Thank you so so so much for all your genuine thoughts, prayers and concerns for Chumley. Reading these comments brought tears to my eyes! He is now out of his bed and moving around a bit more. Still not his usual self but he's moving. I spent the majority of the morning online reading vet reviews and making calls and no one in the area had appts on Saturday (they were either booked or closed) so my other option was an Animal Emergency center about a half hour away or a mobile vet. I called the mobile vet and left a message and about an hour later, the Dr. called back and she was so warm and kind on the phone and said she would be here at 1:00pm today. I forewarned her about Chumley's non-friendly disposition and she did not seem put off by that. I want to thank Mindy for her help too because she told me to check Chumley's gums and if they were not pink that was not a good sign. Well Chum's gums are more of a gristly gray color and when I told the vet that she said he needs to be seen. Good thing is, he tried to maul off my hand when I checked his gums so that made me happy. I asked the vet if she had bird gloves (that is what his vet in CA used on him) and she said no so I may have to lend her some pot holders. She has a muzzle so I may do the honors and put that on him because I really don't this poor woman to end up bloody and beaten. Plus she was so kind and I'm hoping we can use her again so I'll take the brunt of the bites. I'm used to it. Dr. will be here in about a half hour. Wish us luck! And thanks again my animal loving friends. You guys are the best.
--------------------------
Just when I blogged about all the annoying things this cat does in the morning, today he will not get out of his bed. Not even to eat. He has never ever not come down to eat in the mornings and I'm really concerned. Tom thinks maybe he has a hair ball cuz we noticed some foamy throw up on the floor but who knows. We don't have a vet here and even putting Chum in his carrier sends him into a crazy fit so I don't know what we are going to do. When the pet store opens we will get some hair ball medicine and see if they can recommend anything. They are a holistic store and have offered suggestions before on some of his issues so maybe they can help now. I don't know. I feel so helpless. He is upstairs in his bed and doesn't look like himself. Please say a little prayer for him. He came out of the woods last June when his kidneys were failing so maybe he will be ok. Tom just carried him down. Chum is clinging to him like a baby...
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Nature's Art Show
Admission: FREE FOR ALL
Guests of Honor:
Mr. Blue Sky and Miss Glistening Water came as a couple (scandalous!!!):
With a hillside of pine trees not far behind:
In the faint background were the Snow Capped Mountains...(they looked like the Clouds at first but they weren't. Clouds were not invited to this show and niether was Rain. Party poopers).
Mr. Big Mountain was the hit of the show. He made all the spectators very happy. Along with him were 2 silly birds perched on the stumps.
Not pictured but still in attendance:
-flower buds
-the scent of lilac in the air
-lots of friendly people/ happy doggies
-one grump ass cat
Looking forward to the next exhibit!
Guests of Honor:
Mr. Blue Sky and Miss Glistening Water came as a couple (scandalous!!!):
With a hillside of pine trees not far behind:
In the faint background were the Snow Capped Mountains...(they looked like the Clouds at first but they weren't. Clouds were not invited to this show and niether was Rain. Party poopers).
Mr. Big Mountain was the hit of the show. He made all the spectators very happy. Along with him were 2 silly birds perched on the stumps.
Not pictured but still in attendance:
-flower buds
-the scent of lilac in the air
-lots of friendly people/ happy doggies
-one grump ass cat
Looking forward to the next exhibit!
Mom-tv
I would not be surprised if my mom moonlights as Program Director for the Hallmark Channel. Aside from Mash and Walker Texas Ranger, these are her favorite shows and they are on every day of the week:
-Little House on the Prairie
-The Waltons
-Touched by an Angel
-I Love Lucy
and drumroll please...
-Murder She Wrote!
Aside from my mother, who else watches these shows??? If Cash Cab starts playing on Hallmark, I'll know for a fact she's got something going on.
