Things I've Seen

Trapt

Caution: Cute cat photo ahead

This photo's for you, father-in-law, who so faithfully reads this blog -- even when I carry on about things like Twitter!

It's gettin' deep

Am I getting lazy or what? Phone pictures, and obvious subjects at that. Well, it's a cold, snowy, lazy weekend ... Spartans beat Iowa, anyhow, 81-49.  Memphis (nation's longest winning streak now with 14 games; Florida got knocked off their winning streak, among others) is trying to beat Gonzaga ... Meg and Suze are in Detroit at a Jack's Mannequin concert ... nothin' else much going on!

Update: Memphis squeaked by Gonzaga in overtime, 78-77.

Blizzard-y

10 a.m., Saturday: Since 6 a.m. at least five inches have fallen, if not six. More is on the way -- maybe up to 10 inches total. Temperature: 9 degrees F.

After the bath

She had to have a bath before her Christmas visit to Grandma and Grandpa. So said Suze. And afterwards? She had to go out, of course. (Even though we made sure she went out before coaxing her into the tub.) The getup was Meg's solution for sending a slightly miffed wet dog into the cold to do her duty.

While I was walking

On the Jupiter Bridge

The dog and me -- we're pretty out of shape.

I'm trying, really I am, to get us both out there for 30 minutes or more every day. But she's got this little routine worked up now where she starts off walking OK, then not far from the house she starts with the sniffing, pulling on the leash, marking places of interest (yes she really is female; it's weird) and generally slowing us down bigtime. Then when she gets to a spot in front of the A&B kitchen place, she stops, plants her feet, and if I'm not careful, pulls right out of the collar, leaving me dangling an empty leash. No amount of coaxing will get her to move forward.

So we head for home -- the long way around on Wabash St., at least -- but these antics cut down considerably on the length of our walk.

Last night I tried something a little different. Now, we live on a 45-mile-an-hour road with no sidewalks. It's like that almost everywhere around here, so there's not many places to walk to. So my "different" route was simply to walk the other way away from the house, taking JDog down to the Jupiter Bridge across the Grand River about 1/2 mile from the house.

By the time we walked there then all the way across the river and back, it might've been close to 2 miles. It worked pretty well -- she only stopped once, and she kept her collar on.

I don't really like all the traffic on the bridge, but I did get a couple of nice photos. Plus we ended up walking more than 40 minutes.

Guess I'll go this route till she figures out some new way to thwart my efforts. Then I'll have to mix it up again.

Only a dog

She can't see me, so I can't see her. Right?

More from the ice palace

JDog and I spent an hour and a half at the park today. For the first time we were able to get past the sheets of ice that had formed at the first spot on othe trail where a rivulet flows in from the river. When the river is high like it's been, the water rises over the banks, into the park and over the trail. In winter, of course, all that turns to one big sheet of ice. As the water starts to recede, the ice cracks and breaks up, leaving remnants of itself behind. 

 

Sometimes a cat

Sometimes a cat is all there is to write about. I mean, I can’t add anything meaningful to the Iraqi voting day other than to say that a blog called “The People Won” hit one of my other blogs two days ago. That was pretty interesting to read something coming right out of Iraq from the point of view of the citizenry. Really, I can’t add to that. The Tsunami is way too weighty for me to comment on. It’s something I can’t even start to comprehend so of course I can’t do it any justice at all with my measly words. The Inauguration? Not worth the time. The State of the Union speech. Well, that’s probably going on right now (and I’m not tuned in; I have a hard time watching our prez.)

So that leaves kids or pets. I happen to have this new photo of the latter. So the cat gets the nod today. Here, she’s trying to blend in with the water bottles. But she’s out of her element in this box, because she actually lives in the bathroom. Not because we keep her there – she’s there because she’s chosen it. She’s set up housekeeping there in the long, spacious room with the plentiful heat and water source. 

The bathroom is what’s called a pass through – it has doors on both ends, one into the hall and one into the master bedroom. Its main quality is that it is long. In fact, with no obstacles in the middle of the long floor, it’s a perfect playing field for a cat’s favorite game. Which is throw the golf ball sized pink foam ball the length of the room and then jump on it when it comes bouncing back.

When she gets tired of that, she’ll hide the ball in the linen closet under a basket of cleaning supplies. Then she’ll hop up on the hamper for a nap. Almost any time of day you can enter this bathroom and the cat will be there on one of the rugs, sprawled out or sitting. Like she’s been waiting for you, a visitor to her place.

Sunday afternoon

Multi-tasking with a cat around ain't easy

I 'm stuck on the idea that I should try to make more of my Sundays. But I feel like I'm plenty busy enough on Sunday mornings and into the afternoon -- I just don't feel like tackling any of those big weekend kinds of tasks after that.

