I've been in Florida now a year, almost to the day. It is, I think, a good time to end this blog, but not for that reason. I've had a hard time to sit down and write like I want to, for various reasons, but not because I don't want to. I started taking a painting class several weeks ago and I am still taking it and loving it. I'm learning watercolor and I love the medium, and still have so much to learn, but that is taking up a lot of my time. Taking care of my parents and having my daughter's family living here also takes up time - but good time. I love my family, even as dysfunctional as we are. And of course Howie has me following him to and fro, to try and catch him before he does his "duty" in the house. That's always a fun game to play. Some people have suggested I convert this blog into a book, and I just may do that in the future.
But I have a new idea for a blog that I won't be able to start for another year, at least. I've decided that when I get on Medicare, I plan on having bariatric surgery (for which I'm not able to afford, nor does my present insurance cover). I thought I would detail the experience before, during and after the surgery, for my own benefit and anyone else who wants to read it. That's what my plan is now, but I have to wait for another year or so until I'm eligible.
Thanks to all of you who have commented on these blogs - they were all very uplifting to me and so appreciated. It would help me if you are no longer interested in getting my future blogs to please let me know, and I will take you off of my email list. Thank you.
I leave you with part of a poem by James Russell Lowell, that I was just recently introduced to and I will share it here. I really like it, and I would be interested in your opinion/explanation of the quote, which is here:
Careless seems the great Avenger; history's pages but record
One death-grapple in the darkness 'twixt old systems and the Word;
Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,--
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.
Peace,
Sharon
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Howie
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.
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.
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.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Sleeping
So we got everything moved over into my mom's room last night. Danny came over and moved the heavy stuff out of my room and my dad's office, as the men who are laying down the new flooring came early this morning. My mother had to trapse him into her bedroom where I was sleeping to look at the floor in her closet. I hid under the blanket and felt ridiculous. She couldn't wait until I got up and got dressed - no. She had to do it right at that moment. I felt like an idiot, as I was still attached to my CPAP machine, so the hose was sticking out from under the blanket. Sometimes, I have no idea what she's thinking.
My stuff is all in my mom's room, so I slept in her bed last night. It was very weird. First of all, she takes Tylenol PM to go to sleep because her doctor told her not to take the sleeping pill but it was ok to take Tylenol PM, which I think is really stupid. It takes about 3 hours for the pill to kick in (actually, I don't think it works; I think she just thinks it works). In the meantime, she doesn't stop moving her legs. The bed kept moving and it was getting a little irritating but I didn't say anything. Who am I to talk? I'm a huge restless sleeper. In fact, for some reason, I ended up sideways in the bed last night. In my sleep, I kept wondering why my legs were hanging over the end of the bed; I figured I just scooted down to the end. But no - I had turned sideways and was head to head with my mom who was also sleeping but was confused as to why she kept bumping into me. Finally, I opened my eyes and I realized what I had done and quickly turned around and went back to sleep. It was very weird. I have no idea what I was dreaming about, but it must have been pretty active to find me sideways in the bed.
When I was a little girl, I would sleepwalk into my closet, then cry when I didn't know where I was or how I got there. My dad would come and rescue me after he figured out where I was. Another time, I got into the bathtub and turned the water on because I was going to take a bath. The problem was that I had my pajamas on and was sleepwalking. Thank God I don't do that anymore - surfing in bed is bad enough. When Shanti sleeps with me, I am conscious that she is next to me so I don't toss and turn so much - but she does enough for the both of us. When Rocky slept with me, he was so big that it prevented me from moving around a lot too. But when Kita slept with me, I was real careful not to squish her as I tossed and turned. One time, she let out a squeal because I missed and landed on her as I turned. After that I was very conscious of her tiny little body sleeping right next to me. There's something peaceful about having a "being" sleeping right next to you, whether it be your spouse, a pet or a child. I find it very comforting.
My mother, however, is not the "being" I am talking about. As long as she stays on her side of the bed, I'll try harder to stay on my side, and we'll be fine. It's a king size bed, so it shouldn't be a problem. She also talks in her sleep. I'm writing this now and looking at her sleeping and she just said something but I couldn't hear what she said. Now I know that if I didn't have that CPAP machine crammed up my nose, I would probably be talking as well. We would both be having conversations to each other in our sleep. It's all very bizarre. We happened to take a nap at the same time today and she yelled out in her sleep, saying, "No, no, no, no, no!" I tapped her on her shoulder and said, "Mom, you're dreaming." She woke up for a minute then went back to sleep. She sounded so desperate and it really bothered me. I guess we're all guarded for the most part when we talk and share things with others - but when you're sleeping and you do that, I think it comes out of a real place baring no facade, and it is real, raw emotion.
