It’s summer in Texas

My kids are all celebrating summer in different ways. Jordan, Christian, and Jacob are just home tonight after four nights at a friend’s lake house on Lake Weatherford. The occasion was Jacob’s fourteenth birthday, and the big deal was that he passed a six-part test and got his license to drive a motorized water vehicle. The friends who loaned them the house have two sons—and therefore two jet skis—and Jacob and a buddy had a grand time. Jordan reports that when it rained, they were perfectly content inside with games and the like.

With them gone, I realized even more how spoiled I’ve gotten. After my chickens left the nest (is that a mixed metaphor?) I lived alone for many years and did just fine. But now I’m used to having company at happy hour or to having Jordan pop in in the morning to check on me or sit in the evening to watch the news (when did she become such a news hound?) and discuss menus and grocery lists. Fortunately I am blessed with several friends who came for happy hour, so I had company on the patio every night they were gone. People whose company I thoroughly enjoy came to give me a bit of human companionship for each day. Sophie’s great—and I talk to her a lot—but it’s not quite the same.

If you read this blog often, you probably realize that happy hour is how I’ve chosen to keep in touch with those I care about. We invite only those who we know have been quarantining as strictly as we have. They bring their own drinks, glasses, whatever they need, and we sit at least six feet apart. Masks are not required but some wear them. One friend didn’t think Jordan’s six-foot spacing was enough and backed his chair off the patio and onto the grass, but he is out and about in the world, and his wife is in an at-risk category. So far I feel quite safe—knock on wood—and I am grateful because one of the two factors most cited as contributing to longevity is socialization.

The other is exercise, which I can’t much do. I wrote a yoga friend who now lives out of town and asked for chair exercises, but she didn’t want to recommend long distance without seeing my range of motion, etc. She recommended a colleague in Fort Worth but I declined because of quarantining.

My Austin daughter and her family celebrated summer by moving into their new house. They love their location in the Tarrytown neighborhood, but their house had many “old-house” problems. When Brandon complained about the 60-year-old house, I told him he should live in my almost 100-year-old house (and pay the repair bills). But they tore down the old house and rebuilt in the same footprint, which I heartily applaud. The new house is open and airy and modern and wonderful. Tonight, Megan said they are drowning in unopened boxes, but movers brought their furniture, and they will all sleep under their new roof tonight. The two teenage boys have been sleeping in their rooms for several nights and are thrilled to have their own bedrooms, bathrooms, tooth paste, mouthwash, towels, you name it.

Ginger with Morgan

The Tomball kids announced today that they are rescuing an Australian shepherd—the breed that is the love of my heart. A friend of theirs is moving this weekend and cannot take his six-year-old dog, Ginger. So it looks like Ginger will live on Mueschke Road with my family. Fourteen-year-old Morgan is particularly delighted, and I am anxious to meet the new member of the family.

The only news of my Frisco family is that Jamie somehow managed the other day to set off the emergency button on his phone, when he was halfway across Dallas from home, and panicked the family members who got the message. I am forever grateful that I didn’t get it and didn’t know to be alarmed until it was all over.

Green noodles

And to make it a family night, Jordan and I shared a family favorite dish for dinner tonight—we call it green noodles. I usually use spinach fettucine, but Central Market sent me green pea noodles, so that’s what I used. Artichoke hearts, sliced mushrooms, scallions, garlic, in a butter/lemon sauce. Couldn’t find my homemade pesto cubes—I know they’re in the freezer somewhere—but it was good without them.

Sharing news and cooking favorite dishes makes me feel close to family that I haven’t seen since Christmas (with the exception of Megan and her youngest son) because of COVID-19. Pray God this scourge goes from our land, though I don’t expect it to soon. I read one expert opinion today that if 80% of people wore masks, we’d flatten the curve in no time. Come on, people—do it for your family, your neighbors, your friends.

