This photo of my morning glories is for Christina, in honor of Andrew’s memory.
Tag: compound
My sister and Bobo
Thursday night, I was hoping that Lynne was going to spend the evening at The Compound and visit with my sister, but she wasn’t able to come. I’d bought a family-sized pack of chicken breasts, and when I actually opened the package, those things must have come off a group of Victoria’s Henhouse models. I quickly called Rhonda and Lindsey to see if they’d made plans, and since they hadn’t, they agreed to join us for dinner–which turned out pretty good for one of those last-minute, thrown-together meals.
Debby let us in on a little-known facet of Rex’s personality. Apparently, they’ve formed a fast bond of friendship, and he likes for her to call him Bobo. Here’s Bobo sitting next to his new best friend and showing Rhonda some love.
Also, I didn’t know that Lindsey, like Debby, is a big fan of coconut cake. She proves it here.
This evening, my nephew Aaron is coming to Houston so he can see his high school in a football playoff game tomorrow. I don’t know if Bobo is jealous that he’ll have to share Debby’s attention with someone else, but he looks a little worried today.
Green, green grass of home
Y’all probably remember this pre-election photo and EZ worrying about whether Tim’s grass would grow in our barren, post-Ike-treeless patch of The Compound grounds:
Last night, a few of us were sitting on the front porch talking because the mosquitoes had some kind of lapse in judgment and forgot to feast on us. Tim asked if I’d considered taking down the Obama sign. In fact, I hadn’t kept it up as a political statement, although every time I’ve seen it since last Tuesday night, a little bit of my insides have relaxed some more. Even with serious losses in several states on issues that matter to me (Proposition 8–don’t think I haven’t been finding ways to protest, even if I haven’t been shrieking about it on LJ–letters, e-mails, finding out which products to stop buying from companies that promote and finance intolerance and inequality), I believe better days are ahead. (And I’m bemused that the neocon pundits think information such as in the Charlie Rose Newsweek interview are going to scare me. HELLO? I like my presidents self-aware, intelligent, slow to react, and confident.)
ENOUGH WITH THE PARENTHETICALS.
The grass is certainly greener on this side of the fence lately.
And the sign is in the garage now.
Do you smell something?
I rarely use the middle burner on my stove. Last night, probably a couple of hours after we ate dinner, Tom was walking toward the kitchen and I said, “I keep thinking I smell gas. Could you check the stove?” Apparently, when I thought I turned the burner off, I really only turned it all the way down. The flame went out, but the gas kept going.
I went to Tim’s later to watch a movie. When I came home, Tom and the dogs were sleeping. At least I hoped that was just sleep, because the gas smell was still ridiculously strong. I opened all the windows and within a few minutes, the smell was finally gone.
Good thing No. 1: I didn’t blow up my house.
Good thing No. 2: Tom and the dogs seem fine today.
Good thing No. 3: The AC is still off, and wonderful breezes have been blowing through my house since last night.
Trick or Treat
We only had two trick-or-treaters at The Compound tonight. But they were good ones, so they got all the chocolate they wanted.
I present you with:
Spice Rack and Freudian Slip
BOO!
two little ghouls and a goblin are intent on carrying out
the master’s evil orders (i.e., “Sit. Stay.”).
Well, mostly.
And FrankenAnkle just wants to run the grounds and guard us from children of the corn
and other scary things.
Pictured: Margot, Rex, and Guinness, then EZ the Miracle Dog.
Hump Day Happy
Dear Readership:
I know the only way to keep you coming back is to give you something to actually read–well, that and post photos of Tim, but I think he retired from my LJ in late 2007, and I haven’t yet found a good enough bribe to lure him back into camera range. I’ll try to be better about posting, because I miss your comments. And your fondue.
As you may have surmised, this woebegone Compounder has been sick and demanding my attention for a few days:
Guinness has been as poop-shy as Tim has been camera-shy, which means I’ve been spending a lot of time outdoors cajoling her (with an equal lack of success). When I went out this morning, I noticed the tiny, TINIEST, little bits of green on the part of The Compound lawn that had been nothing but dirt on Sunday, when I last posted a photo.
Look HARD for the brand new baby grass testifying to Tim’s hard work.
Throughout the day, I’ve returned to find that each time, there’s a little more green. There are some other nice sights, too.
Last January, Lynne gave us a potted azalea, and it has suddenly bloomed:
The morning glories are so in love with the newly moderate weather that they’ll stay open most of the day:
And there’s this beauty, blooming outside Tim’s apartment:
While shooting those for you, GREAT HAPPINESS arrived at The Compound when Guinness finally, FINALLY left a gift on Tim’s new grass. Because I cherish you, I won’t force you to see a photo of that. Instead, I’ll give you an odor-free skunk:
and the opportunity to comment with a page number between 1 and 611, and another number between 1 and 25, so the skunk can give you something to be happy about. (Please feel free, as always, to keep commenting for as many days as you wish. Happiness has no expiration date.)
