and Flopsy, Mopsy, Topsy, and probably Benjamin Bunny too.
It's a good thing that Dillon is less prey-driven than Katie was or he'd have had rabbit for breakfast and/or I'd be sporting skinned knees and elbows from being dragged down in an effort to prevent him from having rabbit for breakfast. I know that freezing in place in an attempt to blend in with their surroundings is part of Bunny Survival 101. But do they have to stay frozen right up until you're practically within a jaw's reach of them? I've tried, loudly, to point out the fallacy in this approach, but the rabbits seem unmoved by my admonitions to MOVE.
There are a lot of rabbits living along the trail. They're cute with their brown fur, twitching noses, and white cottontails. Unfortunately, their brazen disregard for both humans and dogs is a nuisance. Dillon's a good boy, but any dog worthy of the name is going to be attracted to a nice, juicy bunny just sitting there waiting to be eaten. It's like these rabbits are playing a game of chicken, waiting until the absolute last minute to hop away. I've tried talking in a loud voice, hoping to speed them along. They remain unfazed, just sitting there along the trail until we're practically on top of them.
And what's the purpose of that cottontail anyway? The brown color of their fur provides nice camouflage. They blend into their surroundings. But the minute they start hopping away, that white tail flashes like a Hot Now Krispy Kreme sign. It's practically saying, come and get me.
I'm beginning to sympathize with Mr. McGregor.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Woman's Day
If you're a fan of Woman's Day magazine, Amazon.com is running a great deal on subscriptions. You can get a new 1-year subscription, or renew your current subscription for 1 year, for only $5.00. The offer expires July 31. They're offering the same deal on Elle magazine. I get most of my magazine subscriptions through Amazon. They frequently offer better deals than the publishers. If you're interested, here's the link. If you're renewing a current subscription, make sure you fill out the subscription information exactly as it appears on your current mailing label.
What a beautiful day!
It's raining, it's pouring, the old man isn't snoring, but that's because he's too busy watching all that beautiful rain coming down. When we got up this morning, it was overcast. By 8:30 a.m., there was a gentle rain falling. It's been raining on and off ever since. Last check of the rain gauge showed we had over 1/2 an inch, heading for 3/4's. Right now, it's coming down fast and furious. So far the only sound is falling water, no thunder. The humidity is low and it's only in the 70's. What a beautiful day!
Monday, July 26, 2010
Food, Glorious Food!
Real, homegrown tomatoes are among God's finest creations. Unfortunately, they're hard to come by. A number of the vendors at the farmer's market don't grow their own, they truck them in. That puts them on a par with tomatoes from the grocery store which I absolutely, positively will not buy. They have no taste!
The few vines that Dad planted on the side of the garage have suffered so much with the heat and the drought, that we've only had a handful of tomatoes, so I ration them. We've had a few tomato sandwiches and I've cut up a few in Dad's peas. Tonight, I splurged and made myself bruschetta for supper. Yum! I know it's supposed to be an appetizer, but I eat it as an entree served with beer. What a wonderful meal!
I peeled 2 tomatoes and used most of 1 for Dad's tomato sandwich. He's not a fan of bruschetta, so I don't waste it on him. Then I cut up the rest of the tomatoes and some garlic, added olive oil and salt, and left the flavors to mingle into deliciousness while I mixed up Dillon's homemade dog biscuits. Which I cut out in Mickey Mouse head shapes this time. Then I sat down and spooned the tomato mixture on top of toasted French bread, topped it with fresh basil from my plants, and savored every mouthful of my supper. Glorious!
With a nod to the musical, Oliver!
Food, glorious food!
What wouldn't we give for
That extra bit more --
That's all that we live for
Why should we be fated to
Do nothing but brood
On food,
Magical food,
Wonderful food,
Marvelous food,
Fabulous food,
[OLIVER]
Beautiful food,
[BOYS]
Glorious food
The few vines that Dad planted on the side of the garage have suffered so much with the heat and the drought, that we've only had a handful of tomatoes, so I ration them. We've had a few tomato sandwiches and I've cut up a few in Dad's peas. Tonight, I splurged and made myself bruschetta for supper. Yum! I know it's supposed to be an appetizer, but I eat it as an entree served with beer. What a wonderful meal!
I peeled 2 tomatoes and used most of 1 for Dad's tomato sandwich. He's not a fan of bruschetta, so I don't waste it on him. Then I cut up the rest of the tomatoes and some garlic, added olive oil and salt, and left the flavors to mingle into deliciousness while I mixed up Dillon's homemade dog biscuits. Which I cut out in Mickey Mouse head shapes this time. Then I sat down and spooned the tomato mixture on top of toasted French bread, topped it with fresh basil from my plants, and savored every mouthful of my supper. Glorious!
With a nod to the musical, Oliver!
Food, glorious food!
What wouldn't we give for
That extra bit more --
That's all that we live for
Why should we be fated to
Do nothing but brood
On food,
Magical food,
Wonderful food,
Marvelous food,
Fabulous food,
[OLIVER]
Beautiful food,
[BOYS]
Glorious food
Sunday, July 25, 2010
The city of lights
I can't believe that I haven't been watching the Tour de France bicycle race. I could care less about the sport of cycling. It's not much of a spectator sport. But the French scenery is gorgeous. I did catch some of yesterday's coverage and all of today's. There were incredible panoramic helicopter shots of beautiful French chalets or castles, and the city of Paris. I'm still kicking myself for missing the previous 18 or so days. Something to look forward to for next year, I guess.
It's a small world after all.....
My cousin,David and his wife, Barbara, were in the area Friday, so they stopped by and we all went out to eat. As we were driving across town, David asked if I happened to know a certain lawyer in town. "Why, yes," I replied. "He's one of the partners at the firm where I work." It turns out that many moons ago, David and Bill were college roommates. Cue up, It's a Small World! Sorry, I know that song will be rattling around in your brain for the rest of the day. I hope David didn't do anything all those years ago that Bill will hold against me. Dad used to torture his roommate by leaving the window cracked all night.
I put Dillon in his crate before we left because we've had thunderstorms spring up unexpectedly for the last few days. We'd already had one that afternoon and I'd discovered several shoes and a blouse lying on the floor of my closet when I came home from work. When Dad and I returned, there was no sound of barking or whining coming from my bedroom. When I got close to the door, I did hear a distinct thumping sound. It was Dillon's tail wagging. "You'll never find a better dog," was Dad's response.
This morning, Dillon and I were up before Dad. Since it's supposed to be about a zillion degrees here today (101 with high humidity), we hit the trail to get our walk in before Dad and I went to breakfast. When we got back, Dad still wasn't up. He did straggle out while I was in the shower. "Dillon barked at me a couple of times when I was outside getting the paper and when I sat down to read it, he came over and wanted to be petted." Dad sounded pleased with the attention. "You screwed up his routine. You didn't have his banana ready when we got back from our walk," I informed him. "He was trying to get you moving." "Is that what it was?" Dad said, laughing while sounding slightly disappointed.
It's a small, small world!