Update on Luke

Sophie and Luke aren't exactly best friends yet but they have progressed to playing tug of war, which is really cute. Accompanied by blood-curdling growls on Sophie's part and silent concentration from Luke. For the first week or so, he didn't bark, and I thought we had a non-barker. I've since learned that's typical of rescue dogs. Now he barks a lot because he takes his responsibilities as guardian of the house very seriously--sometimes in the middle of the night. Last night Jordan spent the night, and Luke went wild when she got up to use the bathroom, then again at 5:30 a.m. when she got up to organize their garage sale (read on). Unless I'm quieting him, Luke barks at strangers, and he still barks at Jacob, which scares Jacob particularly when he gets in and out of bed with Luke in his crate.
But Luke is adapting to the house. If Sophie didn't provoke him, he'd be a great house dog--well, with a little training and relaxation. He frequently paces from room to room, though occasionally he'll settle down by my side. When he's off wandering in the house I have to watch because he has trouble discriminating what is his from what is mine--a remote is one victim. Forget rubber toys--those left over that Scooby had for years and Sophie has had for three and a half are now destroyed. Knotted ropes work best, as in the picture above.
Luke loves his crate--maybe because I sometimes feed him there (he's always ravenous), maybe because other times I lure him there with his pills wrapped in a bit of cheese, and possibly because it's a refuge from Sophie. But he happily goes prancing in and doesn't try to escape while I fiddle with the door.
I've had Luke four weeks and two days, and I think he's a different dog--beginning to feel more comfortable. When he barks, I praise and reassure him, and I spend some time just stroking his head and face (I don't want anyone else to do that!) and telling him he really does live here.
Today was the great garage sale--my street gets much more traffic than theirs, so Jordan and Christian beg and plead and I give in. My house was a disaster the last two days, filled with more junk than I can imagine. I did just what I threatened--hid in the house all day. Because the kids were in and out, I left the dogs in the back yard until early afternoon. Amazing the amount of work I got done--including getting a needed picture of a Coney Island dog before I served it to Christian. Kids think they did fairly well on the sale though there's a lot left. Anyone want a '50s modern wood table with an inlaid dentil pattern on the ends of the drop-down leaves? If I had room, I'd keep it. Jordan and Christian are exhausted. I feel just fine, thank you very much. And here's another shot from last night:

Dog update, for those who care

A good friend--actually she calls me her Fort Worth mom since her real mom is in Canada--came for dinner tonight.. We ate on the deck with Luke for company, and he was sweet, loving, calm, and delightful. Sue announced decisively that he needs to feel part of the family and the first step was to let both dogs run together for ten minutes in the yard. The vet had warned me against running since he's in heartworm treatment but Sue maintained it would do more for his spirit. So we experimented--and they had a blast. No hostility, lots of tail wagging and chasing. They soon gave out, and I corralled them to bring inside and feed separately.
After Sue left I let them have the run of the house together--other than wild chasing, rugs kicked up, I have seen no problems. They're having a ball. I think she's right--that's what both of them needed. If you can't tell from the above, I'm weakening on my resolve to get Luke a new home. He craves affection. He got out twice today and both times ended up at the front door, saying, "Let me in, please." In fact one time, he almost beat me down the driveway and edged his way in the minute I opened the door. That dog doesn't want to go anywhere--he just wants to be part of the family. I don't think I have the heart to uproot him again.
Yes, I worry about the snapping incidents. One had to do with a toy and is a lesson learned--also part of Luke's assimilation into the household. The other two had to do with that blasted cone of shame...and today it's gone, banished. I think we may be all right.
Please pray that I am making the right decision. It was hard to get a picture of the two of them together--a moving target--but the above is the best I could do.
 

