All Hallows Nothing

I had had plans for Halloween.  It's true.  I'm a planner.  It drives D mad.

 Starting in late summer I had looked up ideas on the web, for spooky house decorations on a dime.  Cheap dollar store cobwebs, that sort of thing.  And I had found truly awesome photos of carved pumpkins that really got the Halloween spirit up.  The pumpkins at this site are awesome.  The author of one the blogs I follow, the Art of Doing Stuff, is a masterful carver. 



The Art of Doing Stuff



And Bobby could have been a shark.



Toys R' Us dogshark: it's a hammerhead!



 Or a dinosaur.  Because who doesn't want their own stegasaurus?



Target: there's also a little raptor outfit, which Bobby would also tear to pieces



There was no shortage of inspiration out there.   And I was in the festive mood myself.  I wore my bearhat all day at work on Halloween.  I'm not sure it was all right, but it was one day.  And its just a bear hat.  It took the office a good eight minutes to notice it at all.

But previously upon discussing Halloween in our neighborhood with the Neighbor Lady, I had been deeply disappointed to learn that no one, not even Neighbor Lady herself took her kids trick or treating on our block.  No one does that here, she informed me.  It's an older neighborhood, and apparently the generation of kids that grew up on the block were finished growing up a bunch of years back. 

So we didn't decorate, and we didn't dress up (except I was still wearing my bearhat.  I like my bearhat.  I like saying bearhat. Bearhat.).  But still D bought some candy (because what if some did come?) and last night on All Hallow's Eve, we turned on the lights and opened the shades and we waited.   

Nothing. 

It became evident that she hadn't been exaggerating.  After awhile we went outside stood in the dark, looking up and down the block at the row of houses whose facades were dark and unwelcoming.  Even people who normally had their porch lights on after dusk as a default had turned them off last night.  Ours was the only house with lamps lit, but nothing stirred in the dark.  It was so eerily quiet, maybe for the knowledge that there were groups of kids and parents out there, or should have been, but no sound could be heard except the rustling of the leaves in the trees.  Not once did our doorbell ring.  Our anticipation grew to disappointment, our mounded bowl of candy remained untaken.

That's not true, I had a mini-candy bar.  Two really. 

We brought the candy to our respective offices so that we don't eat three bags of halloween candy ourselves. 

After all, we are in training. 

Of course you wouldn't know we were in training.  We haven't done any actual training for over a week.  Maybe two weeks.  I've been out jogging perhaps twice in two weeks, but really only to get the dog out and to settle him down.  I've not really even pushed myself. 

I've overslept almost every day for the past two weeks.  Like a bear (bearhat) my body doesn't want to leave the den.  It's warm in bed.  It's not warm outside of the bed.  As someone who is almost always cold, it's not an easy thing to drag myself away from.  It's so comfortable.  And so I roll over and go back to sleep until I'm running quite late.  I daily leave the house with madwoman hair, spill hot coffee on self, and eat breakfast cereal out of sandwich baggies as I drive.   

So, I fell off the wagon.  Out of the saddle. 

I get a text from Runner's World every morning around the time I'm supposed to already be up and moving around.  They are supposedly inspirational but rarely stirring Quote of the Day texts.  And me, chronic oversleeper and at a post-wedding weight high (or a new low, it might more aptly be said), I truly was in need of some inspiration.   

I got it. 

"In the end I have to hold myself accountable. It is my career and my responsibility to do what I need to do to be the best I can be. I had to make a change if I really wanted to reach the goals I had set for myself. I had to get out of being comfortable and get into a situation that was going to really push me. "

Kara Goucher on joining the Oregon Track Club Elite group

That?  you're saying.  That is what inspired you to get out of bed at 630 and run in 33 degree weather with frost on the ground??

Actually, yes.* 

Back in the saddle again.

*Also Bobby guilt.  He hasn't gotten a jog since Saturday.  In retribution, two of my small terra cotta pots are gone.  He's taken to standing on his hind legs and pulling down pots and things from the railing on the deck.  I picked up the shards from one pot yesterday, as well as detrititus from other things he's ripped apart.  The other terra cotta pot is still missing. 

Training: Early Days for Bobby & Me.

I'm doing it.  I've decided.  I don't know how, but I'm going to Indianapolis, and I shall elude zombies and clear obstacles and get to the finish, dead or alive.  