Speaking of mom, she called to see if I had been watching "Ghost Whispers" this season. (She was sooo close. Oh well, Whispers/Whisperers, kinda works either way.) Anyway, I do like that show though I haven't seen all the episodes but lately I've enjoyed spending quiet Friday nights at home in front of the tv. Does that mean I am turning into my mother?!?! Gosh Darn! I hope not...
-Little House on the Prairie
-The Waltons
-Touched by an Angel
-I Love Lucy
and drumroll please...
-Murder She Wrote!
Aside from my mother, who else watches these shows??? If Cash Cab starts playing on Hallmark, I'll know for a fact she's got something going on.
Speaking of mom, she called to see if I had been watching "Ghost Whispers" this season. (She was sooo close. Oh well, Whispers/Whisperers, kinda works either way.) Anyway, I do like that show though I haven't seen all the episodes but lately I've enjoyed spending quiet Friday nights at home in front of the tv. Does that mean I am turning into my mother?!?! Gosh Darn! I hope not...
things heard around the house...
(just now)
"CHUMLEY! Don't you DARE pee in that laundry basket!!"
"Wrigley DROP the socks NOW!"
Life without animals would be dull.
But much more sanitary.
And no hole riddled clothing.
On my run with Wrigs today this woman stops us and asks, "Oh is that a Golden-Doodle?" I told her no he's just a golden but afterwards I couldn't stop laughing to myself. It sounds like we're talking a foreign language. Just say Golden Doodle a few times and you'll see what I mean.
Golden Doodle. Golden Doodle. Golden Doodle.
Doesn't it sound so silly?
Anyway, I love dogs and I love everyone on this earth who loves dogs too. I just do plain and simple.
And so does Wrigs.
"CHUMLEY! Don't you DARE pee in that laundry basket!!"
"Wrigley DROP the socks NOW!"
Life without animals would be dull.
But much more sanitary.
And no hole riddled clothing.
On my run with Wrigs today this woman stops us and asks, "Oh is that a Golden-Doodle?" I told her no he's just a golden but afterwards I couldn't stop laughing to myself. It sounds like we're talking a foreign language. Just say Golden Doodle a few times and you'll see what I mean.
Golden Doodle. Golden Doodle. Golden Doodle.
Doesn't it sound so silly?
Anyway, I love dogs and I love everyone on this earth who loves dogs too. I just do plain and simple.
And so does Wrigs.
Chumley Pooped...
on my North Face hat.
If I'm not up and out of bed by 7:30 he gets pissed and this is his latest display of pissed-off-ness. He is such a demanding nightmare in the morning. Other things he does on a daily basis to get me out of bed: (usually he picks a combo of about 3-4 things depending on what's available)
-Chews the straps on my purses (the majority of my purses have tiny teeth holes in them)
-Knocks over the alarm clocks (we have 2)
-Chews electrical cords at the wall outlet (I'm thinking I may not stop him from doing this anymore)
-Spills the water bottle (can't use cups of water, must have lids because this shit kicker always knocks them over)
-Slaps the closet door so it obnoxiously bangs back and forth
-Knocks over the garbage can in the bathroom
-Rustles through paper, magazines, bills, anything that makes an annoying noise
-Knocks over the kitchen phone (this one he does everyday, finally had to get a new phone because it was crackly.)
-Bellows LOUDLY at the side of the bed
-Jumps from the floor to my head, swats my head, runs away, gets chased by a barking Wrigley, lather. rinse. repeat. (this is another everyday occurrence, and not just in the morning)
-Stands on the computer keyboard so it makes that deep "Bumm Bumm Bumm Bumm Bumm Bumm" sound.
-Knocks the keyboard mouse on the ground.
I know there are more things this beast does, but I can't think right now.
The more I think, the more annoyed I become.
Time for a head soak.