A day gone to the dogs

Wow, such a day that I hardly know where to start, but many of you have asked about Steadman, the dog I vowed to rescue last night. I was told to call the shelter (about an hour away) at 8:30 this morning; called at 8:15 and was told they already had someone to take him. Disappointed but relieved. Figured it just wasn't meant to be, but I did get them to promise he would not be put down and take my phone number, just in case. The lady sounded bemused, but she took it, and I went on about my business--principally a quick trip to the grocery. Just after I got home I got a phone call saying that Steadman was available. Called my neighbor Jay, and we hopped in his truck and headed up to Decatur and the Wise County Animal Shelter. I figured the call was karma--this dog was meant to come home with me.
Long story short, we came home with Steadman, now renamed Luke. He is so sweet, so anxious for love. He was a stray, found on the side of the road, so we have no background, but he has obviously known love and had some training--he will sit, lie down, and stay. He and Sophie have to stay pretty much apart for three days, just in case he develops kennel cough. That's hard, but the couple of times they've been together--one going out, the other coming in--they danced around each other with tails wagging. I think it will be fine.
Jacob adores this dog. He said he'd be spending the night a lot more these days. And I once told him a six-second hug releases endorphins, so he has now proclaimed he'll give me 12-second hugs. And he did tonight--One Mississippi, two Mississippi, etc.

Luke appears to be an outside dog, although right now Sophie is outside and he's lying quietly in the study. Any movement, and he'll be up, wagging his tail, pacing, looking for love. I hope he'll do well in his crate tonight. He has a vet appt. tomorrow morning, and he will have to be neutered. I was amazed at that, but neighbor Jay says he was probably a ranch dog and nobody bothered.
So I've been juggling dogs today, but with lots of help from Jay and Christian. Sophie topped off the day by sneaking out the door when Christian brought Luke's new crate in. Poor Christian chased her probably six blocks until a home owner helped him catch her on his front porch, and Christian had to carry her all the way home. He was pleased that she seemed content and did not squirm.
I have visions of someday soon working at my computer with two dogs lying peacefully at my feet. Meanwhile we're in transition.
And Jamie, his daughters and one of Maddie's friends, are coming to spend the night tomorrow and bring their two dogs. Guest house for them!
I'm exhausted and going to bed early tonight, but I have to say I live a blessed life, and retirement is far from boring. A bonus to Luke's arrival in the family: it was so much on my mind last night that I dreamt about acquiring a dog and suddenly figured out how a dog would play a major part in my work-in-progress. As my mom always said, God works in mysterious ways.

Is 9/11 fading from memory after 13 years?

This morning a flag flying at the foot of my driveway reminded me, as if I didn't already know, that this is the anniversary of 9/11. The flag is courtesy Fort Worth South Rotary, through a program I enrolled in, and I was grateful to see it all day.
I found it hard though to recapture the emotion I felt that day thirteen years ago. Every one of us remembers where we were--I was at my desk, with the TODAY show on as background while I worked. Suddenly I was riveted to the TV, though even then I found it hard to wrap my mind around the stark horror of what had happened. Today I grieve intellectually, and I feel emotional when I see interviews with survivors and families of those who died. So many have moved on to do such good in this world--good does indeed come out of evil. But somehow I have distanced myself a bit from it.
One of the most moving things I saw was a 15-year-old Golden Retriever who is believed to be the last surviving rescue dog from that day. Her handler talked us back to the post-tragedy days when they were on duty, and I found myself staring at an incredibly loyal and brave and well-trained dog. I admire both dog and handler.
A friend, whose husband is teaching in Hungary, said that over there the day is nothing special. It carries none of the emotional impact it does for us in the U.S. Last year, when she taught freshmen in this country, few had any memories of the day, and she surmised that it is becoming like December 7, a day of infamy that lives in the minds of our parents and grandparents but is rapidly forgotten by younger generations. A colleague, a fellow historian, answered that is the way of history and maybe it's a good thing, it's human beings movin' on. But there's also something very sad about it.
I would agree, but I also agree with all those posts on Facebook today that said, "Never forget." Today we face more threats--who knows if they will reach our shores or not, but who expected Al Qaeda to touch us in such a catastrophic way? I, the liberal peace-monger, think it's important to teach younger generations what these days mean in our history, lest they fade into total obscurity. They remain object lessons for us, lessons again complacency that are hard to balance against a desire for peace.
When we came home from school Jacob asked about the flag in my driveway. "Do you know what day today is?" I asked. He didn't, and I explained. He didn't seem remarkably impressed, but I'm not sure an eight-year-old can grasp the enormity of what happened on 9/11. I'll keep reminding him.