It’s the little things

 

The Cavaliers - Cricket on the left, and June Bug on the righ

A couple of days ago the yard men of the world seemed organized against me. I had barely settled at my desk in the morning when I saw two strange workmen in the yard—on the neighbor’s side. I should mention there is a gate from his property to ours—we did that to avoid have an ugly six-foot cyclone fence. So here were these men, putting a ladder up against his casita (that’s what he calls it). I did the logical things—hurried to close the door so Sophie wouldn’t join them and wander off our property. Only as I did I saw that she was already outside, wagging her tail, ready and willing to help them. I called but she was too entranced. One of the men sort of shooed her toward me. But they were there all darn morning, and though Sophie explained to me several times that she wanted to go outside, I was adamant. I gambled that she didn’t need to go, she just wanted to.

Then an early lunch and nap because I was going to a really early dinner—like leaving at 4:15. The crew that mows on yard on Mondays must be psychic. They almost always arrive about two o’clock, just when I want to nap. So Monday, they arrived at one o’clock. Their presence of course required lots of barking. Finally, all was peace and quiet, and our yard looks great. The tree that grows over the neighbor’s roof is now really really trimmed back, and the sun will be in our eyes during happy hour!

Grammar is on my lists of little things that annoy me. Someone wrote into a neighborhood listserv saying, “Me and my wife just moved here.” He wouldn’t have said, “Me just moved here,” would he? I always told students to check the pronoun by making it singular. I have a friend who repeatedly says, “He talked to Susie and I.” She wouldn’t say, “He talked to I,” would she? We hope not.

The grammatical lapse that is as annoying as fingernails on a blackboard is the confusion between lay and lie. Pretty much, that distinction is lost these days. People lay everywhere. “I’m going to lay out by the pool.” Lie, folks, lie. A childhood friend of mine says her father always said, “People lie; hens lay.” Yet a professional writer penned an email the other day about a dog laying in the road. Excuse me while I scream.

The last couple of days I’ve been frustrated by computer alerts and password rejections. The morning after the great Facebook outage, I got a possible hacking notice saying someone had tried to access my account at three in the morning. I read this when about four—I often check during the night because I’m a sound but fitful sleeper, so in the morning dark I panicked, but not enough to get out of bed and deal with it. Turns out the webmaster who handles my home page and other matters works late into the night and sleeps all morning. But something is going on because sites that usually store my username and password are now asking me for total ID.—I cannot get into Nextdoor Neighbor, for example. I installed a password protection program, but it’s so effective that I can’t get into it either. I’m waiting for tech support and also calling my son a lot.

And then there’s the dog. No, not my Sophie. Jordan and Christian have two aging Cavalier King Charles spaniels. The younger one is fragile—a heart attack survivor, almost blind, almost totally deaf. And almost totally oblivious to the world. Every time she comes out of the house she looks around in puzzlement, as though to ask, “What fresh hell is this?” Her bathroom habits are not exemplary, and she has twice relieved herself on my floor. Whenever she’s let out, she makes a beeline for the cottage because she thinks Sophie (or I) may have dropped some food. Then I yell, Sophie barks, and I try to herd her out with my walker. I’m sure it’s a sight, but it never fazes June Bug—she comes right back the next time.

Dogs, computer, yard men, grammar—if those were the only problems I had to worry about, I’d be a lucky person. But thanks for listening and letting me vent.