People who work at home have Mondays, too
How many more people can call me today to take me from a project that I’m enjoying and eagerly trying to finish?
On the other hand… When a dog who’s been dealing with diarrhea all day finally begins puking up undigested raw turkey necks that have been sitting in her stomach for twelve hours, you don’t want to be around. Unfortunately for Tim and me, we are. I took the dining room spew; he’s on porch detail.
Oh–is it dinner time at your house, too? Sorry!
ETA: Round Three. Tom’s turn!
Getting there
Today I’ve been working on my final collection. I’m about halfway there. Tom took a half day off to deal with some car maintenance stuff, and now he and EZ are in Tim’s apartment. While Tim’s away at Rex Camp, we’re subletting it doing some work over there. Okay, I say “we,” when in fact, it’s Tom doing the work. He took down all the drapes so they can be dry-cleaned. Then he cleaned all the windowsills and is now painting them.
Recently, Tim noticed a tear on one of the curtains. He SAID EZ probably did it when she was looking out the window, but I’m not so sure Mark G. Harris is innocent. He could have been interrupted while ripping up the curtains to make a dress for Figaro.
Hmmm, maybe I should look at those curtains again…
Stupid Human Tricks
I got an e-mail from my sister-in-law (the most devout Auburn fan ever) this morning asking me to go to this site:
and vote for the AU marching band’s version of the Indiana Jones theme song. This was no problem for me, because I enjoy marching bands and I’m all about Auburn, as long as they’re not competing with Alabama. They are competing with Clemson, LSU, Georgia, Florida, Texas, and USC. The winning band gets a $25,000 donation from Paramount Pictures and LucasFilm Ltd. If you can bear that theme song seven times, it’s fun to hear the different arrangements (and see the ways some of the bands paid homage to the Indiana Jones movies). Texas added their own little twist at the end that cracked me up, and the LSU dance team’s outfits are clever.
When Tim is gone and I have the care of EZ, life becomes a weird juggling act. Last time, I spent the nights in his apartment with EZ, and set up my laptop over there so no matter which house I was in, I could access my LiveJournal because that’s just how important you all are to me. This arrangement left me feeling guilty, because wherever I was, it meant somewhere, dogs were spending long hours alone.
I realize that most of you leave your animals alone for eight to ten hours a day, and they’re fine. I know mine are fine, too. In my head. But The Compound dogs are used to two people who work on the premises. They can say, “Hey, it’s time for me to take a bio break,” or “Sweet mother of God, the mail carrier is back to kill us all,” and feel reasonably sure they’ll get a reaction. They have their routines, and we all like it that way.
EZ doesn’t play well with others, so I can’t just have all three dogs running crazy in the same place. Since I want to sleep in my own bed, and I have some plans for Tim’s apartment (I’m renting it out to these nice chemists, Tim–at least, they said something about a “lab”), Tom brought EZ’s crate over here. I’ve set up all three dog crates in the dining room (in my line of vision) for the duration of Tim’s stay at Rex Camp. In theory, I can crate EZ and let the girls frolic, then switch out and let EZ wander the house while the girls are crated.
What actually happens:
Guinness paces through the house wailing for no apparent reason.
Margot claims EZ’s crate as her own and never wants to leave it.
EZ is at Tim’s, alone, after being fed.
I feel guilty again.
I decided to take the girls out for a run around the grounds then crate them, then bring EZ back to my house. I wanted to get back inside quickly, because I was still in my nightgown. But when the girls and I went out, there were about a dozen mourning doves just outside the gate. I was so happy to see them–the first time I have since Ike blew through–that I decided to refill the empty birdbath to lure them back home. Then I noticed the flowers in one of the beds looked a little wilty, so I started watering. Which is when the mail carrier came. Other than the fact that I looked like a madwoman wandering the grounds in my nightgown, this was an absolute joy for me, because the second my dogs began barking at her, I sprayed them with the hose. Sweet justice!
Unfortunately, things went downhill after that. WHY, when I’m trying to roll up the hose, does it always catch on something, slowing down the process long enough to allow my neighbor Jason to walk by and see me IN MY NIGHTGOWN? Then three huge utility trucks came down the street and parked IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE, and I had no choice but to trudge past them IN MY NIGHTGOWN to get inside.
This could be why Tim doesn’t wear a nightgown.
Disgruntled prison bitches:
Oh, save your pity. They’re all three snoozing and happy, full of dog biscuits. I’m going to shower and dress now.