Talk Thursday: The Animal Life

We use to have a yard filled with birds of varied assortment, squirrels who chattered their fevered warnings from the bull pines as I worked in the yard, and bears. I rarely see a squirrel anymore, birds quit stopping by my yard when I quit putting out birdseed for the rats, and the bears… well a neighbor had three in her yard at dusk three nights ago. But, I now only have Arlo the retaliatory pisser.

Why does a dog have to be so contrary? He is. I can spend the day with him in the garden, I dig out the weeds, he whines. I dead head the posies, he whines. I water the plants, he whines, I squirt him with the garden hose. Hey, a girl has to have some justice in this world. The point is, while I have work in the yard to get done I make sure I take him with me.
If he were trustworthy I’d let him off leash, but the only thing I can trust him to do is wander away (quickly) and ignore my crass screaming at him as I run my fat ass down the street to catch him. Which is more fun than a girl wants to have, let me tell you.

A few weekends ago when Burp was here I didn’t let Arlo in until it was about 9:30 at night. I’d not gotten home from work until late, ergo dinner was late - I was in chat, Ducky in bed, and Burp was in his room. So I let Arlo in, give him several pieces of apple and return to chat; he promptly jumps into Ducky’s recliner and pees in it. WTF!?! Folks, this is not a first. Thank heavens I have a handy dandy little green machine or whatever the little green machine’s predecessor is called, but this isn’t suppose to be this way. I’ve never had a dog who took two years to house break and then reminds me how darm stupid I am by continually pissing on my rug or furniture. And no I can’t get rid of him, he’s family (the type I want to hide in my mom’s closet, but family none the less.)

So here I am, living in heaven with a pissy hellhound. God save me.

Sith,
Cele

Welcome Twenty Eleven, Nice To Meet You

Now get off my toe. Yesterday Harley made a comment on air about December 31st being the Feast of Sylvester (I kid you not) and if an east wind is blowing it bodes calamity for the New Year. Yesterday’s weather forecast for the central Oregon Coast: Partly Sunny (it was cloudy) East winds … through Tuesday – highs 40 to 45 degrees…. Clear skies, east winds, lows 30 35 degrees. We had clouds all day and 47. Rain last night 33 degrees. And Friggin’ east winds. What the Frell is that about?

I actually made midnight and a few before I went to bed this morning. This morning began at six after six with dead air on my FM dial. I called the Smurfette got a run down and went back to bed until she called me at 9:30. I spent the next forty five minutes at work rebooting computers. And then treated Ducky and myself to mochas and chocolate chocolate chip muffins. It’s not crispy hash browns, but it works.

So to close out Two ought ten I had one part timer out for a week because he was having trigeminal surgery. He’s now out for four week’s because in English, he had brain surgery, I’m not bitching, he talked his doctor down from six weeks out. My main hand man, the ying to my business yang, had a nasty ass ear infection to close out two thousand ten, he’s now kicked off twenty eleven with nasty ass ear infections in both ears. My third part timer, who has a full time job at the local Kroger, is helping with part of the basketball games, but we cover three teams… ouch.

So I tried to hook up Ducky’s Wii. I’m the techie of the house. I apparently don’t speak Wii. I hate when I have to call my bro inlaw for techie support, it’s what everyone else to who he is related does. I feel like I’ve failed – really it can’t be that difficult. I hooked all the appropriate cord to the appropriate Wii orifice. Took the appropriate audio/video RCA plugs and put them into the appropriate DVR audio/video Inputs – Nada. Yes, I sync’d the remotes. Despite being preloaded with Wii Sports I have no menu. I put in a game disc ( Link’s Crossbow Training) hit the home button. Nada. I punched every button on my remote. Nada. I stood on my head and spun three time to the east. Nada. I walked away and cooked dinner. Still nada, but I’m feted.

