"Puppy Love"

 

      I am the quintessential dog lover.  I developed a severe case of "puppy love" as a child that I have never outgrown. At times, my helpless love has been known to border on the absurd.  Once as a child, my aunt and uncle brought me to a local 5 & dime to buy me a little gift.  I chose the most adorable dog bank that I had ever seen. The irresistible pup was similar in appearance to a Cocker Spaniel.  His "coat" was a deep tan suede, the color of moccasins.  He had long floppy ears, black marble eyes, and a....damaged nose.  My heart melted over the little inanimate canine, especially because of the white spot seated on the end of his snout, rather like a wart on a witch's nose. It elicited from me a tenderness which would not be denied.  My aunt and uncle tried to dissuade me, pointing out the damage, but I was adamant.  I was only five or six at the time, but even at that young age I was strong willed.  They relented, and I gleefully brought him home, and fawned over him for years.

     I am, admittedly, a "scaredy cat".   A few years back I worked in a rough neighborhood.  The business next door had a guard dog who was caged by day, only to be let out at night to patrol the grounds. By happenstance,  I looked out of my office window as a  young man with an intimidating appearance was tormenting  the trapped animal by poking him with a stick.  I didn't even think as I stormed outside and demanded that he leave the defenseless dog alone.  I don't know what went through his mind at the sight of me (madwoman, probably), but he quickly took flight. It was only afterward that I became nervous over the confrontation.  I felt a distinct measure of self satisfaction for having chased him, however.

     Over the course of my life, I have had a number of dogs as pets, each with their own distinct personality  and disposition.  When I was ten, a friend gave me a little tan puppy whom I named Lucky (he wasn't).  He was about a year old when, while I was walking him one day, he bit an unfortunate man who just happened to be walking towards us.  My mom subsequently took the dog to the pound and had him put down.  I was too young to understand her reasoning.  I felt the dog may have been protecting me, and I was inconsolable afterward.

    When I was eleven, my folks bought me a little white poodle, whom my father named Jan.  We had him for a year when my mom sold him because he was too high strung.  The man who purchased the dog was buying him for his...little girl.  I cried until my eyes were swollen shut.  My guilt ridden mother allowed me to stay home from school the following day.  Small consolation.

    When I was twelve, we acquired a mutt from a relative whose dog had pups.  My mom named her Rags.  I guess the third time is the charm, because this dog lasted.  She was a sweet little dog, whom we were blessed to have for eleven years, until she died from cancer.

     In my adult life, I have had three labs and one husky.  Two of the labs passed in 2004, and the husky, one year ago today.  I mourn for my dogs, all of them, including the dogs from my youth.

     My yellow lab, Holly, followed me everywhere.  She slept by my side of the bed, sat at my feet when I was on the sofa, and even waited patiently for me outside the bathroom door.  Brandy, the black lab, had the gentlest disposition ever.  My neurotic chocolate lab, Buddy,  is like my best friend.  We spend oodles of time together, walking, or cuddling on the love seat while I read, study, or watch movies.

    Years back, my next door neighbors brought home an Alaskan Malamute, and for me, it was love at first sight.  I would never have been happy until I had a "sled dog" of my own. Hence, we bought a husky whom I named  Aurora Borealis.  My Aurora was fluffy, beautifully regal in appearance, and somewhat aloof.  Her presence, along with Buddy, helped me retain my sanity during the course of my divorce. She was a good dog, whom I sorely miss.  The pain of her death is still raw, especially since it was so sudden.

     Buddy is over nine now.   I can see him slowing down, and moving more gingerly, as though arthritis has reared its ugly head.  My son keeps inquiring about when I will get another dog, intimating to me that "you know you can never live without one".  He knows me well!

"Diet, Schmiet"

    

     I have always been conscious of my weight, throughout my youth, after my children were born, and in my later years.  I have my own personal weight and size ceiling, and historically, I  strive not to exceed either.

   Excess weight was not an issue when I was going through my divorce.  The pounds melted away, as quickly as icicles melt on a sunny afternoon.  My appetite died with my marriage, and my baggy clothes hung on my skeletal frame like aged sagging draperies, carelessly slung across an attic window.  I was unable to eat, and in addition I worked out excessively, which only contributed to my emaciated state.

    In the ensuing years since my divorce became final, my appetite has returned, and I have allowed my gym membership to lapse.  I still watch my weight…I have watched it approach and slowly surpass the aforementioned personal ceiling. I am stalled in procrastinator mode, and I am absolutely loath to begin a diet. I exercise only intermittently.  I squeeze myself into my jeans until they are practically screaming from the strain, and I curse myself with every excess pound. 