It's such a great idea, and it just sounds like so much fun.  I have to support it.  I've started talking to friends, seeing if they will join me.  I've got some nibbles, ambivalent interest.  We'll see.  But I'm doing it, even if I do it all by myself.  Obstacle training will be a challenge.  Maybe I'll have D play zombie and swipe at me while I dodge out of the way.  We could practice in the basement, and he could make zombie noises!  Of course, that's only the evasion portion of it.  If I have to do anything involving upper body strength I'd be in trouble.  I guess I could lift weights or something.  A plan is needed.  But for now, I'm working on the running itself. 

After all, it's a matter of survival. 

 

The front of this shirt says "if you see me running..."



Yesterday morning was the beginning of my training.  It went... not well.  

I had the motivation to get out there and start something, and I'm quite pleased about that.  I managed to get up early (don't laugh, I did! Unlike this morning), and as a chronic over-sleeper/snooze-button-abuser, this is quite something.  A repeatable achievement.  Anyway I readied myself.  I find that I was somewhat ill-prepared.

DISTRACTION:  I don't enjoy running for its own sake, so my mind needs to be occupied or the sound of gasping breaths and chortling onlookers will temper my enthusiasm.  But I haven't been able to find my mp3 player since we moved.  So I used my phone, which has a grand total of five songs on it.  This was a disaster because it was too bulky and heavy, and wouldn't stay in my pocket.  At one point it lemming-ed onto the sidewalk, busting my groove (but not busting the phone itself, happily). 

DOG (leash):  I chose poorly.  I chose the medium leash, which was not particularly bright (it was early).  Next time we go with the short leash.  Too much slack equals too much opportunity for a border collie to ignore.  I ended up with the leash wrapped multiple times around one hand, clutching at my phone in the other.  This is imprudent because when I needed to control the dog with both hands as I attempted to go past a section busy with morning traffic... ugh, let's just say it was both embarrassing and terrible.         

DOG (hisself): And then there's Bobby.  It is so hard to run with this dog. It's a challenge to walk with this dog, why did I think he'd just lope beside me with perfect etiquette because he was pleased to get a chance to run around outside?  He's so hard to control.. It isn't that he wants to trip me (surely).  I think he's just... dumb.  Even with the leash as short as I could make it, he still wound up weaving and veering underfoot until I had to pull constantly up and out on the leash to make a zillion constant corrections.  My outstretched arm felt like it was weighted with iron, and afterwards I ached shoulder to fingertips, but the dog didn't trip me.  Points for me.   

This is not sustainable.  I couldn't keep up any decent pace, nor even an indecent one.  Constantly correcting the dog so as to not get knocked over required concentration and moreover I quite often had to stutter stop altogether, or start to walk.  For all my exertions, and believe me I worked up a light sweat, I ran so intermittently that I'd be loathe to say I even ran at all yesterday.  Attempting to run in the morning is hard enough.  Training for a goal helps, but the tenacity to continue to train on a regular basis isn't innate, its something I will really have to push myself to do.  And if running is as hard as it was yesterday, it will be impossible to keep it up.  I won't want to.  My enthusiasm will only last so long, so Bobby has got to be better behaved on the leash.

I work with him whenever I have him on the leash, but he's not cured of his bad habits, nor am I cured of mine.  I get frustrated.  It'll take time.  I need something with a quicker payback.  People have told me that putting a prong collar on Bobby will make a new dog out of him.  I just don't want to fall on my face when we're walking/jogging together.  And if I need to buy even more canine accoutrement to accomplish this, I will, but dagnabit.  He already has more accessories than I do. 

I'll be trying to see if I can pick up a prong collar and test it out. 

In other news, this weekend is going to be a project weekend, including our second drainage/waterproofing project, and something for the basement.  We like to keep busy.   

• Zazzle zombie running shirt
• Zombies Hate Fast Food image taken from Tech Yuppie but its actually a shirt from Snorg Tees

I Could. I Ought. I ... Should?

Those of you who know me well know that I am not sporty.  I exercise because genetics are unfair and Polish genes have shaped me to be innately round.  Also I like beer.  And chocolate.  Exercise is a necessity, not to be entered into for enjoyment's sake.  Many's the time I have stated my personal credo, "If I'm running somebody's chasing me."

Sure, I swing dance.  I love it, it gets my heart pumping, it makes me smile.  But that's not exercise.  It's active, without being actual exercise unless you are competitive at it or do lots of Charleston (Note to self, why don't we do more Charleston?).  I think the fact that I enjoy it is indicative that I do not consider it sport-like. 

I don't like gasping for breath.  I don't like feeling like my heart is heaving out of my chest. 

I do like the endorphins though.  Me likey lots.

No one is more surprised than myself that I would ponder a sporty activity that requires sporty training.  But I am stirred and intrigued by something a friend posted on his fbook page just for a laugh. 

http://runforyourlives.com/

A footrace to outpace/outsmart zombies. 