Well, I'm really tired now and I've been putting it off, but I need to go to bed. She's still squirming around so she must keep waking up, but hopefully she will be fast asleep soon. Oh well; hopefully, I will sleep vertically tonight....
My stuff is all in my mom's room, so I slept in her bed last night. It was very weird. First of all, she takes Tylenol PM to go to sleep because her doctor told her not to take the sleeping pill but it was ok to take Tylenol PM, which I think is really stupid. It takes about 3 hours for the pill to kick in (actually, I don't think it works; I think she just thinks it works). In the meantime, she doesn't stop moving her legs. The bed kept moving and it was getting a little irritating but I didn't say anything. Who am I to talk? I'm a huge restless sleeper. In fact, for some reason, I ended up sideways in the bed last night. In my sleep, I kept wondering why my legs were hanging over the end of the bed; I figured I just scooted down to the end. But no - I had turned sideways and was head to head with my mom who was also sleeping but was confused as to why she kept bumping into me. Finally, I opened my eyes and I realized what I had done and quickly turned around and went back to sleep. It was very weird. I have no idea what I was dreaming about, but it must have been pretty active to find me sideways in the bed.
When I was a little girl, I would sleepwalk into my closet, then cry when I didn't know where I was or how I got there. My dad would come and rescue me after he figured out where I was. Another time, I got into the bathtub and turned the water on because I was going to take a bath. The problem was that I had my pajamas on and was sleepwalking. Thank God I don't do that anymore - surfing in bed is bad enough. When Shanti sleeps with me, I am conscious that she is next to me so I don't toss and turn so much - but she does enough for the both of us. When Rocky slept with me, he was so big that it prevented me from moving around a lot too. But when Kita slept with me, I was real careful not to squish her as I tossed and turned. One time, she let out a squeal because I missed and landed on her as I turned. After that I was very conscious of her tiny little body sleeping right next to me. There's something peaceful about having a "being" sleeping right next to you, whether it be your spouse, a pet or a child. I find it very comforting.
My mother, however, is not the "being" I am talking about. As long as she stays on her side of the bed, I'll try harder to stay on my side, and we'll be fine. It's a king size bed, so it shouldn't be a problem. She also talks in her sleep. I'm writing this now and looking at her sleeping and she just said something but I couldn't hear what she said. Now I know that if I didn't have that CPAP machine crammed up my nose, I would probably be talking as well. We would both be having conversations to each other in our sleep. It's all very bizarre. We happened to take a nap at the same time today and she yelled out in her sleep, saying, "No, no, no, no, no!" I tapped her on her shoulder and said, "Mom, you're dreaming." She woke up for a minute then went back to sleep. She sounded so desperate and it really bothered me. I guess we're all guarded for the most part when we talk and share things with others - but when you're sleeping and you do that, I think it comes out of a real place baring no facade, and it is real, raw emotion.
Well, I'm really tired now and I've been putting it off, but I need to go to bed. She's still squirming around so she must keep waking up, but hopefully she will be fast asleep soon. Oh well; hopefully, I will sleep vertically tonight....
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Beds
Lately, my dad has been barking a lot. My mother will ask him a question and he will bark back, "WHAT?" like it was a real bother to answer her. I don't know what his problem is but I again told him that, "No one wants to deal with your attitude." Before he could get up and hit me, I left the room and stayed in my bedroom until he cooled off. He's always angry about one thing or the other. The other night we got into a heated argument and he yelled back at me and said, "Because I caaaaan't saaaaaaaaayyy noooooooo!!" in a low, demonic sounding voice, which reminded me of the girl who was possessed in that one movie, which I never saw. Apparently, her head turned all the way around, and I was waiting for that to happen with my dad, but it didn't. I laughed about it last night with Danny because it was so over-dramatic. Sometimes my dad reminds me of his mother, my grandmother Esther, who was very dramatic. She was the one who passed out onto the living room floor when she found out I was pregnant with a BLACK, NON-JEWISH man.
