"Designer Dog"

      My neighbor recently purchased a gorgeous puppy, and I do mean gorgeous-with a capital G.  And yes, I do have puppy fever!

     The dog, however beautiful, is rather unusual looking.  He is on the small side, weighing in at no more than ten pounds.  He has long shaggy hair that is variegated shades of brown, and a rather long body.  I inquired about the breed, because, for one thing, I've never seen anything quite like him, and also, I've seen the dog's brother, and they look nothing alike.  In fact, the other dog has very short, dark brown hair, nearly black.  The only commonality is the somewhat extended torso.  Well, the exquisitely beautiful puppy is a Dorkie.  That is-a cross between a Dachshund and a Yorkie.  ( I find this kind scenario somewhat like mixing chocolate and cayenne pepper.  They too, mix unexpectedly well.  I don't know who thought either one up, but kudos to him or her anyway...)  Personally, I'm not crazy about either breed of dog, but the unusual mix  produces adorable pups, quite appealing, and with great potential of becoming  a second pet for me and Buddy.  I was discussing the puppy with my BFF, who is familiar with the breed.  She indicated to me that it is a "Designer Dog".  I had never heard the term, so I googled it.  A "Designer Dog" is a cross between two purebred dogs, and is distinctly, not a mutt.  A mutt is of uncertain ancestry, whereas a "Designer Dog" has documented purebred ancestry.  Curious as to where I could buy one, I googled that too.  One site I found indicated the following: "Designer Dogs Shipped Worldwide".  So, in this day and age, dogs are bred by design (and imagination) and shipped anywhere, rather like a mechanical toy dog that is built, stuffed in a box, and shipped to a toy store. What the fudge!?!?!?!  Gone are the days when your neighbor's mutt had an unplanned litter of puppies and they were farmed out to whomever wanted one.   That's how we always obtained our pups when I was growing up.  At that time, dogs were rarely "fixed", and were kept in the yard most of the time (hence the numerous unplanned pregnancies).  They ate one can of Alpo dog food per day, had annual rabies shots ministered by the city for free, and went to the Vet once or twice in their lifetime, most often when they were quite old...(I don't necessarily agree with all of that.  It's just how it was...)  I imagine I have really dated myself now, but I do long for the good old days, when life was so much simpler.  I think that, after I order  my  "Dorkie" online and receive him in the mail, I will pull down the shades, disconnect my Internet, and curl up on the couch with an old fashioned paperback book, my "Designer Dog" on my lap.

"No Mood to Write"

     I guess it's been at least a month since I've written a blog post.  The reason is twofold.  First and foremost, I am in no mood to write.  Perhaps if I didn't have to log on to a computer and deal with technology, I would feel differently.  But alas, that is not the case.  After long days in the office being technologically challenged until my head spins, I simply cannot bear the thought of turning on my computer when I am home.  Even on weekends, my time spent on the computer is minimal.  My contempt for technology increases by the day.  However, technology, for me, does have a scant few perks.  For example,  how would I manage without texting (on my antique, obsolete phone), my Blue Ray player, or Netflix streaming?  And my combination scanner/printer and digital camera-I couldn't live without those either.  I am really enjoying being able to scan and print my own photos!  Speaking of which, brings me to my other reason for not writing.  I have been on a mission in recent weeks to identify folks in over fifty years worth of photos.  Additionally, I am organizing them into new photo albums,  pasted onto pastel colored paper and kept in plastic report covers for protection.  In some, I have even added captions.  I was motivated to complete this project because my mother failed to identify the bulk of her assorted pictures.  My sister, cousins, and I have been busy enlarging photos, studying photos with magnifying glasses, and debating over whose mother is in a particular photo.  My mom and two of her sisters (not triplets) looked exactly alike, and we are using a look, a smile, or an article of clothing remembered to determine the identity of the mystery woman in a given photo.  We have managed to identify a good number of photos, though it hasn't been easy.  Additionally, it can be painful not being 100 percent sure of our consensus.  I am determined that this challenge will not be passed on to my own children.  While they will have thousands of photos to sort through, the pictures are in order by year, the people are identified, and the events noted.  I have tons of baby pictures, including my own, baptisms, graduations, weddings, vacations.  Because of my diligence, there will be no guesswork involved, even with the babies!  I have spent countless hours on this project.  One day alone, I started at 6:30 A.M., and didn't stop until 8:30 P.M., except to eat and walk the dog.  Most of my photos were totally disorganized, with pictures of my grandparents mixed in with pictures of my children.  For a long time I couldn't look at the photos, as the memories were more than I could face.  I have had a difficult time coming to terms with my empty nest and the fact that I will never again hold my babies in my arms or cuddle up with my little boys.  Tears well up in my eyes even now as I write this.  It has taken nearly six long years for me to be able to revisit the past.  One day, paging through the numerous albums filled with our lives, my sons will be glad I did.

