Whenever I get to feeling a little "down" (like this week, when I got bitten by a dog) about something, I first count my blessings - out loud, up to 20. If that doesn't work, I try to make something better.
I get enormous satisfaction from making things better. Such things include ironing and mowing the lawn. Both tasks are similar in that you simply push either an iron or the mower (I don't do riding mowers) and toute voila! all is well.
Spray some starch or squirt some water from a spray bottle, back first, front, front, sleeve, sleeve, and collar...all is well. Start up the mower up and down the back yard, around that bumpy place where the pine tree once stood too close to the foundation, and things look swell once again.
When all else fails and all the ironing is done, I change out the mantel or a dining room tablescape or my Grandmother Helen's old marble top chest.
Here is the new late Autumn arrangement. I'm not too sure how my Nana (my other grandmother) would feel about being under glass beneath a cloche with an old wooden shoe form.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
We went to Cracker Barrel last night. You see, I got bitten by a female dog this week…TWICE. Bruce says that the term “crazy bitch” is applicable and correct right here for this skittish female cattle dog.
I had to have IV antibiotics in the ER and was discharged with anti-nausea pills and an antibiotic prescribed for a week, a “cure” which has left me feeling as though someone has scrubbed out my stomach with Fels Naptha soap and a wire brush. I wanted something bland and comforting like chicken and dumplings for dinner, hence Cracker Barrel.
The only other thing which has actually “cured” this condition is a carbonated drink which Starbucks makes, with fresh ginger syrup. If you ever wondered if that old adage about ginger soothing the stomach works, I am here to say “Amen” and “Tell it, Sister.” (And no, this is not a sponsored post!)
I was helping out a neighbor who is in a chaplain’s residency at the local Catholic hospital. Her dogs needed to be let out. She moved in next door to the house my beloved Lauren used to live in.
Lauren, shown here above at graduation with her Dad and Sis, moved on to Coast Guard Sector Baltimore and lives in the weirdest and yet the coolest studio apartment EVER with the back wall of the apartment all exposed old brick. She is the first female Coast Guard firefighter to serve there. We are so proud of her.
The apartment is “bagel shaped,” as my family calls every oddly shaped space. She lives near the Orioles' Camden Yards, so guess where we all will be going to see the Yankees play baseball next year? I miss her terribly. I might add that Lauren has an ENORMOUS French Mastiff who would never dream of biting anyone.
My new neighbor has to work some long overnight shifts, so I offered to let the two dogs out so she didn’t have to race home on a half hour break. File this under (as my curmudgeonly grandfather used to say) “No good deed shall remain unpunished.”
The first time, all went smoothly. The second time, the weather was so beautiful that I let them stay in the fenced backyard for a few hours, rather than just let them out briefly.
When I turned to leave, with no provocation she jumped and tried to bite me in the face. I raised my arm to deflect her and got a little bite there. She proceeded on to bite me to the right of my knee where I got four little puncture wounds from her needle-sharp teeth.
I received two little notes under my windshield, one cute and sincere as can be. The first said how sorry she was. The second told me how our mutual neighbor, Carol, would now be letting out the dogs on those long days. Seriously?
Call me madcap, but if your dog ever viciously bites your next door neighbor (a woman who has owned two pit bulls and one wolf/malamute hybrid and emerged unscathed) you might want to consider that it could be the dog and not the person who let the dog out. Just a thought from those of us in the know.
I thought about that statement, “Carol will let out the dog” and at first I fumed. Then it started cracking me up. Common sense isn’t too common.
I was rereading this and wondering if I’d digressed too much. You see, this entry was supposed to be about aging and Glen Campbell. That’s okay, you already know how I am and the Wichita Lineman is still on the line…