I thought, brilliant!  'bout time someone did this! 

I could never do it though. 

... could I? 

Here is the premise from the website:

• Before the race, you will be given a flag belt, just like the overly intimidating game of flag football. These flags represent your health.
• The zombies want to take your flags and maybe eat your brains.
• If you lose all your health flags, you die. And the zombies win.
• Health bonuses will be hidden throughout the course. If you find one and carry it to the finish, it will save your life.

There's one in Indianapolis, which isn't far. 

 5K.  To run, or not to run? 

I was on the cross country team once upon a time (..in, um, middle school).  I wasn't very good, but to be honest I didn't train really either.  I showed up to the practices, but I didn't actually train when I didn't have to.  I did my darndest on race day, but my darndest was pretty lousy because I never practiced.

I surmise if I did actually train, I could do a 5K.  I've done them before.  I'm older and decrepit now, sure, but you can train for one safely in just a couple of months.  The internet says so, and it never lies.  (har har) 

There are websites just for people like me, who are beginners and want to train for a 5k.  Couch to 5k is one.    And this site, which looks the same, but isn't.  There is support information for diet and training plans/schedules and podcasts and all manner of things. 

There are running clubs in Cincy.  I could find one that is kind/sympathetic to flabby/lumpy beginners.  Run with them on the weekends. 

With the addition of Bobby I'm already out and active twice a day walking him (1.5 on average, some nights D does it, some mornings I oversleep).  If I'm out anyway, and I (kinda) already jog with him anyway, its just a little more time and effort than I'm already putting in... right? 

I'm not the only one who would benefit from some jogging.  Bobby could stand some jogging.  He can be a handful if he's not been properly tired out.  There's one difficulty with jogging with Bobby though.  He darts.  Without warning he darts left or right, lunging in front of my feet, making me trip.  Exercise is not my idea of a good time, but when you add a heightened risk of face-planting into blacktop, that's not exactly a compelling case for getting in shape.  Even if its at a super-fun-looking zombie event.  

When I give him less rope to trip me up, its less of a problem.  And maybe the problem will lessen with time.  A colleague reccommended I run him with a pronged collar.  The internet tells me that I could run with him hands-free, and because he's tethered to my waist instead of my arm, I am more grounded and he is less able to pull me off balance.  Hm. 

The 5K bit, its next year.  Plenty of time to prepare. 

The obstacle bit is daunting.  Ducking and weaving, vaulting and, dare I imagine it, climbing over things?  Am I a suburban-wife version of Ninja Warrior?  Well. No.  

But I could be...  

Update on Bob the dog

he obeys!   ... indoors.

Yesterday after work I let Bobby out of his crate and we went outside.  This was a trying incident for me, as I endeavored to control a lunging and plunging border collie on a leash, a batch of training treats, the training clicker, and the no-no jar (I threw some pennies in a jar to shake in his general direction so as to make an unpleasant noise when he does something I dislike or disobeys or ignores.  Not bad results the first time!)

  I let him cavort for a few minutes and then tried to go through some obedience stuff.  I'm trying to get him to stop ignoring us by teaching him the "look" command.  He does it with a treat.  I think he's doing it.  Sort of.  And I'm teaching him to "shake."  I'm adding to his repertoire.  With the treats its just bribery, but its better than nothing.  At least he can be tricked into listening without treats some of the time. 

Tried to get him to fetch.  He doesn't love the fetch like every other dog in creation.  He'll run after the stick or ball maybe once or twice, but that's all I get.  God forbid he pick it up.  I just don't know how to let him cut loose and run around in playtime if there's no fetching involved!  He needs to run!

If anyone has any ideas, I'd love to hear them. 

"Ignore me, Bobby! ... good boy!"

Yesterday was the first time a problem behavior reared its toothy head.  He was leaping around like a cracked-out kangaroo and nipping at my arms to get me to throw the stick (which he ran after about seven times, woo hoo).  This will not do.  I will not be gnawed upon by some gangly prison mutt.  I know he's cooped up all day while I'm at work, and its terribly exciting to be liberated.  But bounding wild-eyed into the air like a crazed ferret and nipping the master are both uncool.  Bobby can be a cool dog, if only we can help him be one.  I told him no and ignored him for a bit.  Need to figure out my approach to calming him or changing his behavior. 

