WHY I DON'T INVITE YOU INSIDE

I have always liked minimalism. I thumb through House and Garden, Architectural Digest and their ilk and am smitten by homes with huge, open areas, floor to ceiling windows that showcase birch trees and pines, or a heady expanse of sand and water, and I drool. A lot.
I open BH&G in line at the grocery store and stare at the articles: Organizing your Closet Space, Kitchen of Dreams, How to Live With Four Dogs and 30,000 Books, 10,000 Seashells Neatly---wait. No. That last article is made up. I wish.
We are collectors. Hoarders? The new popular pastime? I don't know: maybe.

You (or we-- since YOU are not getting past the door, nothing personal) can still easily navigate through the house. There are obstacles to be sure.

There are three like this one and then another but the fourth will move out of your way. These are fairly stationary : also known as "Burglar Bumps" and at any given time are distributed throughout the house.
Altho they appear harmless, when you attempt to step over them, they lurch to their feet beneath you and loudly demand an apology for stepping on them, and treats.

Seating space is limited, I admit.
This is the couch, and the view out the front. It is considered a prime spot because from here one can view the houses across the street and anyone coming in or out, the brown truck, the white truck, the mailman,
the kids going to school, the meter-readers, and anyone foolish enough to come to the front door attempting to get me to sponsor their trips to Disneyworld or anywhere else. Clearly, there is no room on this couch for company. (This rare photo was taken one day when I had cleaned the dog spit off the windows.)(This is also one of the times when Conley, on the right, did NOT fall behind the couch.)

This is the dining room wall. This is why I do not buy artwork, altho there is much I would love to have. This is a "dog wall" There is another in the living room, and another in my work/bedroom. Frighteningly, there are dog pictures scattered throughout the house in addition to these. We do not need to paint: there is no bare wallspace...

The wall is a bit bigger than it appears here-- it is hard to get a good photo of it because of that light. Also when I step back to get better distance I hit one of the "bumps" and have to spend ten minutes calming it down and feeding it treats by way of apology.

This is one wall in my room.

The big painting in the middle is my Dad, painting, painted by another painter who happened to be along painting the day my Dad was sitting there, under that little bridge, painting something else. The painting is by his friend, R Shuler. The other stuff is, above and to the right, a painting by my sister-in-law, Marcia, to the left above a painting by my Dad and below that a painting by a young man in Wisconsin. There is some other stuff there-- an "esemblage" by Ginny Raftery and plaque sent to me by my friend Mary... below all this is more, and SURPRISE!! a bookcase! But the bookcase contains only a few books and mostly photographs.

What is left of my workspace after an attempt to switch from beading to precious metal clay. I have more beads than I know what to do with.
I have tried selling them. The markdown is unbelievable.
This is only part of the "space". Periodically I make a half-hearted attempt to clean it up and then, what do I do with stuff? Where do I put it? Am I really going to throw out my thousands of dollars (yes, really) of beads and supplies? Oh I want my space back, I really do. I want to be able to sit and paint or draw. In this room which was once a one-car garage, there are also 5 bookcases crammed full, a huge wardrobe, another desk, my stereo, TV and VCR, a full length mirror attached to nothing, a folded grooming table, 3 dog crates (large) and my bed.

But there are advantages to all this, too.....

Someday I will have all the time in the world to clean....

        And then, how quiet and lonely it will be in my neat, clean house.

OLD PHOTOS

Somewhere there is a photo album that my parents had. It had an ivory colored cover and black pages with the little photo corners. In it was a photo of my Father, striding down the street of downtown Des Moines, Iowa. Very alpha-- he was-- wearing a white hat and a white suit and white shoes and his almost Mediterranean dark good looks. He was first generation American and spoke German before English, but he did not look German to me.
I can't find it.
It is my favorite photo of my Father but I don't know what happened to it. I have some of the photos from that album but not all.

