Sure, I'll Have A Bud...

Each year I can hardly wait to see the best commercials that play during the Super Bowl.  I could care less about the game, but the day after I always watch the Top Ten ads.  There were a few good ones this year, some were pretty funny, but this one--the video of a man raising a Clydesdale colt for Budweiser--killed me.  Totally. Killed. Me.  I was tearing up halfway through and reaching for the Kleenex box by the end. 

This is the best commerical ever.  The scenery, the music, the story...

Right? 
 
Now, sorry, but I've gotta go.  I really need to blow my nose again...


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N.B.  I just read this evening that the little colt pictured in this video has been named Hope.  Just so perfect....

Magpie Tales 154...Reverence

Central Library, Manchester, U.K., by Robin Gosnall

 

 

Within stone
worlds

 Pages turn
stirring

 Words aloft
breathe

 

Book perfume
ensorcelling

 Dreams fly
skyward

 

 

Magpie Tales prompt for this week.  I could write all day about books, libraries--my favorite things in all the world.  Libraries should be revered, worshipped, protected.  They encompass all that we are.

 

Slow Sunday...

I removed the Sundays In My City badge, and won't be adding it to my writing and/or photography endeavors after all.  I realized it's sort of competing with the 52s, and those are ever so much more important to me.  I really like doing Magpie Tales--when the photo/picture prompt speaks to me--and Haiku Heights is just plain fun, but between those two, the 52s, the blog, my photography, working on the Scribbles serial and taking care of the other parts of my life...well, cripes.  There just aren't enough hours in the day, are there?

And now, having just got off the phone after my weekly Sunday chat to Jan (BFF), I am sorely behind on my day...which will shortly become my night if I don't get a move on.  I'm in the throes of the next installment on the serial and really want to get it posted today.  Too bad, just as I'm ready to sit down and finish writing it, the boys now want to go on our usual afternoon walk, no matter I keep telling them there is no mail on Sundays. 

Ah well, the fresh air will clear my mind. 

Or, hmmm, maybe I can buy them off with cookies...

Week 5 of the 52s...A Little Road Trip

So this morning whilst having breakfast, I realize that once again it's nearing the end of the week and I haven't done my new thing for the 52s.  I had sort of planned to hit the art gallery yesterday--one of the adventures on my list--but with the garage fiasco and other stuff I had to do, I just couldn't pull it off.

I spend a minute or two considering if I want to search for one of the covered bridges (also on my list), but the weather's foggy and crappy, not such a good day for photographs.  I glance at the map, then decide to save that trip for another day.

The dogs and I head down the mountain for our walk, and as we're going along the trails through the VA complex, the fog lifts and it starts to look like a pretty good morning for a drive after all.  Except I don't have the map.  We get back to the car, and at the intersection where I either turn for home or turn for adventure, I make a snap decision.  Telling the boys to fasten their seat belts, off we go: clueless into the unknown.

Actually, I remembered most of the route, though there's always the possibility of making a mistake, getting lost, and at one point I did think I'd gone the wrong way.  Luckily, just as I was looking for a place to turn around, there it was.

Oregon has the most covered bridges in the West, and almost the most in America.  Once upon a time there were more than 400, though today there's barely 50, and only six in my part of the state.  Sad, really.  They're such wonderful little pieces of history.

The Cavitt Creek Bridge, built in 1943, is 70ft long and spans the Little River.
 

Going through it was really cool.  You have to keep to the center, driving on the large planks while the wood creaks and groans around you...I loved  it.

Once I drove through to the other side, I parked along the river embankment and walked inside the bridge to take some interior shots.  A few of the locals passed by, very friendly, lots of smiles and waves, and careful driving so I didn't have to leap into the river.

The far side of the bridge--the car is just out of view to my right--as I'm heading inside...

The interior was very cool.  Huge support beams on each side that had to easily be 50ft long (if the bridge is 70ft), then the buttresses, equally as thick.  Imagine the size of the trees...

An interesting thing were the six large openings (three per side) like windows without glass (visible in the second photo above).  Here's the view down river from the middle opening...

Looking out the other side, up river...

It was such an adventure, not knowing if I would truly be able to find the place, especially without the map, then the fun and satifaction when I did.  And it was a perfect drive: quiet, not much traffic, and the further I got into the wilderness, the better the weather.

