It's been about 3 weeks since Howie has been living here and he is fitting in very well. He, however, considers the entire house his bathroom and there is no room that is sacred from this function. Even in my dad's office. I hear a loud voice, swearing and muttering to himself and I know it's my dad who just encountered a puddle or present under his desk. My mom and I are both trying very hard to get him to "make" in the enclosed porch that has indoor-outdoor carpeting in it and can be washed very easily. He agrees to do this to a certain extent - he piddles on the puppy pads out there, but refuses to poopoo on the pads. I know, I know, TMI. I'm trying to describe how my current days are, and this is a big part of it.
The day begins at about 2:00 in the morning when I hear him whining like a cat next to my side of the bed, that he wants me to pick him up, which I do, and bring him in the bed with my mom and I. I put a pillow barrier between her and I and I tuck him in next to me, away from the side of the bed. He then falls back asleep until about 7:30 or 8:00. He loves to sleep with me just like my kids used to. I had to put them in the middle too, worried that they would fall off the bed, just like Howie. He wakes me (or my mom) up chewing on our hair and licking our faces. I bring a chew toy into bed at that point to give me a few more minutes of sleep.
When we do get up, I quickly put him out on the porch for him to "make." I wait and wait and wait, and then I sit down to wait some more. Sometimes he produces something, sometimes not. When he doesn't, as soon as we go back in the house, a puddle and present will appear out of nowhere, like magic. I talk a lot to myself these days, as he obviously isn't listening to me. It's far worse than potty training a child. At least you can bribe them with candy. These little creatures have a mind of their own. And apparently, Dachschunds are difficult to potty train. Great.
When I am not cleaning up puddles and presents, I (finally) started a watercolor class at the Venice Art Center. I am loving it, even though it is showing me how inept I am at what I thought was going to be relatively easy. It's a challenge and I like that because it puts my mind in a totally different place. And I'm learning and that's always a good thing.
My first attempt is a sloppy mess of a sunset. It's not even good as an abstract sunset. You could even surmise Howie piddled on it. But we learn from our mistakes and hopefully I will slow down and get it right. You must have patience to do watercolor and this will definitely help me with that.
My second attempt, which is what I am working on now, is a painting of Howie. I guess I deal with him so much during the day, I thought I would honor him with a portrait. Leah took the photo of him that I'm painting from, and he happened to be sitting on a potty pad, like a good boy. Ha! Hope springs eternal.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Zayde, Howie, Maxwell, Murphy??
How difficult is it to name a puppy? Well, when there are lots of people giving you a suggestion, each one sounds good until the next one. I mean, it's like picking something from a menu. I quietly freak out when I go to a restaurant that has so many choices, their menu fills up several pages. My ADD kicks in and I am overwhelmed by what to choose. And what happens is that I usually choose what I've chosen before, so what a waste of time that was, to go through each page. I think I've finally found the name I will use for my new puppy - Howie. My dad likes that one, and that's the one my mom can remember. When I named him Murphy, she kept forgetting what it was and was walking around saying, "Mar...Mer...Mr...." and I would have to interject, "Murphy, mom. It's Murphy." Well, for some reason "Howie" she can remember, so Howie it is. Danny and I came up with "Zayde" when we drove home after picking him up somewhere near Ocala. It was a long drive and we had a great conversation going up, and a puppy-naming brainstorm on the way back. "Zayde" means grandpa in Yiddish and we both thought he looked like an "old soul" so that was the reason for "Zayde." However, when I got home, everyone said, "Zayde?? That's stupid!" Ok, after a lot of arguing and reasoning, I relented and Howie it is.
Howie has settled right in and has stopped whining for the most part. I'm sure he missed his mom and brothers and sisters the first few nights, but I bought him a kennel and put a bed in there and he retreats to his little house by himself. I leave the door to the kennel open in case he has to pee, and there are puppy pads on the floor next to his kennel. In the early morning, he wakes up and whines on my side of the bed until I reach down and pick him up. Then he wants his tummy rubbed and demands my full attention until he wants "down."
My parents have taken a real liking to Howie, which is good. And Shanti loves him. She follows him all around and plays with him until he's pooped, then he retreats to his house. Last night they went to my brother's house and Howie just moped around here whining, looking for Shanti. Today, Shanti started school, so he will be bored until she comes home.
Here is a picture of Howie at about 7 weeks. He will be 9 weeks on April 14. It says "Dakota" in the corner because that's what his owner named him in the beginning. I like "Dakota" but there are too many syllables. I like two syllable names because you can yell or call them easier. "HOW-IE, come over here now!" is better than "DA-KO-TA, come over here now!" It takes too much time to yell the three syllables. And now I'm drifting off into a subject I'm not well versed in because I hated English Grammar in school, so let's just get back on track. Here's his picture:
He is a long-haired, miniature Dachshund, and oh-so-cute. He will only get to be about 7-8 pounds, just like Kita.
I love animals, and especially dogs. They are loyal and give you unconditional love no matter what. I think we could learn a lot from dogs, in particular. Giving love with no strings attached - just because.
On a greater scale, it's the same unconditional love Jesus showed us by dying on the cross. No matter who we are, no matter what we do - He suffered and died for every single one of us, and yet most of us are not even aware of that, or much less care. We wear crosses on our necks or on our dashboards, but do we really understand what that means? I think not. He is not just a symbol hanging on a cross. He is so much more, and yet few of us ever reach deeper to find out who He is all about. That's truly a shame. A waste of a lifetime. A waste of eternity, in fact...
Howie has settled right in and has stopped whining for the most part. I'm sure he missed his mom and brothers and sisters the first few nights, but I bought him a kennel and put a bed in there and he retreats to his little house by himself. I leave the door to the kennel open in case he has to pee, and there are puppy pads on the floor next to his kennel. In the early morning, he wakes up and whines on my side of the bed until I reach down and pick him up. Then he wants his tummy rubbed and demands my full attention until he wants "down."
