Equal time for the big boy Boo...

I keep telling him I only got the Pickle because I love him so much. Boo is not buying it, as you can see. He is very eloquent in his disdain, turning away and strolling off like royalty amongst the rabble whenever that annoying little furball comes near, wagging her tail at him. On top of the bed, on the couch, and on a kitchen chair are his only bastians of solitude, since Pickle is clueless of his dislike, and just keeps trying to engage him in her play. I play with both of them at the same time. That is probably why I have two hands. The day may come when they will play together. Or, this may just be a distant and unreasonable goal. I seem to be burning a few calories here in the process, never a bad thing. Nevertheless, Boo's proximity alarm seems to be lessening in distance, and it has only been six days. Stranger things have happened.

Pickle diaries...

Well, it is as if she always lived with us, the Pickle. It is like having a baby. You think you are getting your little one on a schedule, but, in reality, they are regimenting you. Sleep was a little tricky in the beginning. Pickle sleeps beside me on the bed. Boo sleeps on the same side, at the foot. Pillows separate them. This works fine, I found out. Since she is still on Missouri time, we get up really EARLY, like 4 AM the first night. I prevailed in getting her to sleep in till 5. Yay, me. Today, we got to sleep in till 6, and I was soooooo grateful. Of course, I turned off the lights last night at 9:30. Sigh. Well, that's what VCRs are for, right? Meanwhile, the Pickle can go outside by herself, and today, she learned to come back in, too! That doesn't mean she is housebroken, though. She still needs reminding. My days are about evenly divided between amusing her, looking for her, or fitting in some time for myself during her many naptimes. Dear daughter says she looks like Gizmo, from Gremlins. Well, yeah. Blessings come in small packages, full of spirit, joy, and love.

The Pickle has landed!

We had a hilarious trip to the airport yesterday afternoon, my friend Gina and I, the Pickle pickup party. We left earlier than I meant to, because suddenly got worried that her flight was coming in at 5:33 PM St. Louis time, which meant two hours earlier. Not to worry, the time we had was right, as I found when I remembered I could just look it up online. Nevertheless, it was good that we were early, as we had to find out where to get her, which meant Gina had to bounce into the Continental terminal while I hovered outside in the car at the curb, until the little policeman in the tiny golf cart honked at me, and I had do the terminal circle, again. We parked at the wrong garage, and took the Airtrain around to our terminal. We were supposed to be on the red train, but got onto the blue instead, and had to double back. None of this phased us. We were in hysterics most of the afternoon. Pickle's flight was six minutes late, and then, suddenly, there she was. She was a mighty happy little puppy, not at all frazzled from her eight hours in the crate. She had food and water and comfy papers to cushion her. We took her in the crate back to our car, then got her out, with some ingenuity as she was sealed in with plastic ties and we had no scissors. I just took the top of the crate off and lifted her out. Cute doesn't begin to describe this pup. She is happy and sweet and licky and bouncy. We stopped at In 'n Out Burger on the way home, she had some water, but didn't piddle till we got home, on her piddle pad before we took her inside. She slept next to me all night, with just a couple possible piddle runs. And we all got up, Boo, Pickle, and I, at 7 AM to begin our new life together. So far, she has negotiated the few stairs we have, actually used the dog door once, and jumped off the couch. She is at the moment taking her fourth nap of the day. We saw the vet this afternoon, and she is perfect. So I got exactly what I wanted, and what a blessing she is. My mother said why get one so far away, why get a fuzzy one, she's too expensive, blah, blah, blah. Oh, go rain on someone else's parade. Mine is perking along just fine.

Countdown to Pickle landing...

