meirwen_1988

Today was remarkably busy. I got up (overslept a bit, so I missed Mass), did tea and toast, then packed up the dogs and the brownies and headed out. I dropped the brownies off in West Winfield for the scholarship barbeque (the Winfield Masons and Eastern Star hand out $1000 scholarships at graduation; the number is based on how much we're able to clear on our two scholarship BBQs--last year we handed out 12). Then I gassed up the car and headed to Utica to take the boys for a walk on the 840 trail.

When I got there it seemed excessively warm for 10 in the morning, but the boys were eager, there are a number of places they can drink along the trail, so we headed out. All was well until, at one of the drinking spots, Jiro decided to chase a frog. Into the water. Which was rather deep. And the boys are on a coupler, so I made a dive and hauled him out so he wouldn't drag Ping in with him. I must say he was quite willing to come out--he was a bit surprised, but not unduly frightened.

So, we continued. Ping readily drank at multiple opportunities. Soaking wet boy, nada.*Sigh* But, I reasoned, he's wet, so not overheating. We got to the midway point, where there are a couple of closely placed stretches where the path is completely shaded at that hour of the day, we slowed down, Ping drank more, Jiro didn't. So I turned back around. At this point the boys were walking more in the grass than on the path (which I can't blame them for). We finally got to their favorite drinking spot, and Ping laid himself down in the mud and refused to move. Which meant, finally, Jiro decided to actually drink. Which was good. But Ping was covered in mud. Bad.

So, after letting him cool down, I picked him up (by the harness, which allowed for the next part), and dunked him up to the rib cage in the flowing water. He didn't seem to mind a bit! So, I held him there for a bit, with Jiro looking on nonplussed, then put in him the grass, in hopes that walking through the grass (as they had been doing) would finish the job the water started. Well, that worked--sort of.

We headed home, where I continued with the weekends housework adventures, then took advantage of the newly white bathroom to take a long, luxurious shower before heading off for Belltower #118, OES NYS rehearsal. When that was over, we spent about an hour setting up for Tuesday's DD Visit.

Home to puppies, finishing To Light a Candle, and catching up on this and that (including waiting for Duchezz to get home from War Practice.

And then I saw that Robin had died.

He'd been ill for awhile, and there is no sense of surprise, but there is a deep sadness. For Barbara, who has watched her sons die in reverse order of their births. For Lesley and Barry as they lose another younger sibling. Barry as he completely loses his writing partner, adversary, collaborator, little brother--a very different thing than their on-again, off-again estrangements.

I never enjoyed Robin's solo efforts, but then I don't enjoy Barry's. Their work together, though, was magic--whether writing of coal miners saying good-bye to loved ones while saying hello to death, or capturing the Alice in Wonderland veneer that painted over a deep despair in the 70's, or the humanity of a baby brother dead, children marrying, and marriages that stood the tests of fame and time.

The voices of huge swaths of my life are being stilled, one by one.

Today after dropping a substantial percentage of the most recent paycheck at Petsmart, as I was leaving a lovely, tall, elegant black woman was leaving with her "just-groomed" puppy, complete with little bandana. I looked down at the enthusiastic, wiggly sweetie and couldn't help but smile. I looked up at her and said, "How adorable? How old?"

It took her a moment to thaw--I don't expect she's often addressed in a friendly way by suburban-looking white women, especially not about her dog. She then visibly relaxed and said, "Six weeks! Can you believe it?" She scooped the little boy puppy up and held him so he could sniff me and I could let him give me little puppy kisses on my hand. "Oh, he's wonderful. What a sweetheart!"

"Yes. He's my little lover boy, and that's how I'm going to raise him." There was strength, and conviction in her voice. And maybe anger? And maybe fear she wouldn't be able to keep her promise?

He was a beautiful little white pit bull puppy, with just some small bits of black here and there. Gentle, and sweet. As they are if they're raised with love and kindness. Clearly already devoted to his mistress.

I hope she is able to keep him hers. Keep him safe.

What a sweet little dog.

My boy had me desperately frightened. That'll happen when your fuzzy wonder suddenly demonstrates crippled movements and a left rear paw and lower leg THREE times the size of the other ones.

Crippling gut cramps doesn't begin to describe my reaction.

However, no broken bones, not even a sprain. While it is impossible to know what it is at this point, best judgement is bee/wasp/hornet sting on pad.

Swelling started to go down today, he's eating and being more social (i.e. not hiding under my bed anymore and wanted downstairs for food).

Huge sigh of relief.

1) Drop boys off at "camp"
2) Hold office hours
3) Write film test for Monday (Cinematography and Acting, if you care)
4) Make "Learning Unit 3" live on Blackboard class
5) Meet up with Jane and Skip at Cedarville Fish Fry
6) Go to bed early
7) Pick up wyz_azz  and drd_pyrat  at Thruway at 5:20 AM
8) Drive to Crossgates
9) Go to NYC with Concordia
10) FINALLY SEE THE CLOISTERS!!!

You wish you were me--admit it. No one will think less of you for it (though they might question you sanity, but that's a totally different issue).

P.S.--Dear Universe: If you thought giving one of my friends a nice big promotion was compensation for laying off multiples of them in the last 2 months, well,

NOT!!!!

