I don't know where to start

As a linear thinker it feels right to me to connect, even in an abbreviated way, some narrative thread of the epic that’s occurred. Cliff’s done it with Shakespeare after all.

But the highlights haven’t been high and they haven’t been light.

I could simply hail the boat from this point, so far downriver now, and begin to describe the change in the scenery.

But I am so changed too. I have become someone who can articulate about all kinds of feelings and thoughts, except the most important ones and particularly about my own pain. I am no longer a sharer in that sense. With anyone. I have no aspiration to be different. The planet is down to just a few inhabitants and the cave is really down to just me.

I am never going to be a FaceSpaceTwit, that much is certain.

But the tide is ebbing and I am being pulled with its shift. And, not surprisingly, all of it is under the influence of one dog. This weekend was the first time in 18 months that I allowed it to take me deeply into the undertow. It was a meaningful baptism.

So I am stirring the sand here a bit, feeling that something is meant to be said now but guarding all that is in me to say.

Testing, testing

Just seeing how the water is.

No life on the Planet

The blog ends here. Thanks for reading.

Trout is an angel now

Our beloved Trout died yesterday. So fast....it was just days ago that Tanya came out from her classroom and asked me to take a look at what she was seeing in his breathing. Her alert observation had Trout to the vet that evening where his lung tumor was diagnosed. He was really a friend to every dog at Dog Tired and I am just heartsick. I'll never forget how he bounded in every morning and we all sang "Trout!" (actually, we all went "Twowwwwt" - we always called him Twout for some reason). I'll also never forget the day I suddenly could NOT find him in class, and ran in and out and even out to the parking lot before finally discovering that he'd packed his big self into a little dark blue airline kennel and made himself practically invisible. Oh Trout, I just can't believe I'll never hug you again.

Trout Branson
July 12, 1999 to December 16, 2007

by Kari Campbell

Trout Branson entered Dog Tired on October 13, 2005, just ten days after we opened. An institution here, he was a friend to everyone large and small. His entrance every morning was eager and excited and he left with the same enthusiasm each night when his parents came to pick him up.

The staff spoke often of his uncanny lust for life and great luck with his health. As a young dog living in King Salmon, Trout was accidentally struck by a plane propeller on the airstrip. Severely injured and with no veterinary care nearby, his family was forced to make the decision to put him down. Trout took one look at them and took off into the wilderness. Several days later, very ill from his injuries, he was stumbled upon and rushed into Anchorage for emergency vet care. He survived against all odds to a full recovery.

The last year has been difficult for his health, but he remained in daycare, ever eager to come visit his pals and share his wisdom. Two weeks ago it was discovered he had a lung tumor. His last visit with us was a happy one and we will all miss his sweet face and cheery disposition.

Please keep Trout and his family in your thoughts and prayers this holiday season as they go through this difficult time.

We will miss you dear Trout.

Your Dog Tired Family

Long days

Another month of impossible days gone by. Today was my last regular day at Job #1, having only worked Mondays (and some weekends) this month. Since the first of Nov, I've officially transitioned to Dog Tired as the daycare manager for the next however many months while the building expansion is underway and I run the boarding operation instead.

An agreement's been signed on the new building, and the 60 days of due diligence and financing is elapsing quickly. If that goes well, renovations will start, and by the summer we will be in operation.

In the meantime, I've just been working as many hours as I can put in there, as well as the max hours I can put in at Job #1 to help with that transition - as a financial firm, year-end and prep for the 2008 tax season makes this a critical time of year.

FOP has really fallen by the wayside for me, and I am grieving that a lot as the backlog grows and I feel pretty despondent about holding up my end of things there. The days are burdensome and there isn't a lot of me left. I have had a little time to work on editing Matthew's manuscript and I've really enjoyed those few moments.

Nana fell ill on Thanksgiving and I took her to the ER where she was determined to be in atrial fib again and her lungs quickly filled with fluid - congestive heart failure. She came home last night. So this past weekend has been about trying to put in time at both jobs, take care of my own dogs and spend as much time at the hospital as I could. She's feeling better and I hope the medication changes will help keep her symptoms at a manageable level. I feel very tired; maybe I said that already. I'm working 7 days/wk most weeks through mid-February, and when I think about the holidays and the additional things that are expected, I just wish so much that it could pass by me this year.

Piper's progress

I know I've said virtually nothing about how we've been getting along. She's been on Prozac the last three months and I think it has helped her anxiety a little, though she's still extremely reactive and very vocal (with nerve-jangling shrillness and with ear-piercing volume). She had seven teeth cut out of her head this summer, and it was a painful recovery. A couple of others are iffy, as the bone loss in her jaw continues. She's lost a much-needed 18 pounds by doing it the hard slow way, and still cries hysterically at mealtimes. I know just how she feels.

She's a real pain in the neck, frankly, and I suspect that my karmic reward for taking in this old abandoned girl will be as one of our clients yesterday predicted, that she will turn out to be the world's first 30-year-old German shepherd dog and I will never be rid of this short-term obligation. So she lives her life each day without ever getting enough to eat, and I live my life each day without ever getting enough silence to sleep. We are stuck with each other and that's just the way it is when you're family.

The month in review

A monthly blog entry seems to be about all I can come up with right now. Two weeks ago I got severely ill with a viral bronchitis which turned into multiple infections.

I blame it all on actually going to the doctor. I was so very ill initially that I felt scared about being able to care for my mother's needs. The bronchitis I had earlier this year lasted 12 weeks and I really wanted to just die, so this time I made it a priority to immediately see the doc-in-the-box (around the corner, 20 min, $262) and get meds. However, I think the steroids they put me on for the bronchitis left my already largely non-existent immune system open to all the other things that hit two days later.

Yesterday I started to feel human again except for the pressure- deafness in my left ear that's been ongoing the last six days. I think it will break, sometime, but I've never had total ear blockage persist for days on end - it's weird. But at least I narrowly avoided a burst eardrum. Last weekend I was completely without a voice for three days. Another visit to the doctor (out to Palmer, two hours' drive and $60) got me on a broad spectrum antibiotic and things started to resolve. I did get back to work most days this past week, just slowly slogging. And yesterday felt almost normal, just very tired. We had a Halloween party for clients and dogs and although it was very enjoyable (and I will have to post a photo once I have one, of Kari and I dressed as each other) I came home after and didn't get anything done the rest of the day.

In other news, I finished another section of working on Matthew's book last weekend while I could do nothing but sit on the couch. I really am enjoying watching his efforts bear fruit. And am looking forward to another piece of good news - he and Alice plan a trip to Alaska in a few months as he will be here on a speaking tour in January.

My mother is not precisely herself since the stroke. Much to be grateful for in her recovery, but a lot has changed. Being so sick myself, I haven't felt like I was doing the best in taking care of her now that there's a good bit that she can't do for herself. Dirk has been cooking for us at least once a week and sending Kari over with his creations - besides being a meat master, he makes the best soups and stews particularly, and that hits the spot for both Nana and me when we haven't been well.

Katie, Brett and Saucy moved away (to Las Vegas where Brett is now stationed) the second week of October, and I am sick at heart still. I know the future is bright wherever their young lives will take them, but the world here is so dark and diminished without their particular brand of compassion, perception, decency and good humor. I know that when you have had the gift of such extraordinary people (and dear little bulldogs) in your life, nothing will ever really take it away, but the loss of their physical presence is deeply painful right now and I can't think of it without breaking down in tears. I look at the wonderful photos Katie framed for us before they left and it's just hard to know we'll likely never see our little Saucy again.

In all, another month I'd just as soon forget, to add to a rather long string of the same.

An unrecoverable summer

Life upended around the first of May or so. At the briefest of moments since then, I have thought at times of how I might return here to capture the events and the strain of repeatedly stepping into breaches, how to describe the decisions I've made. I kept thinking things would level and then I'd tell that story. With each considering I pared the imagined story down to ways that wouldn't do it justice ever. Moments of living very close to the bone, of holding lives in my hands and making calm and rational decisions that destroyed me inside, of seeing the water start to clear above my head and suddenly being plunged into more cold shocks. It would be quite a ravaging story, so I'd punctuate it with photos of the comic relief that's occurred here and there - and maybe those parts will still get posted sometime.

