Unidentified Lying Object aka Gradirthday Gap aka Storm, What Storm? aka Security!

   Exhaustion. Thou art my middle name. And first. And last. In fact, it seems to be the only thing I can identify with anymore.

   As you know, (if you've been reading my blogs- if not, you've got a lot of catching up to do, and I would lecture you about how disappointed I am, but really, I'm too darn tired to expend that kind of energy, so moving on) we have been traveling a bit in the last several weeks.

   My latest trip, to New York, has not been without its fair share of adventure. This trip was to attend my step-daughter's graduation and 'Gradirthday party,' her combined graduation and eighteenth birthday.

   Unlike Ohio (with accommodations at the Hyatt provided by the convention), this time we were staying at the, well, let's call it the Mediocre 7 1/2. The differences between the two were never more exemplified than the day my husband made the discovery of a 'foreign object' under the bed. At the Hyatt we were likely to have monsters under the bed (remember, haunter's convention), here we had an Unidentified Lying Object.

   Said object, looked to my husband like toast. How it got under there is anyone's guess. However, upon the arrival of the maid service, he made mention of it. Here's how the conversation went:

   Husband: There seems to be something under the bed.

   Maid: Okay?

   Husband: I'm not sure what it is, but it seems to have been left by the previous occupants.

   Maid: Silence. And confusion.

   Husband: (Feeling the need to qualify his statement) It looks like bread or toast.

   Maid: (Completely mystified) Do you want me to take a look?

   Inside my head: Nope, just thought it was an interesting conversation starter. Breaking the ice with a bit of 'dubious remnants of trash' humor. (Now at this point I'm thinking she should be dying of shame that the room was so poorly cleaned between occupants. Not so.)

   Husband: Uh, yeah.

   Maid gets down on the floor, peers under the bed and says: Yeah, I see it. It looks like a piece of paper.

   And then she gets back up

   Apparently her work here is done.

   Husband: Okaaayyy….

   Maid: (Still baffled) Did you want me to remove it?

   Inside my head: Nope, no, just wanted verification that it was indeed there. I love the thought of an Unidentified Lying Object hanging out mere inches away from where I'm sleeping. Leave it there, I'll give it a name and adopt it as a new pet. Maybe I can put it on a leash and teach it to walk.

   Husband: (Gives up and walks away.)

   Maid looks to me for an answer to her question.

   Me: If you wouldn't mind. (aka if it's not too much to ask to DO your ACTUAL job…)

   Sadly, when the ULO (aka bread, aka paper) was brought out into the light, it was still unidentifiable. I, for one, am glad it was removed. Whatever it was.

   There were more important things to focus on. There was a Gradirthday in the offing, and we focused on that.

   Now let me tell you, those DTRJH? moments that inspire my blog; there is no avoiding them, they happen to all of us. And my step-daughter and her mother (who reads this blog and told me to refer to her, and I quote, as 'My husband's crazy ex-wife' and therefore will be referred to as MHCEW from this point forward with her permission- hey it was her idea- who am I not to run with it?) are no exception. Looking back on my son's graduation, I should have realized there was no way my step-daughter's would go off without a hitch.  

   Allow me to elaborate (because let's get real, you know I will): My son's graduation was a complete and unmitigated disaster. Mid ceremony, a huge storm system blew through town, bringing multiple tornadoes with it, causing them to cancel the graduation midway and hustle us all across the street to the 'safe building with the storm shelter.' Because running in heels through torrential rains and driving winds across a four lane road is always the better option

    At any rate, we all reached the 'safe building' completely drenched, at which point they made the announcement to roughly two hundred and thirty grads that they would not be rescheduling the event. (The powers that be had decided that since the salutatorian and valedictorian had given their speeches, and the honor's students had already walked and received their own diplomas, there was no reason to cater to the two hundred odd students who had been robbed of the experience.)

   It's kind of like being left at the altar. You dress up and show up for the event, eager and excited, but the bride/groom never comes. It was awesome. The would-be graduates were all broken-hearted as they stood there bawling, their sodden caps and gowns sagging with their spirits.

   For this reason, my son's open house actually took place before he graduated, where we held a mini-graduation on the back deck, utilizing the plastic graduation cap and tiny diploma off the cake. We recorded it. It was fabulous. Some of his friends hummed Pomp and Circumstance, while he made his 'walk' across the 'stage,' complete with feigned trip, and received his 'diploma' from a co-non-graduate. It took us a while to find the 'cap' after he threw it in the air…  

   On a side note, the following Monday it was decided to reschedule the event. (The tremendous amount of vandalism following the epic failure of a ceremony, and the even more epic failure to re-schedule the ceremony, had no bearing on their decision whatsoever… Or so they insisted.) The graduation was held, again, the following Friday- or as I like to call it, 'Graduation Take Two.' Once more violent storms raged around us (this time sans the tornadoes) and thus my son was rained upon on both days. I can't wait for his wedding…

   Naturally, I was hoping for better regarding my step-daughter. But if you read this blog, then you know what the odds of that are.

