Miss June has no hairs on her belly, which is sad for her, sometimes.
SO I MADE HER WEAR MY SWEATSHIRT.
Dear Ruby,
Please blame my sister for the following.
Love,
Your totally annoyed pillow in the middle of the night when you decide to come to bed and lay horizontally at about knee level,
aka,
Lauren.
Ruby eats the sweatshirt.
I was supposed to go camping today with G. and some other friends, but last night Ruby came in from the woods all limpy and whiny about it. This morning it wasn’t any better, and was actually worse, so we went to the vet. All muscles and joints seemed fine yet she was clearly hurty and stiff when walking, so she got some painkillers and orders to keep quiet and not run around too much. We decided that would be easier to accomplish if we were not camping and visiting an off-leash dog training and herding park. So, Ruby and I, and visiting friend dog Stella, are home in front of a fire, having alone time. I am so rarely home alone, since I have longer working days than Garth, and I am kind of looking forward to it. I am going to spend some time folding laundry and playing with my Wii Fit, now that my ankle is mostly better. Fun times!
At the new house, there is a fence all the way around, but it is not a very reliable fence. We keep patching it in bits and pieces, because Ruby is an escape monster, and she finds new holes pretty regularly. This wasn’t too bad, for a while; she would just stand on the other side of the fence and wait to be let back in. Then last week she went down onto the road, which is pretty busy during commute times; then the next-door neighbor scared me by telling me their last dog died on that road. So this weekend we (mostly Garth & helpful pal Scott) spent a bunch of time finding and patching all the places where she went under/over/around/through. No trouble so far.
Also the new house (which has about an acre of woods) came with some really nice pre-started leaf compost back in the forest, just from leaves that had fallen and been piled up. One of the first things we did was build a compost pile with some metal fence posts and chicken wire, so we have about a 4 x 4 foot area back in the corner, which we filled with some of the leaves and have been adding our regular food waste to as we go. It’s a bit far away from the kitchen, but we have the relatively stylish compost bucket, which looks nice on the counter, doesn’t smell, AND holds a lot of stuff between emptyings.
It snowed out here last night, so Garth got to stay home, which led to the following conversation:
[08:33] garth: so , about your dog and her fondness for fences
[08:34] Lauren: oh, damn.
[08:34] garth: there is one fence she can get under
[08:34] garth: it’s not the outside fence
[08:34] Lauren: ?
[08:34] Lauren: into the next door yard?
[08:34] garth: I went looking for her and found her
[08:34] garth: cowering and shivering
[08:34] garth: looking very guilty
[08:34] garth: in the compost pile
[08:34] Lauren: oh haha
[08:34] Lauren: did she eat it?
[08:35] garth: I don’t know. I kept calling and calling but she couldn’t get out
[08:35] garth: so she just looked sd and guilty
[08:35] Lauren: poor ruby
[08:35] garth: it’s hard out there for a ruby
…
[12:40] garth: (UPS is here. soon the dogs will go insane)
[12:40] garth: Speaking of which, ruby is *obsessed* with the compost pile
[12:40] garth: she still can’t get out though
[12:40] garth: she just sits in the cage and looks sad
[12:42] garth: it’s really funny
[12:42] Lauren: did she do it again?
[12:42] garth: yep. twice
[12:43] Lauren: oh, ruby
[12:43] Lauren: i wonder why
[12:43] garth: I think she just likes garbage
[12:43] garth: which is fair enough, on account of she is a dog
(Song: “Ruby Tuesday,” The Rolling Stones. I didn’t mean for it to be, but this is pretty much her theme song.)
Last night I went for a run with the dogsters and I could have sworn it was spring. Could have sworn it so much that we were both independently worrying about getting seedlings started. (G. and I, that is, worrying, not the dogsters. The dogs said YAY RUNNING ZOMG RUN RUN YAY RUN ZOMG, and not much else.) It is about time to start tomatoes indoors if we wish to have them from seed, and time to start planning the outdoors situation. He really wants potatoes, which I fully support, so that will take some planning, as they need to have extra months in the ground. I am also interested in garlic, onions, and broccoli.
