Works by my late Father-in-Law, John Szaton: a bronze baseball player and a head made entirely of coal.
Friday, December 2, 2011
ART
Works by my late Father-in-Law, John Szaton: a bronze baseball player and a head made entirely of coal.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
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.)
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.)
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
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.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
WALKING WITH NIGEL
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.
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
Thursday, November 10, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
