Tag: memories

Birthday carnage

Our late dog Pete was not known for his kind disposition. In fact, he never met a person he wouldn’t contemplate biting. Two stints in obedience school never affected him, though if Tom and I are ever commanded to walk on a leash, sit, stay, heel, leave it, or lie down, we’ll get gold stars. We are also clicker trained, thanks to Margot.

Still, there were people Pete tolerated better than others–and there were two who sent him into a rage. The first of these was my nephew Josh. No one understood why my nephew Daniel could walk up and Pete would glance over and say, “Yeah, whatever,” then charge Josh with the full fury of his ten pounds.

To commemorate this family conflict, my sister (Josh’s mother) once gave us a little plastic dachshund wearing a red cape, carrying a pitchfork, and sporting devil horns. Thursday night, I made Pete’s Mini Me the center of a birthday cake for the other person who brought out Pete’s not-so-inner demon: Tim.

Here’s what the cake looked like:


Note to Jim: See, I do use that vase for flowers, even when you’re not here.

I made one of Tim’s favorite meals, pot roast, and we were joined by Lynne, Minute, and Paco for dinner, cake, and gift opening.

Tim blows!

Later, Lynne demonstrated Pete’s Take-No-Prisoners approach to life.

Even though the cake was a bit decimated, Rhonda and Lindsey were able to join us at the end of the evening to enjoy a slice and add to Tim’s birthday celebration.

Thank you, everybody, for helping make Tim’s birthday festive! And Pete, wherever you are, I’m sorry no one bit him on the ankle for you. Maybe next year.

Call me, call me any time (call me)

I still remember the first time I saw Debbie Harry and Blondie on TV. Regardless of what heights she achieved in the rock and roll pantheon, to me she’ll always be that adorably quirky girl who nearly tripped on her microphone cord while performing on Midnight Special in… Oh, it matters not what year. I think Lynne and I were something like two at the time (she was watching with me).

I got Mattel’s Debbie Harry Barbie for a steal on eBay because she didn’t arrive with her clothes or accessories. No biggie that she is sans pink vinyl dress. I’ll design a whole new look for her soon, I hope.

Animal print fabric gift of Marika.

Cinnamon Girl

Even though I stole my title from Neil Young, his is not the youtube video I’m linking at the end of this post. When I was shooting my cereal photo this morning, I ruminated on cinnamon. I have a love/hate relationship with this spice. I like the occasional cinnamon toast, but sometimes the scent of cinnamon repulses me. There is at least anecdotal evidence that cinnamon helps improve insulin sensitivity, meaning it can be good for metabolizing sugar (a plus for people who have diabetes). So we’ve been watching for cereals in the health food aisle that include a dusting of cinnamon.

Last week, I found a healthy kids’ cereal–you know it’s for kids because there are bunny shapes in it. Adults know bunnies are killers.


If only Monty Python had known how raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and a little milk render bunnies harmless. Speaking of the British, that coffee mug (from Puterbaugh) is a London Underground Map mug. Mind the Gap!

This week, Tom found a cereal of oat flakes with pecans and cinnamon.


I like the color of the blueberries and strawberries with the yellow bowl. I bought that bowl a couple of years ago at a thrift store, intending it to be a gift to a Pyrex collector I know. But it has a sunflower lid, so I selfishly held on to it. That’s an Irish coffee mug, but there’s only a little shot of chocolate in my iced coffee–no whiskey.

As I was shooting the photo and thinking about cinnamon, I remembered a song that a childhood friend, Susan B (more Lynne’s friend than mine) used to love. I looked for it on youtube and was charmed by this video someone made to go with it–oh, the days of 45 records piled high on the record player. Enjoy!

A dilapidated Up house, or maybe Mrs. Wiggs’s house

I’ve been doling out some of my favorite photos from the recent trip to New Orleans one at a time. I just know since I’m blogging this one today, this week’s Photo Friday theme will be “shotgun” or “decay” or “porch” or something that I won’t have because I already used it.

Goodbye, little guy


Sparky with Tim and Rex in May 2007.

Rescue. Lynne and Craig had their doberman, Greta, but no one could deny that Greta was really Craig’s dog. Their son Jess had gone away to college, then he and Laura were starting their life together. Lynne freely admitted to having empty nest syndrome when she began looking for another dog. Unlike me, she likes the fuzzy ones, especially Yorkies. She began checking rescue groups, and that led her to Sparky. In body and stance, he reminded me of a Norfolk terrier, but his coat and coloring were a Yorkie’s. They rescued each other.

Plucky. A few years later, Sparky began having health problems. Ultimately he was diagnosed with diabetes and was losing his vision. Greta was showing signs of aging. People would tease Lynne and Craig about their infirm dogs, but Craig said they’d probably both outlive him. Sadly, that was true. After Craig died in 2006, Lynne found her Westie, Minute, to keep Sparky company, since Greta was long past the age of romping. Sparky got a new friskiness because of his little sister Minute. He was stoic about his insulin shots, less stoic about his strict diet. He would have loved to eat all the time if he could.

Stubborn. I’ve had many opportunities to take care of Sparky over the years when Lynne traveled. I’ve seen him in a household with his siblings (after the loss of Greta, Lynne rescued Paco the Chihuahua) and Jess and Laura’s doberman, American bulldog, and mastiff. He’s been in my home with Margot, Guinness, and Tim’s Rex and Pixie. He’s been here when Sugar was added to the mix, and endured a range of foster dogs through the years. Nobody ever intimidated him. He navigated the front and back stairs in and out of the house, found the crate when he wanted to sleep undisturbed, barked at every mail carrier or delivery person who came near The Compound, and was never too blind to find his food bowl–or anyone else’s.

I think the happiest I ever saw Sparky was the time Tim and I took him to be groomed. He loved his haircut, bath, and pedicure. Minute was appalled by the pink bow the groomer put on her head–she is the great vanquisher of possums, after all–but Sparky felt jaunty and showed it in his walk and bark. Though his legs had gotten stiff, and even with his hair clipped short, that day he pranced like any Yorkie at Westminster would have.

But finally illness has taken its toll. Today, Sparky is gone, but the lessons he taught me about stoicism and perseverance will always remain. My condolences go out to his human and canine family and friends. He packed a lot of force into his little body. Just over a week ago, our friend Robin lost her cat Tilda, and today our friend Alan lost Miss Kitty. I feel certain that right now, both of them are ignoring Sparky’s bluster at that place where they all go to be healthy and happy again. Maybe later they can share stories of the amazing people who gave them wonderful homes full of love and care. I know we’ll be sharing stories about them for a long time to come.

Photo Friday, No. 246

Current Photo Friday theme: My World


Playing around with my camera last Christmas.
My world is full of color and light.
It’s the living room where so many friends and family members have gathered over the years.
It’s the dining room where we’ve shared meals, made art, and drunk endless cups of coffee with birthday cakes.
It’s the kitchen, and just beyond it, my computer, which is the nerve center of my work and play.
It’s where we lost two dogs and two more found us.
It’s where I took one of the last and best photos of my mother.
It’s full of books and photos and memories.
My world is my home.
Tom and I bought it in 1995, and it remains one of our best choices.