FIXING JEWELRY

I used to make jewelry and then I got frustrated, discouraged and bored all at once. No one was buying. I used high-end materials altho semi-precious stones, not gems. Without customers, I had no income to buy materials. I see in the catalog that my little 3mm round silver beads that are the heart and soul of so many pieces are now up to $104 per 1000. Maybe that sounds like a deal to you, but not to someone who sold NOTHING not   one  thing last year (not 2011 the yr before) NOT ONE STINKIN THING at Christmas, when I usually laugh all the way to the bank.


Ok. So I giggle. Not thousands, but at least a couple of hundred.
And that year, nothing. Not even a pair of earrings.

By the same token every art fair, every gallery, every store had tons and tons of jewelers, all priced under mine. Not that mine were over-priced--maybe they were, but not much. I never made in bulk. You never bought one of my pieces and saw anyone else wearing the same thing. Perhaps something with the same stones, but not the same design or combination of colors.

I didn't do home shows. I didn't do weddings. That requires duplicates. I quit doing art fairs the year I had three tents destroyed, one that was not even mine.

So I quit.
And after awhile I began painting again. And I sold or gave away probably 1/2 of all my jewelry stuff.

Then, suddenly, I sold two or three necklaces--good ones--. And one fell on the floor and broke. The woman brought it back to me and asked if I could fix it. It wasn't me: she dropped it on a cement floor and some of the stones broke. That day I had sold her two of my finest pieces and she had 5 more at home. How do you say No?

With caveats firmly understood (I do not have those stones anymore: most of my equipment is gone: it will not be exactly the same...) Anyway I fixed it. I restrung it on heavier wire and actually found some small pieces of Labradorite and a good clasp. I re-did it maybe 8 times trying to get the design just right. Then I discovered the heavier wire was too thick so I re-strung it, re-designing as I went (two or three more times) on lighter wire, tested the clasp, attached it, finished. Tried it on: the clasp broke in half in my hands, a terminal glitch.

Got more wire. (That piece was now too short by a couple of inches). Restrung. Re-designed at least twice. Found another pretty but not appropriate clasp, not happy with clasp AT ALL. That's life. I can order another but she will have to pay for it.
Attached clasp, and poof! all done. A mere 8 hours of work.

And now?
I do not have her phone number........anywhere.
I do not have it in the phone--either phone under her name. I do not know where she lives. I don't know if she is married. I know nothing about her except that she likes my work and buys it.

So if you're out there, the necklace is done.

FEEDING THE DOGS

This is not about what kind of dog food is best, because I have no clue. I have fed very expensive stuff that Cooper spits out all over the house so my rug crunches, and I have fed cheap shit that the dogs thrive on. So I have no opinion as to whether Expensive is as Expensive Does or the Cheap Shit is just fine.

No, this is about feeding dogs who don't want to eat for one reason or another.

Cooper has always been my picky eater. He EATS his food, one kibble at a time, crunching it up, chewing it well....it takes him forever and drives the other dogs, who have long ago inhaled their food, insane. Sometimes a person has to stand guard while Cooper nibbles his kibble, one nib at a time.

(A guy could die of hunger in the time it takes Cooper to eat one meal.)

Recently both Cooper and Nigel fell ill. Both stopped eating. I mean, like QUIT. I have been through this before with sick dogs. After every critical illness, just like the rest of you, I am left with a fridge full of opened, uneaten dog foods, soups, stews, baby food and home-made stuff. We eat pizza every night for a month so our babies can have the pizza bones, because that's all she'll keep down. We buy $10 cans of ENSURE only to find the dog would rather die first than taste it. (And I agree, having tasted my Dad's stock of it.)(No wonder he preferred Gin!!!)

I digress.
Nigel finally gave in when I gave him chickie nookle soup. Then I thought to mix in some oatmeal, and he LOVED that. I gave some to Mr.Fussy:
Cooper smelled it, shoved his bowl into a corner, and stomped off.
Gradually I began mixing regular kibble into Nigel's food and we are now about half and half. He is feeling much better and for breakfast today he will get a little oatmeal/soup mix (it is solid) and more kibble along with his Forti-Flora (about which I cannot possibly say enough good things!).

Meanwhile the OTHER dogs have discovered that Nigel is getting something special and after a meeting decided they wanted it, too.
So into each bowl goes a dab of the oatmeal/soup mix and then their kibble. Llewis always inspects to be sure he got some in his bowl.

Meanwhile, of course, Mr. Cooper is still spitting everything out. Canned dog food--not a chance in hell. Different kibble-- throw it out.'Oatmeal--GAK. Noodle soup? You have to be kidding. Baby food--find a kid to eat it, not me. Hot dogs? You know what's IN that stuff???
Turkey....Turkied out. Meatballs....I am Belgian, not Italian and no I do not care that I snarfed them last week.
And finally, yesterday--------------what's this? A scrambled egg? Is there toast with it? I miiiiiiight consid....um...yes..yes I will eat this. TODAY.
So here are their bowls this morning without the kibble:

The big bowl is Nigel's. It has oatmealsoup and Forti-Flora and a scrap of toast crust. To the left and above are Conley and Llewis's with just a dollop of oatmealsoup......and to the right, yes, scrambled egg and toast.