A week ago my mother had a mild stroke, and everything from the moment I found her on the floor has seemed both blurry and painfully clear since. Tonight when cleaning out email I found messages from a month ago where I've apologized to people for the many obligations I was not meeting because of so many emergent weakening threads in the world. I've held together as many of them as I could.

The week ahead is an express train from hell, which in context of my life - or even the last week - is really saying something. The air is cold at night and the snow is coming over the tops of the east hills and slouching toward us. So I am burying this summer and all its moments and its million bits of broken glass, bright and unrecoverable tears.

αυτός αστείος

That's the Greek for "that's funny," according to Babelfish (so God only knows what it actually means).

Anyway, that Nana is such a card. We were in the car when a report came over NPR about all the wildfires in Greece that started last week. I was already silently forming the punchline of a "a Greece fire" when my mom said it out loud. We chuckled, but then she slayed me with "And I bet they're putting water on it too."

I never get these things exactly right

Today was Nana's 81st birthday - we spent the evening in the private room at Glacier Brewhouse for a lovely dinner celebration with friends. Amazing food, wonderful company, lots of laughter and we got Nana to tell lots of stories about her youth.

But did I take a single photo? Nope. Unngggggh!

National Homeless Animals Day

Will anyone remember me?
I was just one in a million,
Of millions more, who walked
And breathed and lived, and died
When love ran out for me.

Does anyone remember me?
In that crowd of hopeful faces,
Does anyone notice my two bright eyes?
Or have the colors run together

And the faces disappeared
In a nameless river
That gathers and gathers
That washes against dark doors and sullen porches
And roars on to a savage sea.

Will anyone remember me?
Do I dance now in your dreams?
I walked and breathed and lived and loved
And I was one in a million.

Peg Banks, 2007

I didn't fall off the Planet

I'm still orbiting, but ducking the asteroids requires my full attention.

Our pickled pepper picker

It's only been a week or so, but there's no getting around it: Piper is a permanent part of our pack.

In truth, I knew she was mine before I met her and before I saw her picture. There was nothing super-special in the message from her family that after 11+ years, she was going back to the pound from where she was adopted as an 8-week puppy. No novel twist in her story - old dog is left behind in a move. But although my life circumstances maybe aren’t right for a second dog (my landlord just called, telling me she's got to ditch this house, fast) my heart's been ready for a while. The last ten fosters and guests have tugged my heartstrings a little harder, making me realize that my preferred dynamic of multiple dogs had been missing for such a long time in my life while I made more sensible, rational choices. That joy and its attendant complications has been denied since Courtney died four years ago and Hunter and I went on alone.

Still, I went into it assuming it was a done deal. Then I saw David’s beautiful portrait of her (photo credit Alaska Pet-ography)...and I refused to publish it anywhere until I had a test drive with her first. And finally, “Piper” herself crashed into our lives.

Living with Piper is like living with a furry, irritated ox. She doesn’t walk – she stomps. She’s bossy and vocal, persistently agitated, but also vulnerable and dear. She carries her stuffed toys around the house and comforts herself by nursing and kneading her blanket. She’s a bit of a medical mess, she’s fat and chronically hungry and bangs on the cabinets where she knows the treats are. Has dropped significant weight but has at least another 20 pounds to lose and she's patently opposed to that. Hunter is still pretty bamboozled by her; when they’re outdoors and he romps or flops down in the snow, she rushes into his face with lots of loud barking, disconcerting to him and me both. He’s stopped flinching when she does that, and so far she hasn't shown anything to back up her bluster.

Her loyalty of many years turned out to be misplaced, her love betrayed when she became inconvenient. She very much would like to have things her way, if only she knew what that really was. She has a big loving heart and an injured soul. And the world is just not laid out the way she thinks it should be. She crashes through life with good intentions but regular storm squalls.

Remind you of anyone?

Piper and I aren’t yet intimately acquainted, but we definitely ‘get’ each other. This dog is more like myself than any person or creature I have known when it comes to multiple positive/negative attributes in constant internal collision and often sprayed around on others. I can't think of two beings who deserve each other more. There have been lessons in every relationship I’ve had with a dog over the years, but this one is the magnifying mirror. I had it coming.

Jingle Bell Jacks

Nana has been making these dolls for her great-grandsons, for what seems like forever - it's amazing how many small bits of thread and fabric have been all over the house. She got Nathaniel's done in time for his birthday last month. I was beginning to fear that Will and Zack would receive theirs just about in time to take along to college, but she finished them this weekend. I think they're pretty cute. And they are indeed very jingle-belly.

Irish wolfhound

Props to Honda

That good old-fashioned American company (cof), for this display of evident interest in customer satisfaction yesterday...

Background: Last week, I got my months-long broken driver's door lock fixed ($2.79 part, $79 labor) after this goading by a fake gift certificate that Kari made for my birthday, with my photo, a birthday message, and such fine print as

- Authorized by the Nag who is tired of watching you crawl through the passenger door
- Not redeemable for cash or any other favors you may think you want
- Expires in the distant future if you don't get off your ass

The gift certificate was so entertaining that I paid for the repair myself. When I picked up the car, I realized later that the stereo didn't work and was flashing an ominous demand for a code I didn't have. Took me a while thru the owner's manual (which I also didn't have, but bought one) to determine this is part of the anti-theft system. I had no idea my car was this technical; I prefer to think the world is still back on the Chevy station wagon 3-on-the-column that I first learned to drive hmmpty-hmmp years ago.

Yesterday I checked the Honda website and it says talk to the local dealer. I call the local dealer and they tell me it'll cost $100 for them to pull out the stereo to get the serial number to track down the code. I object. The gal says the original dealer would have this info, and I think okay, I got a Carfax last year when I bought this thing used, so it probably will have that dealer on it. I hang up.

Then I think no, I'm not at home, I don't want to go digging through paperwork, I just want this fixed. So I call national customer service. They answer on the second ring, I tell them my problem, they ask me for the VIN and for the label code inside the glove box, retrieve the code I need and tell me for my protection they are revising it, ask me to fax my license and registration to them, then call me back to give me the code over the phone and at no charge. The whole thing took maybe ten minutes and cost me nothing. I like it!

And nothing was ever the same again

Gryphon
March 1, 1988 - March 8, 2000

Addendum: David Jensen of Alaska Pet-ography sent me this memory collage today of Gryphon in his youth. (The other dogs are Diva and Max.)

I must be alive, I'm still coughing...

Sorry for disappearing again. I have lots to share, all of it inane. Real life and constant coughing are interfering with my ability to breathe and blog. But there are a good many cute pictures in the camera, so I'm hoping to catch up some next weekend - I no longer work on Saturdays since we've stopped the socials until next fall (yeay! Kari rocks!) and I have a lovely excuse to stay at home all next weekend, in the furry guise of an old doggie grrl who will be taking us for a test drive to see if we're good enough to be her permanent home.

Sundog

Nissa has been staying with us while George & Becky are in Phoenix. She's a lot of spirit in a little package. Here she took a rare moment of relaxation in her favorite sunny spot on the stairs. I didn't realize how well the sundogs (from the beveled glass of the front door) would frame her. Look at those incredibly long black eyelashes!

Life on Planet M&M

This is Peg as a delicious treat that will melt in your mouth. The character creator at Become an M&M is fun but be warned that their server is frustratingly busy - this took a bunch of tries to produce.

Home repairs

So I drove out to his house tonight to fix the computer. Relatively easy fixes, at least within my ability to wrest little pieces of power from Uncle Bill and put something the way I want it. Glass of wine and studying the photos of Laura and Alexa on the walls. Getting ready for the long dark drive back to town, we stood together in a long hug - and the momentary wild distraction that his very tall frame and very broad shoulders has always kindled these last 20 years - simple whispered pain, and walking out the door with an uneasy burden for my dear friend. It is hard to face that some losses will take more time to heal than the time one has left.

The power of Thieves

So since I am still pretty sick with bronchitis, Nancy shared with me today her secret of warding off the bad bugs this winter. I'd noticed while housesitting here last week that she has acquired a huge apothecary of essential oils. She's been using Thieves to prevent getting ill (though to my knowledge she has not been robbing plague victims as a side benefit).