Last night I thought I would please my dad and made him one of his favorite dishes, Cabbage Borsht (soup). I found the recipe online and he really liked it. His aunt and his mother used to make this when he was a boy. Apparently it turned out good because he really liked it. My mom seemed to enjoy it too, however I could only eat one bowl. It was really different, but definitely not for my taste buds. My mom froze the leftovers so they can have it again. There are only a few Jewish foods that I do like, and this is not one of them.
Leah, Parris and Ashanti are coming down here next week to live with us until they get on their feet. Parris has been laid off now for a few months and it's hard to keep up with all the bills on unemployment comp. I'm happy - I will have them and of course, my Shanti down here, and I will enjoy that. I told Danny that we probably will be making lots of trips to his house to relieve some of the tension that will undoubtedly be around here. Hopefully, my dad will behave himself and the tension will be minimal, but that's highly unlikely. Thank God there is a swimming pool we can all retreat to, and the water should be getting warmer enough to swim any day now.
Today, my mom and I have to empty my dad's office and my bedroom because they are getting new flooring in both rooms on Monday. Danny is coming over later to move the heavy stuff. My mom is already scooting around getting things done and keeps checking on me to "get going." Remember, Saturdays are work days - not relaxation days. This has to be done, however, and I won't have time to do it tomorrow, so I have to do it today. I will be moving all my "stuff" into my mom's room to clear it out for my kids to stay in. So we'll be schlepping stuff to and fro all day.
I'll be sharing my mom's king size bed, while my kids are here. This should be fun. It's a good thing we have been getting along really well lately. But as I said before, I am a very restless sleeper, so I hope I don't end up curled next to her - that would be just weird. Hopefully, I'll stay on my side of the bed and sleep at the edge. If I fall, it's not that far down. She has little stuffed animals on her bed, so I will put them between us for a barrier. And when Shanti wants to sleep with me, I will gladly have her, so it's an even better barrier. I miss sleeping with her. I hate sleeping alone, with the exception of sleeping with my mom. When all three of my kids were born, they all slept with me until a few years in age. One took longer to wean than the others, and slept with me for a long time. That child also nursed for the longest and in fact, would stand up saying to me, in public as well, "Ninny, mommy, ninny!" I, of course, obliged, though not in public. I only did that when my oldest was born because that was the hip thing to do in the 70's. I'm sure I freaked people out, but I didn't care, being the rebel that I was.
Anyway, this should be an interesting next several months. I look forward to having my kids and granddaughter here with me. And I think Shanti will be good for my dad to soften him a little. She's a very loving child and could melt the hardest heart just by looking at you. She will want him to go outside and sit with her by the pool, which will be good for him to get outside for a change. I think all in all, it will be fine. That is, if I can stay on my side of the bed...
Last night I thought I would please my dad and made him one of his favorite dishes, Cabbage Borsht (soup). I found the recipe online and he really liked it. His aunt and his mother used to make this when he was a boy. Apparently it turned out good because he really liked it. My mom seemed to enjoy it too, however I could only eat one bowl. It was really different, but definitely not for my taste buds. My mom froze the leftovers so they can have it again. There are only a few Jewish foods that I do like, and this is not one of them.
Leah, Parris and Ashanti are coming down here next week to live with us until they get on their feet. Parris has been laid off now for a few months and it's hard to keep up with all the bills on unemployment comp. I'm happy - I will have them and of course, my Shanti down here, and I will enjoy that. I told Danny that we probably will be making lots of trips to his house to relieve some of the tension that will undoubtedly be around here. Hopefully, my dad will behave himself and the tension will be minimal, but that's highly unlikely. Thank God there is a swimming pool we can all retreat to, and the water should be getting warmer enough to swim any day now.
Today, my mom and I have to empty my dad's office and my bedroom because they are getting new flooring in both rooms on Monday. Danny is coming over later to move the heavy stuff. My mom is already scooting around getting things done and keeps checking on me to "get going." Remember, Saturdays are work days - not relaxation days. This has to be done, however, and I won't have time to do it tomorrow, so I have to do it today. I will be moving all my "stuff" into my mom's room to clear it out for my kids to stay in. So we'll be schlepping stuff to and fro all day.
