Torturing Your Pets - Part 2 of Many

What will be difficult to believe is that in the following pictures Gerrard is in fact not angry, growling, or otherwise disgruntled. He just doesn't like what he's smelling. We first discovered the "Predator Face" when we were using lavender oil to treat some little bumps he had on his face (It's a boxer thing. Those wet, sloppy jowls make them prone to what can only be described as dog acne). Evidently, the smell offends him. For those of you not familiar with the Predator movies, here is a photo from the movie to explain where we got the name.

And here is Gerrard's rendition.

Now, from the look on his face you'd think he would want to avoid whatever made him react that way, but quite the contrary - you get the lavender oil out and he comes a runnin'. Same thing with vinegar. Either he's a glutton for punshiment or, like any other little boy, he likes stinky things.

Torturing Your Pets - Part 1

Reach Out & Amuse Someone

Message #1: "Darling, you know I love you, really I do, but things can't go on like this. I know you're out there keeping the streets of our fair city safe, but I'm more important than Crime or Justice, or any other ideals! - - Hello, dear. I was about to get in the shower and of course that's when you'll call me back, so I wanted you to have a nice melodramatic message to entertain you. I love you!"

Message #2:
"Hello, dearest, just a quick post script to my previous voice mail. When I mentioned ideals I meant Platonic Ideals, because crime isn't an ideal unless you're talking about Platonic Ideals - which I was. And when I say Platonic I don't mean 'friendly.' I mean that strange Greek fellow with all the odd ideas about caves. All right then, good bye."

Father's Day

There is one word that comes to mind when I think of my dear dad - Civilized. I have never met anyone who sets people at ease so graciously, whose quirky sense of funny is warm rather than biting, and who rarely loses his temper - and even then there is something so dignified and righteous about his ire that you can't help but know that he's in the right. One of my clearest memories from childhood is an incident where I was in trouble. I had been trying to stall going to bed. "I need a drink of water . . . I need to use the bathroom . . . Did I tell you what happened today?" Mom had had enough and sent me on my way. I can't imagine what possessed me, but as I ascended the stairs I stuck my tongue out at her . . . and got caught. I was told to go to my room and wait. Daddy arrived, very serious. He sat next to me and began to explain why I was in trouble, that what I had done was disrespectful and that I would have to have a spanking. We both cried. Him because he didn't like to spank me, and me because I felt awful for having disappointed him. In retrospect, I have no memory of the spanking. I know I received one, but it wasn't what stuck in my mind. What I remember is his taking the time to explain to a small child what I had done wrong, and telling me how much he didn't like punishing me. It impressed upon me the importance of taking responsibility for your actions, but more importantly he showed me the respect and love that I was to try to model for the rest of my life. As a civilized man, my father is very private and so in a way I feel bad writing this, because I'm invading his privacy by sharing this with you. On the other hand, he's a great man, a noble man, and someone I hold in the highest regard. In any situation I measure my actions against what I think he would do. I think the world needs more men like my dad, and for those men who live their lives in quiet dignity, they should be applauded.

So, here's to my Daddy-O, to whom I owe so much, not the least of which is my warped sense of humor and my appreciation of Civility. I love you, Dad!

Conversations With Royalty

Whilst shopping last evening . . .

Officer B: (to cashier) I guess you want me to pay for that.

Cashier: Afraid so . . . unless, you want to pass it off to her (nodding to me).

Office B: She didn’t bring a wallet. She never does.

Me: The Queen doesn’t carry cash.

Cashier: (laughing) I’m glad my wife didn’t hear that.

As we are leaving the store . . .

Officer B: You know, he’s not the first guy to say that to me.

Me: What exactly?

Officer B: That they’re glad their wives didn’t hear what you said. They all seem to be afraid you’re going to lead some sort of revolt. You know, “Down with men!”

Me: Nothing like that! I like to be treated well, but I’m not mean.

