Is there a spot on the moon?

 

Crotchety old woman

Last night as Jordan walked by my desk, I said, “I feel like a crotchety old woman.” Not only did she not rush to deny that, I think I heard her mutter, “Yeah.” We had company for happy hour—good, dear longtime friends, the kind who fortunately love you in your worst moments. It may not have been my worst, but it surely was not my best. Everything irritated me, from the a/c which was too cold to the conversation that was too loud to the discussion of house repairs, a subject I am vehement about: I want the service people with whom I have a longstanding relationship, and Christian has finally come around to believing that is best. But when someone suggested our plumber wasn’t doing a good job, I bristled. It’s not the plumber, it’s the pipes, some of which are a hundred years old.

This morning my mood was not much better, but with what little good sense I had left I recognized that the problem was with me. Granted, some influences mostly beyond my control contributed: the atmosphere has been a bit tense around here since the refrigerator in the house quit and then, Saturday morning, a pipe began spewing raw sewage out under the deck. My work on a big project is consuming me but not going well, and I feel that it’s always on my mind. Jordan is consumed with a heavy workload, and I miss the easy camaraderie we used to haveand now enjoy less frequently. I could probably dig up other excuses, but the truth is that the problem is with me. I am in a fun and trying hard to claw myself out of it

It didn’t help that tonight two neighbors came for our regular Tuesday night happy hour, and I lost patience with one of them and spoke when I should have kept quiet. We did part as friends, but I was aware that my funk overtook me.

Lots of good happened today, and it should make me happy. For a brief period this morning everything happened at once: Keith, my favorite plumber, came, with a helper, and fixed the sewage problem, though he warned it is not a permanent fix—old pipes you know. While they were working on the deck, the yard guys arrived to fertilize, and Christian ran back and forth between the two.

When the plumber’s helper was getting ready to leave, he left the gate open. Suddenly I realized Sophie was nowhere around and not answering my frantic calls. I alerted the helper, called Christian, and began to alternate between prayer and chewing my nails. The plumber’s helper started down the street—Soph was in sight—intending to call her to come. Christian said, “That won’t happen. She’s not trained. I have to get the car.” So he got in my VW, drove down the street, opened the door, and she hopped right in. Moments like that, though, when I’m worried that she’ll be hit by a car or snatched by someone who wants to sell a cute dog, I realize how much she is a part of my life. I held my breath until I could lure her back into the house with a treat. And by the by—she is trained. She knows about “Come.” She just chooses not to do it.

The garden is something that should make me happy. Christian is going to buy a few herbs for the elevated herb garden which was decimated by the heat, but I noticed this morning that four or five green onions are poking up, straight and strong. The hyacinth bean vine on the fence is blooming, so I’m now reassured that we may get seeds to plant next year. And this morning I noticed that the Turk’s Cap, almost hidden by a tree, has a few brave blooms. On the downside, the pentas are growing and have a few blooms, but they are nowhere near their glory of previous years. When John, who owns the lawn company saw them, he said they were the worst he’d seen, and he felt sort of like an oncologist delivering bad news. Thanks a lot. And on the real downside, the deluge of nuts on the patio continues. And the mosquitoes are back!

Still the garden’s resurgence is a sign of hope to me, and I’m going to take it to heart and vanquish my funk. And I will take a few practical steps with my work projects, diverting myself to something with more immediate rewards.

Sweet dreams, all. Tomorrow is a newer, better day.

Food, dogs, weather—and a serious thought

 

Big Mac Salad

Food, dogs, weather—and a serious thought

No one will be surprised that I devour food web pages, including the New York Times. Frequently the NYT column is full of recipes and ingredients that don’t reach out to me. It’s not that I’m not willing to experiment, but I most often cook for a family of four with conservative tastes, and I find myself leaning more and more into exploring American cooking, which is of course a hodge podge of dishes from other countries, But there is a core menu of dishes that have been adapted, become part of our tradition, and typify American cooking. In the Irene in Chicago Culinary Mysteries, that’s the kind of food that Henny cooks on her “Recipes from my mom’s kitchen” TV show. Yes, tuna casserole, and Sloppy Joe, potato salad and green chili rice casserole.

So imagine my surprise when prowling through the NYT column and then the Kitchn web site (more about that in another post) when I found the following: fried catfish with spaghetti, chicken with pears, and sausage and grapes. I like to think I have some sense about pairing of foods, and, truthfully, these pairings sound awful. Not everyone likes fried catfish, but I do—wth a healthy bit of lemon and maybe a dab of tartar sauce. But with spaghetti with a traditional red sauce (that was what the illustration showed)? Or take the chicken and pears—take them somewhere, because I can’t cook that here. Some of us don’t like cooked fruit; I like it in many circumstances, but this pairing seems odd. Maybe it’s because I am never sure what to do with pears anywhere. And sausage and grapes? Just plain no. Grapes belong in chicken salad, and sausages should get sauerkraut or at the very least mustard. Call me traditional.