Take today. I was up at 6:30 because Westminster Winds played in the 8:30 and 11 o'clock services (our call was at 8 a.m. in the sanctuary in order to squeeze in that final half-hour of much needed rehearsal time). We played our two numbers during the early service, then joined the congregation for the remainder of the hour. For the hour between services, I sometimes go to an "education hour" if the topic seems interesting, other times a friend and I go up to Kahve House; today I spent the time listening to the newly formed Dixieland band rehearse for our upcoming concert.

The choir's call time was next, so I rehearsed with that group, then rejoined my band buddies in time to play the prelude for the 11:oo service. The idea is that all of us band members who also sing  in choir will leave the band when we're finished, run backstage and don our choir robes, then join the choir in the loft as surreptitiously as possible in time for the rest of the service, especially for the choir's anthem.

Right before the service began, I decided that there were plenty of sopranos on hand in the choir without me and that one-and-a-half services was quite enough for today. So I rehung my choir robe, put my music away, and sped out the side door of the church right after swabbing out my clarinet and putting on my coat.

By the time I got home it was nearly noon. I was hungry and already starting to feel the afternoon droops. Of course, most of the rest of the family was just getting around, since they all had something or other going on last night an opted to sleep in. They were just thinking about breakfast and I was looking to fix lunch. Such is our disconnected family on a Sunday!

By the time I ate my lunch and looked through the Sunday paper, it was nearing 2 o'clock. At 4 I hadto truck the girls down to church for choir rehearsal and youth group, so most of Sunday afternoon just feels like waiting for something. While I should get gung-ho on laundry or straightening a closet, I usually putter at some insignificant task or other. Then I take a delicious  Sunday afternoon nap.

Clay took this photo while I was trying to assuage my guilt -- writing something (not for work, puleeze!) and folding socks that had been sitting in a basket for a few days -- before settling under my down throw for a little snooze.  I tell myself I deserve this little bit of laziness after a long week and heading into another.   See, I'm not really that motivated to add any more busy-ness to my Sundays...

Unimaginative

Jenny-n-Alice : They're not exactly friends ...

In a funk as far as posts go these days, as you can probably tell from the previous two "favorites" posts from my old Tripod site.

Actually I like that site better than this one. Even though I ripped the template off from my friend, Lori. It was way better looking than this and there was more to it. (I was building a collected recipes section for the family.) I stopped updating it originally because I accidently deleted all the code for my sidelinks section and never had the inclination to rebuild it.

See, it doesn't have a wysiwyg interface, which means I did the html myself, making it more labor intensive. (Yes, it is easy just to copy over files and copy and paste code, etc.; still all that just takes too long.) I also built the css style sheets (which was kind of fun, once) and hand-built the archives. In the end I stopped using it because I just couldn't keep up with everything.

I know there are places like MoveableType where I could use my "own" design and have the blogging features I want, but Typepad is easy and cheap. And since I am authoring several different blogs these days (two are for the Corporation where I work -- you wouldn't be interested), it is a good choice for now.

Maybe this winter I'll upgrade my service with Typepad to get some design flexibility for this site and make it a little more eye-pleasing. That would help, since I'm not about to suddenly develop some fantastic photographic skill to help out the aesthetics. This site is more about the writing (woefully weak today), so you'll have to take what you get with the graphics! 

A dog's favorite place

[A 'favorite' post from my old site -- Jan. 25, 2004]I know the dog needs exercise, but it's a good thing she's kind of lazy. If she doesn't get her walk in the evening, she's not bouncing off the walls or anything-- she's just disappointed. She doesn't press me too hard; she'll hint around a little about going out, but if she sees that it's late and I'm not moving so fast she'll give up and go watch television or something.

That's on weeknights. Weekends are a different story. From the minute I get up in the morning, she's following me around the house, tail wagging, ears expectantly cocked. Every now and then she lets out a little whine that says, "Our walk? Are you forgetting our walk?" And what she means is a walk in the park.

Saturday and Sunday afternoons I can hardly escape piling her into the car and driving two miles up the road to an old ROTC shooting range turned county park, where the two or three miles of trails along the river make a great dog run/crosscountry ski area/place to get your mind off you. Me, I love the place, but for her, it's no less than dog heaven. She dances on cloud nine every time she goes.

Of course, nobody obeys the sign -- especially the leash thing -- including me. How could I possibly? If you could see that dog run flat-out free on those trails, tail curled over her back, teeth bared in an ear-to-ear, face-busting grin, you couldn't leash her up either. I know of some parks around town where the police will stop by every once in awhile and issue mass tickets, but I haven't heard of it here, yet. It's risky, sure, but for just an hour or so a week, my dog will keep runnin' free and grinnin'.

Thanksgiving morning

Finally, something to get excited about

Probably the most thankful being I know today is Jenny. I mean, the dog loves snow. Celebrates with it. Revels in it. Absolutely comes alive in it.