Office B: Huh?

Me: I don’t go home and shriek like a harpie. I don't want to crush you. I treat you well; I expect to be treated well in return. You have Mrs. Ogle to thank for that. She told me, “Treat your man like a king and he’ll treat you like a queen. If he doesn’t, you’ve got the wrong man.”

Officer B: I certainly don’t have any problem with that.

Me: I shouldn’t think you would.

Literary Patrol

"Sir, that's the second time you've used a double negative without satirical or ironic intent. I'm going to have to ask you to put your hands behind your back. You have the right to a grammarian. If you do not have a grammarian, one will be appointed for you by the court. You have the right to remain silent and you are strongly encouraged to do so if you are unsure of noun/verb agreement . . ."

Saturday, Officer B invited me to join him on patrol which both surprised and delighted me. His patrol car strikes me as being his office and I worried about getting in the way, but he quickly put me at ease and we were flying through town with lights and sirens blaring. Quite an exciting change from my usual Saturday evening.

There were mad people behaving madly, and drunks drinking (and consequently driving through fences and into trees). My overall impression was that law enforcement would be far less busy if people wouldn't drink to excess . . . and take drugs. Less alcohol and drugs would be advisable.

Oh, and it is very hard to find time to eat. That radio never shuts up!

And police officers are very funny, albeit a bit gross.

And the police doggies look very sweet but can't be cuddled or spoiled on duty.

So, remember don't leave your modifiers dangling and pay your library fines - you never know when the Literary Patrol will be on the streets!

*I honestly don't remember where I found the picture, but it makes me laugh every time.

The Thin Blue Line

I try not to blather about what my husband does for a living. Certainly not for lack of pride, but because it strikes me as something similar to the wives of military officers wearing their husbands' medals to the grocery store (it happens). It is Officer B who puts on a bullet proof vest every night, holsters a sidearm, and goes to work. I just bake him cookies. This week is Police Week though, and as the spouse of an officer, I hope you'll take the time to thank the law enforcement officers who safeguard your community.

I'm going to take this opportunity to thank my personal police officer for maintaining a positive attitude about your job, for being At Home when you're at home, for mowing the lawn on your day off, for showing up to check out strange noises, for making sure I know where the flashlight is when the weather is bad, for always being there for me no matter how tired you are or how bad a night you had. I am also grateful for the brave men and women that you work with for being good at their jobs and always being there to back you up. I worry a lot less because of them.

I saw this article and was really touched, Fallen Officers Honored at Vigil in D.C. Almost 200 officers lost their lives in the line of duty last year and I think it is important to acknowledge the sacrifice both they and their families made to our communities.

The Thin Blue Line

God bless,
Those that accept the call,
The comrades who stand beside them,
The families that support them.

God bless,
The noble hearts that beat,
The sharp eyes that witness,
The strong arms that defend.

God bless,
The belief in justice,
The devotion to duty,
The struggle to do what’s right.

God bless,
The earth that receives them,
The tears that mourn them,
The ones who fill their posts.

God bless the line

Mrs. Fox
10-4-2006

Hodge Podge

So, the creamed cabbage never got made. That sore throat turned into a nasty cold and I spent all weekend coughing like a consumptive. Kind of made for a crap weekend - except for the part where I called and gossiped with my mom. That was fun.

Don't you just love this painting? I found it yesterday when I was researching the Stuart Kings. I just finished a book about Mary Queen of Scots and I like to put faces to names. Anyway, she's got a sly little smirk and I can't help but think that Lettice Knollys must have been quite a character. Rather pretty too. You always read about these great historic beauties but the paintings rarely back up the accolades. I ran across a painting of Anne of Denmark, who married James I, and recoiled from the screen a bit. I know; I'm terrible.