Two more days, and our family will grow by one. Little Pickle will arrive Thursday at one of our Bay Area airports (oh, please let it be Oakland, so much closer). I have conscripted a friend to accompany me with a full kit of Pickle accessories: water, piddle pads, towel, toys, Milkbones. And a trip to Petco gave us lots of goodies, little bitty bowls, little bitty collar, little bitty dog bed (to put on top of big bed, where we will all sleep together, a threesome, Boo, the Pickle, and I, and that's as exciting as my life gets), and a handy dandy enclosure to keep her safe when I go out, or when I am washing the car or working in the yard. I also got Puppies for Dummies, and plan on boning up on my training skills so that we start off on the right foot. It looked expensive, this proposition, but this is my present for stopping smoking nineteen years ago, and the cost of smoking for a year (at least the way I smoked, two and a half packs a day) would be approximately $4,095. I am getting off cheap here, really.

Almost here!

We are on high Pickle alert in the little yellow house. Our new puppy, if they can come through with a current picture of him next to my name on a piece of paper, we're not buying air here, is white and tan, sweet and scruffy, and, hopefully, small. His parents both weighed under 8 lbs., so he should be a little bugger. That would be nice, as I could keep him forever in the Pickle tote bag, which is now sitting by the door, all ready for the little guy. Boo listens intently when I tell him about his new adopted little brother and looks like he is all excited, too. Or maybe he just thinks I am going to give him a Milkbone. Exciting time here. Puppies bring so much love with them, warm fuzzy love, too. I have had some heartaches lately. Pickle will be very welcome here.

Appliance wars...

Our weather is flopping around like a dying fish. One day, it is triple-digit hot, and the next it barely reaches the half-century mark. I had retired the heat dish to its summer home in the garage, replacing the fan which came inside for duty. Now they are both sitting, side by side, awaiting the current day's offerings. Yes, I have this tender little body that does poorly against changes in temperature. I wear a sweater to the market year round because of those chilly refrigerated aisles that always make me shiver and goosebump up. Probably there is no ideal temperature for me, because the interior temp changes often, too, especially because of my inordinate love of coffee, a demon for causing really violent hot flashes. But I am ready for whatever gets laid on me here.

Stick a fork in me, I'm done!

Another semester is history. Last of the finals today, and they saved the best for last, the art history memory bowl. I did pretty well, I think. Like, perfect. Or damned near. What a difference studying makes! And I took back the last of my library books, sold the textbooks back, cleaned out my locker and my slot in back of the painting room, then rode the funny elevator with the windows in back up to my car in the parking garage, for the last time. Sigh. Well, for the last time in a while. I will probably go back for some more education, eventually, like next spring, when I plan on taking that one pesky class I need to graduate in my major. And maybe another bout of figure drawing, and some more painting classes, like watercolors, and, oh, I want to take a photography class, and, well, you see, it will go on as long as I do, probably. But for now, I need to go around the house and collect all the shoes that seem to have migrated to odd corners, and mow the lawn, and do some laundry, and renew my driver's license and cancel my #$%^&** satellite service and get something that will not change the channels all by itself, right in the middle of my favorite programs. Yeah. Sounds like a plan for tomorrow, when I have nothing to do.

Pomp and Circumstance, Then and Now...

Saturday, I mosied over to my hometown for my high school's centennial celebration. Tents were set up on the football field (first time my toes ever danced on that grass) for decades of classes. Right across from the 60's tent, where I hung out most of the time, was the 20's, 30's and 40's tent where my folks hung out, briefly. Long enough, though for my mother to get her picture in the Sunday paper, representing as she did the Class of '39 (Dad was '38). They weren't the oldest there, either. Meanwhile, back in the wild 60's, we were variously fat, wrinkled, grizzled or otherwise beaten up by life. Some were recognizable. Most were not. Nevertheless, we were there, alive and kicking, and for the most part, healthy, too. My feet were killing me, so I schlepped out of there after five hours. Got to see some really great old faces.

And, so, from the ridiculous to the sublime, my daughter graduated from law school the next day, magna cum laude. What a beautiful young woman she was in her velvet cap and purple-edged gown, with her juris doctorate hood trailing behind her. The Hon. Willie Brown was the guest speaker, an alum of '58, so it was a lively ceremony. I loved that they played Pomp and Circumstance, which was missing at her two previous graduation exercises. And the recessional was done to the final credit music from Star Wars. I just loved that bit of whimsey. We had a lovely dinner together before she was off with man and friends in tow for a mega-party at a local bar they shut down for the occasion. Oh, and did I mention she ran the Bay to Breakers in the morning, in an old cap and gown? What a kid. As we speak, she is at her bar class, with tons of materials, buckled down for the next 10 weeks till the exam.