After leaving the bridge and retracing my steps the eight miles back to the main highway, I noticed a sign across the road that said Colliding Rivers Viewpoint.  Well hey, I'm game...now that I'm channeling Sacajawea.

At this confluence, the Little River collides with the North Umpqua River, where chaos ensues.  The waters were really turbulent and wild, though the viewpoint didn't lend itself to good photographs.  I stood on the stone wall, wrapping my foot around a post in the handrail as I tried to shoot between the trees.  This is the best I was able to do...

The Little River is coming from the left...

 

 

...and colliding with the North Umpqua coming from the right.  They merge tumultuously in the middle, to eventually become the main Umpqua River that runs to the Pacific Ocean.



It was a great morning.  I loved the adventure, the drive, the doing of something unexpected and fun.  It sure wasn't on my agenda for Saturday, but that's the whole point of the 52s, isn't it?

The Fortune Cookie

Last night, hanging out with the boys watching a movie, there was suddenly the most god-awful explosion of sound--literally, like a real explosion that even shook the house.  Course, it scared the crap out of me, because I couldn't imagine what it could be.  I went outside, both front and back, looking for the cause down in the valleys, expecting to see a fireball at the very least.

But there was no explanation.  No fire, sirens, four horsemen riding across the sky, nothing.

So, this morning, usual routine of going for our walk, the boys and I go downstairs, I load them in the car and hit the garage door opener...and nothing happens, there's no movement, just a grinding noise from the gear box.  Damn and blast.  I get the ladder, dink with the release cord, try the opener again, the door moves up about 3 inches and locks.  Repeat fifty more times because, well, because...okay, because I'm stupid.  Accepting defeat, I then attempt to physically lift the door; wedge a 2X4 in the 3-inch space and torque as hard as I can, pound on the door, jiggle the mechanism, curse.  Oh how I cursed.  But that frigging door will not budge.

After I stab myself with a sharp piece of metal, bleed all over the garage floor, down my arm and all over my sweater, I give up and call my neighbor for advice on why this goddamn door won't open manually.  I end up with three neighbors--the word spread down the mountain there was a damsel in distress (their words)--and between the four of us, we still can't get the door open.  Finally one of the guys points out that the spring has broken, which is what has virtually locked the door down.  Hercules couldn't lift the thing. 

I thought the large black tube was some kind of PVC pipe for insulation or something, but no, it's actually the spring that not only runs the whole operation, but acts as a counter balance, hence why--it turns out--the door can't be lifted manually.  Then another guy asks me if I've heard a really loud noise recently, like an explosion; the sound the spring makes when it snaps. 

Ah.  Mystery solved.

So, after some standing around, various suggestions, some neighborly small talk...the general consensus?  Call the professionals.

Within an hour--seriously, the fastest response I've ever had to a house emergency--and this very nice guy showed up, assessed the situation in two seconds flat, and within 15 minutes had jerry-rigged the door so I can use it until the new spring arrives next week.

While the door guy and I are talking, I tell him the garage opener is old, makes too much noise, and by the way, how much is the spring going to cost?  Well, for a few bucks more, I can get a brand-new, quiet and efficient, totally new opener.  We shake on the deal, so next week he'll be back to install the new mechanism, not just a spring.

You know, there was a time when I got breathless with excitement over a new pair of shoes, or a beautiful new purse.  How far I have sunk when the thought of a new garage door opener gives me palpitations...sigh.

Oh, almost forgot: The other day I bought a box of fortune cookies.  They're low fat, low calorie, low everything, and I love the taste of a good crunchy fortune cookie, so after the door guy left, I made a cup of coffee and grabbed a cookie.

Then I had to laugh...

Determination will get you through this.

 

Yeah.  That and a professional...



A Week of Busy...

Tomorrow will be the first time this week I won't be running hither and yon with tasks, chores and appointments.  It's funny how nothing happens for awhile, then suddenly twenty things happen at once.  Feast or famine, for sure.  All I really want at this point is to stay on the mountain, pour myself a nice, big glass of wine, settle into my cozy chair and read a book. 

Come on, Friday.  (Though I'm not actually going to wait until tomorrow for wine...) 