If I'm not up and out of bed by 7:30 he gets pissed and this is his latest display of pissed-off-ness. He is such a demanding nightmare in the morning. Other things he does on a daily basis to get me out of bed: (usually he picks a combo of about 3-4 things depending on what's available)
-Chews the straps on my purses (the majority of my purses have tiny teeth holes in them)
-Knocks over the alarm clocks (we have 2)
-Chews electrical cords at the wall outlet (I'm thinking I may not stop him from doing this anymore)
-Spills the water bottle (can't use cups of water, must have lids because this shit kicker always knocks them over)
-Slaps the closet door so it obnoxiously bangs back and forth
-Knocks over the garbage can in the bathroom
-Rustles through paper, magazines, bills, anything that makes an annoying noise
-Knocks over the kitchen phone (this one he does everyday, finally had to get a new phone because it was crackly.)
-Bellows LOUDLY at the side of the bed
-Jumps from the floor to my head, swats my head, runs away, gets chased by a barking Wrigley, lather. rinse. repeat. (this is another everyday occurrence, and not just in the morning)
-Stands on the computer keyboard so it makes that deep "Bumm Bumm Bumm Bumm Bumm Bumm" sound.
-Knocks the keyboard mouse on the ground.
I know there are more things this beast does, but I can't think right now.
The more I think, the more annoyed I become.
Time for a head soak.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
The ugly side of facebook chat:
Laura
so am I getting a snuggie or what?
4:29pmMark
no
4:29pmLaura
why????
you have an extra one!
4:29pmMark
because you hate gays
4:29pmLaura
I hate everyone in musical theater
not just gays
4:29pmMark
well
4:30pmLaura
well????
what's that got to do with the snuggie??
you are going to hold it hostage???
4:30pmMark
well i can't give you a snuggie unless you like broadway musicals
it's just fact
4:30pmLaura
that's just fine
stupid fact
I think you should ask David and see what he thinks
I think he would want me to have the Snuggie
4:38pmMark
no
he now views you as a gay hater also
you're basically done for us
4:39pmLaura
whatever
keep your damn snuggie
sing show tunes in it for all i care
I hope Brisco pees all over it!!!
4:41pmMark
wow
that is rough
harsh
4:41pmLaura
you started it
if the snuggie fits...
4:44pmMark
how dare you bring this to my wall
4:46pmLaura
you started it
4:46pmMark
you are something else
poor tom
poor tom
that's all i have to say
4:46pmLaura
oh he is lucky to have a wife who loves snuggies
please
I don't ask for much
4:46pmMark
OH COME ON
4:46pmLaura
OH YOU COME ON!
I am making Tom partake in the snuggie pub crawl
and he will have fun DAMN it!
4:47pmMark
why doesn't he sell them at nordstrom
4:47pmLaura
there's an idea
baby snuggies
so they can sip their bottles without having to mess the blanket
personally, I like the slanket better
more form fitting and the colors are flattering
(thank you Karyn for creating the Snuggie wars.)
so am I getting a snuggie or what?
4:29pmMark
no
4:29pmLaura
why????
you have an extra one!
4:29pmMark
because you hate gays
4:29pmLaura
I hate everyone in musical theater
not just gays
4:29pmMark
well
4:30pmLaura
well????
what's that got to do with the snuggie??
you are going to hold it hostage???
4:30pmMark
well i can't give you a snuggie unless you like broadway musicals
it's just fact
4:30pmLaura
that's just fine
stupid fact
I think you should ask David and see what he thinks
I think he would want me to have the Snuggie
4:38pmMark
no
he now views you as a gay hater also
you're basically done for us
4:39pmLaura
whatever
keep your damn snuggie
sing show tunes in it for all i care
I hope Brisco pees all over it!!!
4:41pmMark
wow
that is rough
harsh
4:41pmLaura
you started it
if the snuggie fits...
4:44pmMark
how dare you bring this to my wall
4:46pmLaura
you started it
4:46pmMark
you are something else
poor tom
poor tom
that's all i have to say
4:46pmLaura
oh he is lucky to have a wife who loves snuggies
please
I don't ask for much
4:46pmMark
OH COME ON
4:46pmLaura
OH YOU COME ON!