And I have now taken my first final (a snap), am off to my final critique in principles of color, then home to buckle down myself for the biggee tomorrow morning, the art history blue-book torture test. Will be done, soon. Not too soon for this tired little lady.

As soon as school is over...

My whole life is hung up till school ends. I have been shopping for possible Pickles (my new Pekingese pup), but can't get him/her till school ends. The yard needs attention. The house is a natural disaster. I need to get my driver's license renewed. Only 1 1/2 little weeks. Last art history class this morning, and we are in the 20th century, when art melted its container and went all over the place. We learned about Dada Monday, and it seems impossible that it could get stranger than that, but we haven't even gotten to Jackson Pollock or Andy Warhol yet. Actually, I think our book skips old Andy. The gal who wrote it probably didn't like the wig. And last painting class is this afternoon. I am doing a very large, very fast copy of a woodblock print by Chiuro Obata, a Japanese American who taught art here in the Bay Area. Lovely colors. But what was I thinking, a 24" x 30" in two little three hour sessions? I like challenges, that's for sure. Happy to report, though, that I got an A on my color portfolio, and on my mythology presentation. So, if it ever ends, it will be a success, for sure.

Seeing red...

My parents have never been to my house. To be fair, I am older than dirt, so you can imagine how old the folks are. However, one of their favorite supermarkets lives half a block away. Sigh. So, my mother is kind of flying blind when she buys me gifts for the house. One of them was this really goofy cannister set, beige with grapes and vines all over them, blue lids with little bunches of graped for topknots, and lots of curlyques around the top and bottom. If they sound awful, well, they were. But, loyal daughter that I am, I put them on my counter and stored flour and dried cranberries and nuts in them (don't bake anymore, and don't use sugar, coffee is in the fridge), for about eight years. And suddenly, I looked at them and said NO MORE. Today, I bought a set of ultra-sleek bright red cannisters with airtight lids, each with their own handy dandy spoon attached, four of them. At Target, for $19.99. Best $20 bucks I have spent in years. Every time I walk by them, my heart goes pitty pat. My kitchen looks like, well, MY kitchen. Okay, it's not much of a rebellion, but I think it counts. And when my mother goes to her reward, the kitchen table is going to the Good Will, too. Can't do it yet. She may want it back. Yeah, she's like that.

Some days I should just stay in bed...

Actually, I used to schedule mental health days spent all scrunched up with pillows, quilts, laptop, dog, and a few good movies on the VCR. I usually couldn't make it past 3 PM, but I felt renewed anyway. And then there are days when the perversity fairies take over, and things just don't perk along as they should. It started with forgetting to put the pot under the brewing coffee, not a good idea at all. I stubbed my toe. I dropped an egg on the floor. Somehow, I got breakfast together, then sat down to check my e-mail. And, no desktop! Again! Now, I know how to get around without my icons, but what a pain. So, after a trip to Costco and most of a noon meeting, I sat down to work on it. Annoying pop-up kept telling me I had infections on my disk, click here and send $$$ to rid myself of them. I tried running my pop-up zapper. It wanted more $$$, too. Then I found my desktop, got online, and downloaded a super-duper zapper. And after running it, no desktop! Again! I walked away for a while, always a good idea, as steam was coming out my ears by then. Later, once again, I got it back (secret is getting into MSCONFIG file, once I found it), and now we are perking along. Very slooooowly perking along, but even limping, I am happy the good old gal is back. And it is perhaps time to retire her, though it would not be any different with a new, slick sucker. Those viruses are everywhere. Makes me want to pull the covers over my head.

Hair today, hair tomorrow...