This was taken in April of 1942. I was not even born. My Brother would be about a year old. Dad was a lawyer and during the war he worked in the Pentagon doing something that he never discussed. I always thought it was something very very secret and that he had all kinds of clearances and maybe it was and he did but as I have grown up I have begun to suspect he was a lawyer doing lawyerly type things for the Army and he just didn't talk about it. When I grew up everyone's Dad had been in the Army or Navy or whatever and none of guys talked about it, not even Mike McMichael who had been almost torn in two by machine gun fire, or Dick Dole who was some kind of Fighter Pilot hero.
They were very proud, those guys, but not gabby.

This is my Dad and his Mother, Rosa. When I look in the mirror now, it is Rosa whom I see looking back, except she kept her long grey hair and I cut mine off, and she was never fat. Grandma was deaf pretty much. This is how deaf she was:

My parents went out a lot. When we were younger they would leave Grandma to babysit. When my brother was about, oh, maybe 12 or 14 he had an air rifle. In our house in the living room was a huge picture window, and in front of it was the chair my Dad sat in all the time. When Grandma was there she would sit in that chair and read, which she was doing the evening my brother loaded the Daisy Air Rifle with God knows what, aimed it at the window from about 6 feet away and fired.

The window, needless to say, shattered in a gazillion bits.

My Grandmother never looked up.

She was a little German lady who ended her days in a mental institution, the victim of --we were told-- organic brain disease. I have no clue what it would be now. Suffice it to say she was quite daft and not in a good way.

This is my Mother. This is exactly the same expression she would have on her face when she walked into my bedroom forty years later and looked around at the unbearable chaos I constantly kept it in. This was my Mother: Helen Jeanette Berry in 1917. She was born the day the Titanic sank.

TOYS

Some time ago someone sent my dogs a toy that they loved to pieces. It was a chicken. It made a really funny noise and while it was for the Bassets, Cooper immediately stole it, then it stolen back by Llewis who took it everywhere for a few days until Conley got it and then Cooper took it back and then Nigel had it, and all summer it was outside being rained on, and cooked by the sun, and dragged and fought over and grew green stuff on it until finally one day someone chonked down too hard and broke it.

Like the woman in BEST IN SHOW I now began quest to Find The Chicken. How hard could it be? I started at PetSmart whenever I was there, and PetCo and neither place had it. I roamed through countless toy bins at dog shows and no one had it, altho they tried to sell me substitutes, forcing me to say "No it has to be the right chicken!" (IT'S A BEE! HE NEEDS HIS BEE!!!!) I
spent hours digging around through catalogs, online looking in various places and could not find THE CHICKEN.

Yesterday at the Nationals I poked through the Vendor tables, eyes always seeking the tell-tale plushy yellow chicken. No, it isn't latex. No, no-- it has some stuffing in it. Yes, I am sure it's a chicken. No it isn't flat like that.
Yes it makes a noise but no, sorry,not THAT noise. (THEY NEED THEIR CHICKEN IT HAS TO BE A CHICKEN!!!)

Then this morning I came across the old chicken, laying under some branches (did they bury it? mourning it's demise?) and I realised (slow learner) it has a beat-up, mud-covered, tattered tag!! I brought it in the house and learned that it is an "Ethical Product" so I began there.

Well no wonder I couldn't find it. I was looking at pet stores and vendors and places like that and where, exactly is it sold? WALGREENS.
So as soon as John is through shaving I am off to Walgreen's, money in my hot little fist, to buy another CHICKEN, and I will bring it home and each dog will look at it as if to say
"Yeah ok chicken big deal-- we had one once." And go off to dig another hole in the yard or look for something to eat that will make them sick.

HERE'S CONLEY

Yesterday evil MomPerson sent Conley to have his nails done, his toofies done (only two had any tartar on them and they weren't bad) and while he was out I shaved his whiskers. Easier to do when he is not moving.
He also got his shots. 3yr Rabies, Lepto, Bordatello (Or, "bordello" as half our clients call it unwittingly).
This morning I hauled him to class where, I am unbelievably happy to say he did quite well, even putting his tail up.

There is a catch.