I am making Tom partake in the snuggie pub crawl
and he will have fun DAMN it!
4:47pmMark
why doesn't he sell them at nordstrom
4:47pmLaura
there's an idea
baby snuggies
so they can sip their bottles without having to mess the blanket
personally, I like the slanket better
more form fitting and the colors are flattering
(thank you Karyn for creating the Snuggie wars.)
Monday, February 23, 2009
PSA on cats in closets
Late last night I heard a faint meow. Chum was not on our bed nor in his heated bed on the chair so I got up to look for him. After a few minutes of looking around the room I opened my closet door and his head popped out, then he screamed. It was not a typical angry meow it was a scream of pain. I woke Tom saying I NEED HELP! and realized Chumley's back legs had been tangled up in a wraparound tie that was attached to one of my shirts on a low hanging rod. He was wiggling in pain but his lower body was completely stuck. The tie had wrapped around both legs (hog tied) and then another loop was tight around his belly. We couldn't pull him forward out of the closet so Tom had to hold his head and shoulders while I worked to untangle the fabric while in the closet. Chumley started to FREAK OUT and bit the top of my hand (not Toms!) but we calmed him as best we could because the more he moved the worse he became tangled. I finally managed to free both legs and then slide the rest of the tie down his lower body and he bolted out of the closet. We were so relieved to see that he was ok because it gave us all quite a scare. Even Wrigs. He knew Chum was in distress and was nervously barking while Tom and I were trying to free him. I just wanted to pass this along because we all know how our cats love to hide and sleep inside cozy closets but that could be cause for danger. I can't even imagine if the tie had been looped around his neck. Don't even want to think about that right now, I am just so grateful that this turned out ok. And I wanted to share it on here to prevent this from happening to anyone else. I'm going to make sure all shirts with ties are untied and hung up on a higher rod.
Also, don't let your cats sleep inside the dryer to stay warm. Won't go into the details on this one but sometimes people may forget they are in there and accidentally turn it on. I have never done this but sadly I do know someone who did.
Both Wrigs and Chum (and Chum's bear!) are sleeping so peacefully together, staying warm in the sun's rays...
But sometimes they look dead and it freaks me out...
So then I say WAKE UP! and they come back to life and I can breathe again too.
But now Chum is sleeping with his back leg in mid air so I hope that's not a sign that he's hurting. Though it may just be gas.
I do love my sweet little pork chop spewing farting monster. Poor Wrigs is downwind.
Also, don't let your cats sleep inside the dryer to stay warm. Won't go into the details on this one but sometimes people may forget they are in there and accidentally turn it on. I have never done this but sadly I do know someone who did.
Both Wrigs and Chum (and Chum's bear!) are sleeping so peacefully together, staying warm in the sun's rays...
But sometimes they look dead and it freaks me out...
So then I say WAKE UP! and they come back to life and I can breathe again too.
But now Chum is sleeping with his back leg in mid air so I hope that's not a sign that he's hurting. Though it may just be gas.
I do love my sweet little pork chop spewing farting monster. Poor Wrigs is downwind.
snippets
My brain has been mush, so I'm just posting quick updates of this and that from the weekend. Sleep deprivation really sucks.
Tom and I had an unscheduled weekend together which was relaxing and definitely needed. We drove up north to the lululemon outlet and did our part to help the economy. (Although lululemon is a Canadian company, and I guess a lot of the clothes are made in China, but still shopping in our country keeps the sales people in business so that should count for something.) I bought quite a few items and Tom got a zip up. He was wearing his zip up around the house and as he was milling around the kitchen I noticed something...
(a closer look)
Of course every last sensor was removed from my purchases but not Tom's one item. He took the shirt into the garage and somehow managed to weed whack off the security tag. Great I just typed whack off. Bring on the pervs! Lord knows I got many interesting search words from last week's pussy willow post. I need to change gears.