Officer B and I went to see a movie yesterday - on a week night. The truth is our days off don't coincide so we hadn't gone to see a movie since he switched shifts back in January. We saw Iron Man, which was surprisingly good. Sadly, court fell on his other day off so he isn't getting much of a break this week. He had to get up early, put on the ol' uniform, and spend the morning listening to drunks and speeding soccer moms explain to the judge why they don't think they deserved a ticket. 'Cause, you know, the law applies to all those "other" people. I'm glad he likes his job, but it would make me insane.

Happy Mother's Day!

Stream of Consciousness V:
Dragon Mama

Gather round dear friends,
There is a story to be told,
And though you will not believe it,
I am the child of a dragon.

You see her there,
Glasses perched upon her nose,
Wisps of steam issuing from
Between sharp teeth,
Scales shining in the moonlight;
That beautiful creature
Has shown me the recipe for
Making stars.

Her wings have carried me
Through the Gates of Imagination,
Silvered claws cut through Ignorance and Fear
To craft for me a new world.
In her eyes smolder the Fires of Creativity,
Her voice is the Song of Inspiration.

In her native tongue
There is no word for “can’t.”
A dragon’s life is filled with possibility,
Limited only by the will of the individual.
Success or failure, merely a point of view.

Born in distant mountains,
Nurtured by magic,
Schooled in the fantastic,
I am a dragon’s child.
And that, my beloved companions,
Ought to explain a few things.

December 22, 1998

Family Secrets

Ugh, I finally succumbed to post-nasal drip and ended up with a sore throat. Aspirin and gargling Listerine have been the hobby du jour.

In unrelated news, during one of of our chats while my sister was visiting the following exchange took place about kitchen fiascoes (I preface this by saying that recipes - at least the good ones - are rarely written down in my family.):

Sis: . . . Yeah! The last time I made mom's German potato salad I forgot the to put the bacon in!

Me: Dude! That's the best part! How do you forget the bacon?! [Yes, I say, "Dude." It is a reprehensible conversational habit that I have never been able to shake. For the sake of authenticity I expose myself to ridicule. ]

Sis: I know! I took a bite and thought, "This is kind of bland." (boisterous laughter)

Me: Wait, . . . you've got mom's recipe for potato salad?

Sis: Yeah, well sort of, I've got Grandma A's recipe for it. It's pretty simple really you just boil the potatoes . . .

Me: I know that part! What about the vinegar and sugar? I could never get the proportions right.

Sis: [Comments edited to protect family recipe]

Me: Are you sure?

Sis: I think so. I'll check when I get home and let you know.

Me: What about the creamed cabbage? Do you have the recipe for creamed cabbage?

Sis: I think I've seen it.

Me: Damn it! That was my favorite! I love the creamed cabbage! I've looked everywhere for that recipe. There is nothing out there even remotely like it . . . Can I have it?

Sis: Sure.

And so, today my darling, clever, sweet little sister (to whom I am eternally sorry for telling her that the gypsies wouldn't buy her from mom because she was so bad) delivered on the goods. There will be creamed cabbage this weekend! And I will eat it all by myself, and get a stomach ache, and lay about like a beached whale bemoaning my gluttony, and life will be good.

Weekend Re-Cap

I enjoyed watching the Derby on Saturday right up until the part where the beautiful, second place filly had to be put down because she broke her legs - and I thought, "I don't think I can watch this anymore." There are a lot of things wrong with modern horse racing - track safety, poor breeding, cost and profit issues - and I'm not sure what the answer is but I think, for now, I'm going to switch to steeple chase or eventing. At least in those sports the horses are raised for overall confirmation and not just speed.

My sister flew home on Sunday. I got paranoid about her flying alone, but then I reminded myself that's she's 25 years old and quite capable of traveling without me holding her hand. We had such a nice visit with lots of good chats. There are times that I absolutely cringe at how horrible we used to be to one another. It is strange (but nice) when your younger siblings grow up and become your friends. Makes you regret all those tricks you used to play or, worse yet, the terrible things you used to say.