I put Dillon in his crate before we left because we've had thunderstorms spring up unexpectedly for the last few days. We'd already had one that afternoon and I'd discovered several shoes and a blouse lying on the floor of my closet when I came home from work. When Dad and I returned, there was no sound of barking or whining coming from my bedroom. When I got close to the door, I did hear a distinct thumping sound. It was Dillon's tail wagging. "You'll never find a better dog," was Dad's response.
This morning, Dillon and I were up before Dad. Since it's supposed to be about a zillion degrees here today (101 with high humidity), we hit the trail to get our walk in before Dad and I went to breakfast. When we got back, Dad still wasn't up. He did straggle out while I was in the shower. "Dillon barked at me a couple of times when I was outside getting the paper and when I sat down to read it, he came over and wanted to be petted." Dad sounded pleased with the attention. "You screwed up his routine. You didn't have his banana ready when we got back from our walk," I informed him. "He was trying to get you moving." "Is that what it was?" Dad said, laughing while sounding slightly disappointed.
It's a small, small world!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Attention to detail
One trait that was stressed over and over again while studying to be a paralegal was the importance of attention to detail. I strive very hard to adhere to the rule at work. It's a good thing I don't go to work early in the morning.
Dillon and I were up before 7 a.m. and on the trail shortly thereafter. As soon as we got home, I started my coffee and cornbread and threw in the first load of laundry. Dillon has to cool down from his walk before he gets fed. I finished my breakfast and hung my sheets on the line. I was feeling very industrious. Dillon was feeling very hungry.
I put his bowl on the counter and added a cup of kibble. Then I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed the plastic container of green beans left over from yesterday. I had taken off the lid and was just about to dump the contents of the container into his bowl when I realized I'd grabbed the container of sliced lemon, not green beans. Thank goodness I realized in time because I don't have another lemon, I don't like my tea straight, and it would have been a pain to brush all the kibble crumbs off my lemon slices. I'm not sure how Dillon would have felt about lemon in his bowl, but I wouldn't have been happy.
I put the lemon back in the frig and grabbed the container of green beans. I dumped them in and went to put his bowl back into the stand so he could have breakfast. Dillon was bouncing along beside me, pirouetting in his efforts to sniff the contents of his bowl. As I was lowering it down, he plunged his head in and began eating. No point in waiting when you're starving to death! I was still grasping the bowl, with most of my hand being underneath it. I suddenly realized my hand was getting wet.
It wasn't Dillon slobbering. For some unknown reason, I was in the process of putting his food bowl down into his water bowl. Luckily I realized the mistake before completely submerging the top bowl into the bottom bowl which would have splashed water all over the floor. I put the food bowl into the correct side of the stand and went to dry my hand. Dillon never stopped eating.
When we had the front door installed, the handyman bought the mail slot. There wasn't much of a selection in town; actually there was only 1 choice, a gold toned magazine size slot with no back plate. The mail slot didn't match the door's brushed nickel hardware. It presented the mailman with practically a window-sized opening into our entry hall when he pulled the cover up to insert the mail. You could also see light around the flap and the spring mechanism wasn't strong enough, so sometimes the flap was left standing open after the mailman was gone. Neither Dad nor I was happy with it. Although I found it strange that it was the light coming through the slot that bothered Dad. The light coming through the crack in the old door never bothered him.
I found a brushed nickel mail slot with a back plate at an on-line site. My order was back-ordered twice and I was beginning to fear that I was going to receive an e-mail saying sorry, we no longer carry that product. It arrived yesterday and was exactly what I wanted. Dad installed it this morning. It matches the door's hardware, it fits in place so there is no light showing around the edges, it has a back plate which prevents a clear view of my entry hall, and it has a nice strong spring mechanism which should snap the outer flap back into place once the mail falls through the slot. It'll probably scare Dillon to death.
Dillon and I were up before 7 a.m. and on the trail shortly thereafter. As soon as we got home, I started my coffee and cornbread and threw in the first load of laundry. Dillon has to cool down from his walk before he gets fed. I finished my breakfast and hung my sheets on the line. I was feeling very industrious. Dillon was feeling very hungry.
I put his bowl on the counter and added a cup of kibble. Then I opened the refrigerator door and grabbed the plastic container of green beans left over from yesterday. I had taken off the lid and was just about to dump the contents of the container into his bowl when I realized I'd grabbed the container of sliced lemon, not green beans. Thank goodness I realized in time because I don't have another lemon, I don't like my tea straight, and it would have been a pain to brush all the kibble crumbs off my lemon slices. I'm not sure how Dillon would have felt about lemon in his bowl, but I wouldn't have been happy.
I put the lemon back in the frig and grabbed the container of green beans. I dumped them in and went to put his bowl back into the stand so he could have breakfast. Dillon was bouncing along beside me, pirouetting in his efforts to sniff the contents of his bowl. As I was lowering it down, he plunged his head in and began eating. No point in waiting when you're starving to death! I was still grasping the bowl, with most of my hand being underneath it. I suddenly realized my hand was getting wet.
It wasn't Dillon slobbering. For some unknown reason, I was in the process of putting his food bowl down into his water bowl. Luckily I realized the mistake before completely submerging the top bowl into the bottom bowl which would have splashed water all over the floor. I put the food bowl into the correct side of the stand and went to dry my hand. Dillon never stopped eating.
When we had the front door installed, the handyman bought the mail slot. There wasn't much of a selection in town; actually there was only 1 choice, a gold toned magazine size slot with no back plate. The mail slot didn't match the door's brushed nickel hardware. It presented the mailman with practically a window-sized opening into our entry hall when he pulled the cover up to insert the mail. You could also see light around the flap and the spring mechanism wasn't strong enough, so sometimes the flap was left standing open after the mailman was gone. Neither Dad nor I was happy with it. Although I found it strange that it was the light coming through the slot that bothered Dad. The light coming through the crack in the old door never bothered him.
I found a brushed nickel mail slot with a back plate at an on-line site. My order was back-ordered twice and I was beginning to fear that I was going to receive an e-mail saying sorry, we no longer carry that product. It arrived yesterday and was exactly what I wanted. Dad installed it this morning. It matches the door's hardware, it fits in place so there is no light showing around the edges, it has a back plate which prevents a clear view of my entry hall, and it has a nice strong spring mechanism which should snap the outer flap back into place once the mail falls through the slot. It'll probably scare Dillon to death.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
I'm not that good
Dad's been having car problems. The check engine light keeps coming on. He's taken it in for service twice already, so he's becoming increasingly unhappy. I don't blame him. There is little in life more irritating than car problems.
This morning, he walked into my study and asked if I could find out if there were any reports of service problems for 2002 Ford Tauruses "on your machine." Then he just stood there and waited. Like the answer he was looking for was going to pop up in a matter of seconds. He obviously doesn't understand the research process. The information you're looking for generally doesn't appear in the first result. Especially with a search query that broad. It takes a while to find the results that you're looking for. In the meantime, I don't like having someone looking over my shoulder. Even Gibbs on NCIS gives Abbie a little time and space to work!