My lap top officially died this weekend. I think it was due to facebook overload. Seriously need to limit my time on there. Going to start calling it crack book or even face crack. Or maybe I will start a support group for addicted facebookers (on facebook of course) but that may defeat the purpose. But it's been so great to reconnect with so many friends (and family too!) as well as stay in touch with those scattered about the world.
We took Wrigs for our usual Sunday walk and he pooped on the grounds of the Russian Consulate. Govno! (means shit in Russian - click here for other Russian swears. Perhot' podzalupnaya has me confused, it means "pee hole dandruff"- is there really such a thing and if so is there a shampoo for that - Pubes and Shoulders?) Anyway, we managed to pick up most of Wrig's govno but it was runny so there was still some bean soup left behind. Borscht!
I spent Friday with Karen looking at neighborhoods around Seattle. We came back to our house and since Chum is a serial killer, decided to keep him in our bedroom. He was making so much noise up there, at one point it sounded as though he was sawing through wood. When I went to check on him everything that had been on tabletops or dressers was knocked on the floor and the little monster pissed all over my favorite down vest. I transferred the seething beast into the laundry room and again more banging and clammering and then all of the sudden out walks Chumley. He managed to open a closed door. This cat drives me to drink. And tonight at dinner he swiped a huge piece of porkchop right off my plate and when I scolded him he slapped my hand and hissed so hard pork flew outta his mouth. Maybe I need to start a support group for owners abused by their cats. I can't be the only member. Maybe I could recruit the guy in this video?
Grocery shopping makes me crazy. I have to be in the right frame of mind otherwise it's a complete waste of time. If not armed with an organized list I'll spend an hour wandering the aisles with no sense of direction or purpose and return home with bananas, a box of Zatarain's and orange tic tacs. It's really frustrating because now I have to go back tomorrow. Unless I try and whip up a meal with those items.
We had the most incredible weather the last 10+ days. Today it started to shift, though still in the 60's, the clouds rolled in and so did a little rain. I haven't needed to wear a rain coat in a while and I love my rain coat so today while putting it on I started to sing "Don't cha wish you had a rain coat like me?" I made up a whole song, complete with arm movements and leg kicks but right now I am too tired to sing and dance.
Tom and I had an unscheduled weekend together which was relaxing and definitely needed. We drove up north to the lululemon outlet and did our part to help the economy. (Although lululemon is a Canadian company, and I guess a lot of the clothes are made in China, but still shopping in our country keeps the sales people in business so that should count for something.) I bought quite a few items and Tom got a zip up. He was wearing his zip up around the house and as he was milling around the kitchen I noticed something...
(a closer look)
Of course every last sensor was removed from my purchases but not Tom's one item. He took the shirt into the garage and somehow managed to weed whack off the security tag. Great I just typed whack off. Bring on the pervs! Lord knows I got many interesting search words from last week's pussy willow post. I need to change gears.My lap top officially died this weekend. I think it was due to facebook overload. Seriously need to limit my time on there. Going to start calling it crack book or even face crack. Or maybe I will start a support group for addicted facebookers (on facebook of course) but that may defeat the purpose. But it's been so great to reconnect with so many friends (and family too!) as well as stay in touch with those scattered about the world.
We took Wrigs for our usual Sunday walk and he pooped on the grounds of the Russian Consulate. Govno! (means shit in Russian - click here for other Russian swears. Perhot' podzalupnaya has me confused, it means "pee hole dandruff"- is there really such a thing and if so is there a shampoo for that - Pubes and Shoulders?) Anyway, we managed to pick up most of Wrig's govno but it was runny so there was still some bean soup left behind. Borscht!