And then something I had been dreading also reared its ugly head.  The neighbor came over to greet Bobby.  (No, I haven't been dreading the neighbor.)  Bobby, in response, elatedly leapt up to the chainlink fence, curled his paws around the top, and in one swift motion brought his back legs up to the front ones at the top of the fence and practically curled up in her arms.  If the neighbor hadn't been standing there in his way, and if the long-line leash hadn't been on him, I'd have had a first hand account of seeing my dog sail efforlessly over the fence and into parts unknown because he certainly wouldn't come back when I called him.  Kind of drove home the importance expediently getting him through obedience classes.  This fence is a joke to him.  A super-fun-time obstacle.  He's biding his time.  He's going over that fence, it's just a question of when.  ... argh.  Time to ponder a taller fence? 

I don't know. 

Because I don't want to think about the cost and hassle of a new fence, my brain has now switched gears.  Avoidance isn't problem behavior, its a necessity. 

I'm excited about halloweeen.  I love Target at Halloween time. 

heh heh heh

not that I would necessarily put a costume on the dog. 

but how cool is this?!

D suggested we could dress up like characters from the movie Jaws.  He could be Roy Scheider, he said, and I could be the boat. 

Wait.  What? 

Trench: Before & After

Bobby the border collie and I got to explore the backyard yesterday, and it was just fascinating (for him).  He's got a lot of new stimuli, to say nothing of the fact that the replacement gate isn't in the ground yet so I have him on a leash in the yard and in the house (as advised by the Leerburg guy).  I dropped the leash last night in the house, and he was just fine.  I'll keep it on him for the first week anyway, just in case one of the cats streak by him and the dog lunges at him.   But we're really excited about Bobby and how he's reacting to the cats, inside and out. 

Bobby and Cricket ran into each other right away.  Bobby shows no aggression.  Curiousity in spades, and he really wants to play with her (herd her, perhaps).  Cricket has taken to the dog pretty well;  she played in the grass yesterday while I tried to work with Bobby on some obedience training (oy vay).  Max and Yuuki don't panic the way they did in the presence of Jack the puppy.  Jack would enter the room and they would immediately climb as far off of the floor as they were able.  With Bobby, Max is alert but unwary, and he walks about and lays around on the floor as he normally would.  Yuuki isn't spending a lot of time on the floor.  But, yesterday he sat on a bench and Bobby went and sat down on the floor next to him.  In boxing range for Yuuki, but Yuuki didn't thwap him, nor growl, nor get up and leave.  He was resigned.  D and I were gleeful.    

Anyway, it's been busy!  I hadn't had time to show you the side of the house. 

After the trench was done

We finished the drainage trench and filled it in, tried to make tidy.  We hadn't had time for anything else though, so after it rained it looked like this. 

Before : Welcome to our mudhole

It looked absolutely gross after a few days of rain.  When the rain finally let up, I finally had the opportunity to do something I'd been wanting to do.  

After : heuchera bed

Hm.  Should have taken a tighter shot.  

oh well. 

No longer a trench and dirt, it's now a proper home for the heuchera that have been living on the deck for an absurdly long time.  A month or more since I bought them from the greenhouse (August 19th).  They look a tad more sparse now than they did when I bought them, but at least they're in the ground now.  I ran out of mulch, and may need to put a bit more earth around some of them.  But I couldn't finish the bed because the fence post needs to be planted in this corner.  And soon.  I'd like to let doggie run free. 

Though we we warned by the humane society that Bobby may jump the fence. 

Cricket and Bob

Cricket, The Cat Under the Deck

Previously I posted about the cat that was living under the deck.  I had high hopes that this would mean we would feed and love on her, and in return she would keep vermin out from under the deck and deter groundhogs.  This has not happened.  I hope she has not had a negative impact on our resident lazarus lizards, but the groundhog is large as life and undeterred by her presence.  

We call her Cricket, and she's sooo sweet.  She is obviously a dumped cat, because she's certainly not feral.  She comes when called and just begs for you to pet her.  We were quite torn about Cricket.  It's going to get colder. Wetter.  Do we let Cricket inside when it gets cold?  We already have two cats.  And what about the dog we're trying to get? 

Max & Cricket

 The answer is no.  Not yet, at any rate, but just no at this point.  We've cracked the door to let the cats sniff each other, but nothin' doin'.  The boys are wary, and either she hisses at them or they hiss at her, which starts a hissy, growl-y spiral at which point we give up and shut the door.  Maybe we'll make a cat-house for her for the winter.  Carve a hole in a rubbermade container and put it on the front porch with a blanket.  Or something.  

Cricket's nap spot

I think our animal plate is full, frankly. 

 We drove three hours round trip to a far away to bust this dog out of prison and bring him home.