I tried telling him that it would work better if he'd give me a little more advance notice when he wants information. Like asking me the night before, for instance. He just stood there. After clicking on about 20 links, I finally told him that I wasn't finding anything that would help him. He looked disappointed, but eventually left the room. I changed the search terms and started getting a little more useful information, which I printed out for him. It still wasn't a solution to his problem, but at least it should help him talk to the mechanic.
A check engine light is a generic, one size fits all, error light. It could mean anything. What he needs to find out is what the error code is when they plug the computer into the car. That will tell him if they're constantly trying to correct the same problem or if multiple things are going wrong. He can ask the Ford mechanic to give him that information or go some place like AutoZone and ask them to read the computer and tell him the error code.
My considered opinion is that a Ford Taurus is a piece of crap. But telling him that wasn't going to be helpful. He owns one and it's because Mom wanted a station wagon and Ford was one of the last manufacturers making one. I'm sure he plans for it to be the last new car he'll ever purchase. Hopefully they'll solve his problem. Because otherwise it's obviously going to become my problem as well.
This morning, he walked into my study and asked if I could find out if there were any reports of service problems for 2002 Ford Tauruses "on your machine." Then he just stood there and waited. Like the answer he was looking for was going to pop up in a matter of seconds. He obviously doesn't understand the research process. The information you're looking for generally doesn't appear in the first result. Especially with a search query that broad. It takes a while to find the results that you're looking for. In the meantime, I don't like having someone looking over my shoulder. Even Gibbs on NCIS gives Abbie a little time and space to work!
I tried telling him that it would work better if he'd give me a little more advance notice when he wants information. Like asking me the night before, for instance. He just stood there. After clicking on about 20 links, I finally told him that I wasn't finding anything that would help him. He looked disappointed, but eventually left the room. I changed the search terms and started getting a little more useful information, which I printed out for him. It still wasn't a solution to his problem, but at least it should help him talk to the mechanic.
A check engine light is a generic, one size fits all, error light. It could mean anything. What he needs to find out is what the error code is when they plug the computer into the car. That will tell him if they're constantly trying to correct the same problem or if multiple things are going wrong. He can ask the Ford mechanic to give him that information or go some place like AutoZone and ask them to read the computer and tell him the error code.
My considered opinion is that a Ford Taurus is a piece of crap. But telling him that wasn't going to be helpful. He owns one and it's because Mom wanted a station wagon and Ford was one of the last manufacturers making one. I'm sure he plans for it to be the last new car he'll ever purchase. Hopefully they'll solve his problem. Because otherwise it's obviously going to become my problem as well.
Monday, July 19, 2010
A big thumbs up
Okay, I'm probably late to the party, as usual. Since I don't go to the movies, and dropped my Netflix subscription, by the time I see a movie, it's definitely not a new release. I watched The Blind Side yesterday. Actually, I watched it 2-1/2 times. It was wonderful! The Blind Side is the movie that Sandra Bullock won an Academy Award for. It's about a rich TN couple who wind up adopting a homeless black kid who goes on to get a football scholarship to Ole Miss and now plays for the Baltimore Ravens. It was the best movie I've seen in ages.
I've always been a fan of Sandra Bullock, but she was exceptional in this movie. She had a great character to play and she did it magnificently. Talk about a steel magnolia. I just might watch it again before I have to return it to the library. Of course, Julie & Julia is still waiting to be watched as well.
There was a preview on The Blind Side dvd for Invictus, the movie about South Africa and soccer with Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon. I sure hope the library gets that one soon. It looks promising as well and I'm a huge Matt Damon fan.
I've always been a fan of Sandra Bullock, but she was exceptional in this movie. She had a great character to play and she did it magnificently. Talk about a steel magnolia. I just might watch it again before I have to return it to the library. Of course, Julie & Julia is still waiting to be watched as well.
There was a preview on The Blind Side dvd for Invictus, the movie about South Africa and soccer with Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon. I sure hope the library gets that one soon. It looks promising as well and I'm a huge Matt Damon fan.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Suck it up
The new vacuum cleaner arrived last week. I've used it twice now. It's amazing how much less annoying it is to vacuum when the wheels don't keep falling off! I got done in less than half the time and didn't cuss once.
Dillon is currently sound asleep at my feet. I imagine that will change momentarily. I've just started hearing faint rumbles of thunder. His weather radar is going to go off any minute now. If they hadn't been predicting thunder storms for this afternoon, I'd have headed to Rocky Mount to check out Talbot's sale a lot more thoroughly.
I did run by JCPenney this morning to stock up on shorts. They make my favorite casual, beat-around-the house, Bermuda shorts. It's so nice to find shorts that actually go to your knees. I don't have the legs for short-shorts anymore. The Bermudas were one of their doorbusters this morning, only $9.99 from 9 a.m.-1 p.m.
I bought a second pair in every color. That way I'm covered even if I do have another misadventure with the Lysol bathroom cleaner. Plus, I'm sure the cut and style will change and I won't like next year's version nearly as well, if they're even still making them by then. As long as I don't change sizes, and these shorts are loose enough that I have some room to spare, I should be set for years now. And at that price, if I do change sizes, I haven't lost much.
Dillon just woke up and headed for the safety of the bathroom. I better find my book and get ready to settle down in the bedroom because I imagine I'll need to put him in his crate shortly. It sure would be nice if it would rain quietly, without all the noise and drama.
Dillon is currently sound asleep at my feet. I imagine that will change momentarily. I've just started hearing faint rumbles of thunder. His weather radar is going to go off any minute now. If they hadn't been predicting thunder storms for this afternoon, I'd have headed to Rocky Mount to check out Talbot's sale a lot more thoroughly.
I did run by JCPenney this morning to stock up on shorts. They make my favorite casual, beat-around-the house, Bermuda shorts. It's so nice to find shorts that actually go to your knees. I don't have the legs for short-shorts anymore. The Bermudas were one of their doorbusters this morning, only $9.99 from 9 a.m.-1 p.m.
I bought a second pair in every color. That way I'm covered even if I do have another misadventure with the Lysol bathroom cleaner. Plus, I'm sure the cut and style will change and I won't like next year's version nearly as well, if they're even still making them by then. As long as I don't change sizes, and these shorts are loose enough that I have some room to spare, I should be set for years now. And at that price, if I do change sizes, I haven't lost much.
Dillon just woke up and headed for the safety of the bathroom. I better find my book and get ready to settle down in the bedroom because I imagine I'll need to put him in his crate shortly. It sure would be nice if it would rain quietly, without all the noise and drama.
Friday, July 16, 2010
First impressions
A few years ago, I read a book, The Gift of Fear, by Gavin DeBecker. It was recommended by a former Navy SEAL. It deals with recognizing signals that can protect us from violence. The main premise is to trust our intuition. When our gut tells us something feels wrong or slightly off, it probably is. In those situations, you should disregard the old adage, it pays to be polite. Since being polite doesn’t come nearly as naturally to me as being suspicious, I found a lot of the book simplistic. But it came to mind when my doorbell rang on Monday.
