Release some tension.
Slap a candidate.
It's oddly satisfying.
Link swiped from Sam's Shoe Box---thanks Sam!
October 27, 2004
October 26, 2004
Dogs Make Good Company
Today, being Tuesday, was one of my floating work days. Which means I get to set my own schedule and go where I either a) need or b) want to go. I get to decide if. I get to decide when. It's a flavor of my work life I'll miss someday if I no longer have such flexibility.
So when one client wasn't ready for me, my Tuesday morning freed up but my Friday morning became booked. I can live with that. I ran a bunch of miscellaneous errands from the list I'd carefully been compiling in my notebook for whenever I found time to do such errands. It was quite satisfying to mark them complete.
The day has been gorgeous weather-wise. So when I returned home from errands and one other quick client visit, I grabbed the leashes, loaded the dogs in the car, and headed for the river to take a walk.
I missed Detail a lot. He and Cosine were wonderful leash walkers. I could hold both leashes with one hand and they'd be out in front walking side by side. Oh sure, there would be some stop-and-sniff or stop-and-pee continuity issues, but for the most part they were easy. And Dudley took quite naturally to pack-walking. He'd follow the lead of the others and we'd all move along quite smoothly.
With just Cosine and Dudley, however, it's a different experience. Poor Cosi is so old now. She doesn't see well, she doesn't move well, and her balance isn't good. Dudley led the way, perking along ahead. One of my arms was stretched out in front of me holding his leash. Cosine was lagging behind and tottering along quite slowly, so my other arm was stretched out behind me holding her leash. Then every so often one or the other would cross the path or Dudley would move to the back and inevitably I'd end up twisted in their leashes. Obviously we are all out of practice.
Despite that, we all had fun. I enjoyed being outside in the crisp fall air observing the colors of the changing leaves, although these pictures don't do the scenery justice. It felt so good to be where we were, I burst into song as we walked. (Yes, it's a good thing there were not many people around.) My song of choice today was "All For the Best" from Godspell.
Thinking about The Boy I was.
Sweet missingness of him, Detail and Wendy.
Sweet enjoyment of free time.
It's all damned good.
So when one client wasn't ready for me, my Tuesday morning freed up but my Friday morning became booked. I can live with that. I ran a bunch of miscellaneous errands from the list I'd carefully been compiling in my notebook for whenever I found time to do such errands. It was quite satisfying to mark them complete.
The day has been gorgeous weather-wise. So when I returned home from errands and one other quick client visit, I grabbed the leashes, loaded the dogs in the car, and headed for the river to take a walk.
I missed Detail a lot. He and Cosine were wonderful leash walkers. I could hold both leashes with one hand and they'd be out in front walking side by side. Oh sure, there would be some stop-and-sniff or stop-and-pee continuity issues, but for the most part they were easy. And Dudley took quite naturally to pack-walking. He'd follow the lead of the others and we'd all move along quite smoothly.
With just Cosine and Dudley, however, it's a different experience. Poor Cosi is so old now. She doesn't see well, she doesn't move well, and her balance isn't good. Dudley led the way, perking along ahead. One of my arms was stretched out in front of me holding his leash. Cosine was lagging behind and tottering along quite slowly, so my other arm was stretched out behind me holding her leash. Then every so often one or the other would cross the path or Dudley would move to the back and inevitably I'd end up twisted in their leashes. Obviously we are all out of practice.
Despite that, we all had fun. I enjoyed being outside in the crisp fall air observing the colors of the changing leaves, although these pictures don't do the scenery justice. It felt so good to be where we were, I burst into song as we walked. (Yes, it's a good thing there were not many people around.) My song of choice today was "All For the Best" from Godspell.
Thinking about The Boy I was.
Sweet missingness of him, Detail and Wendy.
Sweet enjoyment of free time.
It's all damned good.
Yawn
I'm having difficulty waking up this morning. I mean, I'm up. As in out of bed. But my brain feels foggy and sleepy. I've had my 2.5 cups of coffee yet still feel like my head is wrapped in a cloud. It's not a bad feeling, just not conducive to the productivity level I must achieve today.
Wendy and I stayed up far far too late last night. We took turns talking a mile a minute about a variety of topics. Since this foggy feeling is directly correlatable to that, I really don't mind feeling foggy at all. Long talks about all sorts of things are good.
Maybe some jumping jacks will help me unfog.
Wendy and I stayed up far far too late last night. We took turns talking a mile a minute about a variety of topics. Since this foggy feeling is directly correlatable to that, I really don't mind feeling foggy at all. Long talks about all sorts of things are good.
