Clapping Santa

The rest of the world has the Travelocity Gnome. I have......drumroll........Clapping Santa (queue photo). Actually.....we have two Clapping Santas, but tomorrow, the one you see pictured above (queue photo) will be packed carefully into a flat rate box, transported to SeaTac, loaded onto a jet, and flown down to a certain assisted living facility in Southern California where my father will be a happy, happy man because he can start and end every day from now until New Years with Clapping Santa (queue photo) chiming "HOHOHOOOOO MERRRRRRRY CHRISTMAS!" every time there's a nearby sharp noise (yeeeeah......with my father around, do you know how many times a day THAT happens????).

In case you're not familiar with the Clapping Santa? It's like the Clap-On Light. If you get close enough and clap your hands, the noise-activation sensor sets him off. Dad used to wheel into the kitchen every morning (during holiday season when I had Clapping Santa out with the rest of the decorations) and promptly bang the kitchen counter to get Clapping Santa going. Then every other time Dad wheeled into or out of the kitchen. Then when he fed the dogs he'd bang the spoon on Emily's metal feeding dish repeatedly, which not only activated Clapping Santa, but also riled up Emily and caused her to bark incessantly. Picture the clanging, banging of the spoon on the metal food bowl, "Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang...." with a very excited English Bulldog barking in the background, "WoofWoof, WoofWoof, Woofwoof, WoofWoof..." and then good ole Clapping Santa repeating over and over and over again, "HOHOHOOOOO MERRRRRRRY CHRISTMAS!!! HOHOHOOOOOO MERRRRRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!"

Not like I miss any of that or anything...........

When Friends Visit

16 Nov 2011

Thank God for friends!

Oh wait. Not for the reasons you might think.

Though, I do cherish my friends and would be a dismal mess were it not for their unconditional love and support.

But there are many practical benefits that are enjoyed when one has friends.

Like, when they visit.

Before my friends come to visit,

I accomplish great things.

Wonderful

Unexpected Things

Just seem to happen.

I vacuum.

I dust.

I actually put my pajamas away.

I wash the shmutz off the dessert plates I intend on using that night.

I pull out the “fancy” flatware and discover Grandma’s long lost ivory-handled cake server stuck way in the back of the drawer with a set of sterling silver lobster picks I didn’t even know existed.

I wash the dogs’ food bowls.

I clean the eye boogers out of their eyes.

I change the burned-out bulb in the outside light fixture.

I realize for the first time that having just one chair at the dining room table is not very feng shui.

I take down the photo hanging on the wall in the dining room that I never really thought “went” in the dining room.

I put up a photo on the wall in the dining room that I always felt belonged there in the first place.

I decide to cook things like babaganoush, steamed pudding, and caramelized onions.

I set the table.

I use napkin rings and water goblets.

I rethink the fact that there is a bar in the kitchen but no barstools.

I buy bottles of Perrier and Pellegrino.

I decide it is high time I scrub the toilet.

I make sure there are extra rolls of TP in the bathroom.

I suddenly become aware of every single toothpaste spot on the bathroom mirror.

I clean the mirror.

Then the friends arrive.

We chat.

We laugh.

We share.

We eat the babaganoush and drink Perrier from the water goblets.

We discuss.

We are each silently inspired by things that are said.

Then the friends leave.

And I’m alone again.

But not as much.

Whale Song

13 Nov 2011

I donned my lightweight jacket, hat, and gloves,

Positioned my ear buds just so,

Selected Whale Song from my iPod playlists.

Pressed Play.

I left the house for my regular six-mile walk,

Along the same trail, across the same bridge,

Across the same surging river, down the same wood stairs,

Around the same cow pasture, past the same goat house,

And experienced an area I had never seen before.

Whale Song hummed in my ears.

The trees billowed gently in the breeze,

But I imagined they moved with the flow of the ocean.

The leaves danced and circled in the wind,

But I imagined they floated with the benthic push of the sea.

Only Whale Song hummed and moaned in my head.

For two hours.

Nothing but Whale Song.

