back into the air conditioning. This morning, for the first time in a week, the A/C is off. Probably not for long. The dewpoint is creeping up to match the temperature outside and the breeze I had at 5 a.m. has dissipated.

In between, the boys have found ways to express themselves.

                            The Coopster, asleep. (He really was.)

Wait. What was that flash?

YOU! Leave me alone!!

The nose is always at the front and always working whether it appears to be or not.

Less apt to miss something when it is rightside up.

Some of us, of course, assume we will awaken instantly, no matter what:

PIANO

THE PIANO LESSONS

(photo from NYPublic Library/Google


Ok I have had 2 lessons with my teacher. I paid for three. We do not seem to be connecting at all. There is no common ground other than my interest in learning to play again.

The room is very very small. Very small. I am self-conscious about my inability to get things going. The smallness of the room escalates the sound of my mistakes. I am almost 66 years old and in book 1, the same book I was probably in when I was 7 years old and just starting, only I progressed faster. I know two lessons is not enough to make a judgement.

I practice about 30 to 40 minutes at a time, anywhere from once to four times a day depending on my sense of frustration and my level of tolerance for it.
I wear earphones so no one else has to listen to it over and over and over and over. If I get the timing I hit a wrong note. If I get the notes I mess up the timing. Sometimes I look at a note in the middle of something and it appears to be in a foreign tongue: I have never seen it before even though it turns out to be middle D and I have seen it and played it approximately 1000 times that day already. My brain stalls. My timing disintegrates. My fingers tangle on the keys.

The teacher and I do not connect. I said that but to me it makes a difference since I work harder for people I like and want to please. I don't dislike her at all but I get no sense of accomplishment from her. She writes "Good Job!!!" in big loopy script in my book. I am not twelve. A check-mark would be fine.

And there is her perfume. Whatever it is she uses lots of it and by the time my half hour is up I have a raging headache. It takes about 45 minutes to dampen it down to tolerable levels.  Luckily the headache doesn't start until right near the end. During the lesson I spend maybe 15 minutes actually playing.

The teacher is very nice and accomplished plus of course she has a beautiful voice and a serene manner. Her fingers are very long and thin, like spiders on the keys, beautiful to watch: mesmerizing. I look at my bumpy-with-arthritis, white, comparitively stubbly fingers (altho they are not stubbly) and despair.

This inability to do several things successfully at one time has always plagued me. I cannot get a multi-dish meal on the table all at one time. Something is always late-- the rolls, the corn, the gravey for the dressing and potatoes... I do usually manage to get the wine served.....

Anyway John and I discussed all this and he thinks I should bail and look for another teacher, one I can relax and relate to.Convenience is what led to me this place. I will have to look around. Meanwhile, does anyone have page 1 to the JSBach Minuet?

THE THINGS WE SHOULD HAVE CARRIED

(With apologies to Tim O'Brien for co-opting his title)

When the rains hit, when the house flooded, when we had to get out that day, and in the week following that, John and I were in deer-in-the-headlight mode. Whatever we were told to do we did. The push was to get our "things" out of the house so it could be torn to shreds and dried out. It seemed-- and probably was-- urgent that we work fast.

But John and I have more "things" than I think the company had expected. They thought we were normal. Never suspecting, until they were committed, that we are borderline Hoarders. Which meant there were many, many more "things" to pack than they had imagined. Cow skulls, sea shells, bird's nests, boxes of geneaology stuff, cameras, gadgets, paintings, dolls from my childhood that I never played with anyway, Stacey's clothes from HS, Christopher's first glass pieces, empty boxes with the Marshall Field's logo, empty Frango Mint boxes (after all, you can't get those any more.) well anyway, the list is endless. They were stunned: we were stunned.

They told me that they would pack everything out, if I wanted, and so in my room I packed up some fragile things ( 6 tubs as I recall marked "fragile" to "Ultra Fragile" I consigned to their care but I packed them.) and then it got to me, the amount of work left and I said you know, just take it.

And they did. Oh, they did. Lock, stock and barrel. Well no--we learned they cannot transport liquids or guns but I drank the liquids. (Just kidding. They meant even hand lotion.) And they put it in a truck and took it to Batavia, Illinois. Which is a long ways from my house.

Thinking it would be several weeks.

And it has been. That was May 26th. And it will still be "several weeks"-- they say 8. They have started work on repairs, so that is a great and wonderful thing but in the meantime, some things we should have kept are gone.
My radio-- John thought to set his aside because it is a gadget.
Wine bottle stopper: I currently cut the corks down to use.
(Actually I looked for it and could not find it. I thought I had it at the motel but couldn't find it there, either.)
The dog's records.
My wire whisks, my good set of knives, the potato masher.
More clothes.
The grooming table.
My stereo/CD player with speakers
More dog towels

Mostly I miss my radio since I do not like TV news and would rather listen to WBBM without the visuals.