I noticed a white truck parked at the curb and thought perhaps the electrician had found time to come earlier than expected. When I opened the door, a slender white man was standing on the stoop. He wasn’t the electrician. He started his spiel by saying, “I don’t know if you remember me, but I did some work on your roof a few years ago.” We had new shingles put up about 7 years ago, but I hadn’t dealt with the workman, so that was possible. Then he went on, “We were doing some work for Mrs. Davis last week and I noticed one of your shingles had worked loose. I wondered if you’d like me to slip it back into place?” I don’t know any Mrs. Davis in my neighborhood. Donald, my handyman, had just cleaned out the gutters when he installed the new storm door. I found it hard to believe that neither he nor I would have noticed a missing or loose shingle.
I kept staring at the man without smiling and with a firm hold on Dillon’s collar. I suspect that Dillon wanted to either wander out the door or get closer to the man to greet him. I didn’t take my eyes off the man long enough to see if Dillon’s tail was wagging or not, but he was straining at my hold on his collar. When the man glanced down at Dillon, he asked, “Is he part Lab? I have a Lab.” I replied that he was, but didn’t add my usual, “He’s friendly.” Katie was much more intimidating when I answered the door. She’d run to the door barking at the top of her lungs and lunging. Dillon just stands there, silent, but he is big and black which is a plus.
I told the man that I had someone who did my work and I’d mention the shingle to him. The man glanced at his watch and said, “Well it is close to lunchtime.” It was only 11 a.m. Plenty of time to put a missing shingle back into place. Of course, that would have required a ladder and I saw no sign of a ladder on his truck. After a little more hemming and hawing, during which I just kept looking at him, he left. I closed the door and went to describe the encounter to Dad, who hadn’t moved from his seat in the den.
When I described the man, Dad said he could have been the roofer from several years ago. Maybe, but why would he be going door to door? I went out in the yard and took a good look at the roof. All of the shingles were right where they were supposed to be. I kept muttering about how strange the whole thing was. Dad laughed and said, “He really bothered you, didn’t he?” Well, yes, actually he had. The whole thing was strange and just felt wrong.
Last night, Dad pointed out an article in the Daily Herald. It was warning residents about a group of scammers going around town targeting senior citizens. They drive a white work truck and claim the homeowner has a loose shingle. They charge them for the unnecessary work and leave the roof in a mess. The article claimed the scammers were black. The man who came to my door was white, but otherwise, everything else was the same.
I knew there was something off about that man. I guess he was expecting the little, old man and instead got the middle-aged, suspicious of everyone, woman. Thank goodness, I’m the one that answered the door. Dad would never fall for a scheme like that, but he does look physically vulnerable. I’m younger, bigger, meaner, and almost always have a big, black dog at my side. We make a more intimidating first impression. There are times when it’s a good thing that Dad can’t hear anyone at the door. Maybe I should look into getting a Beware of Dog sign. After all, first impressions are important.
I noticed a white truck parked at the curb and thought perhaps the electrician had found time to come earlier than expected. When I opened the door, a slender white man was standing on the stoop. He wasn’t the electrician. He started his spiel by saying, “I don’t know if you remember me, but I did some work on your roof a few years ago.” We had new shingles put up about 7 years ago, but I hadn’t dealt with the workman, so that was possible. Then he went on, “We were doing some work for Mrs. Davis last week and I noticed one of your shingles had worked loose. I wondered if you’d like me to slip it back into place?” I don’t know any Mrs. Davis in my neighborhood. Donald, my handyman, had just cleaned out the gutters when he installed the new storm door. I found it hard to believe that neither he nor I would have noticed a missing or loose shingle.
I kept staring at the man without smiling and with a firm hold on Dillon’s collar. I suspect that Dillon wanted to either wander out the door or get closer to the man to greet him. I didn’t take my eyes off the man long enough to see if Dillon’s tail was wagging or not, but he was straining at my hold on his collar. When the man glanced down at Dillon, he asked, “Is he part Lab? I have a Lab.” I replied that he was, but didn’t add my usual, “He’s friendly.” Katie was much more intimidating when I answered the door. She’d run to the door barking at the top of her lungs and lunging. Dillon just stands there, silent, but he is big and black which is a plus.
I told the man that I had someone who did my work and I’d mention the shingle to him. The man glanced at his watch and said, “Well it is close to lunchtime.” It was only 11 a.m. Plenty of time to put a missing shingle back into place. Of course, that would have required a ladder and I saw no sign of a ladder on his truck. After a little more hemming and hawing, during which I just kept looking at him, he left. I closed the door and went to describe the encounter to Dad, who hadn’t moved from his seat in the den.
When I described the man, Dad said he could have been the roofer from several years ago. Maybe, but why would he be going door to door? I went out in the yard and took a good look at the roof. All of the shingles were right where they were supposed to be. I kept muttering about how strange the whole thing was. Dad laughed and said, “He really bothered you, didn’t he?” Well, yes, actually he had. The whole thing was strange and just felt wrong.
Last night, Dad pointed out an article in the Daily Herald. It was warning residents about a group of scammers going around town targeting senior citizens. They drive a white work truck and claim the homeowner has a loose shingle. They charge them for the unnecessary work and leave the roof in a mess. The article claimed the scammers were black. The man who came to my door was white, but otherwise, everything else was the same.
I knew there was something off about that man. I guess he was expecting the little, old man and instead got the middle-aged, suspicious of everyone, woman. Thank goodness, I’m the one that answered the door. Dad would never fall for a scheme like that, but he does look physically vulnerable. I’m younger, bigger, meaner, and almost always have a big, black dog at my side. We make a more intimidating first impression. There are times when it’s a good thing that Dad can’t hear anyone at the door. Maybe I should look into getting a Beware of Dog sign. After all, first impressions are important.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
I should buy a lottery ticket
Luck has been with me today.
I had a really good hair day. You can never overestimate the positive mental effects of a good hair day. Given that I had to get up at 5:15 a.m. because of an early morning eye appointment, this was an even bigger bonus than normal.
I got a good report at the eye doctor. My retinas look good and I scored my lowest eye pressure readings ever. The technician told me to breathe while she was taking the reading. Apparently if you hold your breath, your eye pressure increases. I told her I'd pant like I was giving birth if it would mean lower pressure readings. She said that might trigger a higher reading, just breathing normally would do the trick.
On the way back from Raleigh, I stopped at Talbots to return a few things. I walked in on new markdowns. I got a great necklace that was originally $79 for $11.69! That's a real deal. Even Dad was impressed.
I stopped at the library on the way home from work and found the 2 movies I've been wanting to see on the shelf, just waiting for me to check them out. Blind Side with Sandra Bullock, and Julie & Julia with Meryl Streep.
I wish I knew what I did to earn the good karma. I'd make sure to do the same thing(s) again tomorrow. This is one of those rare instances where the philosophy, tomorrow is another day, isn't necessarily something to look forward to. Even if it is Friday. Something is bound to turn into a pumpkin.
I had a really good hair day. You can never overestimate the positive mental effects of a good hair day. Given that I had to get up at 5:15 a.m. because of an early morning eye appointment, this was an even bigger bonus than normal.