     With the New Year only days away, I had made the age old, exceedingly common resolution of starting a diet right after the holidays.  I was pretty much mentally prepared, and then…I went food shopping.  I am generally not real keen on pretzels, but I absolutely cannot resist Snyder’s of Hanover Buttermilk Ranch Pretzel Pieces.  Normally, my addiction to these savory little morsels is not problematic because the stores rarely stock them…until today.  Hence I declared, loudly and unashamedly: diet, schmiet, placed two bags in my shopping cart, and subsequently smiled like a madwoman for the duration of the shopping trip. Once home, I promptly consumed an entire bag before the afternoon had ended.  There goes that diet…

Hey, wait a minute!  If I consume the second bag just as quickly, (which I will, no doubt) I can still start my diet next week…provided I stay out of my local grocery store...

"The Tortoise Bites the Dust"

     My 1995 Chevy Corsica, a.k.a. the blue tortoise, bit the dust.  I had surmised last summer, while cruising around Ocean Grove in 90o temperatures with the heater running that the car’s demise was imminent.  I really cannot complain, however.  The car served me well. I had it for at least ten years, and I only paid $2,500.00 for it.  This wasn’t your typical second hand car, either.  You know what I mean…someone else' troubles?  The car required little more than the average maintenance: oil changes, occasional brakes, tires, etc.  I was hoping that she would hang in there a little longer until I managed to secure employment.  But such was not to be. Hence I went to the same dealer that I and my sons have patronized for years now.  He always has nice little cars, reasonably priced, and generally reliable.  I consider the fact that he is best buds with my mechanic a plus as well!  So I picked up a sweet little Chevy Cavalier with only 62,000 miles on it. (Mind you, the Corsica was so old that this 2002 feels like a brand new car!)  Surprisingly, the dealer even gave me a few C-notes for trading in the Corsica.

      I picked the car up on Friday, and all was well-or so I thought.  On Saturday morning, the weather was extremely cold, and the windows were frosted over. Now, mind you, I don’t scrape, under any circumstances! (The gallons of wind shield washer fluid, and  cases of wiper blades I keep in my trunk provide extra traction when it snows!) Somehow I sensed that the rear defroster was not going to be functional, and my intuition was, once again, on target.  So after Christmas, I headed back to the dealer, and they determined that the rear window is damaged, and needs to be replaced.  Fortunately for me, the car is under warranty.  Meanwhile, there sits my little Corsica, cold and abandoned.  What I’m wondering is if the rear window from the Corsica would fit the Cavalier…

"Apple Pie"

     Like many children across America, (and many semi-seniors as well), I was awake at 4:30 this morning, although I forced myself to stay in bed until 5.  I still had a pie to bake for Christmas dinner, and was simply out of energy yesterday by the time all of my other prep was completed.  Fully energized even before I had indulged in my morning coffee, I had my pie in the oven by 6:00 A.M.  

     I make the same pie every Thanksgiving and Christmas.  It is my mother's recipe, and a traditional family favorite.  My mom came from a huge family.   There were eight sisters and one brother.  Of all of them, my mom made the best apple pie, ever. (Of course, some of my cousins may disagree...) Her recipe survives her, in that her daughters, granddaughters, daughters-in-law, and soon to be granddaughters-in-law to be, all use her recipe.  It would give her pleasure to know how revered her recipe has become.

     I remember one Christmas Eve in particular, when mom and I were making a pie.  Catastrophe struck as she dropped the steaming hot pie upside down onto the kitchen floor while removing it from the oven.  A look of bewildered disappointment crossed her face, as I rushed to clean up the mess, straining to avoid getting scalded from the steaming, hissing pile of crusty apple goo.  I don't know what possessed her to have a second bag of apples on hand, but she did.  In my youthful enthusiasm, I made light of the calamity, and promptly began peeling apples.  I didn't allow her to be overcome by her disappointment, and we put that second pie together in record time. ( I made sure to remove the second pie from the oven myself!)  I don't ever remove a pie from the oven without thinking of her...

     My relationship with my mom was tenuous at best, but I cling to this fondest of memories of her, that of a night when we worked blissfully together making her delightfully delicious apple pie in anticipation of Christmas.  Rest in peace, mom.  You are gone from our midst, but never forgotten.

Christmas Eve 2012

     I am so not ready for Christmas.  Never in my life have I been so ill prepared.  I didn't put up any decorations until 2 days ago.  I only finished wrapping yesterday, and I picked up my last gift card today, along with the roast I plan to cook tomorrow.  The reason is that since I finished the fall semester last week, I have been reading non stop.  I have done little else, and this includes blogging.  I feel compelled to share four titles of books that I could not put down once I started reading. They are:
January First
The End of Your Life Book Club
The Bite of the Mango
The Daily Coyote
     I am determined not to start another book until the last of my family leaves tomorrow night.  Otherwise, they might end up preparing their own dinner.
     Have a very Merry Christmas everyone.

