I save the planet...

Perhaps I have mentioned that I now own a pedometer. Actually, it is the second pedometer I have owned - the first one had a puny clip and I managed to lose it within 24 hours of its purchase. Nevertheless, I was adamant that I was going to start a walking regime, and it was meaningless without this little gizmo. So far, I hoofed it over to Safeway, green shopping bag in hand, and back again, a little over 3 miles. Then the dogs and I walked to the bank, 2.75 miles, with only a couple of Boo poo stops, and a short chat with the mail lady, who pulled over to ask about Pickle. (Imagine that! Pickle stopped traffic! And sweet dog person that she was, she paused a moment to admire the Boo, too.) And yesterday I walked to my Third Step Meeting, something I have always meant to do but never seemed up to. That was 4 miles, round trip. I am not counting Tuesday at the County Fair (itr was free day for seniors), where I was on my feet for 5 straight hours, perusing the flowers, the schlocky booths selling cooking utensils, sewing machines, massaging recliners, and various other invaluable items, the amateur artwork, the cows, sheep, goats and Budwiser Clydesdales. I saved a lot of $$$ on gas this week, to say nothing of my little corner of the environment. And I am getting in shape, again. Maybe the trick is to stay in shape in the first place? You think?

The Pickle Progress Report

Well, little Pickle is going to be big Pickle. Though the breed standard is 12 lbs for bitches, she is 3 months old, and already 6 lbs. Pekingesus Giganticus. Here she is wearing her "I-didn't-do-nothing" look. She still cannot get up onto the bed or the couch by herself, so Boo is safe when there. Otherwise, he is fair game, and she trots along beside him like a barnacle on a whale, except when on a lead, when she drags way behind both of us. Well, she just went on her first walk in the neighborhood today, as we just finished puppy shots on Monday, and all those big vehicles and especially all that noise had her pretty scared. She loves her rawhide bones, and rocks and woodchips and straws. Luckily, she does not object to her Pickle pen. Just give her a milkbone and she is ecstatic, and will stay there happily till I return. And she is pretty good in the Pickle box in the car, too. Of course, she is a show-stopper wherever I take her, cute and frisky and ready to be adored by the world. Sometimes at home, she is not all that adorable, like when I found her secret piddleplace just when I thought she was on track to be housebroken. I am smarter than she is, though. I put a piddlepad there, and am slowly moving it closer and closer to the door. And we are all sleeping until 7:30 or 8 AM, thank you, Pickle. It only took 5 weeks to get her on California time. She is, all in all, a dandy little dog.

Perversity, thy name is Pickle...

In keeping with the ongoing theme of my life, which is that even though I plan and scheme, nothing goes as I think it should, the Pickle is performing admirably well. We are hip deep in dog toys around here: rubber squeaky ones, stuffed squeaky ones, balls, hard rubber knobby ones, twisty rope ties, rawhide bones, you name it, we got it. Yet Pickle finds anything left on the floor: pieces of straw from the broom, kleenex (the worst, all over the rug yesterday), a sock that found its way to our backyard (hey, not mine, really), cotton balls, even balls of Boo fur, and turns up with them in her mouth. I bought her a cute little pink bed to sleep in. It has moved from the bed to the floor beside the bed, as Pickle cannot go through the night without a pee break (sort of like me, actually), and we had a couple of accidents necessitating mucho laundry. Think she sleeps in it? Oh, nonono. I found her curled up on my cotton pj bottoms yesterday morning. I was kind of flattered, actually.
And one of the main reasons I got Pickle was to get Boo off his little Boo butt. She works on this a lot, now that his proximity alarm has been dialed down. Now she can jump all over him while he stands there in the shreds of his dignity. But let him try to play with her and she hides under a chair. This morning, they actually had about five minutes of interplay, all Boo's idea. I sat here enthralled at the vivacity. It was over before I knew it, and worth all the laundry, lost sleep, and, oh God, expense.

Life on hold, again...

I lost my wallet. Again. Seems this is doomed to happen at least once a year. That's okay. I know the drill. Go to bank, cancel VISA check card, and cash a check large enough to cover necessities for 7 to 10 business days till card comes. Call Discover Card, cancel that (they kindly overnighted me a new cardat no charge, that' how well they know me) Drive, very carefully, to DMV, fill out 7 part form, sit 45 minutes clutching little slip with call number on it, pay $22, get a sheaf of papers without a picture (no good to write a check). Good news is that last of cards arrived Saturday. After I stop by the bank this morning to establish a PIN, I can hit AAA for a new key card (handy when I lock myself out of the car, another of my favorite passtimes), and go to Costco and get a new card there. I know that drill well, too. I have lost my Costco card, all by itself, more times than I can recall. It always surprises me that whoever found my wallet (and I know someone did) didn't just keep the cash (about $23) and return the rest to me. How hard would that be? No one ever has. I guess the lesson for me is that, if I find your wallet, you can be assured you would get it back, even the cash. I would call you immediately to tell you I have it. Meanwhile, I am using the old one with the shoulder strap, so that it is securely tied to my body wherever I go. I cannot lay it down on the counter at Staples and forget it there. Or drop it somewhere in the ensuing 30 foot walk to the car. Sigh.

Brown sky in the morning...

