Time to Pack Your Bags

I actually woke up a little teary-eyed this morning. I had fallen asleep in the recliner, with Lester on my lap. She had come home from Sacramento yesterday to do all the finish-up stuff before she flies off to Boston tomorrow. She had her shots, and was examined by the vet who cleared her for flight.

She slept so well last night and when I woke up, her head was on my shoulder and she was snoring softly. The sky was just barely light, so I turned on something saved on my DVR to watch and sat there, snuggled up with the puppy, thinking that this was the very last time we would sleep together like that. That's when I got teary-eyed. It's always a mixed day when puppies move on to forever homes. For Lester, she'll always be part of the family--which is a happy thing. But she'll live in Boston, which is a sad thing.

I discovered that if I calculated from when she arrived here and the vet's estimation of how old she was, that she was born either on or around December 5, which also happens to be Phil's birthday...so it was fated that the two of them be together.

We went down to the SPCA thrift store to get a travel crate for her. I was so thrilled that Ashley let me know they had crates down there, because we saved a significant amount by buying it through the thrift store, which just had some crates donated...plus we were able to make a purchase to help the thrift store, which was also good.

Lester was wonderful in the car. She just curls up and goes to sleep. She walks very well on the leash with me and was no problem at all weaving in and out among the merchandise and customer legs at the store. She went into the crate to make sure it would fit (in fact, it gives her lots of room to move around in) and then the clerk helped put it in the car.

We tried at first putting it in the back seat, but it was such a tight squeeze that he feared we'd never get it out at the airport. Instead we decided to take it apart and, in two pieces, it fits nicely in the trunk.

Then I decided Lester needed an ID tag, on the off chance she gets loose at Logan Airport. I went to Petco to measure her for a new collar, so she could go off looking all spiffy, and then got ready to have a tag engraved for her. She walked very calmly next to me all the time, lay down while checked out collars, sat calmly next to me while I waited in the check out line.

The woman in front of me said "Oh, it's so nice to see a well trained dog..." She then went on and on about people who don't bother training their dogs. I was very glad I was there with Lester and not with Lizzie!!! Lester is just a mellow dog. I have often thought she has the kind of personality that, if she stays as mellow as she grows to adulthood, would be great for visiting hospitals, rest homes, or working with disabled kids.

Phil came in the afternoon to pick her up, to get his paperwork, and to check out the crate so he can get bowls for water and food (tho she won't need food on this direct flight).

Then he took her back to Sacramento for one more romp with The Bouncer and will be back here in the morning to start the trek back to Boston. Definitely a new adventure for all of us!

Cannibalism

I'm very upset.

The religious right is all busy going after homosexuals, who really pose no direct threat to the life of non-homosexual people. Where are they in protest against a growing disturbing acceptance of cannibalism?

You think I'm kidding?

Have you watched those chocolate chip cookie commercials where this happy Chips Ahoy cookie is singing and happy to be so chock full of chocolate chips and suddenly he just...disappears. The sound of a crunch is heard in the background. Someone has eaten the cookie. Eaten the star of the commercial. Look at the look of sheer terror on the face of that poor innocent cookie!

One of the commercials shows the happy cookie stepping out of the Gale farmhouse (from Wizard of Oz) into the beauty of Oz, yellow brick road and all. He barely has time to get out "Toto, I don't think...." before he's whisked off to someone's mouth.

I tell you it's enough to turn the blood cold in your veins. Try explaining that to your kids!

But it doesn't stop there. In fact, it started years ago. Remember Charlie the Tuna trying so desperately to be a Starkist selection? And what happens to tunas who are selected by Starkist? They don't end up in an aquarium somewhere, you know.

What about those junk food-eating chickens who are trying to desperately to be Foster Farms chickens?

They are trying everything possible, including, lately, plumping with water to make them look fatter. If they ever make it, you know they're going to end up on somebody's dinner plate.

And what about those cute raisins in the Post Raisin Bran commercial in which Steve's partner, Jim Brochu appeared ("I was the gay raisin!")

You know that as soon as those guys are finished singing they are going into some kid's mouth.

How about Kellogg's Frosted Mini Wheats, the cute little guys that march off to school with little kids and help them learn all day long. Well, why are the kids learning so well? Because they've eaten some of their cute little brothers and sisters. Shocking.

The only ones who seem to have any sense are M&Ms, shown, in the latest commercial, as running frantically trying to get away from the supermarket checker who eventually puts them in a bag to take home. As one M&M points out they are on the menu for the party.