I took her out with me last night for a few minutes while I retrieved the trash container from the road. (The thing was open all day, and after I struggled it through the eight or so inches that had accumulated in the driveway, I had to shovel the snow out of it.) The white stuff was still coming down and what was on the ground was deep and fluffy, just how JDog likes it. Well, she was blasted all the way back to puppyhood, ducking, jumping, pushing her snout deep into the piles, snorting and laughing, a white snow gumdrop stuck to the top of her nose when she came up for air.

We weren't out long enough for her apparently, because she hung around me sad-eyed and whine-begging half the evening.  Just in case I decided against staying in, she didn't want to miss it. Too much to do tonight, the night before Thanksgiving, I told her. Finally she gave up and retreated, pouting to her favorite basement sofa.

This morning the sun was up with the snow and she was back at it. Let's go she said, standing at the bathroom door while I brushed my teeth. Let's g0-0-0 she whined as I ate my egg-on-toast. LET'S GO! she insisted as I drank a third cup of coffee. I bundled up in my old down-filled Eddie Bauer jacket, pulled on Susan's knit cap and Drew's old trompin'-around-in-the-snow boots and out we went.

Somewhere along the way I let her off the leash so I might have a chance to take a picture without the camera moving. (I am really bad at holding it still and get lots of blurry photos that offer no clue about what it was I thought was so photo worthy.) When I leaned back a little to get an angle on a tree that wouldn't also show the buildings in the background, my hat fell off.

Well that dog was on that hat like she'd killed it herself (see photo). She shook it back and forth, growling and snarling. She threw it away from herself, then pounced on it, shaking it harder. Then she started a game of keep away with me -- running back and forth, dodging here then there, never quite letting me catch her, while I chased, laughed, slipped, fell.

When she decided this game was old, she dropped the hat and trotted off to some other snow game, leaving me to retrace our footprints to find it. She wanted to catch some more sniffs in the road before I inevitably came to my senses and reattached her leash. Which I did promptly. Mother that I am, I did what I do best, and that is spoil the fun for kids and dogs.

Walking back home we reached the spot where we usually cross the street to return to our house. She followed me until we entered the base of our driveway. There she stopped, turned her head away, and planted her front feet in the road slush. I don't want to go in yet, is what this move told me. Amazing I thought, how a little snow (well, a lot of snow) turns this dog from lazy to lively. And so I relented.

We crossed back over and shuffled down the mostly unshoveled sidewalk of the nearby cul-de-sac. Between the houses on one side I could see the river, flowing cold and calm. Somebody was snowblowing his driveway. A couple of kids were working on the season's first snowman. Most people hadn't been out yet on this early-ish sun-blasted and snow-buried Thanksgiving morning. Just me and my thankful dog.

Dog beach

 

Well, nobody around here will go to the beach with me. They all seem to think it's just about swimming and if it's too cold there's no sense going. I can't make them understand that the beach is the beach for gawds sake -- it's the air, the sand, the waves, the sounds, the sun, the air.

I'm not quite sure why Clay doesn't get this, since we both grew up so close to the big lake. Probably it has something to do with driving 40 minutes to get there. Whatever his reason, I can only drag him there once or twice a year and that's when it's a warm summer.

During this season of coolish weather, I have been to the beach in Muskegon exactly twice, yesterday being one of them. (That's right, Muskegon. Pere Marquette Park is one of West Michigan's best kept secrets. Vast stretches of sugar sand beach and almost no people. Besides, I grew up there.) The first time I went by myself. Yesterday, not wanting to keep all that beach joy to myself, I took the dog with me.

I'd forgotten that Jenny's been to the big lake exactly once -- when she was a puppy -- and she was so scared she dug her feet into a spot yards away from the crashing waves and wouldn't budge. Dog memories must be pretty long, 'cause the minute she jumped out of the truck in the parking lot she started to get nervous.

The city of Muskegon has designated a portion of the old Bronson Park as a dog beach. Really cool of them -- almost progressive (did I say that?)! Yesterday the place was all but deserted by dogs and people. The sun was high and bright, waves at about a foot, breeze barely blowing, water just warm enough to get your feet wet. Unless you're Jenny. She strayed into a shore bound wave once by accident and wouldn't get near the water again. So while I walked the length of the beach with the waves washing up around my ankles, J Dog walked alongside me just far enough from the water's edge to stay dry.

To look at the photos, you wouldn't say she was afraid, really. She looks like she might even be having fun. For me, summer's last hurrah was beautiful relaxing fun spent on the beach with my dog for company. Even so, I'll probably stick to going by myself next summer.

 

Today

Majik likes to keep her feet dry.

All the necessary tools for grillin'.

Sadly, Jenny didn't get a cheeseburger.