 

We like Bob. I really like Bob.  We entertained thoughts of changing his name, but that's out of the question.  He responds to "Bobby," so that's what we're calling him now.  He was trained by convicts, and though he's high distracted with all the new stimuli he's done so well.  We made certain to walk him and ran through some obedience commands before we let him into the house.  We forced him to be calm and quiet, and Max went right up to him, sniffed him, and seemed to say, "okay."  Yuuki is not so easily convinced, but nor did he hiss.  Not once.  Max was hanging out with the dog after we put him in his crate last night.  He even rubbed up against the doggie.  

Things look promising. 

This is after he threw up in the back seat

Hopped Up, Worn Down, but Environmentally Safe (or soon to be)

We met Murphy the dog.  He is a good looking dog, and he's happy to see you and jumps on you with his big paws and untrimmed nails, which isn't so pleasant if you have bandages all up and down your arms in an attempt to cover your gross rash compliments of a mystery allergen.  He's barking because he wants to play with you, with the dog playing fetch across the park, with the joggers, with the bird that flew overhead that he thought was a ball.  And it is a piercing bark.  Yes sir, it is. 

And he dashes back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, bounding with somewhat more energy than I'd have expected given the description "likes to pace."  He has a black spot on his tongue, like he has a giraffe in his parentage.  He's cute.  I'm nervous about him.  There's a lot of energy, he is not trained, and I'm concerned he'll bowl the cats right over.  Maybe he just hadn't had his walkies that day.  But it made me lean toward Bob the Prison Dog.  Of course maybe he's ADHD too.  You just don't know a dog until you meet the dog.  But I have to admit it.  I left the meeting with, dare I say it, doggie disappointment. 

As we ponder a home visit with Murphy the dog, we have been trying to empty out the basement in preparation for the great Asbestos Abatement.  Something D has finally come around to.  After all this time, we still had many boxes to go through, full of stuff from my childhood (thanks parents) and unbelievably, even more books.  Which makes no sense.  Somehow they all fit in our shelves in the apartment. (didn't they?)  Yet, even those same shelves made the journey with us, and even though we have made like 4 trips to Half-Price Books, and each time we went laden with like 40lbs of stuff we weren't likely to re-read, the books still overpower the shelves and have cascaded into small piles like prarie dog-sized monuments growing up from the floor.  Not that you can see them at present.  Oh no, they are buried. 

Because emptying out the basement was like bailing a sinking boat.  You bring up that chair, you heft up that rickety shelf, and there's always more.  The old trumpet.  The cat boxes.  Still more.  More and more and more in a tidal wave that has finally settled into every corner and space available for it to lurk passive aggressively at me. Boxes and plastic bins have filled up the guest room, the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen.  These formerly tidy spaces are now warehouses of stuff and nonsense.  Again.  Yes we've been paring down.  Dejunking.  Love the feeling.  Love it.  And yes, I'd like to throw this stuff out the front door too, but those are for christmas.  And those are for thanksgiving.  And those are winter clothes.  And that's the humidifier which we might need this winter.  And those over there were gifted to me by any of an assortment of now dead relatives.  So they stay in our brand new obstacle course until we can hide it all in the basement again.  The sheer volume of crap in front of my face is maddening. 

The walls of the basement need to be washed with TSP, to get rid of the mineral deposits and other unsavory things before we drylock it.  And now that its empty, I don't ever want to face doing this again if I don't have to.  So even though I was going to drylock over the winter, maybe its better to get all that nonsense out of the way in one fell swoop.  Opinions? 

I had asked a friend to fill in for me to teach a class last night, which got me down. Wednesdays are normally the highlight of my week.  But the asbestos crew was showing up at 8am this morning (they did turn up at 8, yes).  I wandered over to a garden center on my lunch break to cheer myself up.  Garden centers are all closed at 5pm here, and I work until 6, so I cannot even window shop after work.  I found a flat of heuchera for $20 bucks, which I thought was just wonderful.  This was the bright spot of my day, these silver scroll heuchera.  I love love love coral bells.  I've wanted to plant flowers, I have so wanted a garden.  I've email bombed D so many times with the kinds of plants I wanted.  I have had plans within plans.  But my desires to cultivate have been thwarted by groundhogs (ninja groundhogs, no less), vine orgies, and unhappy buried concrete surprises.  Now at last, I thought, I'd get some color and texture (in perennial form!) in my yard. 

D didn't feel like helping me work outside last night, and I didn't really have much time to spare (because the basement hadn't yet been unclogged).  So I had two pots to plant some heuchera in, which I did, excitedly.  And then there were no more pots, but that's ok because I knew where I wanted to plant the heuchera, by the deck which would shelter them from too much sun but would still give them a dose of rays without allowing them to scorch. 

