The 'Butt is Most Displeased

My son asked my husband and me to foster an abandoned dog that a friend of his rescued. We put up a brave show of resistance but of course we took the dog. They say he’s a Lab but I think he’s a Lab mix. Black Lab’s don’t normally have a white stripe on the chest. He also has some white toes on his back paws and is smaller than most the Labs I know. But, overall, he looks very Lab-like. His name is Ben – coincidentally the same name as my future son-in-law.

Chase and Emily brought the dog over last night to help us decide whether we would take him in. Of course, Ben didn’t leave with them. He’s a lovely dog and can do something we’ve never been able to get one of our dogs to do – he can catch objects in mid-air. He loves it … he really loves it. All our dogs would just sit there while balls, Frisbees, treats, whatever, bounced off their snouts but this guy is an ace. I can’t wait to play Frisbee with him.

Oh, and he wuvs the cat. He just wants to play with him and thinks it’s so cute when Tiggerbutt growls and hisses at him. Ben looks from us to the cat and it looks like he’s trying to say, “Look! Look how fluffy! I want him. Please, please, Puhleeve give him to me! We’ll have fun. Promise!” The cat makes a break for the door, imitating a pinball, never touching the floor. I swear to God it was like watching “Thunderdome.” That cat’s amazing. He ran on the wall. As long as Tiggerbutt doesn’t try to jump over Ben, he should be just fine. Right now the ‘Butt has taken refuge on top of one of the den bookshelves:



Who wouldn't want to play with that?

Sneezing Requires All My Concentration

My daughter is getting married. In six months. It’s serious get-to-work time. Of all the daunting things that can be thrown at a MOB (mother of the bride - nice, huh), the most disconcerting for me has to be the, almost as an afterthought, statement, “Oh, I need you to send me your measurements.” It’s not the measurements really, it’s the acknowledgement that I actually have a body. I’ve made a concerted effort over the last several months to totally ignore my body -- and that’s been working out okay. I really don’t even know how much I weigh, but now I must get out a tape measure and do the deed. I’m sure I will be appalled. I wish my daughter did not work in a bridal shop so far away. If I was getting my MOB dress close by, I could go in, request a blind fold, hold my arms out, have a lit cigarette placed in my mouth and stand there while a person I’ve never seen before and will never see again (specified in writing) wields the tape measure and whispers numbers (preferably metric - I’ve never figured out metric) to a tape recorder.

Confronting the inevitable, I was inspired this morning to go for a walk. Where I live, this time of year is pollen season. No, not pollen season -- that’s too innocuous for what occurs in my neck of the woods. It’s more like pollen Armageddon. Leave anything outside for five minutes and it will change color to yellow-green. I’ve always felt that it is particularly unfair that the first open window weather of Spring is accompanied by a dust storm of screen-mocking pollen. I’m one of the lucky people that doesn’t suffer from allergies but even I have my limits. I was near the end of my walk when the stuff got to me and I had to sneeze, which made me realize that sneezing requires all my concentration. I must come to a complete stop and focus my attention or, let’s just say, the rest of the walk will not be pleasant.

On the plus side, I just had an eye exam and my nearsightedness is actually being counteracted by age-induced farsightedness. Cold comfort is better than no comfort at all.

"Alabama"

Vhat choo tink ’bout Alabama?

This question was asked of me by my Austrian step mother yesterday as I was trying to watch the delightfully surreal 1937 Jack Benny movie, Artists and Models. If there was ever a movie intended to be viewed while stoned, this is it. (I just ordered a copy.)

Turning my head toward her but with my eyes still on the screen, I replied, “Well, I think Saban’s turned the program around and they should have a good season next year.”

She said, “No, de president – Alabama.”

That got my attention, so I turned to her and said, “Well, he’s only been president a week…”

“He gonna bring socialized medicine. You vatch, he selling America.”

I just stared at her. This is the same woman that grew up with socialized medicine and has touted it over the American system of healthcare as long as I can remember. I pointed out that we practically had socialized medicine what with the HMOs dictating medical care now. I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about with the selling America statement. Experience has taught me not to pursue her more ludicrous pronouncements, e.g. “Silber Satin give you yeast infection.” (Silver Satin being some kind of liqueur). There’s no point arguing with her. She will never like “Alabama” because he’s a Democrat and black. Just like I never liked Bush because he was a Republican and a moronic Cheney meat puppet.

Theme Day

Some days, it’s just all about the ass.
· A co-worker fell and busted hers.
· I changed a 5 gallon water bottle and pulled mine.
· I was asked to catalog a model arm used to teach venipuncture technique to future nurses and phlebotomists.