I'll be sharing my mom's king size bed, while my kids are here. This should be fun. It's a good thing we have been getting along really well lately. But as I said before, I am a very restless sleeper, so I hope I don't end up curled next to her - that would be just weird. Hopefully, I'll stay on my side of the bed and sleep at the edge. If I fall, it's not that far down. She has little stuffed animals on her bed, so I will put them between us for a barrier. And when Shanti wants to sleep with me, I will gladly have her, so it's an even better barrier. I miss sleeping with her. I hate sleeping alone, with the exception of sleeping with my mom. When all three of my kids were born, they all slept with me until a few years in age. One took longer to wean than the others, and slept with me for a long time. That child also nursed for the longest and in fact, would stand up saying to me, in public as well, "Ninny, mommy, ninny!" I, of course, obliged, though not in public. I only did that when my oldest was born because that was the hip thing to do in the 70's. I'm sure I freaked people out, but I didn't care, being the rebel that I was.
Anyway, this should be an interesting next several months. I look forward to having my kids and granddaughter here with me. And I think Shanti will be good for my dad to soften him a little. She's a very loving child and could melt the hardest heart just by looking at you. She will want him to go outside and sit with her by the pool, which will be good for him to get outside for a change. I think all in all, it will be fine. That is, if I can stay on my side of the bed...
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Dog Sitting
I've just now recovered from my "weekend with the dogs." It was actually fun talking to non-human beings and swimming in my brother's pool. However, his house is so big, that it exhausted me to go from one end to the other, just to let the dogs out.
Now these dogs all have their own little personalities. "Keeper" (my favorite) is a giant Mastiff and so gentle and slow. She kind of just meanders around and plunks down with a big grunt like she's exhausted. She snores quite loud, drools and looks at you with pitiful, beautiful eyes. I just couldn't help it - I had to give her more cookies.
"Finnegan" is a beautiful male Collie that actually looks like Lassie. He's got so much fur that a little dog could get lost in it. Finnegan was also extremely gentle and meandered around, plopping down whenever meandering became too much. He would go out at night and would not come back, which was frustrating to me. I would let him out and he would go running and barking his head off and sometimes did not come back until the next morning. That's really not a problem, because Danny lives on several acres of land and his neighbors are far enough away. Finnegan's nose was long and funny, like a beak, and so I had a hard time kissing him -- so I just pet him on the head.
"Emma" is Danny's daughter's dog and is a Shitzu. She's a very cool dog, kind of funny looking with her teeth sticking out like she has buck teeth, but I think that's the way they all look. She is a small, compact dog, but is actually the oldest and the leader of the pack. If she starts barking, then one by one, they all follow suit. Finnegan and Keeper bark from their lying position, unless it is a real danger, like someone ringing the doorbell, then they all bark like maniacs until the danger is over. The two Chihuaha's never get when the danger is over, however. They continue to bark and bark and bark long after everyone else is quiet. They must just like to hear themselves bark, much like some people I know...
"Drover" and "Lady" are the two Chiuhaha's that bark and run hand in hand, like lovers. Drover warmed up to me quickly, but Lady took a few days before she would carefully let me pet her. By the time I left, she was my friend and I felt like I actually accomplished something.
Now these dogs are wonderful, loving, loyal and beautiful except for one bad habit: waking me up at 4 am to go potty. I didn't know I could yell at them to "shut up and go back to sleep," until my brother came home and told me. So, like the dutiful dogsitter that I was, I walked to the other end of the house every morning around 4 am and let the dogs outside to do their thing. I sat at the dining room table, nodding off until I heard the little pitter patter of their feet coming back to the door. So, one by one (and I counted them each time), they came back except for Emma and Finnegan, who at 4:00 in the morning, were barking their heads off. It's dark at that hour and I kept thinking the neighbors are going to kill me, but they never did come over to complain. If they didn't come back when I called, I closed the door, pretending they didn't live there and went back to sleep.
Now going to sleep in my brother's bed is quite a feat indeed. It is almost as high as I am tall and either you have to high jump with one of those sticks to get onto it or you have to use the doggy stairs at the end of the bed. I chose the latter as I was never good at high jump. Climbing the stairs, I used my cane to balance, and I felt like a tightrope walker. When I got to the top, I threw my cane on the bed and awkwardly bounced onto it, rolling over to the pillow end. It was all very dramatic and I'm surprised that I didn't break my neck. Getting out of the bed was relatively easy: I just slid down it like a slide until I landed on my feet. I don't understand why people have such high beds. There's probably some useful thing about it, but I prefer ones that I can sit on the edge while my feet are able to touch the floor. Subconsciously, all night I was very aware of the edge of the bed. I imagined falling off of the side and breaking a bodily part, as the floor is all tile. Then I would have to crawl or slide to my phone which was plugged in the kitchen, on the other side of the house. Thank God I never fell. Imagining it was bad enough.