Seriously, folks, this is a growing menace and we must protect our children. I speak out for the clueless "cute" foods who are too stupid to realize that their anthropomorphizing can only lead to one thing: ending up in someone's stomach.

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I realized this week that the saddest words in a TV addict's vocabulary are "season finale."

I've been watching the season finales this week, Lost last night, Grey's Anatomy tonight and others along the way -- Amazing Race, House, Survivor coming up this week, I think. I just got hooked on The Ladies' No. 1 Detective Agency and HBO is already airing the season finale this week.

"Season Finale" means only one thing: No more new episodes until next season, whenever that begins. It just seems that "seasons" are getting shorter and shorter.

The summer shows are rarely up to the quality of the show they are replacing. How in the world can the truly stupid Wipeout ever compete with Lost? They're taking away Lost and giving us what amounts of a latter day Beat the Clock. Lord knows what will be the summer replacement for Grey's Anatomy.

Thank God for reruns. You can watch Law and Order, House, and a bunch of other shows indefinitely, if you need a fix.

The Tea Set

When I was a little girl, my mother had a tea set that was always kept in a closet where I couldn't get to it, but the two of us could, on special occasions, have special tea parties. The reason the set wasn't given to me to play with was because it had belonged to my mother when she was a little girl. She had spent a year in bed and my aunt, her oldest sister, who was an adult by the time my mother was born, brought her a tea set as a special gift.

(Actually she bought two tea sets, since my mother accidentally broke the first one when she insisted on putting it away herself so her older sister, who wasn't as "neat" as my mother, wouldn't mess it up!)

I remember having milk in a little pitcher and pouring it into little cups, and having little cookies to pass during the party, holding onto the impossibly tiny little handles of the cups as I drank sweetened milk or hot chocolate. I don't remember doing it often, but it stands out as a special memory from my childhood.

When I gave birth to Jeri, I was all excited about having "my" tea set so that I could have tea parties with her, the way my mother had tea parties with me.

But I didn't have the tea set. And my mother insisted she had given it to me long before. I searched the house high and low but never found the tea set, and felt guilty that in my slovenly, disorganized way I had lost this special memory. I never got to share that very special thing from my childhood with Jeri.

It was about a year ago when I was sitting in my mother's living room, looked up on top of a glass cabinet and saw the box

It's a very distinctive box, square with this embossed silver paper on it (and now somewhat brown with age). I should note that my mother has moved many times since Jeri was born, and apparently the tea set made the move with her each time.

"My TEA SET!" I shrieked.

Jeri was, of course, 40 before the tea set was rediscovered, so she is long past being able to share that magical time of sitting down with a tea set and having a tea party, but Brianna either was just born or was about to be born and I was just thrilled that at last the tea set was found and I could now give it to my granddaughter. But Laurel tells me that she has a tea set that had belonged to her grandmother, and she's not interested in my tea set. So the set won't be used by my granddaughter either.

My mother decided I should take the box home after Cousins Day and I got to open the box this morning, for the first time, perhaps since I was a child.

There lay all the pieces wrapped in now discolored tissue paper.

I started carefully unwrapping the pieces.

There are four cups with saucers, and two cups, with no saucers, that obviously were purchased at a different time, perhaps two cups left over from the first set Aunt Mel bought for my mother, when she dropped the box that held them.

I feel like I should do something with this tea set; I've wanted to have it again for so long. But there doesn't seem to be anything I can do with it except wrap it all up again, put it back in the box and put the box somewhere safe in a closet, where, when I die, the kids will probably take it and throw it away, with nobody around who is interested in sharing this part of my (and my mother's) childhood.

I could, of course, have a tea party with Jeri the next time she's in town, but I suspect it won't be quite the same as it might have been when she was 3!!

Lester, Meet Your New Dad

At long last, Lester finally met her Dad today.

Phil had flown into San Francisco and spent the night at Ned's. When I got home from Cousins Day, Ned invited me to come to dinner, and to bring Lester. I had to review a show in Davis at 9 p.m., but we decided we could eat early and I could still make it to the show on time. I packed up Lester and headed for Sacramento.

A look at the photo above says it all. Lester was at her most endearing, Phil, who has been looking for a dog ever since he and Jeri decided to make it permanent, was thrilled to finally have a dog. And Lester had a great time bonding with her new cousin, The Bouncer.

The dogs chased each other around and around and around and around, then stopped and did it all over again until they finally dropped, rested for a few minutes, and started the chasing all over again. It was clear by the end of the first half hour that they had become great friends.

Lester also took time to do a little bonding with Ned.

And Ned showed me Bouncer's trick.

