An Old Friend

This week I had lunch with an old friend from high school. Ben now lives in San Francisco, where he has lived since he left Norman with my best friend after their first year of college. They didn't stay together, but both stayed in San Francisco. After having lunch with him this week, I did some mental calculation and realized that I have not seen him in 21 years.

Ben was always super bright. Actually, I had a LOT of friends in high school who were scary intelligent (it goes without saying I was not one of them... just a hanger on. Seriously, these people are SMART, and have gone on to fascinating, brain-twisting and lucrative jobs in the Real World). Ben was a computer geek from elementary school, and always had this dry, peculiar sense of humor. He and another friend cajoled the high school communications teacher to give them access to the High School tv studio after hours and they produced this very quirky late night show, the name of which I have completely forgotten. They were just having fun with the camera, when they realized after awhile that they had developed this sort of cult following. Ben's whole life has been sort of like that. Just sort of putzing along from one project to the next, doing what he feels like doing or what grabs his attention, and somehow making a success of it.

Seeing him again was a little like looking into a very weird mirror. He looks exactly the same. Only older. Not in the "oh my god, you look old!" way, but in the same way I'm sure I look exactly the same, only older. Because I'm older, he doesn't really look older to me, if you know what I mean. He looks exactly like I would have expected him to look. His mannerisms are the same. His sense of humor is the same. I'm sure if I had the chance to spend any time with him, he would get on my nerves in exactly the same way he did when we were part of a group of best friends in high school. It was oddly comforting. Oddly disconcerting.

It made me nostalgic for those high school days when friends were so easy to come by, and so easily kept. There are very few friends I have made since that time that I think I will feel so easy with after a 20-year separation in the future (of course, who knows if I'll even remember them in 20 years? At the rate my memory is going, it's a bit doubtful). But those few friends I have retained from that time have a sort of unassailable agelessness to them. (You know who you are!) And it is comforting to return to them, even after a gap of months or years, and know that they know me. My mannerisms, my quirks and interests and sense of humor were imprinted on them when we were kids and I didn't have any reasons to protect myself or pretend to be something else or feel self-conscious. Okay, teenagers are sickeningly self-conscious. But not in the really false-front way we are as adults. When you're a teenager, no matter how much of a front you put on, your real self just spills out all over. Partly because you don't even know who it is yourself. Now, after years of experience, we know what parts of ourselves we had best keep quiet in polite company, and we're much better at pretending.

My point, if I had one, is that seeing Ben was like stepping into an old sneaker. Just a little stiff at first from disuse, but then just as comfy as before. It's nice to know people like that.

A Ballocaust

Roxy is driving us nuts.

Don't get me wrong, she's not a bad dog. She's just a rather needy, neurotic dog. She's completely ball-obsessed, and chews through a tennis ball in ten minutes flat. The good news is, she doesn't seem particularly inclined to chew on anything else, i.e. the sofa, shoes, tables or people. The bad news is, she seems to need to chew on something all the time, and without a tennis ball, she wanders around the house squeaking for something to chew on.

The picture here is of a small sampling of the balls Roxy has gone through in just a few days: a soccer ball, three or four tennis balls, a baseball, and several plastic squeaky balls. She also has to be kept out of Grayson's room because she will abscond with anything she finds in there that is vaguely ball-shaped, including Bakugan toys, stuffed animals that are roughly spherical, rolled up socks, and balls that actually belong to my son.

It wouldn't be so bad, except that she chews them into itty bitty pieces, which are constantly scattered all over the living room floor. Some of these pieces she subsequently swallows, later barfing them up messily onto the carpet, which leaves a vile green stain.

If I give them beef bones to chew, Kobi goes around collecting all of them from the others and either standing guard over them, snarling, or burying them in the flower pot on the back patio. (Only to bring them back in, dripping mud, at midnight)

I had some luck giving them cow hooves to chew on. This seemed to generate less sibling rivalry than the bones do. But recently all cow hooves have been recalled because of some salmonella scare, so they are currently unavailable. I'm sure I should be glad of this, but I'm actually just annoyed. My dog needs hooves, dammit! I don't care about any stinking salmonella risk! She's driving me NUTS.

Did I mention that she's a really sweet dog? She is. Really. She is very gentle and has learned to play with Kobi. She snuggles with us on the sofa and she never has an accident in the house. But I've had to keep her inside almost all the time because she barks continually and tries to claw through the screens when she is left outside all day. My neighbors actually complained, which pained them, I could tell. They're very nice people and I could tell they didn't like to have to say anything.