This is Conley NOW:

The rug is dirty. I apologize. This is under my desk where I sit. The computer is above his head, the printer to his rear, Nigel's crate to his right and the TV above that. So this little alcove is his special spot. And he spends a lot of time here, but not quite this ....plopped.

Sometimes he is aware that I am not sitting right on top of him (and when I scoot the chair in--it has wheels and all the dogs have learned it has wheels) and so I run in and out and USED to slide over to the beading table which is now covered with junk or beading equipment of one kind or another. Please note the eagle-eyed, alert expression on Conley.

Since we got back from class he hasn't gone very far....poor baby. I think I actually wore him out. (He probably doesn't feel that hot but this was the last day of class.) I feel so mean, but he was certainly animated at the class!

                                        MEAN MOMMY.              

NO CONLEY

NO CONLEY!!!!!
Not out the front window
Not by the side door
Not on the bed
Not in the yard!!

It is very very quiet.
But
Where is CONLEY?

BASSET NATIONALS as explained by Cooper

Whazzu Nashunal, Nigel?
Don't nose, little man. Nebber seed won. Ax Uncle Cooper. He bin to sum.

Uncle Cooper, whazzu Nashunal?
Oooooh Boy! You goin?
Uh hunh

Nashunals biiiiiiiiiig dog show. Da ones i went to had only Belgians. No odder breed dere. Not allowed. Oh da bitches.....ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I thot you nootered.

Ahem. Yes well one can remember.

So I go an they just Belgians?

No, you go an they just Bassets, no Belgians, no Cockrs, no beegles.

How meny? I meen how meny Bassets be there?

Lots. You gotta show against lots. Takes a lotta time. They be the best Basset frum all ober da Country. From da eest an west an norf and souf.

You ok?

Yeah why.

Thot you was sneezling.

NO. Norf and Souf. Up an down parts ob da country. Big kennels. Pros. Da peepel on da leeshes, dey do dis for a livin. Dis dere job. And they very good. Peepels like MomPerson...ahh...well less juss say you mite well as hab a monkey on da leesh.

Oh great. So I goes to dis an sposed to be all spiffy an I gotta drag MomPerson round da square ring too? You jokin, rite?

No, sorry. I done it, you can too.

Didja win?

Ahhh...no. I gotted all cited an jumped up on da MPerson juss as da Judge walkering round. I no hab a chance enyways. I whut dey call OLD FASHUNT Belgian wiff big ears an a old timey head. But Ise a Champion. Ise finished. Juss not dere. How meny ob dem points you got?

Two.

Well you ain't gonna finish noway at dis. So just tucker up an hab fun wif da ladies. Dere be lotsa dem dere. Show you stuff. Member to meke MPerson smile in da ring not meke dat OMIGOD face. Member to stan up strait an KEEP YOU TAIL UP you little bugger or I meke you a bobtail when you gets home.
You nebber seed so meny Hounds in won spot. You fink youse guys a lot? Hah. You nuffin. Member dat tail. Ise not kiddin. You be da onliest bobtail Basset in da world. Now go away. I wanna fink on dose Belgian wimmin I met way beke dere.

Fanks Uncle Cooper.  Hunh. Bobtail indeed we see about dat.

I HERD DAT!!

YOU LOOKIN AT DA BESS IN SHOW HOUND!! BWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

WILD BASSETS

The weather was cool, breezy and perfect. This was the beginning.

Cooper watches carefully. Nobody must have too much fun. The watchdog watches intently to make sure this rule is not violated. However....Bassets rarely listen, even to him...

Things (Bassets in particular) seem to have a momentum all their own..

 And from that point on, it is useless to yell, bark, rattle boxes of treats. All you can really do it stand back and watch.

It looks worse than it is. I had at least not yet mowed the lawn, so nobody had turned green. That came later.

Sometimes there is even a time-out, but these are rare.

Then it starts all over anyway

And then it stops again, and there is quiet. And the Two Brothers watch their world.

And so it goes..... Until at long last
everyone is kind of worn out at least for a little while--