She also indicated she had no idea really how to use it, and seemed surprised at my gasp when she demonstrated how she's been knocking back 10-15 drops of full strength oil down her throat every 20 minutes. Oh my god. Seeing as how the testimonials include how great the diluted version is at removing permanent ink from porous surfaces, I'm surprised she has any throat lining left to protect. I tried it once, and once is....enough. At those doses I suspect Drano would be a suitable substitute. But I'll definitely go get some of the spray and see if that helps build me back up without fire-breathing as a new skill.

This won't hurt a bit

It's V-Day and my insides aren't spilling out. Whodathunkit.

Personal: to The Glorified Donut

I don't know how precisely I was supposed to respond on my blog, but here it is.....

Anchorage: Most. Stupid. Slogan.

The muni has spent tens of thousands of dollars on a new marketing campaign "Anchorage: Big Wild Life". And is now doing the follow-up PR to get its citizens on board with supporting it and the odd Rorschach all-it's-missing-is-a-corpse-chalkline abstract backdrop. For a state whose elegant flag was designed by a schoolboy, you'd think they might have asked the people for some opinions first - but I guess they didn't because they knew we would all say there's not a thing wrong with "Wild About Anchorage" which has served us for over 20 years now. There's plenty of tap dance left in that old moose yet.

Twofer

Sorry to be away but I got a full order of bronchitis with a side of pneumonia.

The darker side of doggie daycare

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to actual daycare clients is purely coincidental...

Doggie Daycare Daily Report

Today your dog was
[ ] an angel
[ ] a brat
[ ] a weirdo
[ ] a spaz
[ ] a fiend

We especially noticed when your dog
[ ] sat for treats
[ ] destroyed a door
[ ] boinked his playmates

I can't tell you how many times your dog
[ ] played nicely
[ ] inappropriately deposited bodily fluids
[ ] made me want to quit this job.

We recommend that your dog
[ ] change daycare schedule
[ ] take a formal training class
[ ] undergo a lobotomy
[ ] acquire normal parents.

It is always
[ ] a pleasure
[ ] an irritant
[ ] a catastrophe
to have your dog in my class.

A cough before dying

I've been struggling with a deep chest cough or some kind of infection or I don't know what, for the last couple of weeks. Whatever it is, has been resistant to medication (well, resistant to wine and tequila therapy anyway). This has knocked the blog awry not because I haven't had time to write - missed some days of work last week with this - but because I don't seem to be able to string together any particularly compelling thoughts. I did, however, have an uneasy moment in front of the cough-and-cold display when the various animated renderings of television ads for these products began to twirl on the shelves in front of me.

Four-day weekend

Boss #1 gave me an incentive last week to finish year-end reports, with a carrot that I could add a day onto the 3-day weekend. Weekends are just a different kind of work day for me but I certainly leapt to the chance to get some things caught up in other areas of life. Still, I appear to be programmed where no matter the length of the weekend, "if I just had one more day" things would have been in much less disrepair. But a couple large and/or important projects got off the desk despite the amount of time they sucked out of the marrow of my life, and I'm not feeling exhausted today at least. (That comes soon enough, as Kari heads out of town tonight for college visits with Cassi, which means extra plugging of holes for five days.)

I took Sunday evening for myself, spending a quiet evening with Pat. She opened a lovely bottle of shiraz in Skye's vintage (2000) and we spent four hours letting the conversation amble through tears of recent grief to adding layers to the background story we know about each other. As I drove away in the late-night cold, I thought of all the things there are to get done and how I don't ordinarily make time to just stop and relax with people who are important to me. I said to myself, I want to be the kind of person who takes that time rather than so constantly driven by the clamor of others' needs. Took me a second to realize that in making the choice to stop for those sweet hours, I already am that kind of person.

High finance

Through a series of strategic moves over the last several weeks, I am now in possession of enough Dagoba chocolate bars to create a stable base of currency for a small country, as long as that country is not in Central or South America where this stuff literally grows on trees. I've learned that there is one flavor I can live without (Lime) and one that is the cocaine equivalent of the chocolate world (Eclipse 87% extra dark). I am a woman of wealth.

Maddie at six months

Nancy asked me to take some photos of her today. Her head has caught up with her body so she looks proportional instead of like Puppy the Pinhead. At six months she is becoming a beautiful wild charging rhino dog.

All the warmth went out of the world

This morning I got the car started early for my drive out to Palmer. We've had some more snow - I've lost track now of how much, something around 3 feet total I guess, and then the temps dropped hard yesterday so it just around zero this morning. Black ice all the way under a completely frigid sky. Standing ice fog obscured the mountains, and the sun too - you could just see generally where it was supposed to be behind that layer of descended cold. It felt like the world had shut down for Laura's funeral.

Inside the train depot at Palmer, I joined a line of people filing past the register - the main hall was already full. I was still several people away from a chance to sign my name when they asked us to just come in so things could start. We pushed our way into the crowd and I found a space along the wall - nearly as many people standing as there were occupied chairs. I only have a small sense of how many worlds intersected in that room today; those who spoke represented some of Laura's closest sphere but the outward ripples were represented in those of us who stood packed together for that hour and a half. It was meant to be a celebration of life, but in my heart I didn't feel anyone there who was prepared for that, not yet. But there was encouragement and support and honor, and a clear sense of a shared gift that was taken too soon.

I felt alone in that crowd of people. There were some folks in the room that I knew from my years at the University, but that world was an unhappy one for me and there was no comfort in those faces. Allen was remarkably functional but from across the room he might have been a million miles away. I stood and I listened and I mourned but I barely breathed - it felt like sadness was squeezing my lungs.

Afterward, the clog of people at the back of the room was huge as folks greeted family members before a shared meal. I waited a little while, then took a different exit. The cold air hit my lungs and I wasn't warm enough despite my sweater and heavy coat, I could feel the warmth seeping out of me as I put my head down and walked away, feeling about as barren and desolate as I have in years.

About 30 yards later, I didn't hear any steps in the snow behind me, just a hand on my shoulder. I turned and there was the friend who has known me every day of my life in Alaska, and Becky wrapped her arms around me hard and the sobs in me burst. I hadn't known she was there the whole time - she'd pushed her way to within a few feet of me but I hadn't looked around the room. She didn't know about the service until 45 minutes before it started, but rushed to add her shoulders to my burden. There are blessings that come to us undeserved in this life. Magical people like Laura are among those blessings. Vessels of grace like Becky are among those blessings too.

Auntie Edna said it

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind:
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

A shooting star

Laura died a few minutes after midnight. She was so vibrant and impossibly beautiful; despite my heartbreak I am glad to know she is released from the prison of a wrecked body. I find that four years of preparing for this doesn't prepare you at all. Michele, who always has something genuine and perfect to say in moments of deep grief, shared this poem with me today.

God's Lovely Likeness

I know that where you are, God is
Since he is everywhere
And being everywhere, he is where I am too
And since you and I are ever in God's presence
We can never be apart
Apart from Him or apart from all He is
To know this brings comfort where sadness otherwise would rule
So when sorrow would steal away my peace,
I give up what I cannot keep
To cherish and rejoice over what I cannot lose
With this, the stillness all about me comes to life
With sweet assurance that God's lovely likeness--whom I have known as you--
Is here and now,
Just as you have ever been.

Movie: Charlotte's Web

One of the perks of being a 'parent' again (to an 80-year-old) is going to movies I would never end up going to otherwise. I loved the nostalgia of the farm landscapes in their rolling beauty, and I cried when the spider died.

If you say so

On the big sign outside Party World in midtown Anchorage:

PUT THE CHIRST

BACK IN CHRISTMAS

Role reversal

It definitely felt like some tables had turned this morning when I got up to fix a nice Christmas breakfast, listened to some holiday music while sipping my eggnog latte, then sit and look at the tree and watch Nana open her gifts - I tried to spoil her this year and she was up to the spoiling - and later to fix a lovely London broil supper. Just... I don't know. Very much felt my role as parent, I guess. Best thing under our tree for me was the dog (that's Hunter barely visible on the floor in the foreground - Willow was off somewhere). With a couple of feet of snow on the ground and no place to go, a few well-wishing phone calls, indulging my mom by sitting and playing through multiple books of piano solos, and it was a simple and relaxing Christmas.

The kids certainly enjoyed being snuggled and attended to all day - Nana had her lap full of them for much of the afternoon.

And I'm glad that Willow seemed to feel very much that she is part of the family. She's clung to me from the minute we met a couple of days ago, and it's paining me to think of taking her back to boarding care after the holidays. For right now, it's 'to all a good night.'

