A weekend of dogs…oh, and family too

Sophie appears to be hiding around the corner,

and could not be lured any closer, even with a treat

The Hudgeons branch of the family arrived, complete with their miniature white poodle Eddie. Sophie and Eddie get along fine, IF there’s no human involved. If they’re vying for human attention, it’s not so smooth. And Sophie, now in doggie middle age, still gets so excited she runs in circles. It is, I’m sure, the border collie in her. Last night we had some dust-ups, some running from Sophie, and lots of laughs from the humans.

The result was that Sophie was so high strung she wanted to go out at one in the morning (I talked her out of it in a firm voice) and at three (couldn’t talk her out of that one, and of course she stayed longer than I wanted).

Today they are all tentative friends. Eddie is a lot smaller than Sophie, and he discovered he could stick his head through the gap between gate and fencepost. I worried that he’d get caught. Then neighbor Jay (the good-looking one) was having some work done at the back of their property, which involved taking down a portion of fence. I was convinced that Sophie and Eddie would immediately run through the opening. So, while Jordan and Megan were at Jacob’s soccer game, with Ford, Christian was off on errands, and Brandon and Sawyer at the BFX bike place, I was obsessively watching dogs. Like not taking my eyes off them, especially Eddie.

Jay offering Eddie cabernet

Eddie declined

I got a respite at noon—my two daughters and I had a long, leisurely lunch at Pacific Table, on the patio, and then went shopping, looking for something for me to wear to a wedding in June and also take on our cruise. Good luck at the first store, Chico’s, where I’ve never found anything before. A really cool shell and tunic/sweater in a heavenly shade of blue/turquoise, white pants, and another multicolor top. I rarely wear jewelry any more, but I even bought a necklace. Shopping and trying on clothes is not my favorite thing—I’m an internet shopping. But with both my daughters fussing over me, it was almost fun, and I am pleased to have solved the what-to-wear problem. These are clothes I will wear many times.

Tonight, it’s back to doggy times. Jordan tried her best to get a picture of Sophie and Eddie together, but the best she managed was the one above, with Cricket, one of her Cavaliers. She had treats for all three dogs—the fourth was hiding in the house. For some reason, Sophie decided Jordan had evil intentions, and she lurked around a corner, refusing to come any closer.

Jordan and a calm, contented chicken

Megan has taken two of the boys to a TCU baseball game, and Brandon, Sawyer, and Christian are at the movies. Jordan and I are having a ”chill” night at home, including a lovely time on the patio. Just to round out the animal experience of the weekend, she went to the neighbors behind me to visit the chickens.

Quiet, still, and peaceful. But they’ll all come home soon, and pandemonium will probably reign again. I cannot tell you how much I love having family around me, but it also makes me feel a bit disassociated, removed from my daily life. Must be a sign of age to be so stuck in your routine. Breaks in routine are good, I know that, and I’m enjoying this one. Not sure about Sophie—she sometimes looks like she wants to ask how long these extra people and, particularly, the extra dog, are staying.

Jordan scored a hit and made the boys

bellinis, without alcohol

They loved them!

The Joys of Family

The joy of having one extra daughter and one extra grandchild continues. The boys are having a great time at TCU baseball camp and posed for the great picture above with the coach. Other than baseball, as far as I can tell, they are occupying themselves with the giggles. And having a wonderful time.

And miracle of miracles, I got some work done today—put together everything I have on the neighborhood newsletter and am just waiting for some regular columns. And did some work on a project I’m most excited about but not yet ready to announce.

Had a nice lunch with three friends, two of us celebrating birthdays, and tonight we went to Joe T.’s at Megan’s request. A friend/neighbor of hers was also in town so her son could attend baseball camp, and they joined us. The three little boys were such wonderful company—two with faces in iPhones, the third in an iPhone. Luckily, I turned my chair and squeezed into the table with the grown-ups. The restaurant was unusually slow, so it was blessedly quieter than usual, so I could hear the conversation. Fun. I never order fajita because I don’t like peppers, and the pepper taste taints the meat. Megan split an order with no peppers with me and I enjoyed.

Tomorrow, a day of staying home and working. I swear. I sure am having a great birthday week. Not a day—a whole week.

A good bad day

 

There really are three dogs here if you can see June Bug hiding in the upper left.
When we consolidate our households, all three will be living here. Cricket and June Bug
are King Charles Cavalier Spaniels, bred to be placid and quiet. Quite a puzzle for Sophie
who wants them to run and play with her.  But she calmed down nicely.

No blog last night because I was just too tired after a family visit that lasted later than I thought. My oldest son, Colin, arrived about ten with his two children—Morgan, almost eleven, and Kegan, nine. The cousins were ecstatic to be together, and Christian and Jordan had come to greet everyone--and brought their dogs. So we sat and talked—about their new swimming pool, about our plans for the cottage, about the world in general. At 47, Colin is a handsome man in good shape, and I am so proud of him—and love him dearly and so welcome his infrequent visits. They live in Tomball, northwest of Houston, and this weekend his wife kicked them out of the house (his words) so she could have a girls’ weekend.

Jacob spent the night but was up early for his baseball game. His parents came and collected all three children, while I let Colin feed them and I slept late. He’s an early riser anyway.