Here's a good thing: Max is finally good to go.  He had the gnarly chest sutures taken out this morning and got the perfect health cookie from the vet.  I wasn't sure two weeks ago that I would actually get this far--what with the restitching and the Conehead the Barbarian thing--but hey, time has a way of passing, no matter what our obstacles.  And since Max has now collapsed in his bed and is contentedly snoring, I'm pretty sure he's one happy wee dog to be done with the vet, the cone and the itchy bits.

Tuesday afternoon, fairly gloomy and dreary, when a bright lance of sunshine appeared out of nowhere across the valley at the back of the house.  In the barrenness of Winter, I could suddenly see the gentle haze of new green in the fields below.  The rest of the valley was still bleak, but with that one ray of light, this small section gleamed with the promise of Spring...

Then yesterday, hiking back from the mail box, I noticed my daffodils are sprouting!  I'm so excited!  I planted that huge bag--over 100 bulbs--last Fall, but planting in bedrock, I wasn't convinced they would grow, even with my pick-axing and composting.  However, thanks to the miracle of Nature, and the indomitable will of plants to grow in the crappiest of environments:

Along the driveway.  Look, you can just see them poking up next to the wall...

Okay, here, let me just show you a close-up instead...

And further up the drive, more little shoots...

I can't wait to see the tall green stalks, the golden yellow heads, the cheerful sign of hope that another Winter is past, and Life prevails...

And yeah, I'm going to bore you senseless, dear readers, with many photos of my hardy, against the odds, growing in stone daffodils when they've bloomed.  Though I know you won't mind, because truly, who can resist such simple beauty...

Birds: Cage and Shadow...

A few months back, when Mom was at my place for Thanksgiving, we went out on Black Friday--against my will, but that's another story--and in our travels we wandered into Pier 1, where I saw this elegant wire bird cage filled with potpourri.  I really liked the clever idea, but at $40 for the cage and an addition $20 for potpourri...well, let's just say I didn't like it that much.

Last week I was at the shop where I buy my favorite specialty teas--Yorkshire and Om chai--and what do I see on a shelf, but this very interesting little wire bird cage.  It's sweet, but I can't think what I would do with it.  

Then I got home and suddenly remembered Pier 1, Black Friday, and the bird cage.

This morning I went back to the store, and though I expected it to be gone, it wasn't...

My $6.00 bird cage.  No, really.  $6.00.  It's brass, about 12" tall and has three little bird silhouettes attached around the outside.  It is totally amazing.

So, I buy the bird cage, walked next door to Pier 1 and found a bag of potpourri--on sale--that worked perfectly.  Cilantro Citrus.  Fresh, spicy, clean scent.

Here it is, my adorable $16.00 potpourri birdcage, in my main bath.  But you know what's even better than not spending $60.00?  Mine is actually cooler than the one at the Pier...

And since we're (more or less) on the topic of birds...

The other day.  I'm reading, dogs are napping, peace and quiet--BAM!  I jump, the dogs leap to their feet barking, the three of us stare at each other while we wait for the house to collapse or the world to end.  The boys run to the front windows and growl at the road, though I'm sure the noise came from a different direction.  I walk toward the large window that looks over the back garden and am stunned to see this:

A bird ghost.  A shadow bird.  An imprint of horror because this must mean the corpse is 20 feet below lying in a heap of deadness on my back path.  Little birds used to crash into my windows quite often, but since putting up my prayer flags the kamikaze stuff has pretty much stopped.  I've never had such a large bird hit the window with enough force to leave this kind of ghostly definition.  If you click on the photo, you can actually see his eyes, beak, and feathers.

Resigned, I go downstairs, through the garage and out the back door, already cringing at what I will find.

Which was nothing.

How could this bird hit with such velocity, and live to tell the tale?  I looked all over the yard, down the driveway, over the embankment, into the pines and trees...nothing.  A mystery of survival.

I don't have a ladder tall enough to wash this window, and though I hoped the rains would wash away the shadow, that hope didn't pan out because the window is not only in a sheltered corner of the house, it's tucked under the eaves.  So, I had to call Jeremy, the one guy in my small town who has tall, tall ladders and washes most of the nearly inaccessible windows for miles around. 

When I told him I needed him to wash a bird ghost off my window, he hesitated, then said he'd be right over.  Once he saw what I was talking about, he shook his head and said he'd never seen such a clear outline, even down to the beak, and he'd been washing bird dust (his words) off windows for years.