As a teenager, my mother will tell you I was obsessed with my hair. This was because the good hair fairy skipped a generation and left me with all this admittedly very shiny, but also very fine hair (my kids got the thick, luxurious locks, thus sparing my mother's angst). To this day, I pack the kid's tiny baby hair combs in my Baggalini. I have tried it short. I have tried it long. It is best short, I decided, and got it all whacked off recently, in stages, so I could lessen the shock. It looked so good, I couldn't figure out why I didn't do it sooner. Then I remembered. Short hair is always too short when you get it cut. Then it hits optimum length, and looks super. For about three days. Then it is too long, and it looks lumpy and bumpy and lopsided. Lots of product helps, but it also makes it look like I am wearing a haystack. It stays that way until the day you decide to get it cut. That day, it will look absolutely fabulous. Hey, I don't make the rules. I just laugh at them.

If this is heaven, there must be cheesecake...

Last night was my womens' meeting's semi-annual potluck. As usual, Bev made her amazing pork roast. The rest of us supplied salads, side dishes, and of course, desserts. That is what I always bring, because there are lots of wonderful bakeries around that make it for me. I mosied over to Costco after school, and sidled up to the cheesecake division of their bakery, and there it was: Key lime cheesecake. Now, I adore key lime pie, and cheesecake, well, let's just say if I was diagnosed with a deadly disease, that is all I would eat for the rest of my short life. My mythology teacher says some scholars think ambrosia was not a drink, but something solid. That would be cheesecake. I must admit, last night's offerings were very healthy. We had edadame salad, and sauted tofu, and roasted veggies with our pork roast. And left room for the three desserts: an amazing chocolate walnut meringue, a mocha refrigerator cake with apricot filling and whipped cream frosting, and the aforementioned key lime cheesecake. I was pretty pooped and uber-hungry when I arrived. After the dessert, the sugar high kept me up till midnight. But it was worth it. I brought home the last piece, which I consumed only a moment ago. Burp.

The other side of the mountain, finally...

Okay. Paper on Schiele is done and turned in. Mbuti project is done, critiqued and hanging on the wall in the hall of the Art Building. And the project on the P and J myths from Genesis, the contradictory and highly discriminatory stories of the creation of Adam, and in particular, his gal, is finished and properly presented to the class. I was the first to do that, got extra credit, and it went pretty well, not the best, but not the worst, either. And now, I am ready to fall into bed for the entire weekend and not think of anything. Except maybe beginning to study for next quiz in art history. And make a new collage for an abstract painting in oil painting class. And read the Hymn to Aphrodite in the Homeric Hymns. And mow the lawn. And wrap my daughter's graduation present. And clean the house. And do the laundry. And walk the dog. And make a whole bunch of phone calls, like to the DMV to make an appointment to renew my driver's license. Okay, that's about all for now. Luckily, I have a three day weekend to accomplish all this. It will all be over in a month, just one little month. Groan.

Ta Da!

I hired my friend the handy dandy landscape person came over recently and together, we tamed the jungle in the backyard. Only took three hours, with frequent breaks for water and schmoozing. I weeded and trimmed, she mowed, a major feat as it was really overgrown. Got war wounds wrestling with the blackberries that have taken over the north forty, and a little color on my nose and shoulders. It was so much fun, I have been ambling out there everyday and doing a little more. I planted vegetables! This has been my plan for three years, and it finally happened. None of the little suckers have died yet, though one zucchini looked a little peaked. If all goes well, I will have tomatoes, green peppers and squash out the wazoo, enough to fill up a sweet little basket and take them to friends. I have always wanted to be one of those people. I also planted two sunflowers, mammoth ones. If they come up, I am going to be soooooo excited. My roses did not get pruned this year, and are all bushy but still putting out lots of blooms. The wisteria got overgrown and so heavy part of it broke off, poor thing, but we propped it up again and tied it to a big stake and it is happily if sparsely blooming, too. I just got in from watering and feeling pretty darned abundant with this great space to play in. Now Boo won't come in encrusted with burrs anymore. How sweet it is. All because I asked for and got help. We can all use some, you know.

I love you, California...