By the way, Annie, Gerrard and Sabi wanted me to tell you that they miss you and that I'm mean because I don't jump up and let them back in the house when they start whining. They're working out a deal with the mailman to post themselves to your house.

Imperial Tendencies

Sitting at dinner the other evening and having made one of my numerous imperious proclamations, my younger sister turns to me with a wicked glint in her eye and says, “Nobody is making me very happy.”

Have you ever said something you wish you hadn’t? Of course you have. We all have. This statement, this “Nobody is making me very happy,” is the scarlet letter (or albatross, depending on your literary allusion of preference) that has haunted me since age six.

It was summer. I was visiting my uncle and auntie. My cousins – sisters, of course - had been fighting murderously all day and consequently no playing was getting done and no fun was being had. I can remember vain attempts at peacemaking and then switching strategies to throw my support behind whomever was winning at the moment. Nothing worked.

And so, I marched myself in all my indignant resplendence into the living room and, hands on hips, informed my dear auntie that “Nobody is making me very happy.”

You can imagine the laughter that followed, although I didn’t think it was very funny. And of course my aunt’s reply was something along the lines of, “Tough.”

I have never been able to live that moment down and certain family members delight in reminding me of it. Sigh.

Dune, Toilets, & Summoning Aliens

Have you ever been reading a book but somehow you feel like you missed a page, or there was something the author forgot to tell you? I just got off the phone with my younger sister and she shared with me an incident from our youth, that at the time made no sense to me. Now I get it and to be honest, feel a little bad about. It illustrates a couple of points, the least of which is how very weird my family is. My sister is not going to thank me for telling this story, but in my defense anything you tell a writer is fair game, that’s just the way it is. Love ya, kiddo.

Like most of my stories you need a little background material. My life story has footnotes. If I tried to tell the story without the footnotes, we’d never get to the punch line. Okay, my mother’s favorite book in the entire world, galaxy, and universe is Frank Herbert’s Dune. If you haven’t heard of it or seen the movie, don’t bother because it’s too late for you (or consider yourself spared). I’ve been reading and re-reading this book since my early teens and I still can’t fathom half of what it’s about. Second, my sister is eight years younger than me, so there were a lot of things that I was reading and watching that she probably got exposed to a little too soon. We like to warp young minds in my family - call it a hobby.

As a kid, Annie had this inexplicable fear of aliens. Many was the night that she stumbled into my room afraid that the aliens were going to get her. And I let her sleep with me, even though she kicked the crap out of me and I ended up in the floor. I let her sleep with me because I remembered being scared of stuff, and, as big and bad as I tried to be, there was stuff that still scared me – like zombies, but that’s another story. Anyway, Annie also had another issue. She didn’t like to flush the toilet (this is the part where she starts hating me). Many was the morning that the teenage Mrs. Fox would trudge out of bed only to find "unpleasantness in the facilities" (there, I tried to soften the blow). Like any good older sister I’d scream at her and call her names, but I never thought to ask why.

Today I learned why. See in the movie version of Dune (which was watched religiously in our home) they use these devices called thumpers to draw the giant, man-eating sandworms away from wherever the hero or his comrades were (I know I’ve lost a lot of you, but I swear that’s a pretty good layman’s description). Somehow, because of this, my poor little sister got it in her head that there was a specific sequence of noises that would summon the aliens. And of course, the loudest thing in our house was the toilet. So, poor little sis was afraid that if she flushed the toilet the aliens would come and get her.

I know! I feel like such a jerk for yelling at her!

So there, in addition to compounding her childhood fears I’ve published them for the world to see. Aren’t I the best? You know what’s worse? My mom’s gonna be mad that that’s all she got out of Dune.

If you've survived this far through my story, let me say thanks to all you beautiful people who responded to my last post. Thank you for your support and kind words and understanding and all-around divinity. You are jewels without price.