Maybe some jumping jacks will help me unfog.
October 25, 2004
Elements
Wendy's hometown fascinates me in so many ways. One way is because where I grew up is so completely different.
In Northern Virginia, where I was raised, it's transient. There are many military installations, federal government offices, schools, etc. Families pop in for a few years and then pop off to some other place or maybe back from whence they came. People come and go and go and come and come and go.
Not everyone leaves of course. A few of us stick. Another few are homegrown.
In Wendy's hometown, the people who leave are aberrant. And those that do usually don't go far. Most folks she knew while growing up still live in the same general vicinity. Everyone knows everyone else. We'd be out to lunch somewhere and Wendy's folks would be saying hello left and right. "Hey, there's *insert name* from our *insert social group*." And the relatives. Wow. They have cousins and siblings and nieces and children of varying ages sizes shapes and types.
Even Wendy got in on it when she saw folks she knew. And sheescaped a long time ago hasn't lived there for eleven years.
My cousins, the few of them that even exist, are removed to the sixth degree of generational detachment or some such nonsense (I'm much too young to be into genealogy, so don't be looking for specifics). Even my immediate family is spread geographically, separated into four states. And to count my step-siblings, you'd have to add three more states to the list. None of us live in or even near the same town as each other. We all get along just fine, we just don't happen to live close.
Wendy's parents have not strayed far from their hometowns. Her mom is from a town six miles west. Her dad is from a different town 12 miles east. Liberty, where they raised their family and still reside, is in between.
And that's where things begin to get tricky. Both parents have strong family ties to the towns from whence they came. Both parents have roomy family cemeteries in the towns from whence they came. Cemeteries where a slew of their forebears are laid to rest. How do families handle this sort of thing? Is the wife buried in the husband's family plot? Is the husband buried in the wife's family plot? Do they split up and each get buried in their own family's plot? Do they start a new plot? Are one or the other's feelings hurt if one or the other decides to be buried in their own family plot? Seems likes a dicey decision to make.
I don't much care where my ashes end up.
I don't even wonder why not.
In Northern Virginia, where I was raised, it's transient. There are many military installations, federal government offices, schools, etc. Families pop in for a few years and then pop off to some other place or maybe back from whence they came. People come and go and go and come and come and go.
Not everyone leaves of course. A few of us stick. Another few are homegrown.
In Wendy's hometown, the people who leave are aberrant. And those that do usually don't go far. Most folks she knew while growing up still live in the same general vicinity. Everyone knows everyone else. We'd be out to lunch somewhere and Wendy's folks would be saying hello left and right. "Hey, there's *insert name* from our *insert social group*." And the relatives. Wow. They have cousins and siblings and nieces and children of varying ages sizes shapes and types.
Even Wendy got in on it when she saw folks she knew. And she
My cousins, the few of them that even exist, are removed to the sixth degree of generational detachment or some such nonsense (I'm much too young to be into genealogy, so don't be looking for specifics). Even my immediate family is spread geographically, separated into four states. And to count my step-siblings, you'd have to add three more states to the list. None of us live in or even near the same town as each other. We all get along just fine, we just don't happen to live close.
Wendy's parents have not strayed far from their hometowns. Her mom is from a town six miles west. Her dad is from a different town 12 miles east. Liberty, where they raised their family and still reside, is in between.
And that's where things begin to get tricky. Both parents have strong family ties to the towns from whence they came. Both parents have roomy family cemeteries in the towns from whence they came. Cemeteries where a slew of their forebears are laid to rest. How do families handle this sort of thing? Is the wife buried in the husband's family plot? Is the husband buried in the wife's family plot? Do they split up and each get buried in their own family's plot? Do they start a new plot? Are one or the other's feelings hurt if one or the other decides to be buried in their own family plot? Seems likes a dicey decision to make.
I don't much care where my ashes end up.
I don't even wonder why not.
October 24, 2004
Random
I am looking forward to the new season of The O.C. I hope I remember to watch it when it's on.
Update!
My team now officially has a new name: the Miami Dolphins. Why'd I pick that name? Because my fantasy football team and the Dolphins share the same record: 0-6.
Blech.
Wish me luck today.
Hell, wish the real Dolphins luck.
Sucks to lose, it does.
Blech.
Wish me luck today.
Hell, wish the real Dolphins luck.
Sucks to lose, it does.
Mailbox Woes & Weekend Suburban Mundanities
We did have one slight problematic event occur at our home whilst we were away. Our mailbox bit the dust again. Taken out by a careless driver who ran the stop sign at the intersection facing our house.