That's actually our state song. My mother knows all the words to it. Funnily enough, I don't, though I know all the words to the Hawaiian state song, in Hawaiian. Don't ask. Anyhoo, our sweet state enjoys a lovely temperate climate. In 24 hours, we have gone from thermal sweatshirt/heat dish weather to tank top/ceiling fan weather. I released my toes from their cotton prisons and painted them coral pink. And, with a little help from a friend, we tamed the backyard jungle again, so that it looks like a country club. The yard of shame is all tidied up, as well, and the car got it's zen carwash this afternoon. If this is not enough to convince you spring has sprung, just get a gander of the tomato, pepper and zucchini plants I plopped into the barrels out back today. Am I something or what! Also have pretty pink shoulders. Love that vitamin D.

Morning in the Yucatan, afternoon in Zaire

I spent my morning up to my neck in Mayan myth, all about Quetzlcoatl, Xmucane, and the first four humans, Jaguar Quitze, Jaguar Night, Dark Jaguar, and Not Right Now. Really, that's their names. Just love those Mayans. In our Color Theory class, we are doing Mbuti cloth reproductions, which is really fun, like kindergarten for college students. We each got a big square of brown paper, which we wadded up and got all wet, then spread out to dry. We tore the edges so it is irregularly shaped, then began painting it like a crazy quilt, paying attention to dark and light, warm and cool, bright and dull colors. Each section then gets its own design, large and small, active and quiet, etc. I nearly went cross-eyed painting this one black patch with yellow tiger stripes, but it came out fine and really is striking. And I love the yellow patch that I decorated with black dragonflies. Not as thrilling or wonderful as some of the students who came before me, pretty rough around the edges (like me, I suppose), but it will be an original, for sure. How much fun can one little old lady have, anyway?

She puzzled and puzzed...

I was thinking about Buddha today, as this was his birthday, I think, April 8th. That symbol for yin and yang, the circle split in two, black and white, each with a dot from the corresponding side, do you think that means that there is a blessing in every trial, and a trial in every blessing? This is a world of dualities: black and white, dark and light, old and young. How can we know joy if we never know suffering? Would you give up joy to not suffer? I don't think so. Joy is too precious. And rain, well that's just so I can appreciate sunshine. And winter brings the spring. Too bad I cannot go back to young now. I would savor it so much more than I did when I was there. Which reminds me, my birthday is coming. Will you still love me? I'm going to be 64. Paul McCartney is single. There's a thought.

Have some perspective, my dear?

Ah, the beauty of other people's travails. I sojourned down to Marin County today, that bastion of the botoxed and beautiful. I used to work down there, and never could get a line on what was happening. Lots of shiny cars, mostly in black and white and silver and gray, with a smidge of champagne beige to add some class. Lots of all-natural-fiber folks, looking fabulously green and firm. Today, I met with three former office-mates. Three of us are retired now. The youngun is still toiling away, though from her residence, which keeps her sane and far from our mutual boss, dear man that he is. I began this day toting about my cross-du-jour, a potpourri of angst that ranges from a sticky situation with a relative to the usual champagne-taste/beer budget stuff. And I came home happy and full of gratitude. These women are facing ailing husbands, chronic illness, adolescents learning to drive (been there, done that, bought the t-shirt). Me, I am hanging together fairly well health-wise, and my greatest responsibility is the Boo, who is at the moment, all well and sassy. How sweet it is, a soupcon of perspective keeps the blues away.

The weather inside...

Just returned from a little walk with little Boo, bag of Boo poo in hand. I noticed that today's weather pretty much mirrors my inner climate. On the surface, it is a pretty day to look at, all sunny and springy. But once out in it, there is a little chilly, goosebumpy breeze that sometimes just gets downright cold. We have not seen the last of winter. And I am kind of bearing my own inner chill, too. There was a time when this was outrageously importune. I am happy to say that my troubles have shrunk down from peaks and valleys to speedbumps and potholes, not major collisions, just occasions to pause on the shoulder of my highway of life and rethink my route. Today, that took me to (soul-sucking) Safeway, and that carrot cake that has been calling me lately is now in my fridge. Sigh.