Together again. Saturday was wild but good.

I have been having some difficulty in loading phone vids to my pc. Will keep working on that.

Praline's wound is not bad and she's leaving it alone and it seems to be healing nicely.

The pups had a happy reunion, but I think he was puzzled by the different way she smelled from usual.

They're playing and she's bouncing around and wiggling, and she's jumped up on the dining table and on all the furniture. The stitches seem to be holding, though. I hope they'll go to sleep quickly. Post-op or not, momma WILL kick them out of bed.

Chuy and I had a splendid day Friday running errands and we even had a big shopping blowout on toys and treats ($45!) at Petsmart. [oh, and one very good pair of nail clippers] He was quiet and I could tell he still missed his Sissy all day, but he managed to have a good time and seemed happy to be along for the ride.

At the end of the last errand, we went to Keller's drive-in on Northwest Highway for a burger and tater tots. All these years, and I've never been there before. One side of the cook shack was dominated by dozens of bikers. A carhop comes by and takes your order and then puts a tray on your window just like back in the day, and your food arrives with lightning speed. They also serve beer. I don't know how they get around the open container in a vehicle thing, but it's neat, if you're a person who's not impaired after one or two, I expect. Or if you happen to be the designated drinker in the car.

I sat there and thought how neat the place was with its Jetson neon and suddenly, the juke box cranked to life. Almost warm & sultry night, eating a burger while my dog sits in the shotgun seat. Kenny Rogers' The Gambler came on, and I never liked that song so much. I sort of thought all those years of being tired of that song are kind of worth it for this moment when that song really fits a time, place and mood. It was kind of sweet. Then the song ended and no other played. That was Kenny's moment, apparently. Fair enough.

This place is marvelous. Good, basic burgers. I munched happily on my burger with a paint-peeling onion snugly ensconced, most of which I ate. Mr. Chu-man-fu sat patiently and watched. His good behaviour was rewarded with little nibbles of my poppy-seed burger bun and little cheesy bits of beef.

I like the mom/boypup day. Praline is such a live wire that he doesn't get these contemplative days, generally. I know he was content, but he would have preferred the rough-housing.

Oh well- in 7.5 hours we'll be picking up my little barbwire pineapple from the vet's office. I'm going to video their happy reunion and will try to post it. I know it will be a lurve fest.

Have a great weekend!

PRALINE REPORT:
Pupgirl is nicely on the mend by now. She's still at the vet's office and I'll be able to pick her up first thing on Saturday morning. Thursday morning about 2.5 hours after I'd dropped her off, the vet called me and said she had fared well in the surgery, was coming out from under the anaesthesia and was already her naturally silly self again. I hope she doesn't wiggle out of her stitches! Anyhoo, she's all fixed up and in fine fettle.

Chuy, on the other hand, has not fared so well during this separation. He's been desolate, tragic and utterly bereft of his joy since his sissy left Thursday morning. I had to be out of town all day, so my sister took him to the office and let him hang out with her. He looked out of the window and whined most of the day. Poor little lad. I shall keep him with me all day Friday and hopefully the time will pass quickly. Mebbe a nice long walk? Looking forward to their happy reunion.
****************************

Don't you hate when you catch yourself blurting something stupid and trite? You never do that?
I do it all the time. :P

I got pulled over Thursday morning for not stopping far enough behind a stop sign.
As I signed my ticket, I said "thank you officer. I'm not normally a sloppy driver." [I had come to a full stop, but my front bumper wasn't behind the stop sign.]

He said "uh hunh."

I said "I'm sorry. That's a cliche, isn't it? You hear that all the time?"
He nodded.
I said "well, I rarely get pulled over so I'm not rehearsed on non-cliche comments."

Someday, perhaps I'll learn to keep my mouth shut, but I'm not holding my breath.