Santa's little helper

I have some blog gaps to fill, but meanwhile, here is Willow helping me wrap presents for Nana tonight.

Angels we have heard, way up high

Tonight we had a houseful of folks over for a carols-around-the-piano party. Well, really what happened is that Kari invited herself and family to our house since we have the piano, and then she invited another person and another person and... Through a stroke of luck, 4-5 of them had to cancel otherwise I would have been looking for places to hang them on the walls in our little house.

Having a friend who was a professional opera singer (that's Kari) certainly raises the level of the parlor music, but the group singing was just as much fun. I expected we'd maybe sing for an hour or two, but nearly four hours passed as the snow fell (14 inches during the evening) and it certainly felt a lot like Christmas as everyone had to dig out cars before they could try to maneuver down our unplowed street.

Hunter and Willow in particular were not satisfied with the private dog party upstairs, so came down and both of them impressed me with how well they settled into a group of strangers. Kari's parents are visiting, so we listened to Kari's mom tell stories of growing up in England, and her dad is rather a mad scientist as Kari describes him, and always has something interesting to say.

Naturally for us amateurs, the excuse of singing carols was really just to fill in the spaces between having Kari sing for us. Toward the end of the evening I asked her to sing "The Holy City" and though I couldn't see over my shoulder from the piano, I'm told that Hunter and Willow ended up in Kari's lap trying to peek down her throat, and when she chose to finish on a note way higher than the one that was written, it resonated thickly in my right eardrum and the dogs' heads nearly twisted off trying to see where that was coming from!

What holiday food are you?

You Are a Gingerbread House

A little spicy and a little sweet, anyone would like to be lost in the woods with you.

What Holiday Food Are You?

Christmas for the teacher

At DT we've had holiday treats by the truckload from clients, lots of wonderful things provided to the staff at large. Today when I stopped by to drop off our new foster (more on her later) for some playtime, I saw the staff cubbies were also filling up with little cards and gifts. I pulled out the ones addressed to Miss Peg. I hadn't seen that coming. I also hadn't seen coming the big lump in my throat as I opened each one, and all of a sudden realized I was clutching them to my chest with tears in my eyes because I love all the dogs here, and it's meaningful to receive sentiments of sincere thanks. How thoughtful.

It's like working at a preschool with the benefit of not having to deal with children....

Every time a bell rings...

The same guy has been at the Salvation Army kettle every afternoon this week as I've run errands at the mall near Nancy's. This afternoon as I trudged through a near-blizzard I could hear a small ring of the bell even though I wasn't yet inside the mall entry. Not the enthusiastic jing! jing! jing! that shames you into giving as though you had planned to all along. Just a sort of dull jingk.... long pause... jingk.... Turns out Santa's helper was outside on a smoke break, with the bell idly trailing to his lips.

Herewith the filling of gaps

Life has been screaming along but I have felt pretty detached from a lot of it. Odd feeling to be more overworked and overwhelmed than usual, but have it all filtered through the grief lens. I have felt like there are things to report but they are all missing flavor.

Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

Michele and Chuck gave us another 'experience' gift for Christmas this year, and tonight the four of us went to see the national touring production of 'Joseph' in its final Anchorage performance. Clarissa Grace was phenomenal as the Narrator - what a set of pipes. It's just the same charming and goofy show that people have loved for so many years now, a few updated twists here and there (communications between Egypt and Canaan via cell phone, the Pharoah head with a giant set of sunglasses). I suppose some folks would think of this piece as sacrilege, but the fun being poked is only at itself. The audience was engaged, and with the storytelling style (and some direct interaction, as when Pharoah-as-Elvis encouraged the various parts of the house to kick it up for the King), it feels like there's no barrier between audience and stage. Very warm and embracing. It was fun to clap with the final Joseph Megamix and see the obvious appreciation on the faces of the performers in the ovation.

Evening at the improv

My mother is downstairs playing the piano by ear, whatever comes to her. She just finished "I'm a Child of the King" and has launched directly into "There is a Tavern in the Town." Is there any wonder how I turned out the way I did?

Osmosis

I suppose it was bound to happen the longer I work here at Nancy's, and more deeply in operations instead of the communication stuff I was hired for almost eight years ago. But somehow and without my realizing it, the gap has been bridged between the sophomore girl in Mr. Ranney's second period business math class and the person I am today. It occurred to me all of a sudden today that I actually understand dollar cost averaging.

Movie: The Nativity Story

I know this film is getting crucified (er...sorry) by a good many critics (bad sign when the movie advertisements are reduced to using noted cinema authority The 700 Club as its review source), but I have to say I loved it. I don't care who found it pedantic or boring or lifeless - I thought it was gentle and simple and human. I don't care who thought it reduced the greatest story every told into a big screen version of a Hallmark card - I still leaked tears at the totally over-the-top starlit manger scene. I don't care who thinks Catherine Hardwicke has played it way too safe - for once I didn't have to spend two hours appreciating something because it was edgy and daring. I liked the retelling from the perspective of a group of simple people being touched by big events whose importance they have yet to experience or understand, instead of portrayed as iconic heroes of faith who have that stuff all figured out from 2000-year hindsight.

Ciaran Hinds looks exactly like my eight-year-old mind envisioned King Herod every time I read the Arthur Maxwell Bible Story books. On the flip side, Alexander Siddig looks out of place as Gabriel - sorry, but I just saw ST:DS9's Dr. Bashir. (He also has a way of appearing earnest that just looks menacing somehow.) Keisha Castle-Hughes (as Mary) may yet make a whole career out of her ability to look appropriately introspective. The breakout part in this is Oscar Issac as Joseph. Realizing that much of this story had to be invented (a strict interpretation from the Gospels would make a movie approximately 14 minutes long), Hardwicke believably fills those gaps, but what she chose to do with Joseph was wonderful. In the Bible, of course, he's the ultimate also-ran, second banana to the Almighty in the dad department. Yet in the veneration of Mary through the centuries, one has to think that God wouldn't have wanted her or Jesus stuck with a mediocre man. Here Joseph is portrayed as vital, intelligent, courageous, tough, and selfless - the sort of remarkable but truly human person that God might have wanted as a partner for Mary and a father for His son.

Coda

Raina followed Skye a little while ago.

A grievous loss

I don't even know how to say it really, other than as bluntly as it happened. Earlier yesterday, Pat and I had talked about the speed of Raina's further decline and that it would be good for me to visit soon (which I plan to do tonight). Late in the afternoon, she called in tears, but not with the news I'd feared..... Dear, exuberant, beautiful Skye had literally dropped dead. Pat hopes to know more after the necropsy but meanwhile I just don't know what to say. She was such a wonderful rottiegrrl, just six years on the earth.

That's "Mother Governor" to you

Alaska's youngest and first female governor, Sarah Palin, was sworn in yesterday in Fairbanks. The Anchorage Daily News in what surely is a stroke of perversity which I deeply appreciate, chose to run above the headline these two Sarahgems from the inaugural speech:

"Alaskans, hold me accountable. And right back at ya."

"I will unambiguously, steadfastly and doggedly guard the interests of this great state as a mother naturally guards her own."

On behalf of women everywhere, can we get a do-over?

Saucy

Our friend Saucy, a six-month old Bulldog, has been staying with us since last week when her mom and dad had to leave unexpectedly for family matters back in Texas. So I am getting my bulldog quota every day. She's such a funny, determined girl. But she's very polite and an easy keeper, no doubt because Katie (a DT co-worker) is so consistent with her about everything. Take her out on leash and she goes immediately to potty, no dawdling, no looking around until business is completed. Attach her seat belt harness and she sits quietly through the whole car ride. She comes home exhausted from daycare, eats dinner, and puts herself to bed. The one time she isn't quiet is All Night Long, as she sleeps (all night!) with a loud and untroubled snore. She has two speeds, full ahead and full stop.

She's not a cuddler; will charge into you like a rhino for a quick scritch and woob-woobin of her adorable face, then off to whatever needs thrashing next. She's very fond of the Egg Babies toys and last night fell asleep happily with the duck, though she's more entranced by the actual eggs. She can be sober as a judge, which of course makes us laugh all the time. What a sweetheart. She has also warned us on a number of occasions that the two remaining yellow Lab puppies next door are not as cute and fluffy as they appear, in case they should find their way under the house and come to kill us all.