This is not a unique occurrence. Wendy and I have lived in this house just over a year now. This is the second mailbox whose life was cut short. We were warned after buying this place we could expect it to happen every six months on average. We're right on schedule.
Do the miscreants ever stop to say "oops" or "sorry" or "I'll come back tomorrow and put a new one up for you" or "here's a check for the damage"? Well no, no they don't. They don't even stop. They hop the curb, leave a few skid marks, shatter a perfectly innocent mailbox post and keep right on going. Sometimes they leave behind bits and pieces of their automobiles though, mostly broken glass or paint scuffs. It is mildly rewarding to know they did not escape completely unscathed.
After a trip to Home Depot for necessary supplies (totalling $49.96), Wendy put the new mailbox in place. I helped a little.
When this one goes down, we're planning something new. The something new will be more sturdy than a mere cedar post set in dirt. It will be a cement-filled metal pole set in cement. I just need to figure out how to create an attractive exterior for it. I've got six months. Then when someone hits it, it will not be our mailbox that goes flying. Oh no no no. The mailbox will stand tall. Those careless folks, the ones who give not a thought for things such as stop signs or residential speed limits or other people's mailboxes, will leave more than broken glass and paint. Like maybe a fender. Along with some broken glass.
Home is a good place to be.
This is not a unique occurrence. Wendy and I have lived in this house just over a year now. This is the second mailbox whose life was cut short. We were warned after buying this place we could expect it to happen every six months on average. We're right on schedule.
Do the miscreants ever stop to say "oops" or "sorry" or "I'll come back tomorrow and put a new one up for you" or "here's a check for the damage"? Well no, no they don't. They don't even stop. They hop the curb, leave a few skid marks, shatter a perfectly innocent mailbox post and keep right on going. Sometimes they leave behind bits and pieces of their automobiles though, mostly broken glass or paint scuffs. It is mildly rewarding to know they did not escape completely unscathed.
After a trip to Home Depot for necessary supplies (totalling $49.96), Wendy put the new mailbox in place. I helped a little.
When this one goes down, we're planning something new. The something new will be more sturdy than a mere cedar post set in dirt. It will be a cement-filled metal pole set in cement. I just need to figure out how to create an attractive exterior for it. I've got six months. Then when someone hits it, it will not be our mailbox that goes flying. Oh no no no. The mailbox will stand tall. Those careless folks, the ones who give not a thought for things such as stop signs or residential speed limits or other people's mailboxes, will leave more than broken glass and paint. Like maybe a fender. Along with some broken glass.
Then this was delivered.
So Wendy and I made this.
Which led to this, in grateful celebration
of seasonally appropriate weather.
Home is a good place to be.
October 22, 2004
Used. Not Used Up.
One of the (many) tight bonds between Wendy and her father, outside of early morning algebra, is reading. Books. Fiction mainly, yet not limited to. Books. You're familiar with them. Books... well... books rock. They're full of words, you know. Words formed with incredible twists of imagination and descriptiveness and personalities and stories that come to life and suck one into worlds which can be like, while also being unlike, any world one may have ever envisioned.
While we were in small town southeast Texas this week, I was honored with privileged inclusion in their tight two-person book-lovers circle. In fact, for most of the week it was a three-person book-lovers circle. How'd I get so lucky?
Wendy's daddy, Bo, introduced us to a store he frequents. A book store. A used book store specifically. The three of us piled into the big old boat Wendy's folks call a car and sailed on over.
I didn't have any preconceived notions of what a used bookstore in small town southeast Texas would be like. I've been in many pre-owned book stores in the suburbs. And in the city. But never before in small town southeast Texas. I figured it would resemble other such establishments I had experienced in other locales. I was excited to be going on such an outting with other bookloving individuals.
The building that housed the store was similar to so many other buildings in that small town: plain, with a patina of having been in that same spot for such a very long long time. Dusty. Hot. Dry. Old. Used. It fit the town. It fit the function. And it was just the other side of the train tracks. Like most other places in this 'burg.
Then we went inside. Inside was a veritable trove of treasure. I know I gasped aloud. Books. Books. Everywhere. Stacked ceiling high. Stacks in front of stacks. Rows and rows and rows of shelves. Books in boxes. Books on shelves. Room after room after room after room. Books of all sizes shapes colors topics genres and authors. Alpha by author by genre. I almost wet my pants. Okay that's an exaggeration, but only a slight one. I'm simple, remember? If this store was located where we are from, it would have been shut down as a fire hazard before it even opened. But in small town southeast Texas, here it was. Is this an advantage of a small town?