Ducky got me these kewl Christmas socks in my stocking.
Pandas. They totally rock. I’d gotten Burp monkey socks for his stocking, and Ducky got Psam frog socks. I really wanted a picture of all three pairs of Christmas feet. Drats that didn’t happen.
I pulled my Christmas Panda socks out of the dryer, to find out they’d begun coming unsewn. I whipped out my needle and repaired my socks. But oops, I got one of the feet wrong. But the socks fit even better than they did before being washed.

My Christmas tree is still up, my Christmas decorations are still up, and my roots are two weeks past due. But I’m good. I burnt my has browns, but TCU won and I’m good. Go Uconn.
The wind of twenty eleven is calm right now.

Sith,
Cele

Talk Thursday: If This Is The Holidays, Why Do I Feel…

The holidays were great. We had a family Christmas gathering the weekend before Christmas, bringing together my daughter, our grandson, and Ducky’s daughters and their significant others. Normally I’d not break it down that, I consider Ducky’s daughters mine, he looks at Psam as his daughter and while there have been problems, it works. This year I went the easy route, dips, guacamole, nibbles, Psam made her famous Pico De Gallo (I’m in seventh heaven) and then pizza from the local Abby’s. Sunday morning we ransack our stockings, then pile into the cars and breakfasted at our favorite omelet place. Afterwards we went home and open presents. Then two third of them can’t get out of the house fast enough. It works.

We had a smaller Christmas celebration this year for several reasons, but first and foremost… I had a breakdown last year at Christmas time. Ducky threatened to cancel our Christmas gathering this year, but Psam chipped in and was a huge help. I scaled back my cooking and all was good. To me Christmas is all about family, it wouldn’t have been Christmas without Psam and Burp, my mom and grandmother. Ducky’s family is always welcomed, as are all holiday orphans, but they all have their own families and traditions, and the girls are required (at the ages of 30 and 36) to be at their mother’s for Christmas. Let me stop now and thank my parents for urging all their children to create their own traditions – they rarely requested a family Christmas.

My father was born to a very poor family in the back hills of West Virginia, my mother to a family of standing and modest wealth in Pasadena, CA, despite the vast difference in their personal experiences they made the holidays work and taught us it’s not the present but the thought that counts. My sister, mother, Psam, and myself often make our gifts. This year Psam and I spent Christmas Eve beading the last of our bracelets for gifting. Believe it or not I was a wee bit worried about giving such a small gift, second- guessing myself and not giving the recipients enough credit. I may be new at making beaded bracelets but I enjoy it, they are pretty and wearable, I crafted each to reflect the person recieving.

Psam gave me several unique wire wrapped heart beads she’d picked up that day in Eugene. The new beads gave me the opportunity to try multi-piece bracelets. The turned out pretty kewl, my grandmother really seemed to like hers.

The one bad thing that happened was Arlo’s gluttony for anything edible- preferably something to which he is allergic, struck. Sunday morning when the house was quite, Ducky and I were doing various chores in opposite sides of the house Arlo got into my closet and ate 8 ounces of chocolate covered espresso beans. Hmm,mmm lip smacking good if his smacking lips and lapping tongue were any indication. Hey, it was all good though, he hadn’t ravished my Peeps! Not for lack of trying, one corner of the wrapper was definitely dog mauled. Butthead, stay away from my Peeps! I mean, sheesh, he got a bag of dried apple slices, a bag of banana chips, and a knotted rawhide in his stocking – what more does a dog need?

In recent years I think I let the stress and demand of the holidays get to me. This year I took back the joy and simplicity of the season. It was a great holiday season, replete family, friends, Christmas socks (pictures to come), a brand new Kahlua Cali label
that was a last minute spate of inspiration (I think I’ll make this one permanent I like it that much), and dog mauled Chocolate Mousse Peeps – It was Christmas and I feel fabulous!

Sith,
Cele

Odds and Ends Revisited & Ringo Starr and His All Starr Band

Oh so many things, so little time to blog, but what the heck, chores be damned.