Okay, I know that last one did not involve an ass but on the photocopied page of the teaching supply catalog there was a picture of a model ass below the picture of the model arm. The model posterior is an intramuscular injection simulator and I know it’s only a matter of time before I’m asked to catalog the ass.

What is this feeling?

For the past week I’ve noticed a persistent lightening of the spirit. Yesterday I realized I’ve been suffering from a malaise brought on by an absolute mistrust of the people running the country. I didn’t even know how much my psyche had been affected by Bush, Cheney, Rove, etc. until the election was decided. I lost the sense of resignation that I didn’t even realize had been weighing me down.

Obama and his administration will screw up too but I can’t believe it will be anywhere close to the massive incompetency and clandestine machinations we’ve been subjected to over the past two terms. It’s like grown-ups are in charge again – leaders that can put together coherent sentences with real words that actually convey complete thoughts. If that makes me a snobby elitist, I’m willing to accept that -- doesn’t make me a pseudo-American, Governor Palin.

That the American public cares so much about what the President-Elect can do before inauguration is testament to the debacle of this administration. Seriously, I can’t remember any other President-Elect being asked about anything, outside of staff and cabinet appointments, before inauguration.

So, I’m looking forward to the next four years as the country begins digging itself out of the hole it’s been plunged into.

WTF? over.

I don't get it. I just don't get it.

All we've heard about for two weeks is that if the bailout bill doesn't pass congress, and fast, we'll all be wishing we hadn't thrown away that refrigerator box.

Apparently the House didn't like the idea of spending $700 billion to save investment banks so they turned up their noses, crossed their arms and said, "no." Then the Senate got hold of the bill, added enough crap to it to bring the total up to $850 billion, passed it and sent it back to the House. The House's response, "NOW, THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!"

Hallelujah! ... Happy Days Are Here Again ... popping corks ... WOO HOO!

But wait a minute, what's up with the market? While the bill was being debated in the House, the Dow was up 300 points. After it passed, the Dow was down 157 points.

Erm, excuse me, what ...? I don't ...? Huh?

Suburban Agriculture

Gardening is not for wusses. Being a wuss myself, I can speak with some authority on this subject. I was dubbed the child with the green thumb at an early age and clung to the title. Being the third of four kids, I eagerly latched onto any characteristic that distinguished me from the pack. I lost my dog last year but gained a back yard. It was impossible to grow anything other than grass back there while Alistair was alive. Alistair of the toxic urine. He peed an apple tree to death for gosh shakes. And, he totally corroded the lower hinge on the gate. That hinge looked like it came up from the Titanic when it finally just crumbled. Don’t even ask about the air conditioner.

Anyway, the garden. It’s very small -- only 8’ x 10’. I planted it with tomatoes, okra, onions, lettuce, beans, peppers and zucchini. The zucchini was a bust. I got one before it died in captivity after putting up a rabbit-proof fence (more about that later). Zucchini does not like to be penned in. One plant apparently needs about 50 square feet to be happy. It didn’t go down alone, however. It launched a hostile takeover of the beans’ territory. While it was busy stunting them, it left its rear unprotected and that’s when the fence slipped in cutting off any chance for retreat. The zucchini chose death over surrender.

Back to the rabbit proof fence. It falls under the “Seemed like a good idea at the time” category. The fence lived up to its name and kept the rabbits out. Unfortunately the three foot high fence was more than my five foot frame could handle. The first time I fell trying to step over it was because my shoelace got caught in it. Fortunately, being only five feet tall, I don’t have far to fall. The second time I fell the fence teamed up with the bird netting I’d spread over the tomatoes. This time my foot got tangled in the netting as I was stepping over the fence with an armful of tomatoes and okra. I lost my balance as I was trying to free my foot. As I crashed through the fence the produce was flung into the air and rained down all around my prostrate body. My finger was caught in the netting and as I sat up, the tent stake anchoring the end of the fence popped out and came whizzing by my head. bugger. The netting ripped my fingernail off halfway down the nail bed. (You just cringed, don’t lie.) I looked at the nail and knew it was going to hurt and bleed like hell once it figured out what just happened. I was right. I gathered up my veggies and limped back into the house, trying not to drip blood on the floor. I made my husband cut the rest of the nail off, went to bed and slept for three hours. Proportionately I think the injury I sustained in my 8 x 10 garden is the equivalent of a farmer having his arm wripped off in a thrasher. We took the fence down and I have yet to see a rabbit in the garden. However, I do think I heard snickering coming from the bushes when I fell.