We prowled for quite a long while. I was mesmerized. Up and down the aisles, in and out of cubby holes, through short corridors, around corners, into other rooms and looping back again. My mind kept touching on the different authors I'd like to look up and then as I found one I was looking for and did a little browsing nearby, invariably I'd start off on a different trail with a different name of a different author in a different genre. Shopping. Browsing. Soaking up the ambience.
Wendy spied this sign, posted between the large room dedicated to romance novels and the sharp right turn leading to the action section. Every so often we'd call out for one another to share finds or make suggestions or ask for help in remembering a title or an author's name. Or just to reminisce about a book we'd seen that we'd read long ago and may like to read again sometime if only there weren't so many other books that kept jumping into line ahead of it.
Before our trip, Wendy and I had visited our sterile suburban used book store. It has but a fraction of the atmosphere of this small town southeast Texas shop. There I picked up a two mystery books penned by a recommended lesbian author. I'd finished one of them and enjoyed it enough to try more. So just for kicks, I looked up that author in this small town southeast Texas used book store. Nestled in with the other mystery novels, I scored another in her entertaining series featuring lesbian P.I. Lauren Laurano.
There's surely a story behind how that lesbian mystery book ended up for sale in this tiny Texas town. Now I've rescued it and brought it to a loving home in the suburbs. It will be in good company here.
While we were in small town southeast Texas this week, I was honored with privileged inclusion in their tight two-person book-lovers circle. In fact, for most of the week it was a three-person book-lovers circle. How'd I get so lucky?
Wendy's daddy, Bo, introduced us to a store he frequents. A book store. A used book store specifically. The three of us piled into the big old boat Wendy's folks call a car and sailed on over.
I didn't have any preconceived notions of what a used bookstore in small town southeast Texas would be like. I've been in many pre-owned book stores in the suburbs. And in the city. But never before in small town southeast Texas. I figured it would resemble other such establishments I had experienced in other locales. I was excited to be going on such an outting with other bookloving individuals.
The building that housed the store was similar to so many other buildings in that small town: plain, with a patina of having been in that same spot for such a very long long time. Dusty. Hot. Dry. Old. Used. It fit the town. It fit the function. And it was just the other side of the train tracks. Like most other places in this 'burg.
Then we went inside. Inside was a veritable trove of treasure. I know I gasped aloud. Books. Books. Everywhere. Stacked ceiling high. Stacks in front of stacks. Rows and rows and rows of shelves. Books in boxes. Books on shelves. Room after room after room after room. Books of all sizes shapes colors topics genres and authors. Alpha by author by genre. I almost wet my pants. Okay that's an exaggeration, but only a slight one. I'm simple, remember? If this store was located where we are from, it would have been shut down as a fire hazard before it even opened. But in small town southeast Texas, here it was. Is this an advantage of a small town?
We prowled for quite a long while. I was mesmerized. Up and down the aisles, in and out of cubby holes, through short corridors, around corners, into other rooms and looping back again. My mind kept touching on the different authors I'd like to look up and then as I found one I was looking for and did a little browsing nearby, invariably I'd start off on a different trail with a different name of a different author in a different genre. Shopping. Browsing. Soaking up the ambience.
Wendy spied this sign, posted between the large room dedicated to romance novels and the sharp right turn leading to the action section. Every so often we'd call out for one another to share finds or make suggestions or ask for help in remembering a title or an author's name. Or just to reminisce about a book we'd seen that we'd read long ago and may like to read again sometime if only there weren't so many other books that kept jumping into line ahead of it.
Before our trip, Wendy and I had visited our sterile suburban used book store. It has but a fraction of the atmosphere of this small town southeast Texas shop. There I picked up a two mystery books penned by a recommended lesbian author. I'd finished one of them and enjoyed it enough to try more. So just for kicks, I looked up that author in this small town southeast Texas used book store. Nestled in with the other mystery novels, I scored another in her entertaining series featuring lesbian P.I. Lauren Laurano.
There's surely a story behind how that lesbian mystery book ended up for sale in this tiny Texas town. Now I've rescued it and brought it to a loving home in the suburbs. It will be in good company here.
"Fresh Hot Coffee Wakes the Old"
So say refrigerator magnets arranged by our 15-year-old son.
The son that is now 19.
Why do I still remember that four years down the road?
It would still be on the refrigerator if we had not moved.
But we did. So it's not. At least, not yet.
Think I'll have some now.
Fresh hot coffee, that is.
The son that is now 19.
Why do I still remember that four years down the road?