Ducky is gone Tuesdays and Thursday nights, I honestly believe that is part of the reason our relationship has lasted so long. It’s not like I have the best track records, but this guy is totally a keeper. His night’s gone are two of the reasons I will always have a dog, it holds any potential loneliness at bay. It also gives me the opportunity to have Thursday – girls night out, and the chance to misstate a fact or three on Tuesday nights, when I say, “I got three laps done on the cross-trainer, I think tomorrow night I’ll go for four. The lo-fat salad was almost too much for dinner.”

Instead of saying, “I munched on a grilled cheese sandwich and peanuts, while I was blogging, followed by a three truffle chaser.” I know, I know may lightning strike. Okay, crap, it was five. Leave me alone it was not six.

Saturday night the radio station sponsored Joe Diffie at Three Rivers Casino. We had a great time, the concert was very enjoyable, the crowd could have been a wee bit bigger. But then again the Bellamy Brothers had played the night before and the three-day Oregon Jamboree was well underway in Sweethome, drawing crowds with the likes of Keith Urban, Blake Shelton, the Oakridge Boys, Travis Tritt, and Miranda Lambert. My favorite lyric?

If the Devil danced in empty pockets,
he’d have a ball in mine.
With a nine foot grand, a six piece band,
and a twelve girl chorus line.
I’d raise some loot in my three piece suit,
selling one dance for a dime.
If the Devil danced in empty pockets,
he’d have a ball in mine.

Or maybe you’d prefer…

Cause and effects, chain of events
All of the chaos makes perfect sense
When you’re spinning round things come undone
Welcome to the Earth, third rock from the sun.

Great lyrics. Fabulous energy.

Sunday night we went to see Ringo Starr and his All-Starr band at the Cuthbert Amphitheatre in Eugene. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it many times again, this is my favorite venue. The band included Walter Palmer of the Romantics, Rick Derringer of the McCoys, Edgar Winters but no White Trash (Frankenstein was it amazing), Gary Wright, Richard Page of Mr. Mister, and Gregg Bissonette. We met Pinecone, the Crown and Bridge guy, the Landlady (not theirs, my nephew Arnie’s Landlady,) and several others at the top of the grassy berm just as the sun was hovering above the horizon. You know that moment, right when it hits golden peak. Ringo called it’s “God’s Light” which I thought pretty kewl – and I guess he would know it was shining right in his eyes. We rocked out and watched the loonies and free spirits in the crowd dance to the music. What a night. I would show you the pictures Pinecone took (because I didn’t take my camera) but she’s notorious for taking these fabulous shots and keeping them among her pixel count for eons.

So you get a shot of my nose instead. I’m sporting this “come from nowhere” bruise on my nose. Truly, I’m not sure how it happened. And it hurts enough I should. It wasn’t there Saturday night. I didn’t see it Sunday. Yesterday I really didn’t look in the mirror, until Ducky offered an exhausted me dinner at a local Mexican Restaurant. I went in to brush my hair, check and make sure the old makeup was gone and noticed the bruise on my nose. Where the heck did that come from? And darn don’t touch it, ouch, I said don’t touch it. I, for the life of me, don’t know how I got it. It straddles the bridge of my nose, about the location of my sunglasses, but I never put them on this weekend. Today it rides a bit less down the sides of my nose towards my cheeks than it did Monday. Today it’s also a bit brown rather than the fuzzy gray and pink of last night. No idea.

Despite hours of watering my lawn is dead. I don’t know why. It’s not like I don’t water it for hours on end, three to five days a week. I had it aerated, I give it Scott’s Lawn plus, or Turf builder with water saver… a big sarcastic oooohhhhhhh. But, nada. Sad sad sad. The good part, it will be green again by mid October without any effort from me. See why I love the rain?