"Boring"

     My life is currently pretty boring.  Hence, I have been very lax about writing new posts.  I do, however, have a little bit of news.  I finally had a real live conversation with Prince Charming!  He has a very nice voice, and seems to be an intelligent, well mannered fellow.  We were making small talk, when he randomly asked me what I was doing.  I hated to admit this, but... I was watching Jeopardy when he called. I guess I should have told him I was doing something youthful-like working out!
     This afternoon, the weather was so beautiful, that I took my lab for a 40 minute walk.  The sky was a glorious blue, and the temperature as mild as a May afternoon.  We were back about ten minutes, when I noticed the sky turning threateningly dark.  All of a sudden it starting hailing, and then pouring rain, and thundering and lightning.  I have never seen a storm that started with hail... freaky weather! Isn't it supposed to snow in December???  I know-be careful what you wish for...

"Broken Hearts"

Massacres have become commonplace.
Of God, you will not find a trace.
From within our schools, He has been barred,
Replaced by weapons and broken hearts.

    
     Since prayer was taken out of our schools in the sixties, violence in the schools has escalated dramatically. How bad does the situation need to get before we stop turning our backs on God?
God is in  the Declaration of Independence, in our Courts, and on our money.  But He is prohibited
from entering our schools...Perhaps the time has come to invite Him back.

God bless the victims of the Connecticut school massacre.

  

    

"Vermont"

There was nothing to do in Vermont but eat.
They didn't have snow so we couldn't ski.
It grew dark so early there was nothing to see.
Luckily for me, I like to eat!

     Vermont is a beautiful state, I'm sure.  Except when I visited last weekend, the weather was dull and dreary, and all of the trees were bare. (Duh! It's winter!)  We drove for endless hours on a narrow road carved out of the mountains, and the scenery became monotonous after awhile.  It was certainly not what I expected.  I would like to visit again, except in the fall when the foliage must be outstanding.  I would love to see all of those mountains in living color.  Additionally, we went on a bus tour over the course of three days.  It was entirely too much traveling for such a short trip.  We did see some marvelous sights, though, in our trips to Woodstock and Hildene. We visited Robert Todd Lincoln's home. I can't describe how awesome it was to see hand written letters, and the top hat of President Lincoln.  Definitely a highlight of the trip. 

       

"If the Shoe Fits..."

     Some of my fellow students continue to amaze me, and not in a good way.  Remember on a recent blog post, I was complaining about some students’ inability to pronounce words and/or read aloud properly? One student in particular doesn’t know what a hyphenated word is. For example: new-age.  Not terribly difficult, right? I mean, this is not a Physics course at Princeton University that I’m attending! Well, the young student pronounced it…newej, as in, rhymes with sewage! What the fudge! (If you’ve seen Christmas Story, I know you get that).

     I had to read aloud also.  My problem was with the dialogue in the particular novel, some of which was rather coarse, and embarrassing for me to read.  The young students were chuckling as I obviously hesitated before stating the offensive words, while sinking into my desk, much like a turtle retreating into her shell.  Sometimes I’m too straight laced for my own good.  Ah well…at least my pronunciation was correct…(I was not quite as straight laced in my youth).

     I had an exam in my Communications class, and I scored another “A”.  Most of my professors have a propensity for asking tricky questions, this one in particular.  Professor indicated that one needs to be a “sophisticated reader” to do well in this course.  I never considered myself to be a sophisticated reader, but, if this particular shoe fits, I’ll certainly wear it.

    I registered for the spring semester, and am taking just one course-the dreaded Biology course that I chickened out of in the Fall.  I was reading reviews on “Rate My Professor” about the fellow who is teaching this class.  One student indicated not to take him because he gives really hard “quizes”. (Needless to say, I disregarded that assessment.)  Another indicated that when the professor gives tests, his instructions are merely to… study the lecture notes and textbook.  Are you kidding me?  When I went to grammar school and high school, we would have exams that covered an entire school year, and I assure you, not one teacher gave us an inclination as to specifics.  What do these kids want? A copy of the exam in advance?  Last but not least, one student indicated that the exams are really hard, and the professor doesn’t allow any extra credit projects.  Might they ponder the concept of merely embracing the course material?  Can you imagine if I were the professor?  My assessment might go something like this: ”don’t trust the b--- in classroom 23”…