And at the risk of offending, I loathe Nancy Grace. She is almost as annoying as the young woman she is currently vilifying.

LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

Well first of all it is Sunday. So there's not a lot going on anyway. Yesterday my daughter and her husband, John Arguello, came down for lunch and to see the rental and go look at the real house.
The real house has a new building permit in the window and the very best news is they are actually starting to do some work. We still have a long haul ahead, but maybe we'll be back home in time for Christmas.

Other than that, not much is happening.

It is also very very very hot. My thermometer says the actual temp is 94. The dewpoint is 73 which makes it quite uncomfortable outside. It is supposed to get hotter for the rest of the week. Getting Cooper to go outside, even when he has not been out all day is becoming a problem. Several times I have had to take him out front on a leash, to get him to go at all. Not peeing cannot be good for his kidneys.

Here is how Nigel spends his time. And then I wonder why my pillows smell funny at night.

It's a familiar smell, but not always conducive to falling asleep quickly.

The rest of the time, or a lot of the rest of the time, the Boys spend guarding the house. Against all possible intruders. This includes little children and dogs across the street, car doors slamming two blocks away, squirrels in the front yard and flies. Conley has become a fly killer.

Wow what is dat? S'dat a squrrl? KILL IT KILL IT KILLIT mebbe da noise will kill it.....

An Lookit dere dat liddel black dog Angel whut awways gettin loose so much dat MomPerson leff a leesh on the bannystair (thet youse can see iffn youse look careful) to run out an greb she an teke she home.

Whut? Whutchu meen be quite? Whut iffen dat dog wanna come in where it cool or sumfin? Oh all rite. We be quite. Humf youse no fun a tall.

GONNA BE ONE A THOSE DAYS

It is very early--oh, not so--not quite six. The beagle next door is outside and wants in and is wailing piteously. Sometimes they let her in, other times they dont. The dog across the street, a black, super friendly basset-spaniel mix named Angel has been out, discovered her fence is down (they are re-building the fence) and started off but her Mom caught her at it and called her back.

(I have returned her twice to her yard when the fence was still up . She figured out how to bypass the "gate". Hopefully, they will put in a real gate this time.)

The boys have been out twice: once at 3 and again after they ate just now, but the presence and distress of Maddie the Beagle makes them bark AND, Maddie and the boys fence fight, and I mean that in the very literal sense.

With all those long ears and loose lips I am afraid someone will get grabbed through the fence and really hurt, so when Maddie is out and about I try to either go out with them or keep them in.I have no photos of Maddie but imagine a hot dog bun with feet. A very stout hot dog bun. But small. She has liquid amber eyes and an expression that suggests she is very street-wise.

Angel actually waddles, but quickly. Her eyes reflect her total confidence that you are her next best friend in the whole world especially if you happen to have a treat. Her tail wags almost all the time, taking most of the rear end with it. If you put a little hat with flowers on her and an apron, she could easily pass for Aunt Tilly, just through whipping up lobster rolls, chips, iced tea and a praline tart (Angel strikes me as a Southern Gal. Sort of Paula Deen.).

I have been watching a starling. It found something "large"--thumb sized-- in the grass, carried it to the sidewalk and began pounding it repeatedly on the sidewalk. I do not know what it was but it seemed to be trying to get away. I suspect it was a wasp. This went on for about one minute, the object slammed onto the sidewalk,pecked, slammed again. Finally satisfied the bird ate a little of it and then flew off with it. Does this qualify as tool use?

photo from Google




It is going to be hot and humid; the humidity is holding sounds very close to the ground. People are getting up now. Maybe I'll take nap.

MOMPERSON PLAYS THE MUSIK THINGIE

BY NIGEL, LLEWIS, CONLEY & COOPER:

MomPerson gots dis biiiiiiiig pakitch. Two of em. Really akshually.
She very scited. We too stannin onna couch barkin at da brown truk. BRAINS BRAINS!!
But noooo.
She opent it an it dat musik fing she ordert. What she say when she seen it in reel life was

"Oh my god whut have i done?"

It sumfin callt a KEEBORT.
It bin 3 daze now an she kin turn it on an off ok.

Sometime she sit an go plink plinkplink.

We gotta say she uh......she.....deetermint. Not good, mind youse, but determint.
plink plinky plinky plink. plonk. oops. (Lotsa dem "oops")

She got it plugged inna wall. We finking mebbe it time to hep mail da bills. Hep DadPerson put da nvelops in da mailthings. Or sumfin.
Livin ousside lookin possibull.

The End for Now.