It would still be on the refrigerator if we had not moved.
But we did. So it's not. At least, not yet.
Think I'll have some now.
Fresh hot coffee, that is.
October 21, 2004
Memories of Southeast Texas?
Si si!
Memories abound.
And of course I'll be sharing them.
However for now I'm exalting in cool fall temperatures. See, there is a freaking heatwave going on in southeast Texas. Ayup. Temps topped 90 degrees every day we were there except one. In October. Which is fundamentally wrong. Surely you agree. Wrong wrong wrong. In too many ways to count. Here at home, the temperature is a seasonally-appropriate 50 degrees.
So. Doesn't it just feel great to take off your bra after a long day? Oh yeah baby. It's those little things.
I'm in my sweatshirt now. (But not my new Texans hoodie. I'm saving that for Sunday. Yeah, I know. They are on a bye. Yet I'll wear it Sunday anyway.)
Figero is on my lap. (Wendy's parents have three cats: one indoor, one indoor-outdoor, and one outdoor.)
Our dogs seem very happy to have us here. As we are happy to be with them.
We're catching up on what has gone on while we've been away.
I've got some reading to do.
I think I absorbed a little Texas while I was gone.
Or more appropriately I should say "a little more Texas."
Yes. I know. Scares me too.
October 15, 2004
Is It a Bird?
Time for that song.
That Leaving on a Jet Plane song.
The one I started singing last month.
When we weren't really getting on a plane at all.
We were getting in the car.
But I was excited.
When I get excited, I often sing.
Nonsensical singing usually. Imagine! Ayup.
This time we really are getting on an airplane.
We depart Virginia from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport (goddammit that name is long and unwieldy and hard to wrap one's tongue around... even for one with maximum flexibility!).
We land at George (H.) Bush Intercontinental in Houston, Texas. (Hopefully after an uneventful safe flight! *knocking on wood*)
Did you notice? From one airport named after a republican past president to a second airport named after a republican past president. I'll wear my Kerry/Edwards button as a talisman to ward off evil. Never hurts to be cautious. Even though politics are no more contagious than homosexuality.
And it begs the question: how many airports in America are named after republican past presidents? And how many are named after past presidents who are/were democrats? Do I have the energy to google an answer? Not at present. But I am curious.
Wendy's from Texas. Which is why we are going there. There are people there who know and love and need her. And me too. So we'll go. Because that's what families do, oui?
Oui! Actually I should say "si". I'll bet more folks speak Spanish than French in Texas.
Not sure if I can and/or will blog from there. Probably not. Try not to miss me too much.
Back next week.
About this time.
About this place.
In the meantime....
Go 'Stros!
That Leaving on a Jet Plane song.
The one I started singing last month.
When we weren't really getting on a plane at all.
We were getting in the car.
But I was excited.
When I get excited, I often sing.
Nonsensical singing usually. Imagine! Ayup.
This time we really are getting on an airplane.
We depart Virginia from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport (goddammit that name is long and unwieldy and hard to wrap one's tongue around... even for one with maximum flexibility!).
We land at George (H.) Bush Intercontinental in Houston, Texas. (Hopefully after an uneventful safe flight! *knocking on wood*)
Did you notice? From one airport named after a republican past president to a second airport named after a republican past president. I'll wear my Kerry/Edwards button as a talisman to ward off evil. Never hurts to be cautious. Even though politics are no more contagious than homosexuality.
And it begs the question: how many airports in America are named after republican past presidents? And how many are named after past presidents who are/were democrats? Do I have the energy to google an answer? Not at present. But I am curious.
Wendy's from Texas. Which is why we are going there. There are people there who know and love and need her. And me too. So we'll go. Because that's what families do, oui?
Oui! Actually I should say "si". I'll bet more folks speak Spanish than French in Texas.
Not sure if I can and/or will blog from there. Probably not. Try not to miss me too much.
Back next week.
About this time.
About this place.
In the meantime....
Go 'Stros!
October 14, 2004
Short on Time
There are three emails I need to write. I'd like to get them done before we leave for Texas tomorrow.
Argh! Tomorrow we leave for Texas? I'm so screwed.
All three will take quiet time to compose. Yet suddenly I find myself with no quiet time at all. Well not none, but hardly any. And with the list of things I need to do before we leave there is no way to squeeze in any more.
I need a 48 hour day. Just one.
Argh! Tomorrow we leave for Texas? I'm so screwed.
All three will take quiet time to compose. Yet suddenly I find myself with no quiet time at all. Well not none, but hardly any. And with the list of things I need to do before we leave there is no way to squeeze in any more.