               "My Mom"    I picked up on the sad smile, my sister recognized the shoes.                                   

"Boomer Blogger"

     Not only can many people not spell correctly, write in sentences, or even use proper punctuation, but add to the list folks using words completely out of context.  I'm not talking bare vs. bear, or there vs. their, or even quash vs. squash (a rumor is something you quash, whereas a bug is something you squash...)  I recently read a movie review where the critic indicated that the movie he saw was define.  I'm certain he meant divine!  Duh!

     A friend of mine has been urging me to seek acupuncture treatments to try and alleviate the discomfort caused by my hot flashes.  Believing it is worth trying, I gave it a shot, utilizing the procedure to treat some of my aches and pains simultaneously.  It worked like a charm, except that, by the time they were through pricking me, I looked like pinhead!

     Buddy, my crazy chocolate lab, can always tell when I'm getting ready to go out.  Recently, I was preparing to head out to a movie and wanted to walk him first.  I tried to coax King Buddy off of his love seat throne, but, viewing me dejectedly,  he merely let out the greatest impersonation of a Marlon Brando sigh that I have ever seen, his body language  screaming "she's going out...again..."  He dejectedly lumbered off the couch, and proceeded outside to do his business.  If they gave out doggie Oscars, Buddy would win-paws down! 

     I signed up for a Communications course this coming fall, first checking "Rate My Professor" (as previously instructed by some of my young classmates) so I have an idea of what to expect.  The consensus is that  this particular professor is young and modern, and that it is not necessary to purchase a book for the course.  The professor writes a blog for his students.  They felt compelled to add that the "ancient" professors would never write a blog...I'm guessing that the notion of a "Boomer Blogger" is inconceivable to the naive little tykes...

    
     

"Epitome of Refinement"

     My neighborhood is normally very quiet, a polar opposite of the neighborhood where I lived previously.  In my former town, car alarms were ringing constantly (one night I counted-the same car alarm went off ten times in the first hour after I arrived home from work.  A disgruntled neighbor poking us with a stick, perhaps?)   Additionally, horns were used in lieu of doorbells, music blasted at all hours of the night, and it was not uncommon for folks to start barbequing at 10:30 P.M., usually with a charcoal grill, right under my bedroom window.  One night a few years back, actually the night before Easter, my neighbor, a clean cut, albeit rude, young man, started grilling at 10:30 P.M., and by 12:30 A.M.  I couldn't stand the noise or the toxic fumes any longer.   I called the police to complain about both,  a complete exercise in futility.  Not only did the cops take their time getting there, but they indicated to the neighbors that the noise was "not so loud", helped themselves to a hamburger, and promptly identified the neighbor who called to complain-yours truly.  

     Since plan A didn't work, I progressed to plan B-I tried reasoning with the offensive neighbor.  Well, he promptly informed me, in no uncertain terms, that it was his yard (he rented) and that he would make as much noise as he wanted, whenever he wanted.  I promised to return the favor when I got up at 5:00 A.M., which was daily, weekends notwithstanding.  By the way-did I mention that he was deported two weeks later?  He was illegal...  Talk about nerve!  