I got a good report at the eye doctor. My retinas look good and I scored my lowest eye pressure readings ever. The technician told me to breathe while she was taking the reading. Apparently if you hold your breath, your eye pressure increases. I told her I'd pant like I was giving birth if it would mean lower pressure readings. She said that might trigger a higher reading, just breathing normally would do the trick.
On the way back from Raleigh, I stopped at Talbots to return a few things. I walked in on new markdowns. I got a great necklace that was originally $79 for $11.69! That's a real deal. Even Dad was impressed.
I stopped at the library on the way home from work and found the 2 movies I've been wanting to see on the shelf, just waiting for me to check them out. Blind Side with Sandra Bullock, and Julie & Julia with Meryl Streep.
I wish I knew what I did to earn the good karma. I'd make sure to do the same thing(s) again tomorrow. This is one of those rare instances where the philosophy, tomorrow is another day, isn't necessarily something to look forward to. Even if it is Friday. Something is bound to turn into a pumpkin.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
At the flip of a switch
I haven't used the overhead light in the kitchen since January. It started flickering, which I took to indicate some type of wiring problem. It's the original fixture, so at 30+ years, I guess it had reached the end of its expected life. I taped a piece of paper over the switch so I wouldn't turn it on by accident, got an old desk lamp out of the garage and put it on the kitchen counter, and started looking for a new fixture.
Fast forward 7 months, and I was still working in the dark. Well, not exactly dark, but dim. I'd turn on the desk lamp, the fluorescent light over the sink, and the 60 watt bulb in the exhaust hood over the stove. I occasionally gave some thought to wearing my headlamp, but thought that would be overkill.
I was looking for a fixture that wouldn't require climbing up on a chair and removing a globe in order to change a bulb. That's inconvenient and annoying and always risks breaking the globe. Dad wanted a fixture that would cover the same amount of ceiling space that the original fixture had covered. His reasoning was that if the fixture covered the same space, it wouldn't be necessary to paint the kitchen ceiling. I looked at a number of fixtures, but couldn't find one that would fit both of our requirements.
As the months went by, Dad said I could buy whatever I wanted, but I didn't know what I wanted. I'm not good at visualizing. I can tell if I like something once it's in place, but a trial run isn't exactly practical when you're talking about a light fixture that has to be hardwired and requires the services of an electrician to install. I finally told Dad to just go buy something. I was tired of working in the dark.
I did caution him to make sure that replacement bulbs were available for whatever he bought. That might sound silly, but I read an on-line review by one Lowe's customer who claimed that the store didn't stock replacement bulbs for her overhead fluorescent light fixture. Dad set off for Lowes one morning. He returned without a light fixture, but with a story.
The manager of the lighting department had been trying to help him. Dad explained that he was in search of an overhead light fixture for the kitchen. He claimed his daughter was refusing to cook if he didn't provide suitable lighting. He didn't tell him that the fixture hadn't worked for over 6 months. That wouldn't have imparted the proper sense of urgency. He also told the Lowes associate that his daughter said not to come home with a fixture without replacement bulbs. He pointed out the fixture he was interested in and asked where the replacement bulbs were.
The manager started looking and couldn't find any bulbs. He pointed out that bulbs were included in the box with the light fixture and were guaranteed to burn for 10,000 hours. They're energy efficient compact fluorescent bulbs. Dad said that wasn't acceptable. He had to have replacement bulbs too.
The manager got on the computer, and then on the phone, searching for replacement bulbs. He finally told Dad he'd order some from the manufacturer, but in the meantime, Dad could go ahead and buy the fixture so he'd have light in the kitchen. Dad explained that he couldn't go home with a fixture and no replacement bulbs. He agreed to check back next week.
The phone rang Saturday afternoon and it was the Lowes lighting manager. He'd discovered the bulbs in stock. They'd been shelved incorrectly. So Dad was free to buy the fixture. I have to hand it to Lowes, they provide good customer service. Dad bought the fixture and two replacement bulbs. I called the electrician.
The electrician and his helper turned up yesterday right after lunch. Naturally yesterday was the day that Dad had decided to return to his project of putting new shelf paper on the kitchen shelves, so there were bins of china all over the floor. Great timing.
The first thing I noticed was that the electrician's helper wasn't wearing any shoes. I found that a bit strange. I've never had a workman come to my house barefoot before. I understand dressing casually, but unless you're a lifeguard aren't shoes always considered appropriate attire? Perhaps I need to post a sign on the door, shirts and shoes required? I've used the electrician before or I'd have been really dubious at that point. From the look of the helper's feet, he hadn't worn shoes in quite some time.
When I left to go to work, they had about finished installing the base of the lamp, but the last words I heard were, "We probably should have done .....(I didn't catch what they should have done).....before we put the base up." That didn't exactly inspire confidence, but I left Dad and Dillon to deal with it. Both of whom were standing in the kitchen doorway watching every move the electricians made.
When I got home that night, the light was in place and the ceiling unmarred. I took that as a good sign. I flipped the switch and the room was flooded with light. Hooray! Then Dad filled me in on the rest of the story.
When the electricians finished installing the light, they flipped a switch and nothing happened. They started mumbling among themselves and prepared to take the fixture apart to find the problem. Dad told them to wait a minute. There are 3 light switches, side by side, in the kitchen. The one that controls the overhead light was still covered with the piece of paper I'd taped up months ago. When Dad pulled the paper off and flipped the switch, voila, light. Problem solved.
The electricians warned Dad that he might have trouble finding replacement bulbs. Dad told them he'd already bought two. Dad cautioned me last night that fluorescent bulbs last longer if you don't turn them on and off unnecessarily. According to him, since they burn less energy, it's fine to leave them turned on if I'm only going to be out of the kitchen for a short period of time. That seems like it's defeating the purpose of energy conservation, but if it means changing bulbs less often, I'm all for it. Unfortunately the new fixture, like the old one, will require climbing up on a chair and removing the globe in order to replace the bulbs. But it does cover a huge section of the kitchen ceiling. That's what happens when I cede control to Dad.
I may need sunglasses for a while until I get used to the brightness. It'll be nice to actually be able to read the recipes from now on. Of course the additional illumination also shows how badly the kitchen floor needs to be scrubbed. There's always a downside, isn't there?
Fast forward 7 months, and I was still working in the dark. Well, not exactly dark, but dim. I'd turn on the desk lamp, the fluorescent light over the sink, and the 60 watt bulb in the exhaust hood over the stove. I occasionally gave some thought to wearing my headlamp, but thought that would be overkill.
I was looking for a fixture that wouldn't require climbing up on a chair and removing a globe in order to change a bulb. That's inconvenient and annoying and always risks breaking the globe. Dad wanted a fixture that would cover the same amount of ceiling space that the original fixture had covered. His reasoning was that if the fixture covered the same space, it wouldn't be necessary to paint the kitchen ceiling. I looked at a number of fixtures, but couldn't find one that would fit both of our requirements.