I spent Friday with Karen looking at neighborhoods around Seattle. We came back to our house and since Chum is a serial killer, decided to keep him in our bedroom. He was making so much noise up there, at one point it sounded as though he was sawing through wood. When I went to check on him everything that had been on tabletops or dressers was knocked on the floor and the little monster pissed all over my favorite down vest. I transferred the seething beast into the laundry room and again more banging and clammering and then all of the sudden out walks Chumley. He managed to open a closed door. This cat drives me to drink. And tonight at dinner he swiped a huge piece of porkchop right off my plate and when I scolded him he slapped my hand and hissed so hard pork flew outta his mouth. Maybe I need to start a support group for owners abused by their cats. I can't be the only member. Maybe I could recruit the guy in this video?
Grocery shopping makes me crazy. I have to be in the right frame of mind otherwise it's a complete waste of time. If not armed with an organized list I'll spend an hour wandering the aisles with no sense of direction or purpose and return home with bananas, a box of Zatarain's and orange tic tacs. It's really frustrating because now I have to go back tomorrow. Unless I try and whip up a meal with those items.
We had the most incredible weather the last 10+ days. Today it started to shift, though still in the 60's, the clouds rolled in and so did a little rain. I haven't needed to wear a rain coat in a while and I love my rain coat so today while putting it on I started to sing "Don't cha wish you had a rain coat like me?" I made up a whole song, complete with arm movements and leg kicks but right now I am too tired to sing and dance.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
it's impossible
to be sad...
with this...
amazing dog...
How he knows/senses what others are feeling, I'll just never know. But he is more in tune with this universe than anyone else I've ever met. What would we do without these amazing creatures!?!?! (Just to be fair, I love kitty cats too, but there is something incredible about the way a dog just gets it. I'm certain other dog owners know what I'm talking about. Their loyalty and love is beyond comprehension.)
I love you Wrigley. You are my best friend.
with this...
amazing dog...
How he knows/senses what others are feeling, I'll just never know. But he is more in tune with this universe than anyone else I've ever met. What would we do without these amazing creatures!?!?! (Just to be fair, I love kitty cats too, but there is something incredible about the way a dog just gets it. I'm certain other dog owners know what I'm talking about. Their loyalty and love is beyond comprehension.)
I love you Wrigley. You are my best friend.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Prayers for Bentley
(aka Bento Bean, water hog, duck burglar, grunting man, shoe-towel-sock disposal)
Wrigley's best buddy back in CA is having some struggles right now. He's having his 4th surgery today and the poor guy is not even 3 years old yet. Please keep him, and his Momma Deb, in your prayers. They are 2 of my most favorite creatures on this earth and I miss them both very much.
Oh wait here comes Wrigs, he wants to type a quick message to his pal...
HELLo BeNTO BeAN! I Am SOrRY U HAf To HaF anOTHeR SuRGRy bUt uR MOm wiLL TAke REAL GOoD CarE of U liKE She AlWAys Doz. ShE's a ReaL nicE LAdy aNd I MiSs SloBbERinG on hEr a LoT! I wisH I Culd COmE VisiT u BuT U mighT PEE pee oN mY dUckY. Oh waiT hErE ComES My BrotHER ChumLEY (OucH! he JUSt SWat mE in THe EyE! AsSho---
Hello Mr. Bentley. Chumley Worthington Buttingtons Wallingford III here. I understand you are not well. This is a travesty and I do hope you heal quickly but I still don't really like you too much because you are a dog. In fact, I wouldn't like you even if you were a cat, an ape, a human, a bird, a sea horse, a sponge, a blade of grass, a ---
Sorry Bentley! It's Auntie Laura again. I have revoked Chum's computer privileges for the remainder of the day. He just doesn't know how to express his care and concern via the web. But we all want you to feel better soon and know that your family in Seattle is praying for you.
We love you Bento Bean!
Wrigley's best buddy back in CA is having some struggles right now. He's having his 4th surgery today and the poor guy is not even 3 years old yet. Please keep him, and his Momma Deb, in your prayers. They are 2 of my most favorite creatures on this earth and I miss them both very much.