If he asks for espresso, he is just shit outta luck.

PS. Scrambled eggs were voted down this morning.....

IT HAS ARRIVED

Winter.
Snow.
Wo bist der snow shovel? Kemo Sabi? (Who knows where the snow shovel is? Not I. Ah, the husband has it: good.

There is only a little on the ground now but it is sticking and it is snowing as if it really means it this time.
Commonwealth Edison is parked in front with their tree-trimming truck. The guy sitting inside waiting to find out if they are really going to be trimming trees in the snow is Esteban. I know this because I asked them to move the orange cones from in front of the driveway, and I asked.

Now they have decided maybe tomorrow.

I don't know why they don't want to climb trees today. I told them to let me know and I would open the gate for them, and bring the dogs in.

It seems logical to me that this is the perfect kind of weather to climb trees and cut limbs down with power tools.

The dogs are out in it, why shouldn't those strange creatures in the bright yellow coats with the unpronounceable name on the side of the truck (Asplundh) want to be hanging around in trees. Oh look, here comes the wind we have been expecting. Oh pooh, it is only around 10 mph right now...

Conley is from Wisconsin. This is nothing to him.

Did you know that on a long-coated dog the snow doesn't melt right away and so they come dual colored: black and white?

Conley has decided maybe he is happier inside, after all..............

I love my Miscanthus and the way it looks in the snow. And no, I will NOT trim it back, thank you.

                     Nigel, the only one with a lick of sense.

YESTERDAY

Yesterday Mr. Husband was gone almost all day. I turned on my music (am currently on a Yo Yo Ma kick) and read to Nigel.
I haven't read aloud since the kids were little and the "baby" will be 37 in a couple of weeks.
It was fun to read to someone even if he wasn't real responsive and it wasn't a Basset book either, but TINKER,TAILER,SOLDIER, SPY by John LeCarre.
I decided that since his books, always an excellent read, are also extremely confusing to me I would stand a better chance of figuring the sub-plots out if I could read it, rather than see it as a movie where I only had one chance to decipher all the little tangents that turn out to be vitally important.
I love a good mystery and even more, a good spy story. The end of the Cold War unfortunately (not that I wanted it to continue) robbed the spy community of a perfect background.
So anyway Mr. Nigel and I are about halfway through the book and
my guess is he understands it a lot better than I do.

And here is our snow. I should probably get my Van off the street.

THE MEETING

Over the years I have gained a lot of weight.
This is what I used to look like, altho even here I had begun to put on a few pounds. This is Quiller, so it is before 2000.

This is what I look like now. Since it is Nigel in the cart, you know the photo is recent. My husband, who doesn't lie, says it is flattering:

What a COW!
So once again I joined Weight Watchers. The first meeting was last night. It is run by the Energizer Bunny. I get exhuasted watching her.
I told them I join and lose weight (usually about 15 pounds) and then just quit. They asked why. I was honest: I dunno.

The flab has adversely affected my sense of being. I feel ugly. I don't care much what I look like. I don't pay attention to how I dress and I don't go places because I have nothing to wear that doesn't make me feel like a fire hydrant.

My arthritis is much worse. I cannot bend my left leg up far enough to put on a sock. I am short of breath. My hips hurt when I walk the dogs, even Nigel. Sometimes they hurt so badly in the grocery store I have to stop for a moment. I think it is walking on concrete that does it, but the three thousand pounds my hips have to support isn't helping them.

Worst of all, I HATE EXERCISE. This is not new, I always have. I hated gym. I flunked it. I am not athletic. I do not get a rush from running, I cough.

But I have to get the weight off. It is imperative. I am going to have a heart attack even tho they do not run in my family. I will set a precedent. No one else in my family except one deceased Aunt after whom I am named has been fat.

I want to be skinny again. I would prefer to wake up tomorrow and discover I weigh 110. However. I guess I have to do this.

Maybe if I write it down here for other people to see, I'll do it this time.

DIM LIGHT

It is 3:47. In the morning.
Cooper came and got me up because he had to go out. As much as I love my Bassets, Cooper holds my heart in his unkempt black paws. Even at that hour, usually, he makes me smile. There he is, his one front leg on the bed, peering down into my face with his teeth showing, as if to tear my throat out: but he is smiling. "Good morning;" he says. "I'm sorry but I need to go pee. Don't you?" Yes, but not in the same place, thank you.

And so I roll out of bed and let him out and in and do my own thing and crawl back into bed and he crawls into bed with me. This is our time. And I scratch all his secret spots: the very back of his head and neck, his legpit, all down his chest and the inside of his thighs, the base of his tail, right beneath his ears, and he stretches his full length out, almost as long as the bed, and moans and purrs, and always the teeth, lips pulled back, every white and ghostly tooth gleaming in the dim light. This is MY dog.