And finally here is a shot of the glorious bouquet that Ducky got me for our anniversary last week. The roses are slowly being removed as I wrap and dry them. The double lilies are browning, the Speedwell remains amazing. And the carnations are still spicy smelling. I love flowers…and chocolate too. Have I mentioned truffles lately?

Sith,
Cele

PS if Pinecone ever sends me those pix, I'll addenum. Tata

Talk Thursday: A Day In The Life Of Arlo the Tank

A day, why minimize, let me tell you a story. The most frightening moment of my life came at about 1am February 10th, 2004. Terrifying moments filled with loud crying – me, loud baying – my mom, and mass confusion – my jet lagged breeders, who’d just returned from a trip to Germany. It began as a routine event, the first puppy – me, moved into position in the birth canal and then nothing. The first puppy – me, was stuck as stuck could be and that is about the time the baying began.

Later retellings let me know the vet, thirty five miles away in Wilsonville, had been called and was speeding his way north to aid the chain of events. But at the time I didn’t know or even know what that all meant, I just knew I was stuck between the proverbial pelvic bone and a hard spot. The vet, a kindly soul with manly hands, arrived in time to pull, I mean tug me out, and the other seven puppies followed in a somewhat chaotic and rapid fashion. I, on the other hand, was forgotten in the rush of chaos and….ugh, goo.

Forgotten that is until the recounting left everyone positive one pup was missing – me. At about the same time the vet and jetlagged breeders noted the highly agitated yelping coming from somewhere from the bowels of the couch. Apparently I’d found a nice, quiet place that offered up a safe, dark cushy haven in the storming rage of the night. Yes, folks I’d crawled under the near by sofa and up into its underbelly. The only thing missing was mom and that promising teat.

I spent months being teased for having big feet, big ears, and big feet. Did I mention I have big feet? They call me Arlo the Tank. I’ve no idea why, it’s just words. Now, excuse me there are some flowers that need grazed.

Sith,
Arlo (as in Guthrie) the Tank (as in incidental)

Tums Junkie

Once my dad scolded me because he thought I’d been eating Rolaides like they were candy. They were Rolos, he just hadn’t fully heard what I’d said.

Now I eat Tums like they are candy. Especially the Berry flavored ones. Not Rolaides, not Maloxx, not Gaviscon, not Tums Smooth - Nope, Tums Ex 750. And don’t be fooled by the EX there is nothing that stops my problems. EX works no better than regular Tums, I just love the Berry flavor.

You’re thinking a Tums junkie, what gives? Well it’s not just Tums. I take Prilosec, when that run is done, I switch Pepcid, then back to Prilocsec, then on to Pepcid AC. Two weeks and what had been working, with a healthy dose of
Tums, quits working by the end of the box. Hence the Tums addiction.

Ducky’s dad died of esophageal cancer. One of my very closest friends has related how her mother can barely talk because of the damage done by Acid Reflux. I don’t want to go there. And because I have a massive sweet tooth (hence big butt syndrome) the Tums regime continues - for life I assume.

I have bottles of Tums, large bottles – the Costco size bottles – stashed everywhere. Truck, desk, purse (smaller size of course,) computer bag, cupboard, and medicine cabinet. I am an equal opportunity Tums enabler, if you need Tums, I’ve got a Tums…or three with your name on it. I even keep an old bottle next to my bed for those middle of the night moments where you suffer through burning indecision, mentally weighing getting up and disrupting sleep more than already fated, or just living through the burning acid in your throat and the damage to be done.

So last night, after 8 Otterpops while reading through my blog list and deciding if I want to blog SYTYCD, I put three Tums on top of the old beside bottle just in case. Why not inside the bottle? Because, if I do get that burning feeling at two am opening the bottle for relief will wake Ducky, who needs to be up at four am. So on top of the bottle works well.