-Do not read the Fleur list. This was mentioned before.
-Do not read much_ado , especially postings about school, or comments that allude to Pelagius, my favorite church-decried theologian, while having breakfast unless one has the entire day to do research, thinking, and thoughtful responding. Makes you late for work. And you don't get any of the previous three done and it hangs over your consciousness all day like the f***ing sword of Damocles.
-Other people's lives are much worse than my own. Moira is much in my thoughts today.
-Pugs need regular, prolonged snuggles. I am not a solo multipug person. One person, one dog, that's my motto.
-Shite happens. Our secretary had a stroke in the office this morning. I really like her. It appears she's doing well now, but, holy crap, Batman!
-Life is infinitely better with a cup of tea, a piece a shortbread, and a purring kitty. So I'm on my way home to all three now.

We are home.
We have collected the puppies.
A blissfully sodium free, fat free vegetable soup is simmering on the stove.
The Duchezz has been Nyquil'ed and is curled up in her chair.
I have a pot of tea and a book.
We anticipate being Pict-ed sometime today, which is wonderful.

Over the weekend we will head to Ra-cha-cha to see Duchezz brothers, perhaps most senior squire (in longevity) and family, and to deliver peanuts.

Until then, our own house, snowing outside, and kitty cuddles are the order of the day.

As such things are measured these days, life is good. There's a huge hole in the world, our hearts, our lives--but we take the blessings as they come, welcome them, and say thank you.

So, snow. Nasty, icy, wet, dangerous, snow. 24 miles of it. Up and down hills and around curves. Oh yeah--are we having fun yet?

But, I made it home, Jiro got his first experience of snow beneath his paws, and now he and his brother are arguing over a nylabone. Just another Tuesday in paradise.

On a not so happy note, a shire member needs prayers, as does her husband. Yes, Coppertree does not seem to be the place to be right now. Except maybe it is. The people in this shire are amazingly supportive of one another, and at times like this that can make all the difference. Perhaps they are exactly where they need to be.

Apparently she had a dream last night that Morguhn gave her a stern talking to about how she was to handle this mortal challenge. Her husband takes comfort that she has such a remarkable Guardian Angel. So be it.

So, the doctor says, "Keep him calm."
The doctor says, "Don't let him run around much, if at all."
The doctor says, "Don't let him jump."

Right.
Doctor failed to give us puppy knock-out-drops.

On the other hand, no collar of shame, seems completely unaffected by the missing marbles, and is generally the usual insane little bugger he usually is.

Ping is unimpressed and wishes to emphasize how pleasant last evening was.

I try to explain it is an imperfect universe. Ping is more unimpres...oh look, a cookie!

Mass for me. Vacuuming for her.
French toast.
Errands, including first cider purchase of the year.
Home.
Football.
Answered email, hunted for thank you cards, knitted/crocheted depending on who you're envisioning.
I cooked for the first time in more than two weeks.
Shower. Dinner.
I graded papers. She did laundry.
She found more photos.

She's gone to bed. I'm on my way.

Yes. We did all these things. You can live two things simultaneously, we've found. There is the life we do. And there is the life we feel. They sometimes have very little in common, except that they share the same moments in time. The life we do moves us through the days, and even appreciates some of those moments for their beauty, or humor. The life we feel is...as you might imagine right now.

Tonight, just as we were getting ready for bed, Sam found a new perch. She was posed like a cat in an ancient Egyptian statue. On the box we've housed his ashes in--the box he and his brother made to hold his county coronet.

She was very elegant. Very much Daddy's girl. Watching over him.

Good kitteh.

So, looks like St. Francis decreed that August 12 would be Victor Echo Tango day for Caer Cinniuit and the Cinniuit diaspora. After much nagging, the "8 year old" made the vet appointment and took her dog to the nice people at Burrstone Animal Hospital. Where we got degree-supported analysis of what I already knew. Jiro is healthy (mostly), weighs 8 pounds, has hives, and is a boy dog. However, we now have permission to give him benadryl (those hives have to be a misery), instructions to do some gland duct work (in case) [not me, monkey boy], and he has had more shots and is scheduled for, well, a little nip and tuck a bit down the road.

Our vet has this obsession about food and allergies in puppies of all ages (okay, he's right a lot of the time, but that doesn't mean it isn't an obsession), but I don't think it's the food. Jiro has food three times a day, but he usually only breaks out in hives about 20 minutes after he's gone rolling in the grass. Methinks it's the yard, not the food. (But, this will help me make sure that they only get the good stuff for the little guy, and have them not give me funny looks, which is good.) Can't do much about the grass part, so benadryl it is.

Duchezz mentioned that he spit up the stuff they gave him at "the place." Well, given my instructions of what to buy, I don't blame him.
Quote: "Just buy stuff like you would for a small child related to you."
"Oh, dye-free benadryl liquid?"
"That's it!"
So, I go. I read box. Bubble-gum flavored. Blech! No wonder he threw it up.

In other news, got my hair cut again, lunch with Donna rescheduled for tomorrow, and Kozy Shack No Sugar Added Tapioca pudding is AWESOME GOOD!!!