I thought, “What a peaceful place to exist—where whales live.”

I thought, “Everything around me is colored with the deep resonance of whale song.”

I thought, “The trees and leaves and the river and mountains have a grace I’ve never noticed before.”

For two hours,

I experienced a world I had never seen before.

For two hours, I only saw the world.

For two hours, the world was a backdrop,

To Whale Song.

The gravel driveway back to the house felt crude and indelicate.

Entering through the door in the garage seemed odd and primitive.

The trappings inside the house looked foolish and unnecessary.

I lay down on the living room carpet to stretch my legs.

Whale Song still humming in my ears.

I expelled my last breath.

Whale Song still humming in my ears.

A beautiful solitary sound.

An Almost Perfect Companion

Uma is eleven years old. In a word, her exuberance for life is unsurpassed. She possesses the notable capacity for embracing every possible opportunity to play or run with undaunted enthusiasm and boundless energy.

Uma is a dog—specifically, a Field Bred English Cocker Spaniel. She has been my constant companion since I first claimed her, in the summer of 2000, from the airport in Grand Rapids, Michigan, delivered obediently by her trusty human escort from Duluth, Minnesota. She (Uma, not the escaort) was no bigger than my two outstretched palms, had the roundest gentlest brown eyes, a lustrous ebony coat save for the dusting of white whiskers at the point of her mouth and nose, and a relentless desire to be loved. Except for her size, she has not changed since that day.

When I made the decision in the summer of 2000 to take on a six week old puppy, it was, in part, to satisfy my desire for a hiking companion, a couch companion, a walking companion, a sleeping companion, a living companion. A companion who would not argue with me, tell me I was too fat, tell me how to dress or not to dress, insult my way of life, or make me choose between my children or him. In short, a companion who would expect nothing more from me other than daily meals, frequent pats and strokes, and a regular routine that included the occasional game of fetch. We have not disappointed each other. It is the longest voluntary relationship I have had with another living creature.

Last night, I stood in my bedroom, looking out at the black night, as I often do, and I contemplated the somewhat depressing reality that if something unforeseen should happen to me at home, it would likely be a while before anybody would find me. In the midst of this inner revelation, I glanced over and noticed Uma, sitting just off to my left, watching me, oblivious to the gravity of my thoughts, waiting only for my next move. Was it time for bed, or was I going to return to the computer room, or perhaps to the kitchen, or maybe the living room? What would it be? Huh? Huh? Huh?

Uma and I stared at each other a good long while—thirty seconds for me; a hardy two minutes for her. I was suddenly reminded of Dad’s famous phrase that so perfectly illustrated his general dislike for people—“People are no damn good..” I recalled how Dad has always repeatedly said how he prefers dogs over people. For the most part, I always agreed with him. That is, until that moment, when a little glitch in Dad’s logic suddenly became glaringly evident.

I got down on the floor to Uma’s level, grabbed her muzzle in my hands, looked her straight in the eyes and said, “How are your CPR skills?”

Sugar Cookie Cocoa Tea

This post has absolutely nothing to do with my mom or my dad or caregiving. But it has EVERYthing to do with my continuing efforts to discover the little joys in life.

I'll be brief.

I was in the kitchen early this morning, it had just hailed, and the bird bath on the garden table outside was frozen completely solid.

It was cold.

So....there I was in the kitchen, still in my PJs, barely awake, filling up the tea pot for my regular morning tea when I was overcome with the strangest urge to veer from my usual chamomile blend. Something different seemed to be called for on this frosty autumn morning.

I opened the pantry where the non-chamomile options live--orange-mint, Good Earth, Coconut Chai, Santa's Sleigh Spice, Throat Soother, Tummy Mint. I dunno.......nothing sounded like the perfect choice for such a chilly morning. I searched again, pushing boxes and bags aside to see what might be lurking behind the Good Earth. And, there, wayyyyy in the back, sitting all by itself, almost pulsating with the glowing light of soothing tea goodness, was my all-time holiday favorite--Santa's Sugar Cookie Tea (shameless plug for Celestial Seasonings). I scooped up the box and held it tight in my chilly little hands like it was the prodigal tea--newly discovered, never to be forgotten again.