     Fortunately, my current neighborhood has far fewer inconsiderate residents, and the police are not nearly as unscrupulous.  Recently, a young woman was leaning on her horn at 12:30 A.M. on a Monday, right outside of all the bedroom windows in my unit.  After the third time, I hurled open my window, and, epitome of refinement that I am, I screamed at her to quit blowing her horn.  Epitome of refinement that she was, she ignored me as if I weren't there, and continued, unabashedly.  I subsequently called the police, and while I was on the phone, Horatia Hornblower continued with her offensive tirade.  The officer inquired if the noise was my doorbell (Heaven forbid that I would have a doorbell that loud).  It wasn't, I replied.  She assured me she would send a squad car promptly.  Next thing I know, the boyfriend comes ambling out, and Amy Vanderbilt (me) screamed again to knock off the noise.  He in turn started hurling obscenities at the young woman at the top of his lungs, ordering her to "shut the fudge up because", and-you're going to love this- "I told you old people live here".  Talk about adding insult to injury!!!  He promptly left when I told him the cops were on their way.   Miss Refinement , apparently as bright as she was considerate,  hung around and became even more insistent with the horn blowing.  Luckily, the police (two squad cars) arrived to hear her, and they took care of the situation.  They promptly escorted her out of there (hopefully in cuffs) without divulging my identity.  

     In the past year since I've been in this apartment, that was only the second incident where tenants (or their guests) awakened me in the middle of the night. Not half bad, in my estimation.   I love my little town, and I appreciate my town's "finest".

"The Beat of My Own Drum"

     The Winter 2014 semester has come to a close.  I am proud to report that I have earned another "A", and believe me when I tell you, it was a challenge.  It is not easy for a 50-Something to learn a new language.  Thank God I studied French in High School, or I might not have done so well.  Despite the fact that I graduated over forty years ago, I remember a good deal, mainly pronunciation, and a measure of vocabulary.  My teacher in High School was from France, so we got the real deal with her-she provided a strong foundation.  That is not to impugn my current professor's command of the language.  She is an excellent teacher, and her pronunciation is impeccable.  I simply could not have done so well  without the influence of my first teacher.  It also helps that I love the language. 

      I was discussing speaking French with a friend recently, and she indicated to me that when in France, she had to learn to "think" in French, as opposed to thinking in English and then translating.  Her statement was like a revelation, and I realized she was spot on.  I have found myself that, when reading articles in French ( I subscribed to a French magazine), I do just that.  It's an interesting and challenging concept.  There are words and phrases that I don't have to ponder or reach for in my fuzzy brain.  Then again, there are some I do.  For example, my friend asked how to say "have a good day" in French.  My mouth, moving faster than my mind (not uncommon for me),  quickly replied that I didn't know.   She in turn asked did I really get an "A"...  Oh, yes I do, I blurted out: bonne journee!  This was a perfect example of my not thinking in French.  I also need to put the brakes on my mouth until  my aging brain catches up.  

     There are many words in French which closely resemble their English counterpart.  While studying for my final exam, I was wracking my brain trying to remember the French word for continent.  In utter exasperation, I reverted back to my textbook: le continent.  Duh!!!  

     Toward the end of the semester, we learned continents, countries, states, and cities, and it was beneficial to know a measure of geography.  Well, one of my classmates didn't know which coast New York is on, and another didn't know that Michigan is a state! When she inquired "wasn't Michigan a city?",  I had to restrain myself from turning around and shouting that if you would simply fermez la bouche (shut your mouth) that you might actually learn something.  

     At this stage in my life, I am a dedicated student, eager to learn and excel, despite my advancing age.  I wonder to myself how my professors feel about me as a student.  I am the kind of student a teacher loves to have in her class, as I am punctual, my attendance is good, I pay attention and participate in class, I complete assignments by the due date.  In other words, I really apply myself.  But does my age get in the way of her perception?  I question in my mind do the professors consider the old student a kind of exercise in futility...  In the beginning of the semester, I don't believe my professor took me seriously.  As the course progressed, however, I could see a change, and I knew that as a student, she appreciated and respected my efforts.  The degree I am pursuing is mostly for self enrichment.  It's not as if I am going to embark on establishing a new career for myself.  In the end, how others perceive my quest for a college education is immaterial to me.  Still, I can't help but wonder...