As the months went by, Dad said I could buy whatever I wanted, but I didn't know what I wanted. I'm not good at visualizing. I can tell if I like something once it's in place, but a trial run isn't exactly practical when you're talking about a light fixture that has to be hardwired and requires the services of an electrician to install. I finally told Dad to just go buy something. I was tired of working in the dark.
I did caution him to make sure that replacement bulbs were available for whatever he bought. That might sound silly, but I read an on-line review by one Lowe's customer who claimed that the store didn't stock replacement bulbs for her overhead fluorescent light fixture. Dad set off for Lowes one morning. He returned without a light fixture, but with a story.
The manager of the lighting department had been trying to help him. Dad explained that he was in search of an overhead light fixture for the kitchen. He claimed his daughter was refusing to cook if he didn't provide suitable lighting. He didn't tell him that the fixture hadn't worked for over 6 months. That wouldn't have imparted the proper sense of urgency. He also told the Lowes associate that his daughter said not to come home with a fixture without replacement bulbs. He pointed out the fixture he was interested in and asked where the replacement bulbs were.
The manager started looking and couldn't find any bulbs. He pointed out that bulbs were included in the box with the light fixture and were guaranteed to burn for 10,000 hours. They're energy efficient compact fluorescent bulbs. Dad said that wasn't acceptable. He had to have replacement bulbs too.
The manager got on the computer, and then on the phone, searching for replacement bulbs. He finally told Dad he'd order some from the manufacturer, but in the meantime, Dad could go ahead and buy the fixture so he'd have light in the kitchen. Dad explained that he couldn't go home with a fixture and no replacement bulbs. He agreed to check back next week.
The phone rang Saturday afternoon and it was the Lowes lighting manager. He'd discovered the bulbs in stock. They'd been shelved incorrectly. So Dad was free to buy the fixture. I have to hand it to Lowes, they provide good customer service. Dad bought the fixture and two replacement bulbs. I called the electrician.
The electrician and his helper turned up yesterday right after lunch. Naturally yesterday was the day that Dad had decided to return to his project of putting new shelf paper on the kitchen shelves, so there were bins of china all over the floor. Great timing.
The first thing I noticed was that the electrician's helper wasn't wearing any shoes. I found that a bit strange. I've never had a workman come to my house barefoot before. I understand dressing casually, but unless you're a lifeguard aren't shoes always considered appropriate attire? Perhaps I need to post a sign on the door, shirts and shoes required? I've used the electrician before or I'd have been really dubious at that point. From the look of the helper's feet, he hadn't worn shoes in quite some time.
When I left to go to work, they had about finished installing the base of the lamp, but the last words I heard were, "We probably should have done .....(I didn't catch what they should have done).....before we put the base up." That didn't exactly inspire confidence, but I left Dad and Dillon to deal with it. Both of whom were standing in the kitchen doorway watching every move the electricians made.
When I got home that night, the light was in place and the ceiling unmarred. I took that as a good sign. I flipped the switch and the room was flooded with light. Hooray! Then Dad filled me in on the rest of the story.
When the electricians finished installing the light, they flipped a switch and nothing happened. They started mumbling among themselves and prepared to take the fixture apart to find the problem. Dad told them to wait a minute. There are 3 light switches, side by side, in the kitchen. The one that controls the overhead light was still covered with the piece of paper I'd taped up months ago. When Dad pulled the paper off and flipped the switch, voila, light. Problem solved.
The electricians warned Dad that he might have trouble finding replacement bulbs. Dad told them he'd already bought two. Dad cautioned me last night that fluorescent bulbs last longer if you don't turn them on and off unnecessarily. According to him, since they burn less energy, it's fine to leave them turned on if I'm only going to be out of the kitchen for a short period of time. That seems like it's defeating the purpose of energy conservation, but if it means changing bulbs less often, I'm all for it. Unfortunately the new fixture, like the old one, will require climbing up on a chair and removing the globe in order to replace the bulbs. But it does cover a huge section of the kitchen ceiling. That's what happens when I cede control to Dad.
I may need sunglasses for a while until I get used to the brightness. It'll be nice to actually be able to read the recipes from now on. Of course the additional illumination also shows how badly the kitchen floor needs to be scrubbed. There's always a downside, isn't there?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
News and views
It actually rained last night, only 3/4 of an inch, but we'll take it and be grateful. They're saying it may rain again today. This is miraculously good news. It seems like every summer it just gets drier. Not all of my grass turned green after last night's rain. I'm afraid some patches may actually be dead, not just resting.
The Closer started it's new season on TNT last night. Love, love, love that show. The characters actually have character! Lt. Provenza gave me one of his usual laugh-out-loud moments within the first 5 minutes. Why are the best shows on cable? The networks have gone so heavily into reality tv that I hardly watch any of their stuff anymore, other than CBS's Tuesday night line-up which is must-see tv for me. And why has all the humor in sitcoms fallen to the level of frat-boy sex jokes? It just gets boring. But cable has The Closer and Burn Notice, both of which I love.
I'm not so sure about Rizzoli and Isles, which followed The Closer last night. The plot managed to be both predictable and icky and gave me nightmares. I really like Angie Harmon, and there's a cute dog, but I'm not sure they'll be enough to keep me tuned in. It sort of falls into the same category as Saving Grace. I found Saving Grace interesting, but I really wasn't sure that Grace was worth saving, so I quit watching. Much like network tv programming.
The Closer started it's new season on TNT last night. Love, love, love that show. The characters actually have character! Lt. Provenza gave me one of his usual laugh-out-loud moments within the first 5 minutes. Why are the best shows on cable? The networks have gone so heavily into reality tv that I hardly watch any of their stuff anymore, other than CBS's Tuesday night line-up which is must-see tv for me. And why has all the humor in sitcoms fallen to the level of frat-boy sex jokes? It just gets boring. But cable has The Closer and Burn Notice, both of which I love.
I'm not so sure about Rizzoli and Isles, which followed The Closer last night. The plot managed to be both predictable and icky and gave me nightmares. I really like Angie Harmon, and there's a cute dog, but I'm not sure they'll be enough to keep me tuned in. It sort of falls into the same category as Saving Grace. I found Saving Grace interesting, but I really wasn't sure that Grace was worth saving, so I quit watching. Much like network tv programming.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Doggone cute
Marshal Dillon on duty in Dad's room in the garage.
This metal sculpture turned up in Dad's room a couple of weeks ago. It doesn't look like anything I'd have expected Dad to buy, but it certainly adds a whimsical touch to his decorating. I'm pretty sure it appeals to him because it's a cute play on Dillon's name. When I adopted Dillon, I told Dad his name was Dillon, like Marshal Dillon on Gunsmoke. Since Dad is a Gunsmoke fan, that connection made it easy for him to remember.
These two iron dog bookends began guarding the entrance to Dad's room this week. The man does have a sense of humor.
This metal sculpture turned up in Dad's room a couple of weeks ago. It doesn't look like anything I'd have expected Dad to buy, but it certainly adds a whimsical touch to his decorating. I'm pretty sure it appeals to him because it's a cute play on Dillon's name. When I adopted Dillon, I told Dad his name was Dillon, like Marshal Dillon on Gunsmoke. Since Dad is a Gunsmoke fan, that connection made it easy for him to remember.