CORRECTION:

Some comments on this post made me realize I need to add to this post. Now I feel like I jerk because I didn't splain the whole situation which transpired with the officer, who was actually very polite. I was digging through the myriad paper scraps in my glove compartment while he phoned in my information. He came back and was writing the ticket and I handed him the most recent proof of insurance (I have it, have never let it lapse in my adult life) which ended in September. He looked at the expired date and said he was going to cut me a break and just give me a ticket for no proof of insurance and I could go take care of that ticket for $20-ish with proof of my insurance. Oddly enough, if I'd had current proof of my insurance, I'm sure I would have paid a $100-ish to $200ish ticket on the stop sign violation, so he actually did me a great kindness by letting the stop sign thingy go, even if there was a question of degrees. Mebbe he had to meet a quota. Who knows? I think he must have thought I looked guilty. [who? little ole me?]

Lookie what Santa brung me:

Monteverde Invincia Fountain pen. VERY pretty.

I've always liked dip pens and quills, but Santa obviously thought I needed a proper fountain pen. Good call!

Got a converter and drew some of my best green Italian ink into the converter cartridge and had a little doodle-fest. This pen writes beautifully. Sometimes I feel the need to write Tra la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la. Can't hep it.

This pen?

Love.
It.

Note to self: sloshing ink all over your fingers will pull focus from the crap manicure you gave yourself. Double-whammy!

YAYS! I'm off for 4 days.

Will post a Praline update when there is news to tell. I'm sure she'll be fine, but I'll be much happier when it's over and I'm writing the check and taking home my teeny tiny toastie.

For now, consider this:



AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!

Miss Praline is going for her *ahem* alteration today. I can't believe my girl is old enough for this, but that's how time passes, I suppose. She was such a wee little thing such a short while ago.

Mumsy's nervous.

Nailbiting here.

I'm worried about her feeling sad and abandoned. :(

10:35 Addendum:

WOOPSIE! ENTERED THIS ON ME CALENDAR WRONG - is tomorrow. Poor little Chuy emitted the most pitiful, plaintive mewling when I took Praline and left. Will take him with tomorrow - poor little lamb.

Inflatable fruit cake. Ach! NOW you tell me.

This years Christmas shopping: DONE.

"if I had to pick one thing to take to a desert island, it would be inflatable fruitcake."

TRUE GRISTLE

You know, I really hate to rag on Madonna, and yet, I don't.

Most likely she didn't micromanage the editing of these photos, but see how the line of the tile floor is skewed when they shrunk her right calf to a withered, concentration camp proportion?

Good googly moogly. She was already scrawny. I've said it before and I'll say it again: if Madonna were a piece of fried chicken, she'd be the last one left on the platter. She'd be selected after the skinny wing with pinfeathers.

Srsly.

Wow. Nano-diamonds found in a layer of sediment suggest mammoths were killed by a comet-impact.

Minuscule diamond fragments found in a sediment layer dating from thousands of years ago are bolstering the theory that a catastrophic comet impact wiped out many forms of life in North America, including what are thought to have been the first human settlers of the continent, the so-called Clovis people. The nano-diamonds are buried at a level that corresponds to the beginning 12,900 years ago of the Younger Dryas, a 1,300-year-long cold spell during which North American mammoths, saber-toothed cats, camels and giant sloths became extinct. The Clovis culture of American Indians also appears to have fallen apart during this time [Reuters].

Apparently a thick fur coat is not heavy enough for a nuclear winter, eh?

Saturday Buck emailed me a link to this stirring essay on why old dogs are the best dogs at the WaPo. I sat down late last night to read the article, and I thought of the little old lady dog I lost last year, Valentine.

Not long after losing Miss V, I got another pup. Praline's a wigglesome, sweet little Jack Russell Terrier who lifted my spirits tremendously. A dear, dear friend told me I needed to get a second dog soon to complete my little pack. A short while later, my vet told me her colleague had rescued some chihuahua wiener pups- the two breeds I swore I'd never own. So Praline and I met Chuy and it was lurve.

