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Happy 35th Anniversary, Scott!

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Bird in the...toilet?

Ok, here's the story.  The picture gives away the ending, but I have to start at the beginning.  I was sitting on the couch in the family room, when, WHOOSH, through the room, gliding inches above the floor, comes a bird, who then slides into the patio door.  Patch jumps off the couch and I jump up and grab her.  "Scott, there's a bird, come quick, I've got the cat!"  He comes running with barbeque chicken in hand.  I point to door and say "Over there!"  He starts looking.  No bird.  I hold the cat.  Scott moves curtains, dog bed, chair.  No bird.  I continue holding the cat and give excellent suggestions from the sidelines.  "Look under the chair.  Behind the TV.  On the fireplace"  No bird.  Dinah shows no interest and Patch is ready to scratch my eyes out, so I lock her hissing and snarling, in the kitchen with Bella.  (Sorry Bella...) and join the search.  Scott, in all his manliness, grabs the heavy duty flashlight and we look everywhere.  Under the couch.  On top of the TV cabinet, in the cat house.  Under the bookcase.  IN THE BATHROOM!  No bird.  Really, Scott, I swear, THERE WAS A BIRD.  But now I am starting to doubt my sanity. Really...!!!There was a bird and now there is not a bird.  So where did it go?  I let Patch back in, hoping she will find the bird, in all her cattiness.  But she runs outside to roll around the patio.  An hour later, I hear splashing in the toilet, and here it is, the bird.  "It's in the toilet, I told you there was a bird!" I gently grab it and place it outside, with the cats locked INside.  I think the bird is fine, it flew away.  After a little bath in the toilet.

May Day

It's a beautifully clear May Day today...still windy, but lovely sunshine and lilacs.  I wanted to put a picture on here of a Maypole Dance we stumbled on in Kensington Gardens when we were in London with Mom and Ray, but the picture is on the other computer and I can't figure out an easy way to move it to this computer.  So you will just have to picture it...warm summer day in the park, we hear fiddle music and come across a folk music festival in a lovely glade ("glade" is a word you only use when you are writing about England.  Or fairies.) and off to the side there is a Maypole set up and children and adults are following the complicated directions of the "caller" (like in square dancing) to twine the ribbons around the pole.  It was lovely.  I know, that is the third time I have used the lovely in this paragraph, but it was.  And I like the word.

A hard decision

Poor little Rascal just had all the cards stacked against him, too many to overcome.  If this was a book or movie and not real life, he would have made a miraculous recovery from his last obstacle, but really it was just too much for a 2 1/2 pound puppy.  The compassionate decision was to end his struggle.

Rascal

Aiden loves Rascal, but can't decide what to call him.  Today he is "Scamper"

Patch is interested, but not yet mean to the baby

Bella's lazy life might be in for a bit of a change.

OK, so here is the complete story:  Donnette's son and daughter in law were up visiting and for some reason they were at the vet here with their little dog.  While they were there, a lady came in with this little puppy that she had rescued from the middle of 202/Woodford-Tehachapi.  She said she almost hit him as he was trying to cross the road!  He was very skinny and weak.  The vet told her that they did not take in strays. (I know, I know, they can't be a dumping ground, but still...a 5 week old puppy!) The lady already had 8 dogs and would be in big trouble with her husband if she brought home another, so Glen and Lisa stepped in. Glen paid to have him checked out, and he was declared weak, but basically healthy.  They bought all kinds of goodies, including a little collar and leash, and brought him home to Donnette's.  They determined together that he was allergic to the very expensive canned mother's milk from the vet, but he could keep down the gatorade and baby food.  We got him to eat a little last night, but this morning doesn't seem interested in the food.  We are allowing him tiny drinks of gatorade.  He is peeing and pooping, so we hope he will get stronger.  I have visions of camping!  and long walks! and playing frisbee in the park! Luckily, we are off for spring break this week and Donnette and Sharon both feel so guilty that they couldn't take him that they are very willing to help with puppy care for as along as we need it.

What do you do when you can't sleep?

The only times I can remember not being struck with the 3am no-sleeps was when I was pregnant with Chris and when I got up every morning at 3am anyway to deliver 400 Santa Barbara New Press papers.  So what do I do to while away the hours?  I refuse to get up, because one thing I know is that I have no chance of falling back to sleep if I get up.  I go through different stages of night time entertainment.  Sometimes I sing Eeny Meeney Disaleeney Ooh Ah Ah Meleaney while I keep rhythm with my fingers and I try to keep track of which finger I stop on when the song is finished.  I am not making this up, I have spent many many hours in this activity.  Or I make up rhymes which do not have to make any sense, just have a nice rhythm and satisfying rhymes.  Quickly and without thinking, like a jump rope rhyme, for instance:

My mother said to go to bed
And so I grabbed a dragon head
It bit me on the big fat knee
And so I put it in a tree...

Or I write stories.  Last night I rewrote Little Red Riding Hood, as a chapter book, in my head.

 I play a kind of scattergories games where I pick a category and try to think of an example for each letter of the alphabet.

I relive favorite days, or vacation itineries.

What do you do?