These two iron dog bookends began guarding the entrance to Dad's room this week. The man does have a sense of humor.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Fire drill
I like my breakfast cornbread crisp. It's not really done until it's a little black around the edges. This morning it was totally incinerated. Every window in the house is now open, the ceiling fans are going, and I've put out bowls of vinegar to try and get rid of the odor. The toaster caught fire. Well, more accurately, the toaster malfunctioned and the cornbread caught fire. I think. It was a little hard to tell when the flames roared every time I tried to open the toaster door.
I guess I'll change the way I make breakfast from now on. I had a routine. I started the coffee and sliced 3 pieces of leftover cornbread in half. I put the cornbread in the toaster, pushed down the button for 1 toasting cycle, and went off to do something else. I liked the cornbread to sit in the heated toaster to get more crispy. Then I'd go back and push the toaster button down for 1 more cycle and leave the room again. No point in wasting time watching the toaster. Of course, I guess it's not really wasting time to keep your eye on an appliance that has the potential of burning your house to the ground.
This morning when I went back to the kitchen to get my cornbread out of the toaster after the second toasting cycle, I noticed a red glow coming from the toaster. As I got closer, I saw the flames. They were relatively small flames as long as the toaster door was closed. Open the door, and introduce a new source of oxygen, and the flames roared like a forest fire.
My original plan was to blow out the fire. I was sure it was just a large crumb of cornbread that was burning. I quickly realized it was more than 1 crumb on fire and blowing was only providing another source of fuel for the flames. I slammed the toaster door shut again and wondered whether to go for the fire extinguisher. That seemed like overkill; on the other hand, the whole reason you have a fire extinguisher is to put out fires, regardless of size. Of course, I've never actually used a fire extinguisher before. Unless you count accidentally knocking one off the wall in middle school and quickly walking away as it spewed foam all over the floor.
I know you're not supposed to put water on a grease fire, but I didn't see why it wouldn't work on flaming pieces of cornbread. The first thing I'd done was unplug the toaster, so I didn't think I had to worry about being electrocuted. I grabbed a water goblet, filled it with water, opened the toaster door which caused the fire to roar back into a flaming inferno, hurled the contents of the goblet into the bowels of the toaster, and slammed the door shut again. There was more smoke, but it got dark as a cave inside the toaster. No more fire. Hooray! I may have panicked for a moment, but I made the right choice. The fire was out and my counter wasn't covered in a slimy mess of fire extinguisher goop.
Dad missed the excitement. He'd already left for the farmer's market. I gave the toaster another test run after I dried it out. It still worked and toasted my next batch of cornbread nice and crisp. Since I was watching it like a hawk, I think I identified the source of the fire. The knob that you push down to initiate the toasting cycle is supposed to spring back up at the end of the cycle to turn the toaster off. The knob didn't spring back up. It stayed down and my toast got browner and browner until I manually pushed the knob back up. I guess it's time to replace the toaster.
Dad brought their old toaster oven from Baltimore. It's in the garage somewhere. He prefers it to mine anyway. I've held off swapping them out because his is bigger and will take up more of my precious counter space. It also makes this annoying chirping sound when the cycle is finished. It doesn't just chirp once or twice, it chirps continually until you turn the button to the off position. Since Dad doesn't hear the chirps, that doesn't bother him. It drives me crazy. Still, a few chirps are less annoying than the shrill blare of the smoke alarm.
Maybe I should just start eating donuts for breakfast. They don't require heating.
I guess I'll change the way I make breakfast from now on. I had a routine. I started the coffee and sliced 3 pieces of leftover cornbread in half. I put the cornbread in the toaster, pushed down the button for 1 toasting cycle, and went off to do something else. I liked the cornbread to sit in the heated toaster to get more crispy. Then I'd go back and push the toaster button down for 1 more cycle and leave the room again. No point in wasting time watching the toaster. Of course, I guess it's not really wasting time to keep your eye on an appliance that has the potential of burning your house to the ground.
This morning when I went back to the kitchen to get my cornbread out of the toaster after the second toasting cycle, I noticed a red glow coming from the toaster. As I got closer, I saw the flames. They were relatively small flames as long as the toaster door was closed. Open the door, and introduce a new source of oxygen, and the flames roared like a forest fire.
My original plan was to blow out the fire. I was sure it was just a large crumb of cornbread that was burning. I quickly realized it was more than 1 crumb on fire and blowing was only providing another source of fuel for the flames. I slammed the toaster door shut again and wondered whether to go for the fire extinguisher. That seemed like overkill; on the other hand, the whole reason you have a fire extinguisher is to put out fires, regardless of size. Of course, I've never actually used a fire extinguisher before. Unless you count accidentally knocking one off the wall in middle school and quickly walking away as it spewed foam all over the floor.
I know you're not supposed to put water on a grease fire, but I didn't see why it wouldn't work on flaming pieces of cornbread. The first thing I'd done was unplug the toaster, so I didn't think I had to worry about being electrocuted. I grabbed a water goblet, filled it with water, opened the toaster door which caused the fire to roar back into a flaming inferno, hurled the contents of the goblet into the bowels of the toaster, and slammed the door shut again. There was more smoke, but it got dark as a cave inside the toaster. No more fire. Hooray! I may have panicked for a moment, but I made the right choice. The fire was out and my counter wasn't covered in a slimy mess of fire extinguisher goop.
Dad missed the excitement. He'd already left for the farmer's market. I gave the toaster another test run after I dried it out. It still worked and toasted my next batch of cornbread nice and crisp. Since I was watching it like a hawk, I think I identified the source of the fire. The knob that you push down to initiate the toasting cycle is supposed to spring back up at the end of the cycle to turn the toaster off. The knob didn't spring back up. It stayed down and my toast got browner and browner until I manually pushed the knob back up. I guess it's time to replace the toaster.
Dad brought their old toaster oven from Baltimore. It's in the garage somewhere. He prefers it to mine anyway. I've held off swapping them out because his is bigger and will take up more of my precious counter space. It also makes this annoying chirping sound when the cycle is finished. It doesn't just chirp once or twice, it chirps continually until you turn the button to the off position. Since Dad doesn't hear the chirps, that doesn't bother him. It drives me crazy. Still, a few chirps are less annoying than the shrill blare of the smoke alarm.
Maybe I should just start eating donuts for breakfast. They don't require heating.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Storm tracker
"Dillon rearranged your closet this afternoon," Dad informed me when I arrived home from work. Apparently while Dad was at Sears picking up the vacuum cleaner, Dillon's internal weather radar went off. Fortunately all of my clothes were still on the hangars and the walls were intact. Shoes were scattered on the floor where he'd pawed at the shelves in search of higher ground. Naturally Dad had left all of the shoes where they lay as evidence of the episode. It wouldn't have taken but a minute to put them back in place so that Dillon wouldn't throw them around or lie or drool on them if he got back in the closet, but that thought apparently never crossed Dad's mind.