But tree roots.  There are big tree roots.  Almost as thick as my pinky.  Foiled, but not defeated I dug elsewhere, in the far part of the sidebed.  Tree roots. Big ones.  And orange-colored ants.  But mostly big tree roots.  So I dug elsewhere, a little further away.  Tree roots.  I dug four holes in four different places and was presented with thick tree roots from the gdarn tree that his its limbs splayed like a big old yard whore.  And I fear damaging the roots this tree is massive and old, and could crush our house for vengeance. 

I have no idea what to do with the heuchera I bought.  Tonight I'll try to buy a planter for the front porch or something.  On the side of the house they'll get too much shade.  And be invisible.  On the front of the house I'm afraid they'll get too much strong sun.  So I threw my arms in the air, mad at myself for trying despite the trail of dead plants in my wake and all my ill-conceived plant plans.  I feel at a loss but I have to do something with them.  The planter is my only idea.  The tragedy is that they're perennials.  Most of them won't survive overwintering in a planter, I bet.  I wanted them in the ground to come back and play next year.  That's why you buy perennials in the first place.  But I've got to make do, and try to do right by the plants I purchased.   

I consoled myself last night with manual labor and medium lifting, breaking open the sores on my arms.  The basement looks like a yawning chasm once more, with asbestos tile in 70's colors.  Soon it'll look totally different, but clean and environmentally sound, and not prone to giving any of us mesothelioma.  I'm not real eager to repeat the process when we put it all back, but hopefully I'll be normal again by then (dermatologically speaking).  And I have tomorrow to look forward to, wherein I'll be cutting a check for asbestos and mastic removal to the tune of $Unholy Amount of Dollars because I am made of money, tra-la-la.  The steroids are giving me vicious moodswings, as I now recall not so fondly from the last time I was on them for about a month.  That was an epic red disaster there.  My heart races at random times during the day, and also when I try to sleep, and I have strange jitters.  My rash isn't gone, and though yesterday it got worse, today its not worse (nor is it better).  So I just have to be patient.  Patience.  ha haha hahahaaa.  omg I'm going insane.

Photos tomorrow.  Maybe. 

Coral Bells photo from The Primrose Path. 

Good News, and News that Sucks

Yesterday I took off work to go to the doctor, which went well.  It’s good luck within bad luck really, because I think I like this practice and I’ll be sticking with them.   I used to accompany people to doctors visits all the time when I was a translator, and I’m well accustomed to the brusque office staff, interminable waiting periods, and chilly physicians.  But actually everyone was nice, and the office ran pretty smoothly.  Even the wait was probably less than ten minutes.  And later I emerged triumphant with a prescription for steroids for the mystery dermatitis caused by whatever it is that I’m allergic to.  And not a moment too soon! 

I also tried to change my name at the social security office so I could assume my married name.  That didn’t go so well, because I didn’t understand the documents I needed to have in order to submit the other documents.  But now I have all the puzzle pieces, I think, so I can put them together the next time I take a day off.  Which may be next month, when/if we pick up Bob. 

While I was home I got some unpacking and organizing done.  There’s really not much more, and it isn’t pertinent stuff.  It just has to be organized and out of the basement so we can have the contractor come in this week and do some work.  I went out to check on the still surviving plants (the jade, the astilbe, the parsley, and the tomato is barely hanging on, because its been attacked again) and the neighbor lady was out with one of her dogs, so I went to go say hello to them both. 

Turns out while we were wrapped up in the minutiae of our daily lives, and I was itchy and feeling sorry for myself, the woman who lives across the street from us was shot in Price Hill.  She’s a taxi driver (or was, she may find a new profession), and some people got in and asked for her money, and she gave it to them  but she had just started her shift.  They told her it wasn’t enough and they shot her in the face and in the shoulder. http://www.local12.com/news/local/story/Female-Cab-Driver-Shot-Twice-in-East-Price-Hill/g1g0imu8yEGcF9Jto2F-zA.cspx 

We haven’t introduced ourselves up and down the block.  We met some of the neighbors when one of the guys down the street saw us moving in, he came up and introduced himself and invited us to the picnic he was putting on for his family.  Some of the people on the block were there, and it was just really considerate and charitable.  We didn’t meet the woman at that time, but we have seen her around, and her kid plays in her front yard. 