All day I have had in my head this totally ridiculous country song from when I was, like, nine, and listened to the pop country station. It was quite risqué, at that time, including the song “Black Velvet,” which I now know/suspect to be about young Elvis. Additionally, today’s title, which is about women who use men for their own nefarious purposes. I have something snarky and feminist to say there but I can’t find it among all the wine currently in my mouth.
Everything makes me cry lately. There are dogs who have died (not mine, knock on wood, but one of Oscar’s oldest friends) and there are grandmas gone too (not mine again, knock on wood again) and then there are so many new babies come into existence (not mine, knock on wood more than ever, and hi baby Ciaran! hi baby Mina! hi baby Hank!) for whom life is so small, I am worried for it. And if I spend even a minute on that thought, I become distracted and distraught with how small life is for us all, because really it is, and we are so tiny and chronologically insigificant, and then I will cry for nothing; I will cry for imagining all the so many things that could change all the other small lives so much. I will be forever changed when these dogs and these grandmas and these babies are lost. And it is too selfish to wish that I should be lost first, but I do not know if I can bear the loss of them.
What is the solution? Are all adults just veterans of the war of aging, where there are daily casualties (parents, children’s childhoods, pets & loved ones, garden plants, bus routes, hair lines, waistlines, roadkill, favored shoes chewed by new puppies, all the things large and small in which we used to rejoice but that are now gone)? Or is there some way to avoid it? Must we all submit ourselves to that? Can I opt out of one section of growing up and thereby shed all the rest? If I choose to devote my child-caring to another’s child, not my own, do I mourn with the parents when that child changes, grows, is gone, or do I mourn alone? And do I mourn less or more — does the sharing increase or mitigate the pain? Or do I merely mourn the recent demise of my glass of wine?
I hate being the youngest. Everywhere I go I am the youngest, and I feel inexperienced and foolish. I want to know what will happen to me, and to know if my current situation of conflicting heartache and jubilation will be henceforth a constant. (Big words!) I suspect it will, but more than anything I fear I will be surprised by something that experience (that I don’t have) should have prepared me for. What do I do? What can I do? I can, I guess, love my dogs and my husband and my surrounding friends and family and babies, and I can know that all of that is contingent on their continuing existence. And that love requires acceptance of the fact that they may not continue to exist. And I will deal with that when it comes, I guess.
PS. any post that starts with “I went for a run” and ends with drama and tears and wine and discussion of the meaning of love is PURE WANKERY.
(Song: “Fast Movin’ Train,” Restless Heart. Woo, 1990!)
Today it was sunny and beautiful, which I found pleasant even though it also meant it was cold. Had a nice day of outside-ness: Pike Place Market in the morning to get bread for dinner tonight and all kinds of veggies for Girls’ Night In on Wednesday. Then came home and suited up the dogs to go to the dog park, where we walked and enjoyed the sun — it was good for our moods, I think — and ran into Oscar’s old friend Emma (and her people). Now we are preparing to roast a chicken for dinner, dogs are too tired to move, and we have a good bottle of Spanish wine.
Also today I learned about molasses and Iceland. I learned that molasses is the same thing as treacle, which word Robin and I both associate very strongly with Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and I learned about the Boston Molasses Disaster, which is sad, of course, but also really funny. Then I learned about the Ring Road that goes all the way around Iceland and that you can bike around on. G. has been to Iceland (I am jealous) and thought I was silly for not having known about the ring road beforehand.
Last night was dinner out with my advisor from grad school, who makes beer and music and rides bikes, and his knittin’ wife. Then we went on without them to see Bobby Bare Jr. at the Sunset, which was far too crowded and at which there was almost a fight. But damn, that guy can rock hard with just an acoustic guitar. He’s covering “Sister Golden Hair,” which I really like, and I had a little epiphany listening to his version — the line is “I’ve been one poor correspondent,” not “I’ve been one more chorus partner.” Thanks, Bobby!