Little kindnesses

Yesterday, was one of those days when I am reminded how much we, all of us, need each other. It isn't my place to air other people's laundry, but one of my neighbors had a terrible day and all I could really do was sit and hold her hand.

Over the years I have learned that sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is sit and listen - and, know when to tell a joke. It can be so hard to just listen. We all have a desire to fix the problem, to offer well-meaning, but perhaps not relevant, advice. Most of the time people just need to talk, to sort out the chaotic mess in their heads. I don't pretend to be an expert, not by a long shot. My internal editor frequently has to remind me to clamp teeth to tongue.

At the end of the night, you hope, you pray, that you helped just a little bit, that you didn't add to the person's burden or open fresh wounds with unintentional blunders. My studies in Buddhism tell me that life is full of suffering, that all human beings suffer, but our compassion for one another (and a willingness to stop wanting what we cannot have) can mitigate that suffering. These aren't easy ideas, but they help remind me that we are all in this together. Life isn't easy, but we can help each other make our way. Sometimes we help most by being present, a witness, to remind one another that no one has to do this alone.

P.S. It wasn't my intention to sound so pessimistic. Life is beautiful too, but those aren't the parts we struggle with. The good things, most of us, handle pretty well. :)

Fabulous Friday: Snow Day!!!

It was supposed to start snowing last night but at 6:00 AM this morning there wasn't a flake to be seen. Resigned to my fate, I was sure school would be open, but to my surprise the website said closed. I had to read it three times to make sure I wasn't still sleeping. Big B got up and made breakfast and then we went back to bed.

It was disappointing that there wasn't any snow but I was glad I didn't have to go to work. Sleeping late is such a luxury. When I got up at 10:30 and looked out the window, joy of joys, the snow had arrived.

I threw on my boots and coat, rounded up the dogs, and headed outside.

B's patrol car wasn't going anywhere without a defrost.

The Rapunzel view of the back yard from the deck.

The irises and daffodils had just started to come up.

Wasabi says, "Put that stupid camera down and make me some snowballs!"

Mommy's snowballs weren't very good, so Big B came out to help.

"Hurry up!"

"Must destroy the snow!"
B decided he needed to put on some gloves. Gerrard is new to the snowball game and didn't really get Sabi's fascination with them. (Our neighbors just built a new shed which is why there's so much junk over there. It doesn't usually look like that.)

Kill the snowball!

It's a little hard to see but she has a giant snowball at my feet that she is happily smashing. Gard's starting to get the idea. Poor B had to go to work later (hopefully it will be a slow night), but we all had fun playing in the snow together.

Mama's Little Bolsheviks Are On The Web!

My little sis has her own blog! The world may never be the same. She sews, she works with glass, and she's way cooler than her nerdy older sister.

Mama's Little Bolsheviks

Repression, Regression, Governmental dis-compassion,
Idealists, Liberate the masses, Equality among the classes
We’re Mama’s little Bolsheviks!

Suspicion, Derision, Inherent evil in the system.
Activists, Socially conscious, Occasionally obnoxious,
We’re Mama’s little Bolsheviks!

Inheritance, Our independence, Fierce maternal diligence
Sisters, Thinkers, Revolution makers.
We’re Mama’s little Bolsheviks!

Mrs. Fox
7/21/2000

Lovies

A friend of mine sent out an e-mail today about her twin girls turning 20 months. She mentioned that they each had their own special "lovie." I had never heard that term before used for a favorite toy, but I really like it. My sister had her "binkie," a big orange rabbit. My niece and nephews have their favorite "cuddles." I had an old fashioned teddy bear. His name was K. C. after Kansas City where my parents bought him. K. C. was my loyal companion for more years than I care to admit, and it wasn't really until I left for college that he was tucked away in my hope chest. Those little paws have dried tears, shared cups of tea and swashbuckling adventures. He's a brave little bear, my K. C.
I'm lucky to also have my dad's bear, Teddy Richard. Poor Teddy Richard has had a rough life and it shows. I've started several times to replace his lost button eye, but somehow it doesn't seem right. Don't you know he has some stories to tell!
I can remember how comforting it was to clutch my little bear when I was scared, how I never felt alone if he was there to play make-believe with me. Strange, isn't it? How a bit of fabric and stuffing can come to life in a child's mind. Stories like The Velveteen Rabbit, Winnie The Pooh, and Paddington Bear certainly capture that. Do you still have your childhood "lovie"?