This might have been the answer to everything, except........I wasn't really in the mood for Santa's Sugar Cookie Tea. The sound of it was......just okay, not enough to take the frosty edge off the brisk autumn morning.

So I stood........and I thought........and KABLAMM! like a bolt of culinary inspiration straight to my right cerebrum, it came to me--OVALTINE! I'll add just a wee bit to my Santa's Sugar Cookie tea--a hint of malt and a kiss of cocoa (Remember where you heard that first!)--to give my Santa's Sugar Cookie tea that extra pizazz.

Thus, my new favorite tea, which I have created myself--Sugar Cookie Cocoa Tea. Go on, say it, you know you want to--SugarCookieCocoaTea, SugarCookieCocoaTea. Just brings the holly right out of you doesn't it?

Any now if you'll excuse me, my tea pot is whistling....

Dumpsters

I have mixed feelings about dumpsters.

On the one hand, thanks to the rented dumpster that sets just outside the barn as I type: hundreds of boxes of "stuff" have been eliminated; the daunting task of sorting through all the "things" that Mom and Dad have carted around for the past fifty years (or more) is complete; my ToDo List is significantly shorter.

On the other hand, I can't help but visualize the local landfill where now, all of the umpteen photos, musty linens, broken picture frames, and ancient memorabilia I tossed into the dumpster are but tiny trivial specks scattered over the sea of who-knows-how-many-other-people's unwanted "stuff."

But back to the first hand.......thanks to the convenience of a dumpster, I imagine pieces of the electric blanket I used when I was five have been shredded by some enterprising sea gull and used for nesting material. That seems fitting.

But back to the other hand......I have a little trouble with the idea of voracious beetles gnawing away at the pages of my mother's fifth grade scrapbook, or the edges of that really old photograph of the unidentifiable-woman-in-the-really-great-hat. Then again, beetles have to eat.

Crazy Or Not So Crazy? That Is The Question.

Don't bother to remind me about how I used to crave silence. Don't even try to tell me about how I used to complain and gripe about Dad constantly engaging me in conversation. That was then; this is now.

Now.........I talk to my dogs.

A lot.

This afternoon, for example, I practiced a monolog from Titus Andronicus (I know. A bloody Shakespearean tragedy of all things) in front of a captive audience of one--one curiously-enthralled-but-ultimately-indifferent bulldog by the name of Emily.

Emily sat, and watched (Really, she did. She actually watched. See the photo of her at top of the post? That's exACTly how she looked!), and like any polite audience member, she remained sitting as I worked on the monolog, line by line, word by word, trying this inflection and that inflection. Sadly, like too many audience members, she sat expressionless, giving me virtually nothing by which to gauge my effectiveness, or lack thereof.

But back to my original point--the whole conversing with the animals bit.

So yes......I now chat with my dogs. I'm thinking (hoping?) this is normal. I'm thinking (hoping?) this is common. Let me be clear. I am NOT talking about a casual rhetorical comment thrown out to one or both dogs from time to time. Nooooooononono.

I'm talking about........a conversation.

I....have.....CONVERSATIONS........withmydogs.

Granted, they don't answer........in words.

But I HAAAVVVEEEE conversations with them.

I tell them what I'm thinking of doing that afternoon, or the next day.

I share my feelings about the movie I've just watched, or the article I just read.

Apparently they know that I'm addressing them.

They look me right in the eyes!

They cock their heads when I pose a question to them, rhetorical or otherwise. If they're paying attention, is it so wrong to engage them in simple conversation? I mean........we're not discussing world politics here. And it's not like I'm asking their permission to go anywhere or do anything (cuz that WOULD be a little crazy).

No, our conversations run more along the lines of, "Oh look at the carpet girls. It looks a little mufty (my word). Maybe I should vacuum. What do you girls think?"

Okay, okay, so maybe that WAS asking permission...

Or....."OK girls, I'm running out to the store. I'll be back soon. Do you need anything?"

oh shit.