"Messiah"

Yesterday afternoon we went with Michele, Chuck and Duane to hear the community chorus performance of "Messiah." A friend of theirs was the director this year. I used to sing in these performances years (decades) ago before I let my voice go to waste, and it was always very interesting to me to see how the director each year would approach the work - what portions would be chosen, what style we were going for. This was a very refreshing take from this particular director's extensive background in Baroque music and direct experience with this work. He came out not in a tux but in a simple black shirt and pants, and having already written his remarks in the program, he basically nodded to the audience and said "Let's do it." He presented the work as a light chamber piece rather than a choral work, with minimal orchestra. The fact that 140 volunteer singers make up the chorus is something you can't change as far as making this a smaller endeavor, so his inspiration was to bring in a group of 12 elite singers to do all the heavy lifting. Thus certain of the pieces, like "For unto us a child is born," was sung by the small group with the chorus only coming in on the easy crescendos of "Wonderful, Counselor..."

Even the solos didn't sound as ponderous as I've experienced them in the past. Near the end, I wept during "I know that my Redeemer liveth" - that was the first time I've ever heard that aria sung as a plain-spoken profession of faith in a time of personal devastation, exactly as it is in the book of Job. It was tremendously touching and the tears are coming to my eyes even now.

When we all stood to sing the Hallelujah chorus, I'd been thinking throughout that if I'd been a chorister this year, I might have been alternately relieved and a little disappointed at all the stuff I didn't get to sing because it was given to the master singers, when just as in response to that thought, we got to the end and the chorus continued without us through the full "Amen!" - I don't think any of the performances I've been in have used that part, and it was almost redemptive for the choristers - like, oh yeah, we didn't sing the hard stuff? well listen to this!

(edited to add): I forgot to say that this director (Andrew Sweeney, who is also an organist, operatic vocalist, composer, etc. - what a tremendous talent) rewrote the "Rejoice greatly, daughter of Zion" for three sopranos instead of as a solo, and it was so refreshing to hear something familiar yet very new as the voices tumbled over each other, as though a group of sisters had heard the most wonderful news and all reacted at once.

A place to pour time right down the drain

Thanks to my buddy Pat, I am now aware of a perilous place called Etsy, which whispers oh-so-wholesomely while it ravages large pieces from one's life... Before, I only had (1) no money and (2) no talent for creativity. Now I have (3) no self-esteem and (4) no end to the envy of what people can (1) do and (2) make money at.

Project Rrfff-way

Maddie's task at puppy kindergarten was to learn to be handled all over, so the teacher had everyone dress their dogs. Maddie was workin' it!

Back on the horse

I've been out of commission on computer stuff other than a little email for the last week with this neck injury. I'd intended to spend the four-day Thanksgiving weekend working hard on FOP projects - we have critical year-end stuff to produce - but it just hurt too much. I'm healing and at this point the panic of missed deadlines is overcoming the pain in my neck so I'm back in the slog. Working on catch-up posts next.

Buried treasure

Last Wednesday evening, I stopped by the veterinary clinic that does most of our paid boarding (we don't have enough foster homes in rescue), to bring home a dog for the four-day weekend. Just a taste of home life for a few days. I chose Emma (not 'our' Emma), a cute 45-poundish long-haired blackdog that looks a little like a newf/retriever mix. She's gotten along well with the other dogs in care, so I was surprised when her arrival at home was most inauspicious. I let her meet Hunter for a few minutes through the glass door, and when I brought them together, she went after him ferociously. He was respectful and didn't respond, and even stood there wagging his tail slowly like "Hey, can't we be friends?" And even when put in the airline kennel her snarling was intense. Very uncharacteristic of her.

I wasn't sure how to keep them apart all weekend and achieve the goal of a nice weekend for her and for all, so very regretfully high-tailed her back to the clinic before they closed at 7, thinking to pick up some other lucky customer. Michele met me there with a Shih Tzu that's just come into rescue. At Animal Care & Control, it appeared to be one of those cases of an 8, 10, or 12-year-old dog that's never had any care - a horrid huge mass of tangles and mats, pinching the skin out in obvious tents - just awful. She'd taken shears and quickly cut off about a wastebasket full of hair. Enough to make an amazing discovery - this was a puppy barely six months old. I don't know how it even had time to have become such a rotten mess of tangles, or why in the world the clinic didn't shave him while he was knocked out for his neuter - that would have been the humane way to approach it. But there wasn't any Thanksgiving prep work at home that night (we were going out with friends for the holiday dinner, then making all our own turkey and trimmings on Friday), so I entrenched us both for four painstaking hours of clipping and scissoring and being bitten a dozen or so times, taking breaks and going at it again. He was incredibly tolerant, all things considered. This is what lay beneath. We named him Giblet.

And that was before I spent another two hours on him the next morning. He looks like an actual puppy now.

When I returned him tonight to go back into boarding care, I admit that I cried. It's not the right dog or the right time, but it's been forever since I had a baby in the house. And since my neck and back were killing me, it didn't feel like as much of a wasted weekend on the couch, alternating ice and heat packs, when I could hold this little guy. He had his playful moments but for the most part surveyed everything most implacably, with a calm Buddha countenance. Settled in every night next to my pillow. Hunter was just beautiful with him - never raised a lip or said anything to put him in line. Giblet is also a toe-hog extraordinaire and would set himself most assiduously at either Nana or me, and nearly swooned at the chance to do that straight out of the shower. Silly pup.

Menu reconsiderations

Despite its culinary ambition and appeal, I still can't fathom why anyone would want to name a holiday dish 'turducken' or anything that starts with "turd." I propose a name change - at least 'kenductur' sounds vaguely like the promise of a jolly ride on a steam train.

Neckromania

So last night I'm trying to tackle some of the house chores that didn't get done over the weekend, and it turns into moving some furniture around. I moved the piano deliberately, slowly, taking care to really use good body mechanics and not hurt myself. But apparently I hurt myself - either with the piano or the tables or the entertainment center or the couch, or something. My neck started to hurt badly. Nothing else hurt, so I didn't associate it with the lifting. I thought I had a bad cramp in my neck. Put heat on it and things felt worse and worse. Went to bed in a fair amount of misery and lay there in pain almost all night. Well, if you don't count the eight times I got up because I hurt so much in any position.

In desperation around 4:30 am it occurs to me that this is not a cramp. This has got to be a sprain. Nothing else hurts this much. Which means all these hours of heat were A Bad Idea. It also finally occurs to me that there are excellent prescription drugs in the house courtesy of a friend who passed off a bottle of pain meds to me once they were no longer needed. (This is the Peg version of a health insurance plan.) But since I need to get up around 6:30, I know a pain pill is a bad idea. So I go find them, cut one in half and then start icing my neck instead to bring down the inflammation, and I did get an hour and a half of something more resembling sleep.

Up and at 'em all day but feeling quite out of it. Kari (my secondary insurer) gave me one of her migraine pills because they don't make you sleepy, and that got me through the work day until around 3pm when I conceded defeat and headed on home. Do piano movers frequently sprain their necks? I sprained mine once years before, in the shower rinsing my hair, and ended up in the emergency room. Weird.

Mulligan's long sleep

Our sweet old Mully went to the Rainbow Bridge tonight. This picture is literally the last moment I saw him, on August 21 as I headed out the door to hop a plane back home to Anchorage. I kissed him several times and I said what I knew were the last goodbyes, and he was asleep in front of the floor fan before we even opened the door to leave. He was 13 1/2 years old and a dear big lug.

Movie: The Queen

Okay, so I had no idea that this movie was primarily around the events of Princess Diana's death, thereby answering the question I had all along which was "Who in the world (besides me) will spend movie money on a commercial film about Queen Elizabeth II?" So I'm a little out of touch. I also didn't find this movie as spellbinding as its reviewers have. Helen Mirren is amazing (of course), the production values were great (of course), the scenery is stunning (of course) but the mixture of drama with news footage made me think this film was made for the small screen a la The History Channel. Where it would have been a great movie. On the big screen, well, eh. I saw this film as a string of really great scenes that together didn't make a great movie.