I need a 48 hour day. Just one.
Blogging for Books: This Month's Entries
All of this month's Blogging for Books entries are now available for your reading pleasure. There are some incredible stories out there.
I was personally too afraid to go where I would have had to go to write an entry on this month's topic. I admire those folks who weren't. Afraid, that is.
A more upbeat topic has been promised for November. Whew.
Pocket Finds
With the onset of colder weather comes the wearing of jackets and coats and other warm items of clothing. Most of which have pockets. And in those pockets will be found surprises left behind the last time those jackets and coats and other warm items of clothing were worn last Spring. Well, our pockets hold surprises. Don't yours?
For my own amusement, I am taking note of items I find in the pockets when I put on a jacket or coat or other warm item of clothing for the first time this season.
So far, I've not found many treasures. But I will. I always do. History repeats itself, doncha know.
So. In the pockets of my black washable suede jacket I found:
The pockets of my black light rain jacket with hood netted:
My green leather jacket (sounds awful but is perfect for some outfits) pockets held the following:
Last year in my gray wool coat I found a $5 bill in one pocket and two $20 dollar bills in another. I'm not allowed to look ahead though. I have to wait until it's actually cold enough to wear the article of clothing before I can check the pockets.
Yeah well. So I'm a creature of habit. Whatever works.
For my own amusement, I am taking note of items I find in the pockets when I put on a jacket or coat or other warm item of clothing for the first time this season.
So far, I've not found many treasures. But I will. I always do. History repeats itself, doncha know.
So. In the pockets of my black washable suede jacket I found:
- Two orange sinus pills (hermetically sealed in their blister pack)
- A wadded up tissue
- A chewing gum wrapper.
The pockets of my black light rain jacket with hood netted:
- A Metro farecard with a value of $3.45
- A wadded up tissue
- One Vermont quarter
- A lint-covered breath mint of unknown origin.
My green leather jacket (sounds awful but is perfect for some outfits) pockets held the following:
- a Bic lighter, green (don't need that anymore now, do I?)
- Three pennies.
Last year in my gray wool coat I found a $5 bill in one pocket and two $20 dollar bills in another. I'm not allowed to look ahead though. I have to wait until it's actually cold enough to wear the article of clothing before I can check the pockets.
Yeah well. So I'm a creature of habit. Whatever works.
October 13, 2004
Cosine Itches
We haven't had cause to take the animals to the vet since the last trip with Detail back in July. Just over three months. Seems like a lot longer. (Oh we miss that sweet Fat Boy, we do.)
But Cosine is having her annual seasonal skin issues. Poor old girl. Poor flaky itchy bald old girl. So in she went. Usual response, usual cause, usual medication. Soon she'll not be flaky, itchy or bald. Wish they had as quick a cure for her lack of hearing and fading eyesight.
Last Spring when Detail and Figero each had their health issues, we were at the vet's office weekly with one or the other or both of them. We developed a rapport with the young receptionist, Lea. We'd oogle pictures of her baby and I'd lecture her on the evils of smoking cigarettes. (Yeah, I was a hypocrite but I knew what I was talking about!) In June, she shared with us that she and her husband were expecting their second child.
So today, three months later, when I walked into their office she greeted me with familiarity. I smiled and happily asked how she was doing as I peered over the counter to see her physical form. She looked mildly confused momentarily and turned about three shades of red. Then told me she had had a miscarriage in July. Oh crap. Leave it to me to ask the good questions right off the bat. My turn to turn three shades of red.
Our vet's office has two partners: M-Vet and J-Vet. I've mentioned them briefly in a past entry because J-Vet is definitely gay and the M-Vet just about has to be. I know about J-Vet because she once made a revealing comment to me about "people like us." Well, that and the fact my gaydar goes wild when I see her. They are both nice, but J-Vet seems more down to earth. Maybe it's just because she acknowledged our common sexuality. Whatever. Wendy and I both feel more comfortable with her.
But Cosine and I saw M-Vet today. As M-Vet examined her, she said "Has this lump by her throat been there long?" I gulped. I asked her to put my hand on it. I had not noticed it before. I involuntarily teared up ("Huh? WTF! Stop that, dumbass!" What is wrong with me?) as she talked her way from aspirating it to find out what it is through the reality we probably would not operate on it even if it was cancer because she's such an old girl. Took her only about 6 words and one sentence to reach that conclusion. M-Vet's not such a bad gal at all.
Cosi and I retreated to the waiting room to ... well, wait. For her medicine.