Wine glass is empty. Must resolve this situation immediately.
(song: “Summer Fall Winter Fall,” Slomo Rabbit Kick)
Just rescued two lost doggies, a big ol’ blue-eyed husky and a small black fluffy lab-lookin’ mutt. They were wet and dirty and kind of shy, but they liked treats, and fortunately we have two leashes on hand. Their women were out looking for them on foot, and should be very grateful that one of the dogs had a local vet number on the rabies tag, and that the vet was open. And they should get regular tags with their names and phone numbers on them.
They were the third and fourth dogs we have successfully reunited with their folks in the past year, not counting the times Ruby has escaped and I have successfully reunited her with me. I am hoping I am storing universe paybacks for when I can’t hunt her down.
Now we are back inside and home and safe, with dogs and wine, and butternut squash and garlic roasting in the oven to be made into delicious soup.
We took the pups (ours, not the escapees) hiking this weekend to Rattlesnake Ridge. I highly recommend winter-time hiking, and that one in particular. Close to town, short-ish but gorgeous hike. Ruby went off-leash for the first time on a hike, and was mostly well-behaved. Oscar has been off-leash since the day he came home and is too old and jaded to run away anymore.
It’s that season again where everyone’s having parties and every weekend is booked, like it is in the summer. This week there’s an eggnog party and maybe another one, and a cookie party, group-o-friends holiday fancy dinner, and the company holiday party. I want to go but G. doesn’t; I’m blackmailing him by offering to wear my Fluevogs. It might be working.
I hate Christmas but I like buying stuff for people.
(song: “I Will Be Home Then,” the Decemberists)
So I caved and bought 2 years of Flickr pro account. It was mostly because I couldn’t have more than three sets, and I am a taxonomist and I want to collocate things. How can I collocate if I only have three sets? I need unlimited sets! So now I have it. And I put lots of pictures of dogs and even more pictures of food and JESUS GOD THE TOMATOES.
Someday I will post something other than picture links. That day will probably be after the damn hell ass wedding, about which I am freaking the fuck out, and after the honeymoon, which I totally have under control, actually. For reals.
I do not post because I do not want to post about these lame-o things. In the meantime you can look at my pictures.
(Song: “Man You Don’t Meet Every Day,” the Pogues version)
Dogs are snoring, and so is G. I am up late (but not that late) because Ten Things I Hate About You is on, and because I had a cup of coffee at about 3:30, and because my Friday night bourbon is accompanying me. (Julia Stiles has amazing hair in this movie.) I have an early morning tomorrow of meeting with a photographer, and I want to go running beforehand. Lots of relationship newness around me right now, both televisory and IRL, and I am a bit weirded out by my soon-to-be-legally-declared absolute future lack of newness, ever.
Also, I love the part where Bianca kicks the stupid kid’s ass at the prom. Especially the “that’s for my sister!” There has also lately been sistering. I love my sister. We keep trying to define it but it doesn’t work. She’s the best. I’m so happy that she’s in my wedding. I think I am at least as happy to have such an excellent sister as I am to have a wedding at all. Because, really, I could take or leave the wedding itself, and he knows that. But the sister, she is essential to the functioning.
Did I mention the bourbon? Hello, rambly time.
Lots of things accomplished lately and lots of things to do upcoming soon. Work + side projects + planning + damn hell ass house needs cleaned + sleeping? what is that?
Garden has been suffering for lack of sun, but it is supposed to be clear and bright and like 70 degrees this weekend, so maybe I will get some more ripe tomatoes for the saucing, and some more corn for grillin’.
PS. Colin Firth, call me up any time! OK? OK!
PS2. I am 26! Yarrr!
PS3. Johnny, I didn’t mean it about Colin. You know I think you’re actually the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, including Scarlett and that girl who used to work at Le Panier.
PS4. I love the name Bianca. If I ever get an all-black dog, I will name her Bianca. Just for fun.
(Song: “Aïcha,” Khaled)