Ive been trying to acclimate her to being out with the other dogs for longer and longer periods of time, by leaving her out with the screen door open, so she knows I'm home and can feel comfortable coming and going as she pleases. That worked great until the weather turned,and now it's too cold to leave the door open.

Honestly, I believe she's getting better. She no longer throws herself against the front door when she hears me coming home. She no longer barks at every tiny noise during the night, and she has been out for an hour or so at a time with me home without barking at the door. I am being patient.

But she's still driving me nuts.

Four years in the making

A momentous event. This weekend I completed the mosaic I have been working on for more than four years. I started this damned thing when we moved into the last house, thinking I would take advantage of the extra space the house had to get involved in hobbies. But it got stalled out somewhere along the line... oh, and in the meantime I made a table for Charlie, so I had other things on my mind.

Anyway, I've now moved the thing, unfinished and wrapped in old newspaper, to TWO different homes, and finally this past weekend I decided to just knock it out. When I unwrapped it I realized I was actually much further along than I remembered, with only the background to fill in. So I spent a few busy afternoons hunched over the dining room table, clipping tiles. Saturday afternoon I grouted and by God, it is now complete! I can hardly believe it.

Tonight I start on a new one. Not as large. I'm doing a piece for B for Christmas and if I want it to actually be finished by Christmas, I have to set my sights low. So it's just a little 12-inch square. I'm not giving away the design, you just have to wait.

Upheaval, anyone?

Got a notice on my door on Monday that my house was behind on taxes. Way behind.

I called the Property Manager who works for the Receiver in charge of the house to see what happens now. My landlord attempted bankruptcy, but I guess that fell through so now the houses he owns will be sold at auction to pay off his creditors. Including mine.

The property manager couldn't tell me when, or how much notice I would get of the impending sale. I'm pretty bummed out by this, because I literally have not even totally unpacked yet and I just planted 100 bulbs in the yard this weekend in anticipation of spring.

Now I may not even be there in the spring.

I know, I know. I have told myself this over and over. There's always another house. But I like this house, and I just started feeling at home there. Now we may have to move again soon, and we may have to move on the fly. I don't know if I'm bound by my lease or not... should I start looking now? Should I wait until I get notice? But how much notice will I get? 30 days? 90? Five?

The property manager told me that "someone will probably get a really good deal on it." Meaning at auction it could sell for cheap cheap cheap. I wish I could afford to just bid on the damned thing. But of course I can't. So I have to just wait and see.

More drama. Just what we needed.

Temporary Dog, Halloween, and more

Last Wednesday, Grayson came home teary-eyed because a friend of his at school had told him that they were moving into his grandmother's house and were going to have to put his dog to sleep.

Well, of course, being the Dog Lady that I am, I was aghast. "Oh No!" I said. "We have to keep that from happening!"

Grayson had no further details. Couldn't tell me when the presumed death was scheduled to happen, or why the family was moving in with the grandmother, or much of anything else, except the dog is a black lab "like Flower."

Heart strings: Tug.

So the next morning we set out on our mission of rescue. I came to school with Grayson and collared his teacher during the morning assembly to tell me what she knew. Not much. But she sympathized and said she would contact the boy's parents that morning and let us know how to get in touch with them. Later she gave me a number for the boy's Mom.

She told me that she had had a heart attack (at 37!) several months ago, followed by a fall that severely damaged her knee. She's a surgical nurse, and couldn't continue to work until the knee is fixed, but the hospital dropped her insurance 4 days before her surgery, so she was obliged to use all their savings to have her knee repaired. Next, her husband got laid off, and now they are losing their house.

They had three dogs and two cats. A 13-year-old dog and 18-year-old cat were scheduled for euthanasia, because they are old and unwell. A lap dog belonging to the 11-year-old sister had already been placed in a new home. Now there was a cat and Roxy, a 3-year-old black lab, in need of homes. They had run the gamut of all their friends, acquaintances, friends friends, and families of the kids, but no-one had stepped forward to take Roxy. The Mom was sadly considering the possibility of having her put down when we called.

Hooray! We're able to save the day and make a family in desperate straits happy!