I should have put this in my weird list last week. I CAN NOT, not make my bed. It’s just not going to happen, I am massively OC about this. Have been since childhood. So after brushing on twenty coats of mascara, I get up and make my bed. And put three more Tums next to my bed. Today is no different than any other. But my night table looks just not right. I move the pictures around, the scarf and love box that Psam and Ben made me. Still not quite right. It’s going to be one of those picky days. I go blog.

Light blog day, laundry started, lawn watered, flower baskets watered, broke fast with a pot off coffee, two slices of toast, and three Tums for good measure and I am ready to get dressed for work. Walking back into the bedroom to dress, yes I set the water in my robe and wet head – don’t you? I find my bed in total disarray, as if someone had happy danced with my Goobie (naughty mind, it’s a fluffy Platypus that lays on my bed) and flung pillows and stuffed ducky astray.

WTF?

The realization hits me that what has been missing from my bed side is my old Tums bottle. Plus the three Tums I’d put there just an hour and a half earlier. And damn now that I think of that, the three Tums from last night are gone too, because I’d never taken them.

And if you think this might have been the first time I questioned if I’d put Tums next to the bed, it’s not. I had just thought that I’d been confused, didn’t remember taking them at O dark hundred, or maybe I’d knocked them off the bedstand and they were had become the mid night feast for the unmentionables with eight legs that live behind there. It’s not like the 10 second rule stands with Tums behind the bedstand.

No, it’s Arlo, who happy danced all over my bed flinging Goobie, Ducky, and I’m sure effervesant berry pink slobber everywhere at the joy of three small Tums left by the Tums God.

Is there a twelve step plan for Tums addicted dogs?

Arlo The Tank

Four years ago I was mourning the loss of my beautiful Kya, a Rhodesian Ridgeback that had been my constant companion for thirteen years. During that time I knew I’d soon be seeking a new friend to fill the lonely times when Ducky was away. A friend to be lazy with, a friend to walk with, a friend to cuddle and share my popcorn with.

On April 10th 2004, my mom and I took the day off and drove the 200 miles to Ridgeway to pick up my new best friend. The breeder had named him Tank. The sort of name you might expect for a Mastiff, Bull Mastiff at that, but kind of a peculiar name for a Basset. Until you hear his story. Expected to litter on February 12th, the breeders weren’t too surprised a few night early to hear the bitch making a bit of a commotion from their family room. From the vicinity of couch interior they could hear a puppy crying. That’s right inside the couch. No that wasn’t Tank, how do I know that? Because Tank was firmly stuck in the birth canal and couldn’t come out by power of the bitch, the owner, or himself. 35 miles later the Vet unstuck him and Tank entered the world, followed by six more puppies. As you can guess he was huge from moment one.



But see, he’s so damn adorable. Oh well most of the time. He took almost four months to house-break. Ducky was almost to the breaking point. He only tried to chew up a few shoes, no bras, or furniture. But, beware the socks on your feet. To this day, three years later, he will snatch them right off your unsuspecting feet. He delights in sock snatching, which between him and the ones Ducky loses in his recliner, we are missing socks. One of his favorite things? To sit with his back to Ducky and have him rub his feet on his back. They were made for reach other.

Happy Birthday, Arlo!

Now when you stop to think that he is a normal healthy three year old Basset, I will let you in on a few…er…Basset/Arlo facts.

• Male Bassets tend to weigh 65 to 70 pounds. Arlo weighs 83
• All Basset Hounds KNOW they are lap dogs. Arlo is well aware of this fact.
• Bassets do not like baths. Arlo is no exception.
• Bassets are stinky dogs. I have a hard time smelling him, Ducky doesn’t.
• Hounds howl – I use to have blood hound that was the definition of this hound fact. Ducky had to teach Arlo to howl. I’m jealous of this little feat, Arlo won’t sing for me.
  Bassets are just big dogs on little legs.
• Arlo can reach almost anything on a counter you don’t want eaten.

Arlo loves ice cream on Friday nights. It maybe Saturday, but he will get ice cream.
Happy Birthday, Arlo.