Oh wait here comes Wrigs, he wants to type a quick message to his pal...
HELLo BeNTO BeAN! I Am SOrRY U HAf To HaF anOTHeR SuRGRy bUt uR MOm wiLL TAke REAL GOoD CarE of U liKE She AlWAys Doz. ShE's a ReaL nicE LAdy aNd I MiSs SloBbERinG on hEr a LoT! I wisH I Culd COmE VisiT u BuT U mighT PEE pee oN mY dUckY. Oh waiT hErE ComES My BrotHER ChumLEY (OucH! he JUSt SWat mE in THe EyE! AsSho---
Hello Mr. Bentley. Chumley Worthington Buttingtons Wallingford III here. I understand you are not well. This is a travesty and I do hope you heal quickly but I still don't really like you too much because you are a dog. In fact, I wouldn't like you even if you were a cat, an ape, a human, a bird, a sea horse, a sponge, a blade of grass, a ---
Sorry Bentley! It's Auntie Laura again. I have revoked Chum's computer privileges for the remainder of the day. He just doesn't know how to express his care and concern via the web. But we all want you to feel better soon and know that your family in Seattle is praying for you.
We love you Bento Bean!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I LOVE PUSSY
WILLOWS!!!!
(sorry Moog and Chitown, I'm sure you're both disappointed, yet again)
(sorry Moog and Chitown, I'm sure you're both disappointed, yet again)
Look at these pussys against the bright blue sky. Is that not the most gorgeous thing ever???
Such a beautiful tree...
Just a couple trees down is the Weeping Willow.
Don't cry pretty willow, you've got too much to be grateful for! Like this incredibly sunny day!And a few more trees down is this gem of a vibrant green shrub. I LOVE the bright blues and greens of nature. Sensory overload for the eyes. I couldn't stop staring at the colors.
It appears Spring has Sprung here in Seattle.
Apparently what I am hearing from everyone is that this weather and these sunny days are not typical of a Seattle February. I have to say, I am falling in love with NOT TYPICAL. Keep it comin'.
Chumley's Bear
has become Wrigley's ass pillow.
(close up of Wrig's ass)
Chum is not the least bit amused by this.
But as you can see, Wrigley could really give a rat's ass, or bear's ass or his own ass...I'll shut up, you get the point.
(and Wrigs is still obsessed with that damn crabby. I think the crabby is trying to hypnotize me with those dang beady eyes. He and Moxy are in cahoots I just know it.)
(close up of Wrig's ass)
Chum is not the least bit amused by this.
But as you can see, Wrigley could really give a rat's ass, or bear's ass or his own ass...I'll shut up, you get the point.
(and Wrigs is still obsessed with that damn crabby. I think the crabby is trying to hypnotize me with those dang beady eyes. He and Moxy are in cahoots I just know it.)
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
This Imperfect Life
There is no such thing as a perfect life...
No perfect home, or husband,
(not even a perfect wife)
There is no perfect place to live,
or a perfect way to die.
Parents are not perfect,
perfect children are a lie.
Striving for perfection will only lead to sadness.
Embrace your life, with all its flaws,
Learn to love the madness!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
well well well
Apparently I've sampled a bit too many blueberry lemon drop 'tinis. Tom is now calling me "Rudolph the Red=nosed Drunk girl"
I need a nap.
I need a nap.
Happy Valentine's Day
For breakfast we had petit fours from one of my favorite bakerys...
And lunch we had a hot dog and slice of pizza at Costco.
Tonight our friends are coming for surf n' turf and blueberry lemon drop martinis and chocolate cake.
Chumley is not a big fan of Valentine's Day. He sticks out his tongue at the thought of it.
But yet, he has no problem licking the frosting off my petit four.
And lunch we had a hot dog and slice of pizza at Costco.
Tonight our friends are coming for surf n' turf and blueberry lemon drop martinis and chocolate cake.
Chumley is not a big fan of Valentine's Day. He sticks out his tongue at the thought of it.