Ned made a great BBQ chicken which we ate in the open air party room, so we could watch the dogs play. Then I had to leave to rush back to Davis to review the show.

I hate theatre. Sometimes.

I got to the performance area (not really a "theatre"), where I overheard someone telling someone else that this wasn't really a performance, it was the final dress rehearsal. I talked with her and she said that the "preview" is tomorrow and the show opens the next night. I talked with the director, who confirmed that yes, theydid invite press to review the rehearsal. I asked if she REALLY wanted me to do that, that rehearsals and previews were generally to work out the rough spots before the opening performance. But I said that as long as I was there, I'd stay and asked for a program. She said they had no program or cast list to give me because those wouldn't be coming until tomorrow. WTF?

So I'd left Ned's early and rushed back for a REHEARSAL and didn't even have a CAST LIST to refer to in writing a review??? I left, called my editor and we decided I'd come back in a couple of days, when they are really ready for prime time.

Peach, Under Protest

A few months ago, we changed the rules to 65. For months we'd been playing that if someone accidentally discarded the wild card, they would be award the "boob" that Kathy bought.

Then we decided that if they discarded the wild card and the the person whose turn it was next didn't notice and so didn't pick it up, the boob would go to that person. Normally that's not a problem because everybody makes some sort of nyah nyah nyah sound to the person who discarded the wild card.

However, when my mother discarded the 7 to Peach, neither Kathy nor I said anything, Peach didn't notice, took her turn and we insisted that she now was to be awarded the boob.

You can see from her expression what she thought of that idea. So she decided that she was playing the game under protest and was the holder of the boob under protest. In fact, on our date for the next Cousins Day is written PUP, which means "Peach Under Protest."

I'm not sure why she's protesting. Yes, she is now the "proud" possessor of the boob, but she also won almost every game we played so I don't know why shes making such a big deal out of a little thing like being awarded the boob.

But this was a Cousins Day for "interesting" expression!

This picture, for example...

...was taken just after my mother had flashed the finger at her injured ankle (and refused to do it for me on camera), because she was so upset that the bandage she has to wear causes a wrinkle under the elastic stocking she has to wear and the Virgo in her doesn't like it and is sick of it!

There were also some choice words uttered about this score

The idea of the game is to get the lowest score, of course -- and in keeping with "what happens at Cousins Day stays at Cousins Day," I have blocked out the names ... but you know who you are!!!

And I can't even begin to tell you what my sweet little nearly 90 year old mother said when she got upset with "someone", but it had an F in it. Her mother would be shocked, but now I know where I got my potty mouth from.

But we had great fun, of course. A lot of discussion was sparked by this picture

and the fun things that come with aging.

I had brought ingredients for making a drink that called for mixing Chocolate vodka with crushed fresh strawberries, forgetting completely that Peach is allergic to strawberries, so I rummaged through all the partial bottles of booze we had in the cupboard and came up with something I called a "65 High" (because I was at that moment the high scorer in our game of 65), which was chocolate liqueur, vodka, creme de cocoa, raspberry syrup and tonic in a glass over ice. It was good, but a little too sweet for me and we changed the recipe the second time around (and I opted out of the second drink completely)

Peach brought veggies and dip for hors d'oeuvres (along with stuffed eggs and stuffed mushrooms, all left over from a party she had been to), and Kathy brought lasagna and her fabulous cheese bread for dinner

This morning after our second game of 65 (Peach won both. Smug? Her? Of course not... in a pig's eye...), we gathered up our stuff and paraded out to the car...

...and another Cousins Day was history. Next one? June 9, right after Peach's birthday and before I leave for Paris.

Mothers Day

I remember Mothers Days of my childhood. It was always a big deal. My father always bought some expensive gift (usually lingerie) and he, Karen and I would go downstairs to the basement with our gifts and I usually did the wrapping.

The basement had been carved out of the hill on which our series of flats was built. It had no finished walls or floor, but were just dirt, and you couldn't stand up straight when you went inside the door, but had to hunch over until you reached the tiny work area, where it was larger, wider, and taller. There was a narrow work bench and a table on one side and big pipes on the other side. At the back was a door that led to the "real" basement, which was down lots of stairs and actually belonged to our landlord. My father got to use the tiny upstairs area.

I loved wrapping gifts and was pretty good at it. When they came out with stick-to-itself satin ribbon, I learned how to make ribbon roses and loved doing that. So my father was always happy that I could wrap a fancy looking package for his gift (it was one thing I did that actually seemed to please him!)