I had an enjoyable time with these interesting creatures and got to know them fairly well. I miss having a dog and one of these days I'm going to look into getting another one. Until then, I'll just have to visit Danny more often and play with his. As long as I don't have to wake up at 4 in the morning, I'm cool.
Now these dogs all have their own little personalities. "Keeper" (my favorite) is a giant Mastiff and so gentle and slow. She kind of just meanders around and plunks down with a big grunt like she's exhausted. She snores quite loud, drools and looks at you with pitiful, beautiful eyes. I just couldn't help it - I had to give her more cookies.
"Finnegan" is a beautiful male Collie that actually looks like Lassie. He's got so much fur that a little dog could get lost in it. Finnegan was also extremely gentle and meandered around, plopping down whenever meandering became too much. He would go out at night and would not come back, which was frustrating to me. I would let him out and he would go running and barking his head off and sometimes did not come back until the next morning. That's really not a problem, because Danny lives on several acres of land and his neighbors are far enough away. Finnegan's nose was long and funny, like a beak, and so I had a hard time kissing him -- so I just pet him on the head.
"Emma" is Danny's daughter's dog and is a Shitzu. She's a very cool dog, kind of funny looking with her teeth sticking out like she has buck teeth, but I think that's the way they all look. She is a small, compact dog, but is actually the oldest and the leader of the pack. If she starts barking, then one by one, they all follow suit. Finnegan and Keeper bark from their lying position, unless it is a real danger, like someone ringing the doorbell, then they all bark like maniacs until the danger is over. The two Chihuaha's never get when the danger is over, however. They continue to bark and bark and bark long after everyone else is quiet. They must just like to hear themselves bark, much like some people I know...
"Drover" and "Lady" are the two Chiuhaha's that bark and run hand in hand, like lovers. Drover warmed up to me quickly, but Lady took a few days before she would carefully let me pet her. By the time I left, she was my friend and I felt like I actually accomplished something.
Now these dogs are wonderful, loving, loyal and beautiful except for one bad habit: waking me up at 4 am to go potty. I didn't know I could yell at them to "shut up and go back to sleep," until my brother came home and told me. So, like the dutiful dogsitter that I was, I walked to the other end of the house every morning around 4 am and let the dogs outside to do their thing. I sat at the dining room table, nodding off until I heard the little pitter patter of their feet coming back to the door. So, one by one (and I counted them each time), they came back except for Emma and Finnegan, who at 4:00 in the morning, were barking their heads off. It's dark at that hour and I kept thinking the neighbors are going to kill me, but they never did come over to complain. If they didn't come back when I called, I closed the door, pretending they didn't live there and went back to sleep.
Now going to sleep in my brother's bed is quite a feat indeed. It is almost as high as I am tall and either you have to high jump with one of those sticks to get onto it or you have to use the doggy stairs at the end of the bed. I chose the latter as I was never good at high jump. Climbing the stairs, I used my cane to balance, and I felt like a tightrope walker. When I got to the top, I threw my cane on the bed and awkwardly bounced onto it, rolling over to the pillow end. It was all very dramatic and I'm surprised that I didn't break my neck. Getting out of the bed was relatively easy: I just slid down it like a slide until I landed on my feet. I don't understand why people have such high beds. There's probably some useful thing about it, but I prefer ones that I can sit on the edge while my feet are able to touch the floor. Subconsciously, all night I was very aware of the edge of the bed. I imagined falling off of the side and breaking a bodily part, as the floor is all tile. Then I would have to crawl or slide to my phone which was plugged in the kitchen, on the other side of the house. Thank God I never fell. Imagining it was bad enough.
I had an enjoyable time with these interesting creatures and got to know them fairly well. I miss having a dog and one of these days I'm going to look into getting another one. Until then, I'll just have to visit Danny more often and play with his. As long as I don't have to wake up at 4 in the morning, I'm cool.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)