For me the best part was seeing it through Michael Sheen's portrayal of Tony Blair, the young modernist against the timeless institution, whose human compassion wins out against the blithe sarcasm of his own contingent seeking to make sweeping change. (This actually plays a little differently from facts as I remember them when Blair came to power, but I viewed the discrepancies rather benignly.) When he eventually snaps, passionately defending Elizabeth's vulnerability during the public relations fiasco around Diana's death, he sounds like a defector from his own proposals, but only for a moment - that's when you realize much more fully that he's embraced the challenge of leadership from conviction, a deep love of country which includes a love for his queen.

Social call

We went over to Pat's this afternoon to visit with little Raina (and Pat and Skye of course). I'm amazed at how much better she's doing. Of course she is still very fragile but she's there. When we arrived, she was in the sunshine on her warm fuzzy bed alongside a unique hot water bottle - a tinted bag of Ringer's upon which all of the vets and techs had signed autographs. Nana so enjoyed holding Raina, sort of a loaner cat since she can't have her own and still have a breathing, functional daughter.

Pat also gave me a luscious treat of several dark chocolate Dagoba bars, including the Xocolatl flavor which I haven't yet experienced - dark chocolate with chilies, cacao nibs, maca, nutmeg and vanilla. She also found their brand of unsweetened dark hot chocolate mix. I'm thinking of just converting my spare closet into a shrine where I can be alone. Luckily Pat is the sort of friend who completely understood when I told her I was really trying to concentrate on her end of the conversation, but I was beginning to swoon with distraction with such riches in my hands. Check out their line of apothecary chocolate - these are people who Really Get It.

I'm out of Post-it's

That's all the backlog I have time for right now, so the catch-up posts are:

Nov 14 – Googleblog
Nov 14 – Raina’s rally
Nov 12 – Revolving door
Nov 09 – Growth trend
Nov 04 – My odometer turned
Oct 29 – First REAL snow of the season
Oct 27 – Bull market

Reasons not to go to work, chapter 19

"Today - mostly sunny. Highs 5 to 15 above. North wind 15 to 25 mph gusting to 40 mph. Wind chill readings 20 below to 35 below zero in the morning."

As in THIS morning. One of the few real godsends during the week that Kari was away and Peg was holding the world on her shoulders was that it didn't snow any more after that last weekend in October. If I'd had to shovel at both houses on top of everything else, I might have just sought a sturdy ice floe and made my graceful exit. But it was single-digit cold and it's been that way every day since - 17 straight days, which is wearing. And now the wind has kicked up over the last two days. Often that means somewhat warmer temps for us but this is a straight north wind and it's just cold. Damn cold. Hunter goes out in the snow to potty and doesn't last more than 90 seconds before he's picking up his feet from the painful cold. I bundle up for scoop duty and the one bright thing about it is that freeze-desiccated poop is so easy to manage. Up on the mountain I could take a golf club and tee them off, well clear into the high woods.

But the car starts right up with its engine heater, and this past weekend I got the studded snow tires on too. And this morning I finally reached up to the top shelf for the oatmeal, the Official Breakfast of Those Who Admit It Is Winter, so I'm fairly started up too. Nothing for it now but to get out there and get swept away.

Raina's rally

While Raina's mom Pat was out of town, I was supposed to stop by the house this last Tuesday afternoon to give Ra her fluids. I left work early to take my mom to the polls for her first election as an Alaskan voter (in the gubernatorial, she walked past the incumbent Republican lite gov in the poll lobby and voted for a Democrat - either the chill air or my steady brainwashing has gotten to her, though actually I voted for the Independent candidate).

After a couple of other errands, we were headed to stick Raina, when Pat called from Arizona to say that Ra had been quite ill for a few days prior, and was hospitalized. After my mom's own doctor appointment that afternoon, I headed over to the clinic where the kind staff accommodated me in visiting our sweet old girl. I just felt pretty helpless, as I always do when a very old animal seems to be drifting beyond reach. I held her and talked to her quietly; she didn't respond much other than a little bit of a motor rumble. I couldn't see anything in her eyes. Her physicality had become somehow transparent, though clearly not in any distress or discomfort. But, oh, what a time for Pat to be thousands of miles away. Both of being women 'of an age,' practical and accepting of the way of all living things, we agreed that only because it's Raina would it come as a surprise that a cat of 21 years would decline. She's been in the world forever. As I went home solemn and worried, later that night I held a squirmy, silly puppy and was so struck by that sense of immersion in the full river of life. I thought by the next day, Raina would likely be released.

But 24 hours later I was holding a remarkably different cat - aggressive treatment had brought her infection around, though she still had lots to overcome. By Saturday she was home and by early Monday morning Pat was home too. I'm looking forward to a visit with them this weekend, but meanwhile, I am just so grateful that this one small precious thing hasn't slipped our grasp just yet.

Googleblog

No, it isn't a troll under a bridge somewhere, it's just me trying to begin once again on catching up the blog. When you see what I've been up to (or up against) you'll understand why the blog continues to be last on the list, but meanwhile I'm posting a small something to see what Fantastic New Features are available in the Googled version of blogspot.

Okay, I'm still waiting.

Revolving door

One of the reasons that I had to get back to my own house even though Kari and Dirk weren't back from vacation was that another round of guests was starting at my own place. Emma was here a couple of weeks ago, and on Saturday, the lovely miss Abbey came to stay the weekend. She's a former FOP rescue and a Dog Tired client. To quote Steve Irwin, isn't she gorgeous? Normally at daycare she zonks out in the quiet room or with the little dogs or in her own bed behind the DT front counter, because her dad has taken her on a long run ahead of time and she's just there to chill, not socialize. This weekend I've learned a lot more about her silly side. She's a great bed cuddler too except for the slamming her paw into the middle of your face when it's time to get up. I had no idea about her more feisty nature when she hasn't just run 7 or 8 miles, so that's been lots of fun. She and Hunter both woke up around 3am on Sunday morning (but heck, by then I was entirely used to that) and had a snow romp in the bright moonlight.

Next up on Monday was a late night call from Michele, managing their large crew alone while Chuck was out of town - we'd gotten a call from the women's crisis shelter and needed to give Safe Haven to a puppy in a domestic violence situation so she came here rather than advance the ranks at Michele's. A delicate but energetic little brindle girl, the general size and shape of a fox terrier or whippet (not the lab mix as advertised). Dropped her off at the vet's Tuesday morning for shots and boarding. Got some really adorable photos of her and Hunter, who was by turns accommodating and, um, instructive toward the little skink. He's a good trainer and especially so with puppies and small dogs.

Tuesday night, Michele was running late so Kramer, a FOP rescue who'd been a guest at daycare that day, came home with me. He's a sweet little beagle boy found in our bitter weather, wandering on the hillside above Anchorage. Emaciated to 9 lbs only a week and a half ago, he's up to 15 lbs now. Cuddly and well mannered. We kept him a couple of nights. It was clear from the start that he had a hitch in his gitalong (besides a tail that from the base turns 90 degrees one direction and then 270 degrees the other direction in the first couple inches), and his assessment has revealed severe hip dysplasia (probably the tail deformity is also part of that).

By the weekend it seemed like the guest kennel was too empty so I went yesterday morning and picked up the puppy so she'd have a home life for the weekend, but had barely gotten her home when the call came that her mom was out of the crisis shelter and in a place where she could have her dog back. With a little sadness but with hope that what this tender little spirit has known in her short life is all behind her now, we sent her on her way. Loving them 120% while they're with you and releasing them fully (okay, maybe 90%) to an unknown future is both the challenge and the reward.

Growth trend

Maddie is around five months old now, I think, and over half as big as Emma (who isn't a big Golden, for that matter). Emma herself is transforming - she's lost a ton of weight in all the play and hijinks. She'd gotten truly worn out, actually, and a few weeks ago while Nancy and John were away and she stayed with us, she didn't eat or interact or anything but sleep for two whole days. Her level of exhaustion was concerning, and they are taking more care now to give her additional breaks from the constant onslaught. She seems much better now, and the two are wonderful playmates. I snapped this through the door of my corner worksspace.

My odometer turned

(backdated entry)

Kari and Dirk went out of town this past week to see Cassi, who's playing for the Toronto Rattlers this year until March, when she'll come back home to graduate with her high school class. It all sounds so simple when you put it in a sentence like that, doesn't it? What this meant for me was:

Monday - come home from work, get Hunter and Nana squared away, pack my things and head to Kari's house to petsit for Abby, Maddie, Tobe, and Oliver (the dog they are petsitting), as well as the Major Beefcat Rascals, and Pennies the Petite.