I don't remember where we had dinner on Mother's Day. I don't think we went out to eat. For all I know, my mother had to cook her own dinner for herself and my grandmother. But maybe not. Maybe those times that we went to Grisson's Steak House or the House of Prime Rib on Van Ness avenue were for Mothers' Day dinners.

Things were different as my generation has reached adulthood and started families. Once our kids were old enough to handle Mothers Day on their own, Walt was free to spend the day with his mother, reasoning that I wasn't his mother so there was no need to do anything for me. It has worked out well. He spent most Mothers Days with his mother and I spent them with mine. His brother and sister-in-law followed the same rule -- Norm would spend Mothers Day with his mother and, when she was alive, his wife spent the day with her mother.

And so it was that today I drove to San Rafael to take my mother to brunch at the San Rafael Holiday Inn. We took her friend Paula with us. The Holiday Inn does a really nice brunch which starts with the usual champagne.

Then we ate ourselves through several different feeding stations:

Left top are all the hot egg dishes, from blintzes to eggs Benedict, bacon, sausage, potatoes, French Toast and even pasta dishes. Then next to that are cakes I didn't try. Lower left are tarts, with fruit, strawberry and chocolate mousse and then at the bottom right is Tiramisu.

On the left is the ice station, where there was beautiful shrimp and some salmon with every sort of garnish. On the right is the carvery station (roast beef and ham) and at the back the omelette station.

We managed to eat ourselves into glutony and rolled out the door about an hour and a half after we got there.

Before we went to brunch, I talked with Phil about Lester. He's flying out here tomorrow and will return to Boston on Saturday, taking Lester with him. I'm so glad they are finally going to meet each other. I don't think Lester is as excited about it as I am, but then...she hasn't met Phil yet. She's gonna love him. I hope it's unanimous.

I finished my Harry Bosch book on the way home and started another Michael Connelly book (not Harry Bosch) that I'd downloaded yesterday. And I was home for the finale of The Amazing Race and a nice chat with Tom (and Bri, who was in the bathtub at the time).

All in all a very nice Mothers Day.

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NOTE: Tomorrow is Cousins Day again, so the next entry will be late.

My Afternoon with Harry

That's not Harry, the formerly hairless, now adopted puppy, it's Harry (Hieronymous) Bosch, the hero of many Michael Connelly books. (How can I not like a character whose favorite hang-out was a favorite hang out of my father?)

I started The Black Echo several weeks ago, but haven't been on a long car ride since then. It comes in two different files and I had finished the first and hadn't started the second--the whole book is about 12 hours long and this particular story is read by Len Cariou, the original Broadway Sweeney Todd.

I got back into it yesterday as a ploy to keep me on the treadmill. Today we had been invited to a party at our friend Jeri's in Lincoln. I vascilated back and forth about whether I was going to go or not -- I knew that most of the people there would be people I didn't know and I'm just not at my best in those situations. If Walt had been home, there would be no question about whether we'd go, but to go by myself--did I really want to go? The purpose of the party was to introduce her friends to Jeri's new beau, Phil, but I'd met Phil several weeks ago.

However, the plus about making the hour-plus drive was that I could get back into The Black Echo. It was great. I took a leisurely drive to make it last longer, I did some "window shopping by car" looking for a fat lady's store so I could think about maybe getting something lightweight for the trip. Never did find a store, but it did give me a longer time to listen to the book.

And the party was nice, too. I knew more people than I thought I would, the weather was beautiful, and I had a good time sitting in the back yard chatting with folks. And then I could get back in the car with Harry again.

I think I have a little over 2 hours left to go before the end of the book, but I'm going to my mother's to take her to brunch for Mother's Day tomorrow, so I should have a chance to finish it before I get home. Then I have two more stored on my iPod!!

On the way home, I decided to stop and treat myself to dinner at Applebees. Walt's out of town, Ned's busy and Jeri and Tom are far away, so while I could treat my MOTHER to dinner, there was nobody to treat ME to dinner (though I did get great mother's day gifts today!)

I must post a note to myself in the car reminding me that Applebees is never as good as the commercials. I ordered a sirloin steak medium rare and the inside was grey. The potatoes (which tasted like they came from a box) were supposed to be garlic mashed, but there was no taste of garlic and they were lukewarm in the middle and cold on the outside. I never send food back, so I pushed the food around for awhile, ate half of it, packed up the rest and the dogs had it for dinner. But I did get to go out to dinner and spent some time reading The Lady's No. 1 Detective Agency on my iTouch while I was eating.

The best part of the day, however, was spending about 2-1/2 hours in the car with Harry Bosch and the promise of another couple of hours in the car with Harry again tomorrow.