Praline is smart, but she's so excitable that it's easy to think she's not really paying attention to what's going on around her. Chuy, on the other hand, knows what's going on with every creature in the room.

I read the article mentioned above, and at the end, it brought back the memories of the last days with the doglet. I admit I cried a little. Not racking sobs or anything, but a few tears escaped the banks of my eyelids. Suddenly, Chuy was right there in front of me, his cobby little paws resting on my knee as his earnest face looked up in to mine. I picked him up and he snuggled up to me and he nestled his head to my neck. I know it's odd, but it really seemed like he knew what I was thinking and was trying to comfort me.

Old dogs are grand, but the young ones can be amazing, too. I'm so glad I have my boypup. :)

Here's to dogs.

finding my happy place

Saturday I drove out of Dallas with the morning sun in the rearview. I listened to Our Love to Admire by Interpol for the first hour out of town. My favorite music is always a comfort to me as I think of the future. What am I considering doing? I've yearned to leave Dallas and be Elsewhere. How will life change? How will I change?

Then I popped in Coldplay's Viva la Vida, which I just purchased recently but hadn't really listened to, other than the delectable earworm that's popped up all over the place. Songs opened with full gospel organ to plodding beats, Chinese dulcimer strings sprang blossoms of sound which seemed to pulse in time with a flurry of birds over the road ahead, wings flashing as the flock contracted, expanded, then turned of one mind. A train of coal cars passed with their loads piled in impossibly symmetrical forms. Dry native grasses swayed in the wind, their stalks ranging from gold to rusty pinks, looking like velour in the sunlight under a cloudless sky. Funny how pretty something so banal can be if you take a moment to really look at it.

I've found a job listing in another city in Texas, but in the same industry. I'm pulling my C.V. together and applying this week. The administration in the company I'm applying with is a slow, plodding thing, so I expect if I get an interview, it'll be more than a month away, and if I should land the job, then that'd be as much as 2 or 3 months away. I've been to that city before and liked it and the surrounding areas, so I moseyed out to check it out more closely yesterday.


Moving from Town in this information-saturated age is a different prospect than 20 or even 10 years ago. I maintain a few close friendships, but I can do so as easily from another town. I don't see my friends every day, so no reason why I can't just make the effort to drive a few hours to see them every so often anyhoo. With a phone call or the click of a mouse, I can have pretty much any exotic product I could wish for delivered to my door in relatively short order. All things being equal, the charm of being in a big burgh is pale compared to that of a place where I could feel safer in my own home and not be wakened by the sound of expressway traffic at 4 AM.

I found a charming town of which I'm exceedingly fond. I scheduled an appointment to see a house, and a little corgi marched resolutely up to greet me as I waited for the realtor to arrive. I looked around and saw lots of nice trees, and some of the houses had that adorable Swiss Miss edging along the rooflines. Very cute. It turned out the nice older gentleman realtor was the builder of the houses in that neighborhood in the 60s. I met some more lovely folks who live on the street, and I really like the the neighborhood. It's quiet with nice families and perhaps they wouldn't mind having an eccentric artistic type living on the street?

Drove around the area, found the workplace, found Hobby Lobby and Michaels and even a flea market/thrift store (get thee behind me) that wants serious mining, considering my heart raced as I gazed upon it. (More crap! I need more crap!)

Anyway. Dallas is a lovely city in many ways. Fantastic shopping abounds, and there are so many great restaurants and galleries in town. Lots of fantastic live music may be heard here, and that's always been a big deal to me, but I find it's less satisfying than it once was. If I move, and there's a show I really want to see, I can always come back to the area and attend the show with Holly and spend the night with her. I can always just buy the CD anyhoo, right?

Living here has been wonderful to me in so many ways, but it's time for something different. I don't expect ever to live here again. This has been sweet, but my life is not about being in this place. Hang on tightly; let go lightly.