From then on, the week became a blur. Partly because while ALL of these dogs are bed cuddlers, something about the disruption in routine (Tobe is attached to Kari and hadn't ever really been separated from her before) made it such that I went through the week with almost no sleep. The general routine that I've almost managed to block from my memory was to get up around 5 am having slept maybe 2 hours total through the night, get Kari's animals through their morning routine, head to the shop by 6:30 to get things opened, stay there until 8:30 when other staff arrive so that I can now go to my regular job, work all day, swing by the shop on the way home, run by my own house to make sure Nana and Hunter are okay, back to Kari's to get the critters through their evening routine, and then run forth and back between houses, FOP, the shop, errands, and whatever else, fall into bed around 10pm and not sleep for the night until it started over again at 5 the next morning. (Well, it was only the very last morning that we finally got it to be 5 am, and not 3 or 4. My naivete was such that I actually was worried I might oversleep and not open the shop on time every morning, so I brought both of my own alarm clocks thinking my ear would be tuned to them. My only need for an alarm clock all week was to lob it at the Catahoula dropping tennis balls on my head at 3 am.)

Don't they look innocent? Doesn't that huge bed look inviting? Sure - that's how they get you.

However, these two little guys were pretty darned adorable. Oliver (left) is the pug currently on loan, Tobe is the pug/beagle mix that Kari adopted this summer. I didn't know Oliver very well since I'm usually with the large dogs at daycare, but he decided that I was an acceptable port in this storm, and every night these two guys cuddled fervently against me all night long. I was so looking forward to easing my continued back pain by luxuriating in Dirk and Kari's new TempurPedic bed; however, I soon learned that being pinned by a pack of beasts does not allow for any comfort whatsoever, no matter the vast real estate of the bed nor its cost. They need lessons from Michele & Chuck's crew, where six of the 12 resident dogs can pile easily into your one small bed and remain comfortably close but adjust with every move you make without any evidence at all. My theory is that they actually levitate whenever I toss or turn.

Sleeping in my own bed tonight but since Dirk & Kari were delayed on their return, I still have to be over at their place at 6am for the breakfast routine. But somehow in all this I covered both the houses (Nana was a huge help with caring for Hunter and keeping things going at my house), covered both jobs, covered the combined FOP duties, etc.... but if my life were measured by miles I'd be about 240 years old by now. I sure feel it.

Independence Day

Five years ago this night I was sleeping my first night alone in the little cabin on Lazy Mountain, Diva and Courtney a few miles down the road at George and Becky's kennel while I spent several days getting things unpacked and ready for their arrival. I've made a lot of painful mistakes in my life before and since, but the end of that relationship with a fundamentally dishonest man sure isn't one of them. I used to think that I was sorry that he was the one who had to end it through (another) betrayal instead of me being the one who left, but that is so insignificant. Who can be sorry for getting one's own life back? I remember little about the leavetaking part - it was a bitter day (single digits) and the moving men made me laugh by telling me "You're too good for him." One of them had forgotten to bring gloves, and when I went up to ask Jim whether I could borrow a pair and I said I'd be sure they didn't get taken, he said "It's okay. I trust you" and I thought with some amusement that that was pretty effin ironic.

You Must Accept
by Kate Light

You must accept that's who he really is.
You must accept you cannot be his
unless he is yours. No compromise.
He is a canvas on which paint never dries;
a clay that never sets, steel that bends
in a breeze, a melody that when it ends
no one can whistle. He is not who
you thought. He's not. He is a shoe
that walks away: "I will not go where you
want to go." "Why, then, are you a shoe?"
"I'm not. I have the sole of a lover
but don't know what love is." "Discover
it, then." "Will I have to go where you go?"
"Sometimes." "Be patient with you?" "Yes."
"Then, no."
You have to hear what he is telling you
and see what he is; how it is killing you.

First REAL snow of the season

(backdated entry)

Still, it weren't much. A few days of shoveling morning and night, maybe 10-12 inches in all. And convenient to have it happen on the weekend. (For fading-daylight trackers, this dreary pic is taken around 11:00 am.) But lord, I need to get the new snow tires put on the car SOON. I hate hate HATE driving an automatic on winter roads anyway, but an automatic with no decent shoes on its feet is a hair-raising experience when every intersection becomes a lottery draw.

Bull market

(backdated entry)

While I've said for years that I'd never want to have a Bulldog because of the various problems they suffer from human interference in their DNA, I must say that I've become the bulldog lady at Dog Tired - we have half a dozen or so, each very different from each other, and I'm besotted with all of them for various reasons.

Louise is my favorite of all the dogs at Dog Tired, but don't tell my 20 other favorites that I said that. She's moody, affectionate, complaining, hard-charging, playful, stubborn, and (maybe this is the simpatico part for me) is SOOO effin cranky when she's tired. She's a monster and I just love her to death even when she's raining brimstone on other dogs for daring to approach me. I love talking to her from across the room when she's asleep on her feet and so very wishing that she was home in her own bed. She'll look at me knowing that I understand that in her heart she'd rush across the room to be with me if she could just pull her butt off the couch. Her exploits at home are a delight to hear about too - like when she called in sick the day after Halloween because managing the trick-or-treaters had just been Too Much. It's Lou's world and we're just living in it.

Okay, it has to be said right here that one of the reasons the bulldogs like me is that several of them know that Peg will help a brother out when there's a delicate matter that needs attending to. Since most bulldogs are genetically engineered such that they can no longer reach their own asses, hygiene can be a challenge, and they've each figured out their own way of asking me to give them some personal assistance.

Miles is quickly becoming another favorite of mine mainly because of his sad affection for the toybox. We don't have toys in the playrooms on Miles days because he's So Not Into Sharing, though sometimes he'll play alone with a big plastic ball out in the hallway between classrooms - heaving and snorting and really being far too engaged, while trails of slime are rolled from wall to wall and back again. He quickly learned how to take the tops off the toyboxes and climb right in, so now they're kept up on kennels. Miles will sit nearby, or underneath, and pine with a mournful squall - something like the sound your camel makes when you squeeze it too hard.

But eventually the vigil becomes tiring, and like Louise, Miles goes to sleep on his feet, and finally fades away to dreamland, where all the toys belong to him.

Teddy the Hatchet

Emma decided it was time to take out Maddie's favorite teddy bear - she destroyed half his face and half of his foot. Nancy sent him home with me with an accompanying note asking for him to be admitted to the Good Nana Hospital and to send her the bill. Nana and I went through the fabric bin and discussed surgical options, and this is the result. Nana wrote a note in return which reads: "I had to give him a tissue transplant because his foot was pretty torn up and ragged, so Emma donated some stuffing from the sunflower toy she carries around when she visits. I also trimmed some of the hair around his right eye - he'll need that since he lost the left one. Teddy was very good, didn't cry, slept through the whole procedure. Nancy will not be billed as Nana's hospital does not charge for Teddy Bear surgery."

When I had gotten home from my meeting tonight, she showed me the progress and when she mentioned cutting the hair around his other eye, I looked up seriously and said simultaneously with her, "Well, yeah, because he'll need that" and then we both cracked up laughing.

Cuddlepup

Hunter has never been a bed cuddler, much to my disappointment. He might jump up there briefly but usually is gone in a flash. He does cuddle with his Nana, however. I don't know if it's affection or possession (that is, not as nice as it appears). Don't know, haven't spent time trying to figure it out, will give him the benefit of the doubt for now. But as far as that goes, Hunter has always enjoyed serious cuddle time with any female except me. I live with the rejection.

So I was especially touched this morning when we got up early for him to head outside to pee on the snow, and he jumped into my bed when we get back, scooted over politely as I got in, and then not only stayed with me cuddling, but stayed under the covers too, for a good hour and a half. And was the most precious sleepytime boy this morning, for a quiet talk and little loves between us until I got up to go to work.

Hunter takes a dip

Like many old-time Alaskans, Hunter takes a bath every few years whether it's necessary or not. The weekend I adopted him, I bathed him because he had a bit of vet-boarding smell and because I thought it was the caring-mommy sort of thing to do. That was over four years ago and I haven't done it since. He's never needed it. This dog never smells bad, his coat is never oily or dirty, and if he goes out in the rain he comes in gorgeously fluffy and smelling like he stepped out of a fabric softener commercial. I comb him out frequently but still I've never had a dog that didn't need a bath ever beyond a rinse of muddy paws.