On Saturday, Roxy arrived. She is much smaller than Flower and verrrry nervous. She loves to play fetch, can catch a ball in mid-air, and is very affectionate and sweet. But she's a wee bit on the neurotic side. She's pathologically attached to her tennis balls, and she alternately carries them around, dropping them into everyone's lap in an attempt to make them play fetch with her; or lies down on the floor and systematically chews them into little bits (the balls, that is, not the people). Since Saturday she has gone through 5 tennis balls and a soccer ball.

She has gotten along fine with the other dogs (with the notable exception of a full-on fight with Flower last night over the remains of her dinner – all sound and fury, however, no blood), but they are puzzled by her neediness and obsession with people. She barks and throws herself at the door if left outside, even with the other dogs. She was raised in the country, so is unaccustomed to town noises like cars passing, distant sirens, and neighbor dogs barking. So she wakes up and barks hysterically every time she hears one of these noises at night.

Also, her family were apparently early risers. So 4 a.m. is Time To Get Up in Roxy's book.

Fortunately, all of these little difficulties are already being smoothed out. She is sleeping through the night, though still getting up before 6. The squeaking and barking for attention has decreased a lot as she begins to feel secure with us. And I've been able to leave her outside while I'm at work for the past day and a half without fear of her chewing through the door or injuring herself by lunging at it. I think we're going to be okay.

In the meantime, my family has grown. Now we are five. Okay, six if you count Mambo. Okay, eight if you count the fish, but I don't really count them.

Mambo, by the way, is much larger, and is now eating full-sized crickets, four or five at a go. This is a big improvement over meals of 15 to 20 small crickets. He is also eating spinach and a bit of carrot, so that's encouraging.

Halloween

Grayson was a vampire for Halloween. My mom, god love her, made a terrific black satin cape with a scalloped edge and red satin lining for him. It's glorious. The rest of his costume, I'll admit, was a bit weak. He doesn't like shirts with buttons, and insisted on wearing his crocks. So he was a vampire in dark blue corduroys, a black T-shirt and crocs. It didn't seem to bother him a bit, however. We did attempt to get some stick-on fangs for him, but we couldn't make them stick, and when I tried them on myself, they cut my gums, so we abandoned that effort.

He trick-or-treated twice over the weekend. Because of a conflict with an OU home game, Norman changed its "official" trick-or-treat night to Friday. So we went out with The Boys Friday night. We also attended an iron pouring at the OU Art School, which was sort of interesting. They sell carvable plaque molds for $15 apiece. You take it home, carve out the shape of the plaque you want, and then they fill it with molton iron at the event. Later this week we'll be able to pick up our finished piece.

On Saturday, I took Grayson up to the city to spend the night and go trick-or-treating with his best friend. Consequently, we have waaaaaaay more candy in the house than is strictly good for us, especially considering the fact that my folks insisted on giving him an entire bag of Hershey bars when he trick-or-treated their house.

For My Own Part...
I am attempting to do my back a favor by doing half an hour of yoga every morning after I drop Grayson off for school. This is part of my new "Do Something" campaign of self improvement and motivation. This also includes cutting back on wine consumption, cooking real food for my family, and filling my evenings with something besides Sponge Bob and sofa. I'm on day 2. So far so good. This very minute, there is a big crock pot full of Beef Bourguignon simmering away on my kitchen countertop. Good for dinner tonight, and enough of it to either make dinner tomorrow night or freeze for some desperate winter evening in the future.

Sad News

My folks white westie, Beaumont, also known as Bobo or BoMonster, has been diagnosed with cancer. The vet told them yesterday that he guesses the little guy has no more than about a week to live. Bo was a little more than a puppy when Grayson was born, and would install himself at Grayson's side when he was a baby, growling protectively at anyone who got too close or made too much noise. He got so protective, in fact, that he spent about a year on doggie Prozac so he would chill out enough to allow even Grayson's own family approach him. Now he's ten years old and we'll lose him soon.

Pets. You know when they come into your life, as I have said so often, that they will break your heart. Yet we take them in, we love them and raise them. They become part of our family. You can't regret it, even when they die and your heart grieves.

Roxy, nervous mess that she is, reminds me of Maggie, the dalmatian I had when Grayson was a baby. She died just shy of her 12th birhday, in my arms. Whenever I see Rox curled up on her blanket, looking anxious, my heart squeezes a little, still loving and remembering Mags, though she's been gone more than 8 years.

No regrets.