Jeremy is convinced the bird flew down the mountain on auto-pilot, then croaked.  I prefer to think the bird might've had a really bad headache, but lived to tell his friends about the day he met his own reflection at Mach 4...

Sunday In My City...And Yeah, I Know It's Monday...

Over to the right there, where the Prompt Me header lists Magpie Tales and Haiku Heights, I've added a new badge:  Sundays in My City.  The idea is to take photos of your part of the planet, sharing your Sunday with others doing the same.  I really liked that, so thought I'd give it a try.

It would be nice, though, if I actually lived in a city.  Were I still in Seattle, or Edinburgh, no problem, I could share all day and well into the night.  But here, in the backwoods of southern Oregon?  Not so much.  Still, I'm going to give it a shot, though maybe not every Sunday.

Course, right off the bat I missed posting the Sunday part of this exercise, but only because I had other things (Ozzy's birthday and the Max haiku) to write about yesterday.

So, here are a few shots of a Sunday walk through the grounds at the VA where the boys and I go every weekend because it's quiet and peaceful, and the complex is beautiful.

The main hospital building.  So very imposing and Thomas Jefferson-like.  (I actually took this photo last Summer, though it was a Sunday.  That still counts, right?)

Each of the buildings has a different window architrave, though my favorite is this spiderweb design over the entrance to the Business Office...

Last Saturday, I took a shortcut through the buildings because the rain went from drizzle to downpour in a nanosecond, and it was the fastest way back to the car.  As we came around a corner, an intriguing manhole cover caught my eye at the edge of the path.  The next day--yes, Sunday--I took my camera.  What an artistic and unusual cover: A salmon and dragonfly...go figure.

 

Okay, this might have been a poor start to a Sunday In My City post, but it was my first, and as the weather improves I should be able to wander about more, do some exploring.  However, I live in a very small town, so I guess my mission will be to expand my horizons, look for things that aren't obvious.

 

Like art in a manhole cover...

Birthdays, Pens and Portals...

Today is Ozzy's 10th birthday.  Ten years.  How is that possible?  There have been so many changes since that wintry cold Sunday in Edinburgh when he came to live with us.  I can see him clearly in my mind, this tiny little creature, all fluffy blacks and whites, shaking and scared...until I picked him up and cuddled him, and just like that, he was mine.  I still pick him up the same way and he still snuggles into my neck.  

Where has the time gone?  Wasn't he just a puppy the other day?  I won't go into how it tears at my heart to see the gray around his eyes, see the signs of age in his face; how hard it is to swallow around the lump in my throat.  But we don't need to go there, not today.

Happy Birthday, sweet boy...and just look at your handsome 10 year old self:

 

**************************************

I was reading a post on Lynn's site (Paperback Writer) the other day about the 2013 Handwriting Contest, sponsored by Fahrney Pens.  You have to write a story, haiku, poem, whatever, that relates to handwriting or pens in some way, but you have to actually write it.  By hand.  The winner gets a totally cool pen worth over $300.  I used to love writing and had a pretty good hand, though nowadays it's far easier and faster to type.  Still.  I was intrigued.  Yesterday I wrote my haiku and sent it off.  It doesn't matter if I win or not, it was the fun of it, and the act of holding the pen and writing the words.

My handwriting used to be much better, but I'm out of practice.  Here's what I wrote:

**************************************

Late yesterday, walking back from my hike to the mail box, the clouds, the sky, the winds high in the atmosphere, were making the most incredible display of shapes and colors.  I tried to hurry the boys along so I could get my camera, but as is usually the case, the minute I hurry, they lag.  By the time we got home and I snagged the camera, it was already too late to take a picture of a bizarre cotton ball effect in one section of clouds, though I did get these...

But then.

I was closing the blinds as it was getting dark, when this most beautiful vision of cloud and sun appeared on the horizon.  It was so amazing, I almost forgot to take a photo.  I think this is one of my favorite shots of all time.

I'm calling it Portal.  Can you get what I mean by that?

Our world is so fantastic.  I wish everyone could see it...

Haiku Heights 206...Rescue

Eyes filled with lonely

My heart knew you at first glance

Rescued and so loved

Max came to mind for this week's Haiku Heights prompt.  Two years ago, lost in the ice and snow of a bitter December, paws worn, thin and hungry, he was found by a policeman who took him to the local shelter.  Two weeks later, he came home with me.