Gluttony Part II

In addition to keeping the streets of our fair city free of crime, my husband is an amazing cook. His specialty is Italian cuisine, so when he asked me what I wanted him to make for my birthday I answered, "Chicken Marsala" without a moment's hesitation. (The careful observer will note that he's armed even while cooking. One never knows when rogue bandidos will attack our kitchen.)

The meal started with a vegetable barley soup. Absolutely divine!

Look! Rogue bandidos attacking our kitchen! They were appeased with slices of ham.

Then we had Italian Chickpea Salad with Red Wine Vinagerette! Mmm, capers and olives!

Mmmmm! Chickeny goodness!

One of the bandidos gave up and decided to go watch TV. This brave soul lingered on.

The cake Big B ordered was supposed to say "Happy Queen's Day," but they forgot the apostrophe. Evidently, they thought we were celebrating the New York borough. Never fear, with pastry sprinkles and a kabob skewer your favorite grammarian saved the day (By the way, please ignore my peasant garb. It was my birthday after all, and if a girl wants to wear her PJs all day she ought to be able to.)

Ta da!


That corner with all the flowers was a 1:1 ratio of cake to icing. I talked a good game when I cut the slice, but ended up scraping it off. No one should eat that much icing.
It was a wonderful meal and my refrigerator is chock full of left overs so I shouldn't have to cook for myself all week. It's the gift that keeps on giving!

Torturing Your Pets - Part 1 of Many

When in the course of a relaxing Saturday morning you find yourself surrounded by the unmistakable aroma of filthy beast, action must be taken - even if the groomer is closed.

A warm bath was run, doggie soap and the requisite "rinse cup" on stand-by.

The beast trapped and confined is unhappy with this turn of events. Poor boy was napping on the sofa, minding his own business, when this crazy plan was concocted.

Bereft of his lovely red collar, the sullen Gerrard refuses to smile for the camera.

To add insult to injury, mummy makes him pose for pictures during the ordeal.

Ah, but now gleaming and pleasant smelling he insists that he be rewarded with his favorite part of the process - the towel!
(NOTE: No towels were injured during the washing of this dog)
Once again bedecked in his Liverpool red*, Gerrard demands to be let loose so that he can harass his sister, Wasabi (who was conveniently out of pocket during this cruel endeavor)
*For those uninterested in soccer, my husband named Gerrard after Steven Gerrard who plays for Liverpool, whose team color is red, and thus the dog has a red collar. And you, gentle reader, thought it was just for looks.

Heritage

Last week, my dad brought me some quilts that my grandmother had made. I think they speak volumes of her resourcefulness and love for her family.

This first one is probably my favorite. The colors are so delicate. I smiled when I discovered that the print from a feed bag that was used to stuff it is visible through the backing.

This one is pretty bold.

Almost all the squares on this one are pin striped. My grandmother worked in shirt factory for years and I wouldn't be surprised if these were scraps from damaged shirts.

This last one took my breath away when it came out of the bag because it was so different from the others. I can only assume it was meant for a special occasion. It had to be unfolded to really appreciate the pattern and the cross stitching.

Special thanks to Liz at Mabel's House who gave me the You Make My Day Award. I don't think I deserve it, but it was very sweet of her. I'm going to pass it along to Jennie at Falling Down the Rabbit-Hole, whose blog I have really enjoyed reading and in whom I sense a kindred spirit. Cheers!