My parents have taken a real liking to Howie, which is good. And Shanti loves him. She follows him all around and plays with him until he's pooped, then he retreats to his house. Last night they went to my brother's house and Howie just moped around here whining, looking for Shanti. Today, Shanti started school, so he will be bored until she comes home.
Here is a picture of Howie at about 7 weeks. He will be 9 weeks on April 14. It says "Dakota" in the corner because that's what his owner named him in the beginning. I like "Dakota" but there are too many syllables. I like two syllable names because you can yell or call them easier. "HOW-IE, come over here now!" is better than "DA-KO-TA, come over here now!" It takes too much time to yell the three syllables. And now I'm drifting off into a subject I'm not well versed in because I hated English Grammar in school, so let's just get back on track. Here's his picture:
He is a long-haired, miniature Dachshund, and oh-so-cute. He will only get to be about 7-8 pounds, just like Kita.
I love animals, and especially dogs. They are loyal and give you unconditional love no matter what. I think we could learn a lot from dogs, in particular. Giving love with no strings attached - just because.
On a greater scale, it's the same unconditional love Jesus showed us by dying on the cross. No matter who we are, no matter what we do - He suffered and died for every single one of us, and yet most of us are not even aware of that, or much less care. We wear crosses on our necks or on our dashboards, but do we really understand what that means? I think not. He is not just a symbol hanging on a cross. He is so much more, and yet few of us ever reach deeper to find out who He is all about. That's truly a shame. A waste of a lifetime. A waste of eternity, in fact...
Monday, April 2, 2012
Third Grade
It's been a bit hectic around here the last few days, as my daughter, her husband and my granddaughter came to live with us. Stuff has been put away and the dust has finally settled and my dad hasn't really lost his temper, yet. He and I got into an argument last night (he likes perfect silence at the dinner table) but it ended up ok. I let him blow off some steam, and I did as well. When we were kids, we had to sit in silence and eat and if we did try to talk about our day, my father would explode, slamming his fist down on the table and tell us all to "Shut up!!" It didn't quite come to that yesterday, but I could see it was heading in that direction so I thought I better intervene. All in all, my dad is doing pretty good for having people suddenly descend into his privacy. Hopefully it won't be for long, as Parris has an interview tomorrow and Leah should be getting a job soon too. And when they find their own place to live, my dad will be relieved, but he should also look at it as a good thing he's done to let them stay with him for a short time. It's always good to be a blessing to others, especially when you get nothing back in return. My dad never learned that lesson, so it's about time he does.
As for me, I am totally enjoying my kids and granddaughter here with me, for however long it lasts. I will be going back to Madison in July for several appointments, to see my grandkids and friends and to ship some of my stuff back down to Florida. In the meantime, I'm looking into taking an art class or two at the Venice Art Center. I have paper, paints, brushes and other supplies and some of it is still boxed up. I don't know why I haven't taken it out and started using it. I'm procrastinating for some reason. I don't have a specific place designated for my stuff, maybe that's why. I could use the dining room table, but I don't like when people watch me paint. I may have to just use it there, though, because there really isn't anywhere else in here that will work.
And then, for some silly reason, I don't want to hear my father's critiques. When I was in third grade, I remember bringing home a drawing that I thought I did really well, but when I brought it to show my dad, he made suggestions on how I could make it better and critiqued it like I was in art school. In third grade. I guess that's kind of stuck with me and although I love to draw and paint and create, I hear my dad's approving or disapproving voice in the back of my head. That's a really silly reason to procrastinate, but I can't think of any other reason. It's bizarre that as adults, some of us still try to get our parents' approval.
Maybe it's because my dad was always honest with his opinion of my artwork. My mother, however, always said, "That's nice, dear," or "That's just beautiful," when what I created was clearly not "nice" or "beautiful." To my mom, anything I created was "just beautiful," as most moms are with their children. Looking at it with older eyes, I guess I would rather have an honest critique than a flat, empty opinion. So maybe I should start creating again. It should be good to be critiqued to do better. After all, I'm no longer in third grade.
As for me, I am totally enjoying my kids and granddaughter here with me, for however long it lasts. I will be going back to Madison in July for several appointments, to see my grandkids and friends and to ship some of my stuff back down to Florida. In the meantime, I'm looking into taking an art class or two at the Venice Art Center. I have paper, paints, brushes and other supplies and some of it is still boxed up. I don't know why I haven't taken it out and started using it. I'm procrastinating for some reason. I don't have a specific place designated for my stuff, maybe that's why. I could use the dining room table, but I don't like when people watch me paint. I may have to just use it there, though, because there really isn't anywhere else in here that will work.
And then, for some silly reason, I don't want to hear my father's critiques. When I was in third grade, I remember bringing home a drawing that I thought I did really well, but when I brought it to show my dad, he made suggestions on how I could make it better and critiqued it like I was in art school. In third grade. I guess that's kind of stuck with me and although I love to draw and paint and create, I hear my dad's approving or disapproving voice in the back of my head. That's a really silly reason to procrastinate, but I can't think of any other reason. It's bizarre that as adults, some of us still try to get our parents' approval.
Maybe it's because my dad was always honest with his opinion of my artwork. My mother, however, always said, "That's nice, dear," or "That's just beautiful," when what I created was clearly not "nice" or "beautiful." To my mom, anything I created was "just beautiful," as most moms are with their children. Looking at it with older eyes, I guess I would rather have an honest critique than a flat, empty opinion. So maybe I should start creating again. It should be good to be critiqued to do better. After all, I'm no longer in third grade.
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