     In physical appearance, amongst my classmates, I stick out like a sore thumb.  I often feel as out of place as a snowball in a desert, and sometimes wish I could likewise melt away and not be seen.  But alas, I carry on, and march to the beat of my own drum.  Hopefully, before too long, I will be marching to a stage to collect my diploma...

"A Waist of Time"

     My attempt at internet dating continues, and I have made zero progress in the last six months.  Today I scanned fifty pages at five guys per page, and it was an exercise in futility.   Two hundred and fifty guys, and not one appealed to me.

     In all seriousness, I don't think I will ever meet anyone this way.  I'm far too picky and anal.  One fellow indicated that if a woman doesn't display a picture, contacting him would be a waist of time. (Ugh!  I wanted to comment "waste, you fool").   Another fellow has a screen name of Public Enemy, reminding me of an old James Cagney movie.  Nix both of these guys off the list of possibilities.  Another one had in his list of criteria that recognizing certain movie quotes would score "the applicant" extra points.  Given my love for movies, he sounds like a possible match, right?  Except that the quotes were all from gangster movies!  A little too dark for me...I wouldn't trust him either.

     Am I reaching for the stars?  You be the judge. Here's my criteria: the fellow can't be tall, and he can't be  short.  He can't be skinny, and a beard and or mustache is out of the question.  If, in any of his pictures, he's got a beer bottle, a glass of wine, or a cigar in his hand, forget it.  If he's seeking a travel partner, well, that ain't gonna happen.  He can't be too young because I wouldn't trust him, and he can't be too old because I'm not into older men.  A small measure of hair is imperative, and I don't mean white (although mine probably is underneath the hundreds of coats of Miss Clairol slapped on it).  Additionally, he must have a good voice, young sounding and masculine, with no trace of hoarseness. Oh, and let's not forget, first and foremost, he must be able to spell and write in sentences, complete with correct context and punctuation.  However, if he's got a masters degree or a doctorate, I'm not in his league, and if he's got a high school diploma he's not in mine.  See what I mean?  Hopeless!  I feel I'm completely and utterly waisting my time! 

"False Courage"

     My mother used to say that drinking alcohol gave a person "false courage".  I agree with that assessment.  Additionally, I believe that writing Emails, texting, and posting comments or messaging on FB also provide false courage.

     I am appalled at some of the inappropriate statements I see on FB, and I have to wonder what people are thinking.  Now, I don't profess to be a saint, but I do try to behave in a dignified manner when I put things in writing, be it on FB, in an Email, in a text, or on my blog.  I consider who will be reading my comments, and the impression that it will make on a person.  First and foremost, are my children going to read what I write?  If they are, I certainly don't want to write anything they will be ashamed of.  And, not to be redundant, I still feel compelled to at least try to set a good example for them.  

     If I were considering disparaging someone (which I would not do on FB, although I know some who have), I would think about whether or not that person's children would read my comments.  Even if I have a beef with someone (and I do), I would not want to hurt that person's children.  Besides, my opinions are merely that-opinions.  Opinions are not facts.  Every individual has multiple facets and interacts in myriad ways with others, depending on the relationship.

     I do not agree with advertising a family's private squabbles or events long past on FB.  Not everything has to be out there for anyone and everyone to read.  Everyone has skeletons in their closet, and they are in the closet for a reason-they belong there.  There comes a time when we need to just let stuff go.  Rehashing events that happened two decades ago is pointless.  Get over it, come to terms with it, or choose to walk away.  Nothing can be changed at this point.  All we can do is attempt to do better, and not emulate the past.

     I am also appalled by the general lack of respect that is all too common.  Not to sound old, but when I was growing up, I was taught to respect my elders, and also to treat others in the manner that I wished to be treated myself.  I still have respect for elders, but am I not always treated with respect.

     I am quite tempted to get off of FB altogether.  Sometimes it causes more aggravation and hurt feelings than anything else.  But heck, I've always been a glutton for punishment.  I think I'll hang in there a little longer.