Oh, dear. We Northern Californians have not seen blue sky for a week now. Our fifth season started early this year, fire season. Perhaps you have heard about this, like eight hundred or so fires burning in our state. It wasn't the Gold Rush that gave California its nickname, the Golden State, you know. It was the plethora of sunlit, golden hills. Dry grass, everywhere. Tinder dry. And if Man was not stupid enough to start fires with his campsites and cigarettes, then God steps in with dry lightening. Brown skies are awful. Depressing, yes, but unhealthy as hell, too. My canary and parakeet are doing well, glad to say. But I am not. Sore throat, flaming sinuses, and viscious headache, too. So, I do what I do when it is hot. I go the movies. The air there is cool, and smoke-free, too. Yesterday, I saw Wall-E, which funnily enough is about an earth so polluted, the population has fled to space. Really wonderful film, by the way. I am so grateful that I am no longer self-conscious about going to Disney films, without a kid in tow. I am a kid, underneath it all. And I felt better when I left, too. Refreshed. On the way home, I caught a glimpse of blue through the sunroof. And later, taking the Pickle out for her last potty stop of the day, there was a definite hole in the dirty stuff, hazy blue with a sprinkling of cottony white clouds. Never been so happy to see blue sky before. Our marine layer is back this morning, and it is looking gray, like maybe there is blue in our future when it burns off. Yay.

Well, finally!

The $$$ from Geo. W. came yesterday. I am suitably stimulated. So far, I have been to Petco for a Pickle carrier, handy-dandy foldable washable airline-appoved zipup bag for the little one in the car. Yay. Also Bitter Apple to spray in places where she should not be chewing, so I can relax a little. Then to Best Buy for a couple of cherished CDs. And this PM, a trip to Safeway for my favorite new ice cream, Cinnamon Caramel Cashew, which somehow disappeared awfully fast. Is anyone else uber-irritated at that thing the checker does, read your name off the receipt and thank you using your last name? Does that mean there is a Safeway supermarket secret police force that knows everything I buy there? Are they watching my ice cream consumption? Do they know I am addicted to Cool Whip? Oh, God! I'm so embarassed here!

And where does your zucchini come from?

I harvested the first zucchini from my little veggie garden in the back yard yesterday, chopped it up, sauted it with garlic and herbs, tossed in some seafood medley (calamari, shrimp and scallops) and some pasta, dredged it with parmesan, and voila, le diner! I don't know about you, but this was something of a miracle here in the little yellow house. I have never grown anything, much less something edible, that I actually ate. And, as we speak, there are a couple of dozen tomatoes on my six little plants, so many that I had to prop them all up. Happily, everything is still alive and kicking, and getting ready to give me a happy, healthy summer of organic veggies, still warm from the sun. How sweet is that!

If at first you don't succeed...

When I moved in from the house on the edge of the world, I got this dandy deal from the cable company because I was a "dish conversion". Then the introductory period ended, and the bill went through the roof. So I went back to the dish, a different provider. School heated up, I got really busy, and the lousy service just got tolerated. Once in a while I would throw something at the TV, like in the mornings when an episode of ER would suddenly morph into Spongebob Squarepants, or the company logo would pop on and float around the screen like some neglected jetsom. Taping became a real challenge, too, as I often got an hour of that self-same logo instead of the desired program, until I realized I had to set the dish as well as the VCR. So it was a priority to get a different service once I finished all that academic stuff. And I did. And I hated it. The cable company service was more expensive than the dish for less channels. And they had the balls to charge me an installation fee, without mentioning it. Their onscreen guide sucked, too. Now, I am housebound for the moment, with the baby Pickle (I know she's a dog, but she's still a baby, too), and I need my entertainment! So, I am back with the dish, a different provider. In fact, the same one I had at the coast, where there is no cable. And it has improved substantially. The remote is a thing of beauty, it even turns both TVs on and off, a feat not possible to date. And, I got DVR! Wow, that's slick. I've already set it to record my soap everyday, and some movies on the premium channels I got, free for the first three months, and some programs coming on in the middle of the night, like episodes of Sex and the City that are so hard to find in the schedule. Just love this! Ain't technology grand? Hopefully, this is it for a while. Only end left dangling is that the installer guy took the business unit out of the dish that was up there, and I need to return it to my former provider. Spent a few hours today trying to get them on the phone, then finally e-mailed them. That is why I kept that lousy, overpriced, glitchy system for so long in the first place.

I am not stimulated here!

I got all excited by this envelope in today's mail marked "Stimulus Payment". Finally! I thought they had forgotten me (this is not unusual, I always think that). And it was a notice from the Feds telling me how much my "Stimulus Payment" will be. Like I couldn't figure that out from the CHECK. Really, guys. How many trees died so you can send out these cheesy notices. Just send me the CHECK. And for the record, I already knew how much mine would be, I looked it up online. I already spent it. I really need that CHECK. Yesterday.

Moans and birdsong...

The Boo is mighty unhappy. He had his teeth cleaned, toenails clipped, and ears probed yesterday, a full day at the vet's. Now he is expressing his dismay, as Sunny, the canary, sings away in the kitchen, and Pickle rolls around on the floor with a stuffed ball about as big as she is. Surreal, that's what it is. Given my druthers, I would go back to bed. Alas, not to happen anytime soon. So, some work (laundry, dishes, dusting), some play (a mystery novel, a walk), some love, even from taciturn Boo. A cup of coffee helps. And at least an hour will be devoted to reading my new writing book, and perhaps a sojourn into one of my burgeoning novels. Fear of mediocrity, get thee behind me!

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.