   The graduation was slated for Friday evening, with the party to follow on Sunday afternoon. We headed over to my step-daughter's house late Saturday morning to assist with the party preparations. The county was under a heat advisory, and it was hot. And humid. And thick.

   I was grateful that the ceremony was slated for later in the day. The thought of broiling in the full sun on a football field was not very inviting. Which brings me to the question, why, oh why, was the ceremony outside? I can understand it with a large graduating class. You can't house four or five hundred kids plus their parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles in a gymnasium, I get that.

   But this was a small class, roughly two hundred thirty kids. You CAN accommodate this inside a gym; I know, been there done that. Four times. Just sayin'.

   So there we were, hanging out with my step-daughter and MHCEW, when the phone rang. I watched as MHCEW answered the phone and listened to a recording. Then the phone just dropped right out of her hand and landed on the kitchen floor, vomiting its batteries on impact.

   Somehow I knew it was bad news.

   I'm pretty perceptive that way.

   The ceremony was being delayed until the next day due to the 'threat of inclement weather.'

   Okey dokey.

   New schedule. Ceremony with party to immediately follow.

   All previous plans flew right out the window as we now had to roll with the altered agenda.

   Deciding that we apparently had the entire day now open to us, we used the time wisely, setting up the tent etc. in the sweltering heat.

   Did I mention it was hot?

   We barely had the canopy up, when the storm moved in. And it was a pretty big one. With lots of rain, lots of wind, and lots of lightning. So naturally, like a bunch of idiots, we all sat under the canopy while we worked. Ignoring the fact that the ground was covered in standing water and we were completely surrounded by tent posts, or in this case, lightning rods. The wind blew, the thunder rattled, and lightning lit the sky. And we stayed outside. Because we are nitwits.

   Finally the storm passed, with no one getting fried to a crisp. (A miracle in and of itself.) It was much cooler then, which was wonderful, so we were all inclined to continue our out of doors experience.

   I was just saying something to MHCEW when the slightest flash barely (and I do mean SLIGHTEST and BARELY) lit the area. I had been about to say, 'Did you see that?' when the CRASH-BANG-BOOM interrupted me. Damn nature, never lets you get a word in edgewise.

   We all jumped. I think we even wet ourselves a little bit. Or maybe that was just me.

   I was convinced the lightning had hit the line of trees which runs along and behind the house and was directly beside us, and I frantically looked around, waiting for one to come crashing through the tent. Luckily, nothing happened.

   It was later, as we were driving back to the hotel that MHCEW called and said, 'So, I was just doing dishes and looking out the kitchen window, and I noticed my foliage looked a little different. And then I noticed there were two deer nibbling on the leaves of the tree that was LAYING DOWN in my back yard.'

   Now, we can't be certain if that tree was struck by lightning, or just blown over. However, it was less than a hundred feet from where we had all been sitting under the tent. Proof that God does indeed protect idiots and children…

   Naturally I said to her, 'You know this is going in my blog, right?'

   As far as the graduation ceremony, aside from sitting outside for two and a half hours in the blistering sun, netting everyone a shiny, spankin' new sunburn, the actual graduation went off without a hitch. For the most part.

   I have heard a lot of renditions of 'Pomp and Circumstance' in my time. But I have to say, this one, a 'jazz' (and I use the term loosely) rendition, trombone solo, was by far the most interesting, ummmm unique, errrr distinctive, version I've ever witnessed. I like to call it 'Pooped and Circumcision,' because that's what it sounded like was going on. It was not so much jazz, as dying goose. Which only got funnier when I later learned that their school mascot is the gander.

   However, my step-daughter finally got her moment in the sun (no pun intended, though it did make me giggle), and walked the stage to receive her diploma. She was beautiful and radiant and deservedly excited, and I was so very proud of her. Her party went off without a hitch, and I know she had a great time.

   We had survived lightning and downed trees; we made it through ULO's and Pooped and Circumcised; we had done it all and lived to tell about it. Now it was time to head home.

   Just as soon as we got through airport security.

   Upon our arrival at Albany International Airport, I was shocked, amazed, and flabbergasted to discover, that unlike other airports which generally have eight to a dozen, and sometimes even more, security stations, Albany has four. Count them four. And two of these were closed.

   This would be sufficient for say, 'Mom and Pop's Fly By Night,' but Albany? The capitol city of one of the largest states in the nation and an international airport to boot. Two? Really??

   The line for security filled the roped off area in its entirety. It then extended across the room and onto the skywalk. But we're not done yet. It snaked ACROSS the ENTIRE skywalk, which bridged four lanes of traffic and a very wide median, and into the next building. It took two minutes just to walk to the end of the line. Now that right there is what you call efficiency.

   And I couldn't help but think, as I stood there in that line, shuffling forward a millimeter or two every few minutes, boy do I have a lot of material for my blog. How am I ever going to condense it all down?