This is all very chicken-counting and early days, of course, but if things do move forward, they will do so at avalanche pace, and for once in my life, I'm preparing for possibilities, instead of procastinating and crossing my fingers. If I don't get the job I really want, I'll keep trying until I land one that works for me, and I'll be certain the job I landed was the one I was meant to have. After all, I'm working to live, and not living to work.

Lordy! My load is heavy.


You see what I have to put up with? Snortal combat.

Okay, you've gotta wait for it. The sound on the vid is right crap, but the snorts are there at the very end. Puppy fisticuffs.

So, the dogs do this nearly-silent tussle on a nightly basis. They thrash and wallow all over the bed and usually after a few minutes of the snarling buzzbomb antics and snorty combat, they'll simmer down and Praline'll divebomb under the covers and curl up at the back of my knees and Chuy'll lie close to the front of my calves. USUALLY.

I've thought many times I erred in letting them sleep with me-- sometimes they are rowdy and take forever to settle. Then again, I'd consider confining them to the downstairs of the loft for nighttimes and I could actually feel my eyes brimming with tears just thinking of the bewilderment of my sad, lonely and cold little puppehs, thinking momma abandoned them and just don't love 'em no mo'.

Well, Thursday night was a major bear for me. Went to bed SO tired. Worked 13 hours on NYE, and all this without the restorative effects of booze. Honestly, I could've filled a liquor cabinet with all the booze I was offered while on property Wednesday night, but I behaved. I was working and needed a clear head. SO, by Thursday night I was wiped out, and then the leetle darlings started their rowdy floorshow on the bed, but they just never would settle down.

Probably after drifting off several times and at least 20 minutes, I got up and moved the gate barrier from across the closet opening and put it across the stair entrance. I popped she-fiend Praline down on the other side of the barrier and collected Chuy from the bed and set him on the other side, too.

I climbed back into bed grousing and fuming, but fully expected crying, whimpering. Sad, sad babies! Instead, they barreled down the steps and continued their romp around the apartment. I drifted off into sleep and awoke about 8 hours later, totally refreshed.

Hunh. I think those brats have been waking me up at night. I've been played. They're just using me. We're going rinse, lather and repeat, I think.

Little devils.

I was fortunate to have occasion to talk to a little old lady recently. She was very sweet and spoke in a warm, clear voice as her mind cast back to her younger years, and days which must seem more present with her than a moment a few hours ago. She knew what she was saying and this was clear, but sometimes, she'd hesitate an instant as she flipped through her files to produce the apt word to come next in the sentence. She is meticulous in her language, erudite and well-spoken.

I held her hand as she spoke, and she smiled at me and said my family had been kind to me, that my coloring and features were lovely. She looked into my eyes and we chatted quite a while, mostly her speaking and me listening. What a rich and interesting life she has had. And a good one- one in which she can take great pride and comfort.

I said how lovely her hands were. Her fingers seem impossibly tiny and are quite elegantly formed without the signs of arthritis which seem so common in the hands of the elderly folk in my own family. I thought of my own hands, and how the rigors of my leisure pursuits seem to have taken their toll on my little mitts. Nails very short for my new guitar practice. Years of flower gardening, working with wire and tools in jewelry manufacture and of course, the shooty arts wot am hell on a manicure. Still, I like the way my hands look - the hands of an artisan. My hands say I am capable, and I like that. But I look at her hands and consider the X number of decades she has on me - hers still have a look of refinement which age can not mar. Her hands say who she is: a Lady.

She said she'd been a pianist and people loved watching her play and always commented on her pretty hands, and that she'd considered being a hand model. She chuckled. She looked at my left hand holding her left hand and raised her right hand, turning it in the light, considering. Her fine skin is corded with vessels draped over her bones under too-thin skin. The lines of her hands are beautiful and yes-- they show her age. She looked at her hand a moment longer and then pointed to her own left hand and said "this is what your hands look like when you're old and ...bony. And this [now pointing to my hand] is what your hands look like when they are young and..."

I waited for the word, knew it would be a good one.

"padded."

We both threw our heads back and laughed.

Happy New Year,

you fabulous people!