Week 4 of the 52s...Charley's

Wow, I barely accomplished my goal this week, though I probably could have used extenuating circumstances as my defense, what with the Max drama and two trips to the vet.  Luckily, I managed to find one thing new after all, by a fluke--which is right up there with that coincidence thing I don't believe in.

Yesterday, after walking the boys, I decided to take a different route home.  I have a serious aversion to sameness and ruts.  Besides, I took a self-defense course years ago and the first thing we learned was to vary the routine.  So, driving along, I pass this BBQ place that has intrigued me since I first got stranded moved here.  It's a dive-type place, which could mean really good food or really bad.  I do love barbecued ribs, crunchy and flavorful...and beans with a bite...and depending on where in the country: hush puppies or corn bread.  I'm pondering all this as I drive home, mouth watering. 

The day goes on.  Weather is terrible with drenching rain, fog coming and going; the perfect kind of day to stay tucked indoors.  I'm talking to my mother late in the afternoon and she asks me what new thing I did this week for the 52s.  I tell her I might have to pass due to Max and the Alien Reptile Eyelid Incident. 

But then I remember the barbecue joint.

After we finish our phone call, I stand at the window for a few minutes, wondering if I really want to go back down the mountain in the pouring rain and miserable fog.  Then I had two thoughts:  I really want to try that barbecue, and I don't want to bail on the 52s as early as the fourth bloody week!

Charley's...

 

See those giant fan vents on the roof?  Not only for venting the wood smoke, but to entice anyone who drives by.  The smell wafting along the highway even made the dogs drool...

 

 

It's very spartan inside, with old dinged-up wooden tables, posters of cowboys and sprawling ranches on the walls.  They also apparently have music on Thursdays--CW women and guitar-playing guys.  The most impressive thing was the staggering amount of sauce bottles on the counter, from Kansas City, Cajun, Tex-Mex, Regular Texas, and at least 25 more flavors I can't remember. 

The menu was extensive and I had a hard time choosing, but eventually ordered a small dinner of baby back ribs, potato salad and bourbon baked beans.  The hush puppies are included in every meal.  Then I had to pick my sauce, which was not easy, what with the incredible selection.  I chose Sweet Baby Ray's.  And yeah, partly because of the name, though I did ask what it tasted like first.

Here's my plate.  This is half my order--and I got the small dinner.  I'm having the other half for dinner tonight.  (Sorry there are no hush pups to be seen.  I ate them in the car before I even got home.  There were only three, about the size of golf balls, that popped straight into my mouth when I wasn't paying attention...)

Those bourbon beans?  OMG.  Dark, deep, hearty and delicious.  I wish I'd ordered an extra portion.  Potato salad was fine, though I'm picky about potato salad so I wouldn't order it again.  But the ribs...thick, crusty, scrumptious, especially with Sweet Baby Ray's sauce, which was sweet and spicy.  (I have no idea who Ray is, but man, he invented a great barbecue sauce).

So, I managed to find a fun, new thing to do for Week 4 after all.  And let me say, I'm more than happy to be having the same dinner again tonight...

And Speaking of Whiskey...

I want to wish my family and friends a wonderful Burns Supper tonight.  I wrote about this annual celebration last year, so won't go into it again, though I am posting a photo of Robert Burns, Scottish national poet...and in my opinion: 18th century hunk.  Today is his 254th birthday and all over Scotland there will be Suppers and poems and haggis and pipers...and of course, whisky (spelled just so, in Scotland).

Swoon-worthy Rabbie Burns...

So, later this evening I will raise a dram to The Bard, with my most favorite whisky of all time--and believe me, I've tried just about every variety--but to me, for my palette:  Dalwhinnie, distilled in the Highlands, tasting of clear, cold waters, smoky peat and...Scotland.

Dalwhinnie Distillery, off the A9, heading north to Inverness...

Here's my bottle, bought at the distillery above, missing just a few wee drams; one for Burns last year, and once for New Year, last month.  (And yes, I'm hoarding it...and will until the next time I'm in Scotland to buy a new bottle).

The little label around the neck says The Gentle Spirit.  How cool is that for a whisky?  I'm so looking forward to my drink tonight.  The smell alone brings back so many memories, and adventures, but the taste?  Ambrosia...