Tonight that changed. Although his second round of Frankenfeet went away finally, I feel we haven't gotten to the bottom of whatever it is that's itching him so much. His skin's been dry and the hair around his armpits and his eyes is thinning. No other allergic symptoms though. Anyway, he's looked flaky and scruffy so I figured let's give the boy a soothing bath and see if that helps, and we'll go back to The Holy Man soon for more workups.

Hunter was bewildered. Now some of you remember, this is a dog who early on in our life together up in the Lazy Mountain cabin, walked into my shower and couldn't find his way out. On more than one occasion. Tonight he reluctantly got in the bathtub, but somewhat like my dear old Diva, he didn't fight but he needed to be comforted. (Diva would be wonderful for bathing as long as you kept your arms wrapped around her in a total hug the whole time and bathed with her.) And I realized how long it's been since I bent over to wash a dog in a bathtub. That won't ever happen again either. My low back hurt so much in the first 20 seconds I didn't think I'd have the courage to continue.

After bathing, I combed out tons of undercoat, predictably shed by all good Alaskan dogs at just the point when the weather suggests they really need it. He looks quite a bit thinner all over but is curled up in a sweet fluffy ball on my bed, smelling lightly of oatmeal and tea tree. I haven't seen him scratch once since the bath, so if nothing else he's gotten a few hours of relief tonight.

Dagoba

I have found the true theobroma. While Nancy was in Oregon last week, she visited the Dagoba factory in Ashland and returned with a sampler box of organic chocolate bars, which happen not only to be orgasmic but socially responsible. I mulled over my choice of the 12 bars and picked the dark chocolate with lavender oil and blueberries. And I have decided that social responsibility doesn't extend to sharing it.

First snow of the season

(this pic is taken at 3:30 pm - daylight is already noticeably wimpy these days)

On the west side of town we got a minor skiff - less than 1/2 inch - but it was cool enough today (20's) to stick. Supposed to get an inch overnight, maybe a couple more inches tomorrow. I had just put an engine block heater on the Tercel last year a couple weeks before it got totaled. Today I took the Civic in for the city-sponsored block heater program - $25 fee to the mechanic but the block heater is free. Anchorage has problems with emissions levels in the winter, with inversion layers that keep vehicle exhaust close to the ground. Cold-starting vehicles is a large contributor to that problem, plus a car just starts up much more willingly in subzero temps when it's spent a few hours plugged in. Still have to put glacier grips on it. I hate that this car is an automatic - so much easier to keep control on icy roads with a stick shift. All in all I'm not so sure I'm against global warming.

Meanwhile, back at the moose factory

Welcome to the world as we know it, William Matthew Gallatin, born this morning in Idaho to nephew Josh and his wife Tiffani, on the heels of cousin Zachary born not quite two months ago. These boys are the grandchildren of my oldest brother Matthew, whose two children Josh and Kaci now have one son each. What fun for these little ones to grow up together.

However, that clean Pacific Northwest air must contribute to mutant children - at 9 lb 13 oz and 23 inches, William was even bigger than chunky Zack.

It feels odd to me to know that to these boys I'll be one of those distant sort-of-relatives, as in "she was my grandfather's sister." Something dusty and vague, as though this morning my eyes are not welling with immediate joy.

What is urgent / what is vital

"The vital task rarely must be done today, or even this week. The urgent task calls for instant action. The momentary appeal of these tasks seems irresistible and they devour our energy. But in the light of time's perspective, their deceptive prominence fades. With a sense of loss we recall the vital task we pushed aside. We realize we've become slaves to the tyranny of the urgent."

Charles E. Hummell

Hunter comes home

I had to run a late-night errand tonight, and took Hunter along with me. When we returned, he went offlead from the car, up the steps to the front door, as he's always very good about doing. This is really the extent of his offlead privileges as he has only one direction (away) and only one speed (full).

I never noticed that the coast was not clear.

As I was juggling my purse and keys in the dark, a rustle caught our attention and I turned to see a full-antlered young bull moose in the dark, at the edge of my front yard. It started to walk directly toward us on the porch. I dropped everything in my hands and tried to move quickly with my keys, but my knees were jelly and my hands shaking. I got the first lock open as the moose began to trot with 10 yards to go. Hunter stiffened and I yelled NO and tried to hold his collar (why? so we could both get stomped?), but he shot off the porch and down the street after the (surprisingly, fleeing) moose.

I jumped in the car and tore off down the street. Nothing in view in any direction. I rocketed up and down the side streets and saw nothing. Called Kari who lives very nearby, and she said she would get in her car right away and start working from her direction.

But honestly I thought that was hopeless. I wouldn't find him tonight in the dark, or maybe ever when he's frequently shy of strangers. He never turns around when he starts to run. And I learned the night that I almost got killed that he can't be easily called off.

I drove back to my house where my mom was standing in the doorway. I stopped the car engine and called up to her that if Hunter came home - which he wouldn't, but... - for her to call me. We spoke for a few minutes and then she said:

'There he is."

And he walked up the driveway, paused as I got out of the car and took him by the collar, and we walked in the house together.

Do as I say

I've been feeling pretty low lately about my lack of effectiveness as an animal advocate. In the broader realm, I know I am reaching people. My words are educating people, helping them through grief issues, and making them open their wallets to help Friends of Pets. But lately I am struggling about the people around me. When I do that inventory, I despair of what good I do in the world - feeling low about how my immediate circle of influence includes backyard breeders, irresponsible neighbors, those who abandon their lifetime commitment, and others who purchase from breeders while another rescue dog dies. In my close circle - and actually even beyond in my more extended network of dog friends too - it's like everyone is so enamored of their dog du jour that it's just sort of gone out of vogue to care about the innocent dead unless they have a dramatic backstory. The vanilla homeless are someone else's problem. As Heidi Klum says, you're either in, or you're out. Auf wiedersehen.

But of course that's a judgment call and one I'm not qualified to make. So I guess I should quit pouting and figure out how the hell to start making an impact someplace that it matters.

Pennies from heaven

Actually it's quite a few dollars from heaven, since besides today's direct deposit of the Alaska Permanent Fund Dividend ($1106) into my checking account, I got an entirely unexpected 15% raise from Nancy when I arrived at work this morning. I had knocked out a ton of billings for her on Sunday and Monday, and Nancy tends to show her gratitude in tangible ways of either time or money. We both have noticed lately that my job knowledge has leapfrogged considerably in the last couple of months - some of the particularly complicated stuff has just suddenly clicked for me - and it made me feel great when she said that she wanted to bump me to the same level pay as my (formally qualified) predecessors because I was showing the same performance. The increase is especially welcome now that my mom has moved here - just taking some pressure off. I have been around the block enough to know how quickly fortunes change, but today I am grateful for this ray of relief.

A.F.A.

In some of my mom's boxes moved here from back East are two of my high-school yearbooks - I have the senior book somewhere (dunno where) but these are from sophomore and junior year. Here are just some of the things my schoolmates felt should go into the permanent record...

- Best of luck to ten talented fingers and a caustic wit.
- Wanna throw the frisbee?
- I hope you can put your intelligence to something great in later life. (God, I hope so too!)
- Thanks for all the encouragement and wisdom you tried to bestow upon my feeble whatever.
- Thanks to you I really don't care what people say about my driving.
- Remember all of the fun we had in health class writing about Mr. Lenzi on the blackboard in shorthand.
- It's too bad you're not in any of my classes this year. Remember geometry class the first marking period when you sat beside me and we talked all the time. That was the best part of geometry.
- Remember the Business Club banquet and that lady who took my apple butter.
- I honestly don't think you'll be a Problem Of Democracy.
- It's a pleasure having you in class and if you live long enough maybe you can get off the mountain...after all the way your mother drives...
- I'll always remember you...on crutches...in a brace...taped-up....etc.
- You have made me a thinker, and a better human being. (okay so I had to throw in something sincere)
- I can't quite put my finger on what I did wrong in basketball this year.

Also from my yearbook comments it appears that I played a LOT of Truth or Dare, as there are numerous threats of retaliation for things about which I have no memory at all. No wonder I never had the nerve to attend a class reunion.