No Basset makes me smile the way this dog does. Ok well, maybe sometimes Conley. And I know that since Nigel has become sick, Conley feels displaced, lost and ignored. He who used to sleep at my back at night now is in a crate. My sleep is broken as it is, with Nigel needing to be cleaned, now to be taken out. Conley watches helplessly from his crate, his dark eyes hooded, while I lover-up his
only serious rival: Cooper.

And my heart breaks. I tell Cooper to get down and he does. And I open the crate and Conley falls into my arms. He gets on the bed not with the grace of Cooper but with a thunk that makes the entire bed shake. On his back:"Belly rubs! Get my ears, kiss me, sweet talk me, love me like you used to. Am I still your Best Boy?" Ahh Conley, my love for you is undiminished but by necessity there is less time for it.

He burrows under the blanket. He is hopeful I will let him stay but now Nigel stirs, and begins his relentless whine. He has pooped, or needs to poop, or needs to pee and now requires my full attention.

So the lights go on and I get a coat and a towel, and carrying the cute little lantern John bought in my teeth (God don't let these damn dentures fall out now!) I  open the pen and towel Nigel outside where we spent a frustrating ten minutes peeing and stopping, peeing and stopping. Am I doing this right? I MUST be missing the bladder--oop there he goes nope, stopped again. He doesn't want to stand in one spot. Slowly inch by inch we go forward, me placing his back wobbly legs just so to support the weight and squeezing, grabbing the lantern with one hand so I can see: is he going? Start, stop start stop. And he curls around to look at me--he is done.

Cooper has come out and is watching this curiously, never in the way. He escorts us, towel, lantern and hobbly dog back into the house. Everyone gets a cookie.

Nigel goes into his clean pen and immediately is  asleep. Cooper is by my bed. Conley standing in his crate: he needs out and here comes Llewis: early to bed and late to rise makes a boy healthy and a  slow poke. I let Conley out and he rushes for the door. Llewis briefly acknowledges me as he follows Conley. I sit down now and look at the thermometer. Oh how glad I am I didn't look earlier. Fourteen degrees. Gee, why can't I get rid of this cold?

I am now thinking about bed. Seriously. The boys are back at the door. Everyone gets several biscuits. Llewis repairs to his chair in the living room. Conley returns to his crate, momentarily satisfied that he is still my best boy, Cooper notwithstanding. Cooper takes his treat and knowing what will happen next eats it sloppily on my pillow. Ack. I wash my hands. It is now 4:08. My left arm, which I have done something to the elbow part of (English Major, 1966) is throbbing horribly and so is my left knee.

I take four aspirin with a diet Coke. John is still in bed. He would have gotten up if I had asked, never complaining, stumbling out to help me with Nigel. But why? I can DO it. By the end of the day I need help, but not the beginning. What am I saying! That 4:08 is the beginning of my day??
Yes. Alas. I believe it is.

Cooper has the bed anyway. I smile. I know where everyone is and I know they are fine for now. Day 2 of my diet. But for the dogs, every morning is the start of a whole new life. It may be the same as the day before but it is new. Think like a dog and you'll make it through anything. They are warm, fed and loved desperately. What could be better? How lucky am I to start my day with them.

All my Boys

MY BIRFDAY I BE FOUR by CONLEY

Mom say I git to rite my own blug taday cuz it be my forth birfday I be fore taday. Years ole. I before be three now before. Ha ha Llewis, I be FOUR see I do nose how to spellit.
Enyways dis whut I dun so far.
Got lotsa goodies, xtra wons.
Got turnkey in my brefass an lunch. Now da toikey all gone gone get uh...chikie. Mom Say Chickie inna dinner.
Got hole buncha peeterchips. Pieterchips. Pita chips while Mom gib da odder maleman not da reglar maleman but Steve da maleman we usta hab before Rich da maleman now but sumtime still git Steve when da odder MalemanRich he on vacashun she gibbin Steve he Cwissmuss card (It got dem green peeces ob paper init cuz alla time we libbin in dat oder place he an Rich (da reglar maleman) see we gets are male ebberday.) she leeb a whole goba piter chips onna desk BWAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. I getem befour she git back. Liddel Basset pun dere.
Den heer sum pixchures me helpin Dad do he crossedworts. Dat Nigel on he lap but IT MY BIRFDAY so I gets da place ob honor. Dat so yes it is.
Almoss time for dinnr gotta go heer da pichurs.

See I gots da bess spot. Nigel he gotta reed ebberfing upsiderdown.

Dis look da same but Ise tappin Dad wif my liddel dellycut footie. (He pretenning I not.)

Whass dat one dere? Dat 1 down:  six ledders for "pest" beginnin
BASSE?

Naw naw cant be DAT, hey you nose you got a liddel mustart on you lip? Hey lemme help you wif dat here....

Ok I all grownup I gib Nigel a chance at dat mustart two. Dis be Conley goin ta get dinner at four years ole!!

Lub an Hugs ebberbuddy.

MOMPERSON HERE TO CORRECT MY MATH. CONLEY IS 3, NOT 4.
OY