.
Closer view of the label...

Happy Birthday, Rabbie.  I'll be there in spirit to celebrate, with the essence of Scotland in my glass...

Vacation or Whiskey? Choices, Choices...

Just when I thought things were doing well with the boys and their vet experience of last week, I was brought back to reality by Max rubbing his head along the bottom of the couch, tearing out the stitches in his eyelid.  Naturally, this required an emergency run to the vet as his eyelid split open like something from a bad alien reptile movie.  So, more shots, stitches, and a very miserable past few days for everyone.  
 
Now, despite his crying and shaking, not eating or drinking as long as he wears it, he is encased against his will in the Cone of Doom.  Still, even that might not work if he gets too worked up.  The vet said the surgical thread used on his lid is so fine it can break easily if rubbed too hard or too often.  Uh huh.  Great.  Max is going to look like Rocky Balboa, or maybe Scarface, if we can't get this healed up pretty soon.

Because of all the drama, I haven't been able to do much.  I have to keep an eye on him at all times, and occasionally shout with the Mom Voice if I see him trying to scratch or rub against that side of his face.  Honestly, I feel for the guy.  I've had stitches.  They itch, they pull, they're nasty and uncomfortable.  And that's before they've been yanked out, ripped the skin, then had to be replaced. 

So, I need a vacation--at the least a timeout--but I can't have one.  Who would monitor my boy?  Pay attention?  Yell with the voice of authority that freezes him in mid-scratch?

And the whiskey?  Don't even tempt me.

Though...hmmmm.  I wonder if Max would be interested in a little marinated doggy biscuit...?

Hidden Magic

For a few brief hours Monday, the fog lifted for the first time in days.  Seriously.  Days of groping my way around the mountain, the parks, the streets.

After the boys and I returned from yesterday's very dismal, icy walk, I made a cup of coffee and sat down to do some writing.  I had barely begun when this strange ball of alien light suddenly burst through the window next to my work table.  Blinded, I threw up a hand and peered out between my fingers, to see...*gasp*...the sun!!!

But wait.  It wasn't just the sun.  Because under the dense layers of fog and mist, fashioned by ice and frigid temperatures, was a hidden wonderland, glittering in the sunlight.  Of course, I grabbed the camera and dashed outside before the fog drifted back to cloak the mountain again.

Standing under my Birch trees, covered so beautifully in ice against the blue sky...

Icy tendrils hanging over the garden path...

A close up of willowy branches so delicately encased...

A little sproutlet of Mexican Feather Grass, tips iced like it had been dipped in frosting...

As I was going up the driveway, I saw a series of cobwebs, along the fence, in the trees.  I'm just fascinated by the fragile strength of these amazing, intricate creations.  They're especially spectacular when frozen, and every line, curve and mathematical mystery is clearly revealed.
 
These were the two that first caught my eye, between the fence rails next to the garage...

Then I spotted a grouping of webs, like an exotic condo complex, in a cedar tree on the other side of my drive.  I go past this tree every day and have never once seen these elaborate structures.  It took the ice, clinging to each strand, to show me this otherworld...

 
I think this must be the gym, or the exercise room.  Maybe it's the trampoline and play area for the spider babies.  Check out those long threads holding the flat middle section, like a platform.  (I'm trying not to imagine this as a gigantic lunch wagon, or the condo smorgasbord...eewww...)

I came back inside to download the photos, but before I'd even started, the fog returned, blue skies turned gray, the icy chill began seeping 'round the corners of the house. 

Ah well.  For a few, short moments I got a glimpse of another realm, made even more special after it once again vanished into the mists...

Magpie Tales 152...Letting Go

Your palm was broad

Fingers strong

My hand was warm

Within your grasp

Joined by our touch

We held tight

Through troubled times

And bright sunshine

Your palm was broad

Fingers strong

My hand is cold

Without your grasp

Prompt from Magpie Tales this week.  Alan had great, manly hands.  I miss the feel of them.

An Oops and an Aaahhh...

When I woke up this morning, I spent a few minutes before I got out of bed to plot out my day.  I had several things to do, so it would be a busy Monday.  Then I remembered it's a holiday--MLK Day--so that means the post office is closed?  Damn, I had some stuff to mail.  Okay, cross that task off the to-do list.  It's time to get up and moving...but bah, I hate Mondays.
 