I feel this urge, this ambivalent urge to go to her house and introduce ourselves, see if we can help her out at all.  Which is weird, because she doesn’t know us and we don’t know her.  And she's still in the hospital.  I'd probably overcompensate for awkwardness, act like a weirdo and just end up frightening her son.  Maybe I could get with some people in the neighborhood and we all pitch in and send her flowers at the hospital.  Or maybe that’s silly, because who cares about flowers when you've been shot in the face.  Maybe we can bring her and her family some… jello? 

I don't expect to get anything out of this.  Maybe they are all nice, sure, and this could be a nice neighborly beginning.  Hey, maybe she's a dick.  I don't know.  All I know is that this woman was out trying to earn her wage and somebody shoots her in the face just because she happens to be there.  Wrong place wrong time?  Or maybe it was premeditated and the gunman called up the cab service for the sole purpose of robbery.  Imagine how you feel at the end of an average day at work, only to have some douchebag shoot you in the face.  What if that doesn't even count as worker's comp?  It really sucks for her.  I’d like to, I don’t know.  Do something.  Do something for somebody who has recently endured suckage.   

Only I don’t know what to do.  What could I do?

So did I google it?  Yes.  Yes I did.

Unfortunately I got very inappropriate returns, like “sympathy for neighbor who has passed away,” or similar condolences.  I could just go and talk to the family, ask if they want to hear about some surgical references.  I could ask the surgeon who put the bone graft in my jaw.  Or is that insensitive and none of my business?  Maybe I should be anonymous. 

I must ponder this. 

In other news we may get to meet Murphy the dog tonight.  That's good news, I hope!  Fingers crossed for no scheduling conflicts. 

Nevermind That Whole Death Thing

On Tuesday there was a family emergency.  D's grandmother had been hospitalized and the family had mobilized.  The doctors pronounced that her kidneys were functioning at 5% and gave her the bleak prognosis of 3 to 4 days to live.  We cancelled all of our plans and arranged leave from our respective jobs, and mapped out our drive from Cincy to Kansas City, MO.  It's ten hours by car, but the cheapest flight for the two of us plus taxes/fees/etc. and renta-car would still have been over a thousand dollars.  D's parents left their home at 4am to make the trip.  As I have essentially no vacation time left, we had to plan carefully.  Do you drop everything and rush to be with everyone for her final moments?  Do you wait and arrive into town to pay your respects?  As she was not expected to regain consciousness, D elected to wait until Friday and drive through the night, and we would only miss work on Monday. 

Wednesday afternoon D's mother had informed us that it was all off.  Grandma had awoken, proclaimed herself to be fine and demanded to be released.  (knowing this family, I can totally believe that she did this)  But actually, shortly thereafter the hospital doctors found the problem. 

It turns out that her regular doctor had prescribed her a medication that is well known to interact with the blood pressure meds that she was already on.  He didn't catch the interaction and it caused her kidneys to shut down.  Toxins had built up in her body, she got a kidney infection, and all manner of other badness may lurk around the corner.  What sorts of secondary illnesses?  She's being monitored now, but the good news is that she's not expected to die at any moment. 

So grandma is ok at this point.  We're pleased, of course, but we're going to have to stay tuned.  But no Kansas City for us this weekend.  As you can imagine things were suddenly in an uproar, and then suddenly they weren't, leaving me feeling like I'd blown the whole thing out of proportion.  I was slightly embarrassed when I had to tell my boss nevermind about that whole death thing.  One of my Japanese colleagues told me the whole thing sounded like something you'd see on television (embarassingly close to outright saying "contrived"), and asked me if the family would sue, (because Americans are so often portrayed as litigation-happy).  I told him they could, as they seem to have grounds.  D told me they probably wouldn't, but would likely have have considered it if they'd discovered the prescription mistake too late to save her.     

I am looking forward to the Aglamesis ice cream social outide this evening.  The weather is so mild!  This weekend is Oakley After Hours, which I had thought we might try taking the dog to.  (see that?  I just ended that sentence with a preposition, I hate that)  But with my sudden cancellation of our weekend visit, my just-as-sudden un-cancellation attempt might have come off as flaky as hell.  Or the foster mom may not have gotten my email.  At any rate it's likely that circumstances have dashed our chances to meet Murphy the dog this weekend.

Murphy

 

Hopefully we'll get to meet him, maybe next week.  We still have our other contender in the running, Bob the Prison Dog, who gets out next month with eight weeks of training and a Canine Good Citizen Certificate. 

Bob

(The CGC is not only a real thing, it is also recognized in many communities, and is part this awesome program for dog breeds that formerly made it hard for dog owners to get home insurance!)

Doggie Elimination ... ew, not that kind.