Fortunately, tonight we had a truly American dish: Big Mac salad. Take all the ingredients of a Big Mac—ground beef, lettuce, tomato, cheese, onion, pickle, dressing—and toss them together in a salad. We had a heavy dinner last night—pork chops, potatoes, and asparagus—so we were ready for this lighter meal tonight. Jordan made the salad, but I have to add that I made the Thousand Island dressing from scratch. Bottled dressings generally have a taste I don’t like—maybe the preservatives? Anyway, it was a good dinner.

We had a bit of excitement tonight. Mary came for happy hour. No, wait, that’s not the excitement! We had left the driveway gate partially open for her, and she thought she slammed the inner gate when she came in. But all of a sudden, she, who was sitting facing that gate, got a horrible look on her face and said that the wind had blown it open and she didn’t know where Sophie was. We called, but she didn’t respond. Of course, my heart jumped right up into my throat, though the rational side of me said she hadn’t gotten far, and they would find her. When Soph was young, she was an escape artist, always ready to explore. We had to ease out of doors, etc., and there were several chases throughout the neighborhood where we learned to drive a car, because if you opened the door, she’d jump right in.

Tonight, Jordan ran, came back for her phone, but didn’t stop for a leash or car keys. Fortunately, Sophie was across the street in the neighbor’s yard, and Jordan corralled her without trouble. Jordan may have been tired, but Sophie was unfazed by her adventure.

So tonight storms are predicted from three to six in the morning—the kind of storms with heavy wind, hail, and possible tornadoes. We get a lot of such predictions, and it’s easy to get complacent, but we stay on alert. Jordan has brought in the fragile plants, sheltered my herb garden and a few others under the eaves, taken down the patio umbrellas. I often sleep through such storms, but then again, I’m a fitful sleeper and will likely waken. Sophie, so blasé about storms as a pup, is now terrified, and will be by my side in the night. She hasn’t sensed storm yet and is lounging on the patio.

I try for a variety of reasons to avoid politics in this blog, but I have some thoughts I can’t avoid, mostly about when trump and his cohorts will be charged with treason. He apparently said that he has no choice but to run for president in 2024—God help us all. Meantime, we are hearing increasingly solid evidence that he and several Republican Congresspeople were heavily involved in what was supposed to look like a spontaneous insurrection. I am so confused about where the American people weigh in on this. Maybe by tomorrow, I’ll collect my thoughts.

Stay safe, all of you, especially those in the storm’s path, whether here, in California, or the East Coast. Mother Nature s on a rampage tonight. Is she trying to tell us something?

 

A two-dog day

Last night was deceptively easy. Got each dog out by turns for a potty session, then each in to the proper crate (Sophie even had her belly rub), gave them treats and lights out. They were wonderful. Not a peep all night. Let Soph out first; put her in the office, and let Luke out until time for our vet apt.

Vet apt. was interesting—he weighs 43 lbs., has all the characteristics of a Bernese mountain dog—flat coat, coloring, head shape, bushy tail, intelligence. But he is about half the size. In good health but heart-worm positive so we have the treatment to look forward to. Also on Monday, he will be neutered and microchipped. (Taking in a rescue dog is anything but cheap.) Heart rate is slow and strong, so vet says he’s been a runner. None of us can figure out why he was on the side of the road—best guess? He was a ranch dog, where someone had so many they didn’t think to neuter and they didn’t look for one who ran away. Vet says timing to our last major storm is about right, and he could be thunderstorm phobic—escaped during a storm.

Well, he’s an escape artist—Got home from the vet, put him in the yard, and went to get his breakfast. When I came back, he was on the other side of the fence, in the driveway. Panting to get in and eat. When I backed out to go to the grocery there he was again—in the driveway behind the electronic gate. Went to bring him in, and he was gone—crawled under the gate. Panic! Called Jay. Found him in neighbor’s yard, and Jay lured him in. We think he’s digging not jumping. Jay is going to use rebar to weight down the fence. So we crated Luke, and left Sophie out. I started for the grocery again—and got worried about Sophie picking up on Luke’s digging, so came back. She was waiting by the back door, so I put her in the office. Third time’s the charm—finally did my errands. Luke still in his crate at lunch time but I took him out to potty under supervision. All he wanted to do was climb in my lap.

This afternoon Jacob had friends over—two brothers—and their father, Jay and I sat on the deck while they played. Luke loved it. When we came in I left him while I went to get his leash—by the time I came back he was in the neighbor’s yard. This time Jacob helped Jay bring him back home.

Luke would be the perfect dog is he didn’t escape and he didn’t have kennel cough, which he apparently does. I’ll have to keep them separated probably until the end of next week. He is also not to run, chase squirrels, etc. for six to eight weeks because of the heartworms. Fortunately he is not nearly as frantic about squirrels as Sophie is.

I keep telling myself this will all settle down but when I woke up this morning my first thought was, “What have I done?’ Today, even more than yesterday, though, Luke has wormed his way into our hearts, and we all keep saying, “He’s a good dog!”

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.