Coffee in hand, I fire up the laptop, then frown at the date.  And the day.  Wait.  It's Sunday?  I look again at the screen, and yes, it's still the weekend!  It's Sunday!!  And honestly--ignoring the senility issue--I felt like I was suddenly on vacation.  A whole, free, relaxing day ahead of me, made even better because it's totally not Monday!!

And that memory lapse thing?  Well, all I can say is oops...and keep smiling that it's Sunday...
  

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Late in the afternoon yesterday, the boys and I walked down the road to get the mail.  In the box was a large white envelope from friends who lived across the street from our house in Edinburgh.  I couldn't wait to tear into the package, hoping it was what I thought.
 
And it was!  
 

My 2013 Harvey calendar!

A bit more than two years ago, when we left Edinburgh, Harvey the Boxer was just a teenager, heading toward young adult.  He was sweet and slobbery and just a good dog.  I got a calendar that year, the Harvey 2011, but it had only been a few months since I'd seen him, so he hadn't changed.  There wasn't a 2012.
 
How happy I am to have this year's calendar then, showing the manly man Harv has grown up to be.  What a handsome, big guy, for sure!  I loved all the photos, the poses, the background shots where I knew exactly where the photographs had been taken.  Here are a few...
 
February pin up model...

Harvey in his back garden, begging for someone to play with him...

My favorite (love the caption).  Just a wee stick to carry around...

What a great, wonderful surprise it is to have my new calendar, to see Harv grown so big and strong, to smile at his sweet face.  Thanks so much to his Mum and Dad for sending it!!

So, oops for briefly losing Sunday, though I did find it again.  And an aaahhh for handsome Harvey and my brilliant calendar, and the friends I miss so much.

It might just be perfect timing that the calendar arrived when it did.  Apparently I have need of one...

Fog and Frankenweenie...

It's been dense, icy fog in my part of the world for days now, temps in the mid-twenties.  If I were in Edinburgh, everyone would be bundled up to ward off the haar, a weird weather phenomena that basically only occurs on the eastern coast of Scotland, along the North Sea.  None of those things are in any way around me now, and yet, it's exactly the same: bitter cold, seeps into your bones, ice particles float in the air, stick to clothes, boots, lashes, skin.

Did I mention it's dense?

Two shots taken this afternoon...

Somewhere out in that nothingness is the winding mountain road in front of my house:

And I hope to see the valley again one day.  It must still be down there, though there's no proof from my back deck:

So, Thursday I have to take the dogs to the vet at the crack of dawn.  I can't see past the hood of my Blazer, the roads are icy, I'm on a one-lane road driving blind down a mountain.  Great way to start the day.  Still, I made it safely, dropped Ozzy off for his annual teeth cleaning, and Max for his surgery to remove the tumor thing.

[Here's a good tip I'm happy to share:  It is a big fat mistake to schedule more than one dog on the same day for a veterinary procedure.  Instead of just dealing with the aftermath of surgery to keep Max from licking, chewing and recovering from being knocked out and carved up, I also have Ozzy who won't stop licking and chewing his leg where they shaved him for the blood work/IV stuff.  And no, a cone was not an option.  I only had the one from the vet for Max which wouldn't fit tiny Ozzy's neck.  Then Max freaked out so bad, I couldn't leave it on him either.  Being a rescue dog, he truly has fear issues and I just couldn't stand the crying and violent shaking.  He'd already had a really shitty day.]

In any case, things went fine--at least between the vet and myself; I'm pretty sure the dogs would disagree.  The tumor was completely removed, though poor Max looks like he's had open heart surgery.  Not only is he shaved right down the front of his chest, but the line of sutures is nearly four inches long and looks just grotesque.  The vet also snipped a little growth off his right eyelid--more embroidery--so he looks like the sorriest loser in a street fight with his chest wound and swollen, stitched eye.

Thankfully both the boys are feeling much better and more perky today.  We even went to the park this morning, blundering through the zero visibility fog, both on the road and along the walking trails.  They're both conked out now, sprawled in their beds, no doubt happy to have survived.  Ah, the joy in peace and quiet, and having the whole ordeal over with.

And for my part?  I going now to refill my wine glass.  It's been a rough couple of days all the way around...