But yet, he has no problem licking the frosting off my petit four.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Cat in the box
Not sure why, but the lure of a cardboard box from Costco is just too much for Chumley Buttingtons.
Last night:
This morning:
And right now:
Earlier today I had forgotten to close one of the kitchen pantry doors. I heard some rustling around and checked to find Chum inside rifling through Wrigley's treat basket...
He was moving all his treats around...
Then biting the packages.
And now as I type he's decided to hop out of his box and sample a bit of my Valentine cookie...
Wrigs and I are getting ready to deliver some Valentines to his neighborhood pals. He is so patient just sitting on the floor waiting for his W-A-L-K.
When I ask him, "Doooo yooooou waaaant tooooo....?" He tilts his head from side to side, hanging on every last word, hoping it will end with "walk?"
Just watched the repeat of the Valentine's Day special on Oprah that featured Oogy's story. Love that sweet face dog and the wonderful family who rescued him.
Last night:
This morning:
And right now:
Earlier today I had forgotten to close one of the kitchen pantry doors. I heard some rustling around and checked to find Chum inside rifling through Wrigley's treat basket...
He was moving all his treats around...
Then biting the packages.
And now as I type he's decided to hop out of his box and sample a bit of my Valentine cookie...
Wrigs and I are getting ready to deliver some Valentines to his neighborhood pals. He is so patient just sitting on the floor waiting for his W-A-L-K.
When I ask him, "Doooo yooooou waaaant tooooo....?" He tilts his head from side to side, hanging on every last word, hoping it will end with "walk?"
Just watched the repeat of the Valentine's Day special on Oprah that featured Oogy's story. Love that sweet face dog and the wonderful family who rescued him.
The Old Man and the Dog
(My sister sent this to me. It's long but worth the read if you have never seen it before.)
The Old Man and the Dog
by Catherine Moore
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to colle ct my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often.
The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."
I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?"
The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"
Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.
At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . ..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
The Old Man and the Dog
by Catherine Moore
"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.
"Can't you do anything right?"
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."
My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to colle ct my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often.
The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."
I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed.
Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?"
The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"
Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.
At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."
"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . ..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
benefits of insomnia
when my mind turns into a pile of mush, my hands go into overdrive.
I am a knitting fool. I can't stop. Sadly my hat model is about ready to pack up and head for the hills.
I'm knitting hats with flowers.
I buy the flowers at the fabric store in bunches then cut them and sew them onto felt, with a button on the back to attach to the hat.
like this...
Wrigs loves this one:
But now, he's ready for bed.
It's been a long day.
I'm also making baby gifts like this:
Sooooo easy to make but just make sure you don't cut the fleece on an unmade bed. You may or may not cut into 600 thread count sheets.
Ok now it's really time for bed.
I can't find my flipping mouth guard.
I am a knitting fool. I can't stop. Sadly my hat model is about ready to pack up and head for the hills.
I'm knitting hats with flowers.
I buy the flowers at the fabric store in bunches then cut them and sew them onto felt, with a button on the back to attach to the hat.
like this...
Wrigs loves this one:
But now, he's ready for bed.
It's been a long day.
I'm also making baby gifts like this:
Sooooo easy to make but just make sure you don't cut the fleece on an unmade bed. You may or may not cut into 600 thread count sheets.
Ok now it's really time for bed.
I can't find my flipping mouth guard.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Exhausted
Not much to say on here lately. I feel like the cat's got my tongue (which is quite possible) when I click over here to post. Life is all about unpredictability and lack of control and lately it's just getting to be too much. I've also been purging so much on my "dark side" blog and I'm left feeling mentally exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed. We all need balance in our lives but sometimes it's hard to make that shift. I hope in time I'm able to return to a more comfortable head space.
I haven't kept up with any blogs so I hope you all are doing well and surviving these tough times. If only we had a time machine to take us back to simpler, happier days.
Until then...
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