J-Vet came out to the reception area to speak to another pet parent. She tentatively smiled at me, with a hint of a question, as she voiced a greeting. Polite pleasantries yes, yet the last time I had seen her I was sobbing on her shoulder and she had justkilled our dog euthanized Detail. Felt weird. Odd. Uncomfortable. Did she remember?
Didn't expect that, no I didn't. Feeling uncomfortable, that is.
Yet I still wonder. Does she remember?
But Cosine is having her annual seasonal skin issues. Poor old girl. Poor flaky itchy bald old girl. So in she went. Usual response, usual cause, usual medication. Soon she'll not be flaky, itchy or bald. Wish they had as quick a cure for her lack of hearing and fading eyesight.
Last Spring when Detail and Figero each had their health issues, we were at the vet's office weekly with one or the other or both of them. We developed a rapport with the young receptionist, Lea. We'd oogle pictures of her baby and I'd lecture her on the evils of smoking cigarettes. (Yeah, I was a hypocrite but I knew what I was talking about!) In June, she shared with us that she and her husband were expecting their second child.
So today, three months later, when I walked into their office she greeted me with familiarity. I smiled and happily asked how she was doing as I peered over the counter to see her physical form. She looked mildly confused momentarily and turned about three shades of red. Then told me she had had a miscarriage in July. Oh crap. Leave it to me to ask the good questions right off the bat. My turn to turn three shades of red.
Our vet's office has two partners: M-Vet and J-Vet. I've mentioned them briefly in a past entry because J-Vet is definitely gay and the M-Vet just about has to be. I know about J-Vet because she once made a revealing comment to me about "people like us." Well, that and the fact my gaydar goes wild when I see her. They are both nice, but J-Vet seems more down to earth. Maybe it's just because she acknowledged our common sexuality. Whatever. Wendy and I both feel more comfortable with her.
But Cosine and I saw M-Vet today. As M-Vet examined her, she said "Has this lump by her throat been there long?" I gulped. I asked her to put my hand on it. I had not noticed it before. I involuntarily teared up ("Huh? WTF! Stop that, dumbass!" What is wrong with me?) as she talked her way from aspirating it to find out what it is through the reality we probably would not operate on it even if it was cancer because she's such an old girl. Took her only about 6 words and one sentence to reach that conclusion. M-Vet's not such a bad gal at all.
Cosi and I retreated to the waiting room to ... well, wait. For her medicine.
J-Vet came out to the reception area to speak to another pet parent. She tentatively smiled at me, with a hint of a question, as she voiced a greeting. Polite pleasantries yes, yet the last time I had seen her I was sobbing on her shoulder and she had just
Didn't expect that, no I didn't. Feeling uncomfortable, that is.
Yet I still wonder. Does she remember?
October 12, 2004
A Good Morning
I woke up slowly this morning. My body felt warm and rested, the sheets soft and silky, the blankets heavy. One dog was snuggled against my leg, the other's head was by my hand. They were both still fast asleep. I heard the low drone of the radio.
Wendy's goodbye kiss stirred my reverie. As she left the room, the scent of coffee wafted. I rolled over just enough to retrieve the steaming cup from my bedside table. My hand curled around the mug, my palm wrapped firmly against the warm ceramic surface. The heat seeped into my hand, the warm comfort easing an ache I had not known existed. I sighed.
I sipped the coffee then relaxed my head to the pillow again. Figero began his plaintive call for breakfast from the kitchen. Another sip of coffee. I cracked open an eye and observed the rays of sunshine streaming through the trees outside. And the sky, bluer than blue.
I love Tuesdays. Especially this one.
Wendy's goodbye kiss stirred my reverie. As she left the room, the scent of coffee wafted. I rolled over just enough to retrieve the steaming cup from my bedside table. My hand curled around the mug, my palm wrapped firmly against the warm ceramic surface. The heat seeped into my hand, the warm comfort easing an ache I had not known existed. I sighed.
I sipped the coffee then relaxed my head to the pillow again. Figero began his plaintive call for breakfast from the kitchen. Another sip of coffee. I cracked open an eye and observed the rays of sunshine streaming through the trees outside. And the sky, bluer than blue.
I love Tuesdays. Especially this one.
October 11, 2004
Quitting is Hard. Still.
According to the handy dandy quitting statistics meter Wendy installed on her PC, we have not smoked for 1 month 3 weeks and 2 days. We have each saved $162.18 and not smoked 1,081 cigarettes. We have also added 3 days 18 hours and five minutes to our lifespans.