This weekend we are going to make the acquaintance of a dog.  He is one of two dogs that we are currently considering adding to our family.  They are both young but not puppies (not puppies exactly).  They are both from rescues.  This process of internet shopping for dogs makes me feel a wee bit weird.  You meet them on the day you take them home.  No matter how glowingly they are praised in the write-up, you could bring them home and find happiness or find it's nothing but turds.  So, it's like we're surfing for an internet bride.  I guess. 

Anyway, the doggies.  One has no tail, and no explanation on where it went.  He is socialized to people, dogs, and cats.  He is proportedly calm and sweet and does not chew on stuff.  Looking at his photos, he has the best doggie smile!  I am a sucker for a good doggie smile.  Just look at this one!   This one too.  Or something more subtle?   Ok, I'll stop, but seriously, I recommend that you just google "doggie smile" and enjoy yourself.  It brightened my day. 

Having no tail has probably reduced his chances of being adopted.  I was kind of weirded out too, because I'd had no idea he was an amputee. (or, you know, was born that way).  Will the neighborhood kids tease my dog for not having a tail?!  I don't know.  How can we tell if he's playing with the cats, or with us, or if he's unhappy, without seeing the tell-tale wagging tail?  It's like sign language without hands!  But if he's as good as his foster mommy says, it shouldn't be an issue. 

The second dog has never been around cats (as far as we know). It'll be more difficult to socialize him to them, as he hasn't already been exposed to them.  It will either make for a much more difficult transition period or it won't be any problem at all.  We won't know until we meet him.  This dog is currently serving 8 weeks in prison, being house and obedience trained by convicts (similar to this program).  He looks fluffy and his coloring is gorgeous, and, supposedly, he will be obedience trained.  Can't beat that!  We cannot see him until he completes his training.  His "graduation day" is slated to fall on my birthday. 

    Jack wasn't at the rescue dog event on Sunday.  We decided to swing by and visit him, see how he was doing.  It's pretty obvious that he's been adopted.  D and I didn't say anything, just held hands and left the event.   

So we aren't sure which way things will go.  This weekend's visit will help us find out if Doggie # 1 is a good fit for our family.  A doggie will be good company.  I've been a little discouraged lately in my whole, "getting to know cincy" endeavor.  I got some advice on how to meet people.  Someone said I should look in the "platonic" section of Craigslist's Personals. 



Thanks for the Heebie-Jeebies



 No. Way.

Reflections and Progress

There is such a thing as Doggie Return Remorse.  Even if you don't necessarily regret returning doggie after the one-week visit.  He did make trouble. 



Man down

 

Mr. Fox was twice doused in pee
(kindly ignore my at-home footwear choices)

But puppies are always learning.  They need to be taught and disciplined.  And they shouldn’t bite kitties.  But even though D is convinced we’ve done the right thing, I feel like I did something wrong.  Like I wasn’t a good enough doggie mom, or like we didn’t give him enough of a chance.  But the truth is, his behaviors only manifested in the last few days, and then it was time to decide to keep him or boot him.   We didn't have time to see if he'd turn around.  I miss having a dog around though. 



Absent Jack with his liddle tongue



The kitties seem to be happy that he's gone.  Very vocal, and they're chasing eachother around.  Their experience with a dog has instilled this fantastic, adorable (and hopefully permanent) solidarity.  Never before did they willfully sit on the same piece of furniture, or too close to eachother on the floor.  That's why I was so tickled by the photo at the top of this blog.  Truth is, they never had sat together.  But check this out. 

Uber rare, Tandem Kitty phenomenon

And I powered through some more unpacking and sorting while D drove down to Lexington last night to meet George RR Martin at a book signing.  

Recreating the LOR towers with empty boxes. 

The guest room is 95% de-junked and cleaned, just in time for our weekend house guest!

The kitchen is 100% unpacked and put away. 

Before

After.  Not staged, because we actually live here.

The side bed outside has been cleared of twigs and vines as much as I could.  I filled two yard waste bins.  Just waited for yard waste pickup so that I could clear away the remainder.  This was so much easier once the neighbor lent me her giant metal rake.  You can see that there's actual dirt below. But of course, under the dirt, there's more crap buried underneath.  There are piles of effing bricks buried underneath the dirt.  I don't know why or what it is, but they aren't exactly neat or solid constructions, so no matter what it is they all have to be removed. 


Vine Orgy Before



Seemingly drunk and blurry After, with newly found concrete bricks gosh darn it

These people before us, I swear they buried everything they didn't feel like dealing with.  That just seems plain unhealthy to me.