I suggested that perhaps in the future it would be wise to put Dillon in his crate when Dad left the house. "The sky was a little dark in the distance, but there wasn't any rain or lightning," he protested. Dillon has very sensitive weather radar. A storm just has to be in the region for him to become anxious. We don't need a Doppler 5000 or weather alert radio as long as Dillon's around.
I suggested that perhaps in the future it would be wise to put Dillon in his crate when Dad left the house. "The sky was a little dark in the distance, but there wasn't any rain or lightning," he protested. Dillon has very sensitive weather radar. A storm just has to be in the region for him to become anxious. We don't need a Doppler 5000 or weather alert radio as long as Dillon's around.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
If you notice a sudden change in behavior.....
When I got out of the shower this morning and headed to the kitchen for my coffee, Dad informed me, with a smile on his face, that when he went outside, "Dillon barged through the door with me. He's never done that before." Dillon pretty much sticks with me like glue, but just watches Dad when he heads outside. "He didn't get sick, did he?" I asked, thinking that was the most obvious explanation for this sudden change in behavior. Dillon got me up about 5 a.m. wanting to go outside, so this speculation isn't as insulting as it first sounds. "No. He carried his ball out with him. I threw it for him a couple of times." "I guess you're rising in his estimation," I commented. Dad just laughed and buried his nose back in the newspaper.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Heated conversation
Dad left the fruits of our most recent harvest, 3 small tomatoes, on the kitchen counter. I told him if we were farmers, we'd be starving to death. Between the deer and the drought, our tomato plants are pitiful.
I've lost count of how many watering cans I've filled and hauled across the yard to water my flowers. I thank my lucky stars that I came along in the era of indoor plumbing and water that flows out of the spigot with a mere twist of the faucet handle. Dad laughed and commented that when he was growing up, his family felt fortunate when they had an indoor pump handle in the kitchen.
Yesterday it was 101 degrees here. Today we're looking to set a new record with a high of 102. I stopped at the library on my way home from work yesterday afternoon. One of the assistant librarians told me that my father had just been there and, "I think he left with enough books to keep him inside and out of the heat for a few days." I told her last week that if Dad had something to read it tended to keep him from getting into trouble by taking on too many projects outside in the heat. The ladies that work at the library get a kick out of Dad.
Dad's brother came for lunch yesterday, and I mean that literally. He drove 3 hours across the state, took us to lunch, and then left. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my lunch, but it seemed like an awfully quick visit. Of course, given that he and Dad barely spoke 5 complete sentences apiece, why linger? If it hadn't been for Joan and me, it would have been a very quiet meal. Dad's side of the family is like that. They take the art of companionable silence to a whole new level.
I've lost count of how many watering cans I've filled and hauled across the yard to water my flowers. I thank my lucky stars that I came along in the era of indoor plumbing and water that flows out of the spigot with a mere twist of the faucet handle. Dad laughed and commented that when he was growing up, his family felt fortunate when they had an indoor pump handle in the kitchen.
Yesterday it was 101 degrees here. Today we're looking to set a new record with a high of 102. I stopped at the library on my way home from work yesterday afternoon. One of the assistant librarians told me that my father had just been there and, "I think he left with enough books to keep him inside and out of the heat for a few days." I told her last week that if Dad had something to read it tended to keep him from getting into trouble by taking on too many projects outside in the heat. The ladies that work at the library get a kick out of Dad.
Dad's brother came for lunch yesterday, and I mean that literally. He drove 3 hours across the state, took us to lunch, and then left. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my lunch, but it seemed like an awfully quick visit. Of course, given that he and Dad barely spoke 5 complete sentences apiece, why linger? If it hadn't been for Joan and me, it would have been a very quiet meal. Dad's side of the family is like that. They take the art of companionable silence to a whole new level.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Boom!
Happy July 4th! This is not Dillon's favorite holiday. Fireworks, like most loud noises, scare the poor dog to death. Dad went to a cookout and fireworks show. He said I'd have loved the fireworks, but they would have sent Dillon to the emergency room. The weather was perfect, so they had a big crowd and a great show. I was both surprised, and pleased, that he went without me. It's good for him to get out and socialize.
I stayed home and waited for the first pop and boom. I made sure to get Dillon outside for a potty break before it got dark. Someone started setting off a few small rockets shortly after 9. Dillon was sleeping peacefully with his back against the bathtub. The bathroom is the coolest room in the house, so he spends a lot of time in there in the summer. I was surprised, when I peeked in to check on him, that he wasn't in the bathtub. That's most unusual. Even the sound of rain now sends him searching for cover, in anticipation of the thunder that usually follows.
Apparently he didn't hear the first few rockets. But when they started to go off more frequently and the volume increased, he may have missed the rockets red glare, but he definitely heard the explosions. A loud boom came from the bathroom. He'd knocked the toilet lid down in his attempt to climb the toilet. I still don't understand his compulsion to go up.
I lured him into his crate with a dog biscuit. Once inside, he devoured the biscuit and settled down with his back towards me. I got the tape of the Brazil-Netherlands World Cup game I'd been watching out of the VCR in my study and settled down to watch the rest in the bedroom with him. He didn't move again until I went to wash my face and brush my teeth before calling it a night. I thought at first that he was anxious because I'd left the room. Then I realized that he associates my last bathroom trip of the night with the dog biscuit he always gets immediately afterward when we go to bed.
The good news is, the fireworks stopped shortly after 11. The rest of the night was peaceful and uneventful. The bad news is, today is the 4th. It probably starts all over again tonight. I guess I'll be watching A Capitol Fourth on the small tv in my bedroom. The fireworks will look more like sparklers.
I stayed home and waited for the first pop and boom. I made sure to get Dillon outside for a potty break before it got dark. Someone started setting off a few small rockets shortly after 9. Dillon was sleeping peacefully with his back against the bathtub. The bathroom is the coolest room in the house, so he spends a lot of time in there in the summer. I was surprised, when I peeked in to check on him, that he wasn't in the bathtub. That's most unusual. Even the sound of rain now sends him searching for cover, in anticipation of the thunder that usually follows.
Apparently he didn't hear the first few rockets. But when they started to go off more frequently and the volume increased, he may have missed the rockets red glare, but he definitely heard the explosions. A loud boom came from the bathroom. He'd knocked the toilet lid down in his attempt to climb the toilet. I still don't understand his compulsion to go up.
I lured him into his crate with a dog biscuit. Once inside, he devoured the biscuit and settled down with his back towards me. I got the tape of the Brazil-Netherlands World Cup game I'd been watching out of the VCR in my study and settled down to watch the rest in the bedroom with him. He didn't move again until I went to wash my face and brush my teeth before calling it a night. I thought at first that he was anxious because I'd left the room. Then I realized that he associates my last bathroom trip of the night with the dog biscuit he always gets immediately afterward when we go to bed.
The good news is, the fireworks stopped shortly after 11. The rest of the night was peaceful and uneventful. The bad news is, today is the 4th. It probably starts all over again tonight. I guess I'll be watching A Capitol Fourth on the small tv in my bedroom. The fireworks will look more like sparklers.
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