But hell. I really really really want to smoke a cigarette. At this moment in time that is. Sometimes I don't miss them at all. But other times. Oh these other times.
Think I'll go scrub the kitchen sink or something. That's how desperate I am for distraction. Still. Even after 1 month 3 weeks and 2 days.
Smoking is evil.
But hell. I really really really want to smoke a cigarette. At this moment in time that is. Sometimes I don't miss them at all. But other times. Oh these other times.
Think I'll go scrub the kitchen sink or something. That's how desperate I am for distraction. Still. Even after 1 month 3 weeks and 2 days.
Smoking is evil.
Searches
Recent internet searches that led seekers to my site:
- Is Rachel Ray a lesbian? (Twice!) : My gaydar says no, for what it's worth.
- Swinging lesbian neighbors : This searcher was disappointed. I could make something up and would make it worth reading, although I've never had lesbian neighbors, swinging or otherwise. Imagination? Has it's place.
- Zuma Temple maze : Hope they weren't looking for tips.
- gay hoodies : I think my favorite hoodie is straight. But it adores being worn by a lesbian.
- Slumber softball party lesbian first time : Another disappointed searcher. And it begs the question... why? Oh why why why?
- mega melons pics : Don't have 'em. Don't have pics of 'em either. Oh wait, they looking for fruit?
- The Highway Zapper : Don't get this one at all.
- Indigo Girls set list : Love love love those Girls. Emily! Amy! *smooch*
- lesbian feet pic
lesbian in stockings
lesbian letters and pics: None and all of the above? Boggle with me.
Yawn
I've noticed something about Cosine. Today it really struck me. Having the youthful Bonnie visiting provides a stark contrast.
Bonnie and Dudley race out the back door into the yard. The squirrels scamper quickly up the nearest tree. I'm not sure why those squirrels are in such a hurry. The dogs, while quick, are not as quick as that! The two of them look quite adorable, similar in color and markings. Bonnie is twice as tall as Dud though. But they seem on a common wavelength outside, as if they've been roaming the yard together for years.
The funny part is when Bonnie is at home on her side of the fence, Dudley does nothing but bark fiercely at her like she's the enemy. He does the same thing to Bonnie's daddy. It's interesting how that works.
Cosi doesn't join them. She totters out the door, ambles around a bit, does her business and comes right back on in. Then she asks for a lift up onto the bed and goes to sleep.
What I noticed today was how much of the day she spends asleep in comparison to the others. She is such a sweet old girl. Slowing down, she is. Are we ready for that? Don't think it much matters whether we are ready or not, does it?
Bonnie and Dudley race out the back door into the yard. The squirrels scamper quickly up the nearest tree. I'm not sure why those squirrels are in such a hurry. The dogs, while quick, are not as quick as that! The two of them look quite adorable, similar in color and markings. Bonnie is twice as tall as Dud though. But they seem on a common wavelength outside, as if they've been roaming the yard together for years.
The funny part is when Bonnie is at home on her side of the fence, Dudley does nothing but bark fiercely at her like she's the enemy. He does the same thing to Bonnie's daddy. It's interesting how that works.
Cosi doesn't join them. She totters out the door, ambles around a bit, does her business and comes right back on in. Then she asks for a lift up onto the bed and goes to sleep.
What I noticed today was how much of the day she spends asleep in comparison to the others. She is such a sweet old girl. Slowing down, she is. Are we ready for that? Don't think it much matters whether we are ready or not, does it?
October 10, 2004
Oh, Joyous Sunday!
Oh yeah! We are raising our hands and rejoicing! Because today, on this given Sunday, my fantasy football team is pitted against Wendy's fantasy football team.
*sigh*
We don't like these days. But we don't don't-like them enough to not play in the same league, do we? So we like to suffer. Or something. Use them to practice good sportsmanship? Sure. That's it.
But never before have we entered a face-off week where one of our teams has yet to win a game. (And yes, that would be my team--for those who have not been paying attention at all.)
Angst. Do we root for our teams and revel if our opponent falls flat? Well. We'll probably root. Quietly. But will not revel. Loudly. It's a delicate balance, doncha know.
*sigh*
We don't like these days. But we don't don't-like them enough to not play in the same league, do we? So we like to suffer. Or something. Use them to practice good sportsmanship? Sure. That's it.
But never before have we entered a face-off week where one of our teams has yet to win a game. (And yes, that would be my team--for those who have not been paying attention at all.)
Angst. Do we root for our teams and revel if our opponent falls flat? Well. We'll probably root. Quietly. But will not revel. Loudly. It's a delicate balance, doncha know.
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