Cousins at the baseball game

When they were gone, Colin went for a run, and I dressed and piddled at my desk. We headed out about ten or so to get the x-ray of my hand the doctor had requested—but the doctor’s orders had not arrived at the x-ray place so no go. Colin was already confused by this city he’s grown up in—I took him back roads to Hulen to avoid zoo traffic, and he said, “We’re on Hulen. How did we get here?” Asked where Old Granbury Road was and I told him not anywhere close. Then I took him across a new bridge over the Trinity where the land is mostly undeveloped but you know it will sprout offices and apartments within a year. Apparently Neiman Marcus is going in out there. Colin said you could tell plans are big because there were four huge cranes. We circled around by the new Press Café where there’s a Farmer’s Market on Saturdays, and he said, “Fort Worth is looking just like Austin.” High compliment.

Jacob’s game went to ten innings and then they lost by one point—bitter. But we all met for lunch at Carshon’s Deli (Colin won’t come to FW unless he can have a Rebecca sandwich). I had a half Reuben, and everyone got to speculating on why the specialty sandwiches all had girls’ name beginning with R. We forgot to ask but I’m sure there’s a story there.

After lunch Colin and his children headed for Frisco for a visit with Jamie and Eden (Maddie and Melanie were in Boulder); Jacob and his family went home; I worked at my desk and then took a long nap. By the time I got up Jacob was playing with the boys directly behind us, and Jordan had assigned me to order them pizza, which I did.

But now it’s evening, and my foot hurts, and my ambition, enthusiasm, whatever goes downhill in direct proportion. I have powered through fixing myself some pasta and am hoping Jacob will bring all the pizza detritus to the kitchen for me. Hard to carry things with a walker. I have ordered a new one which has a seat, a carrying basket, a hook for my purse, and—greatest of all—a cup holder. It doesn’t exactly say “Wine” on it but I’m sure that’s what it’s meant for.

Last night a friend of Jordan’s was here and in the course of conversation said, “I hope my children take such good care of me.” Tonight my thought, despite my pity party over a painful foot, is how fortunate I am to have children who take such good care of me. With people my age, a broken hip is often the beginning of the trip down the slippery slope, but this is not a hip—it’s a hairline fracture of the fibula—and I am determined to be of good cheer and ride it out. Six weeks in a boot!

Family ties

As the mother of four adopted children and a woman who has been befriended by so many people, I have long said it's not blood that counts. It's love, what you do for others, what they do for  you. I'm having the opposite experience of that right now in an odd way.
I have a cousin in Canada who is bipolar, 78 years old, in a nursing home, and not in good health. She's in a wheelchair and can be verbally abusive when she doesn't get her way. Since she can't handle her own affairs, I have power of attorney and have been handling her affairs for several years. I remember my father saying years ago, when I was maybe 20 and he and Mom were about to set off on a trip, "Judy if anything happens to us,  you will take care of Jenny, won't you?" All these years later, those words have come home.
I have not seen Jenny since I was perhaps ten or twelve, so I can't claim we're close. And these days I can neither understand her on the phone nor read her handwriting. Sometimes she dictates a note to a nurse to send to me. She loves dogs (when I first got into this she had several animal shelters on an automatic withdrawal plan from her checking account and was donating $500 or more a month--I had to put a stop to that). But I send her pictures of Sophie, and since she's a packrat, I occasionally send a stuffed animal. And I send email notes through a wonderful lady at the home.
The other day the Senior Health Centre said they like to have final arrangements information on file in case a patient dies unexpectedly. No, they assured me, she had not taken a turn for the worse. So I've been planning a future funeral and on a journey through a branch of my father's family I know little about, tracking down her mother's birthplace--I have no idea and my dad is the only one who could tell me, so that's out. My grandfather was an Anglican minister who moved his family to a new parish every two years, and I swear they lived in every small town in southern Ontario. I give up equally on her father's birthplace and his mother's maiden name--I barely remember Uncle Walter and was never close to Aunt Rachael. Why do funeral homes need this? Then I got an estimate sheet--holy cow! It's expensive to die! Since there is no family I simply requested an Anglican minister say a prayer at the gravesite. But it's a lot more complicated than that-- they would have to hire pall bearers, and have cars to transport staff and clergy, use a hearse. If there's no funeral, why do they need staff? All of this makes me feel kind of ghoulish, since she's still living and shows no signs of dying soon.
I knew that somewhere in my files I had a record of the Denison Family Cemetery, so tonight I went through nine years of files--and found it in the last place I looked. The current file. Went to the website only to be warned it had a known threat. Wrote to the person who maintains the Denison family Web page, but it bounced back. So somehow I have to verify that Jenny's parents are buried there and there is a plot for her. All of this, of course, makes me nostalgic about family ties and sad that so little is known about Jenny, grateful that my children will carry on my legacy, such as it is.
And my one major thought about Jenny is what a sad, unhappy life she has had--sometimes off her meds and dumpster diving, never married, never worked, never had the ordinary life that most of us have.
So I'll keep digging until I contact someone at St. John's Cemetery on the Humber, beside Denison Park, in North York, Toronto--which is a long way from Texas.