   Bear with me; I did the best I could

Flightfear a.k.a. the Garlic Queen a.k.a. Opera Anyone?

   On the road again, I just can't wait to get on- no- OFF the road again.

   It seems like I just got home from Ohio (maybe because I did) and now I find myself in New York. My step-daughter (the baby of the family) is graduating from high school and so I found myself in a car and then on a plane, traveling once more.

   Now let me explain something- I HATE traveling, but I especially hate traveling by plane. I have extreme Flightfear. Planeaphobia.

   No really, Fallaphobia and Crashaphobia.

   And so, with as much courage as I could muster, I headed to the airport and boarded a plane.

   Now at Downleft Airlines, (for the sake of not being sued I have opted to re-name the airline on which I flew and hope to NEVER fly again), they have what's called 'open seating.'

   Let me just say, I HATE open seating. This was a BAD concept. Due to this complete failure of an idea, there is no assigned passenger seating, with the exception of course of first class. For the rest of us peons, it's first come first serve.

   But first come does not mean the first to the gate. Apparently in an effort to prevent a 'run on the gate' they developed the plan a little further. Each passenger is assigned a number and that is the position in which they are allowed to board the plane. Naturally, by the time my husband and I were allowed to board, all the aisle and window seats were in use leaving only center seats as far as the eye could see.

   This posed a quandary. As I have mentioned, FLIGHTFEAR. So what's a girl to do?

   Naturally I inquired of the passengers, "Which of you is willing to hold my hand during the take-off and landings and possibly hold my hair while I barf should there be any unruly turbulence? Hmmm?"

   There were no takers.

   I eventually found myself sandwiched between a heavy set man, who thought he owned half of my seat and the Garlic Queen. This granola eating, sandal wearing girl was either taking LOTS of garlic pills or bathed in the stuff.

   I can't tell you how thrilled I was.

   I was already nauseated (thank you Garlic Queen) and we hadn't even left the ground yet.

   The flight attendant began his announcements, starting with the phrase, "As this is a termination flight-"

WHAT? Termination?? Who the hell booked this??

   Fear quickly turned to panic and I was searching out my husband, who was a row back on the other side. I could see him, only by leaning past Miss Garlic Fest 2012, but he could not see me. Not that he was trying to. He was already settling in for his nap.

   Meanwhile, I wanted off this plane. Now.

   Termination flight. There are certain words that should NEVER be put together. Termination and flight are two of them!

   We finally took off and I managed to neither hyperventilate, nor vomit. An accomplishment on my part. I did however go through Listerine strips like they were M&M's (the best candy EVER). They helped keep my mouth from going dry, kept me from getting sick, and squelched the garlic reek beside me.

   However, they did not drive away the portly man who was now using even more of my seat. An inch more and he would owe me a dinner. And a movie.

   Personally, I think there should be an unwritten rule; if you have the aisle or window seat, there's your prize, you are NOT allowed to use the armrests as well. You want a place to rest your arms, sit in the middle. Just sayin'.

   Eventually I got out my MP3 (yeah, still rockin' it old school- be glad it wasn't a Walkman). I set the volume as loud as it would reach, turned the ear buds out a bit, and then set it to play Linkin Park. Apparently my fellow passengers did not approve of my musical selection (thank God) and the Garlic Queen leaned a bit toward the aisle while the Portly Passenger folded himself forward over his knees (no mean feat) and spent the next hour and fifteen minutes that way.

   Point to me.

   After a relatively rough (though my husband assured me not perilous) journey, we landed- kudos to the pilot who stuck the landing- and we disembarked.

   To catch our connecting flight.

   Oh goody.

   We lucked out on the next plane and landed two seats together, giving me someone I could clutch on to during the takeoff and landing- hey I had that added to the wedding vows- till death do us part you WILL suffer bruised fingers during any and all times of fear.

   Among the other passengers on this flight were a woman who had marinated in her perfume- just a suggestion- if your perfume waters the eyes of the person next to you and causes oxygen molecules to shrivel up and die around you, you're using entirely too much; also a delightful young boy, just under two years old, who prefers to watch TV and does not understand or wish to cater to the 'turn off all electronic equipment' rule. He is a first soprano who can hit and sustain a high D for twenty minutes straight without a breath. It was AWESOME.

Linkin Park couldn't shut this kid out. He had more lung capacity than Brunhilda, (from the Wagner opera (which sucks), not to be confused with Broomhilda the comic strip I remember from when I was a kid (which was awesome)).

   By the time we landed I was deaf in one ear and all the hairs in my nose had been singed and had fallen out.

So here I sit, half deaf and nose-hairless in the hotel room writing this and living in fear of our return flight home.

   I wonder if I could walk it?

Vacation? a.k.a. Fellow Americans a.k.a. A Room With A View

    So we finally take a long awaited and much deserved vacation. Well, more of a long weekend, but it's the first we've had since our 'mini-moon' (our overnight honeymoon until we can afford the real thing) and beggars can't be choosers, right? So, off we headed to Columbus, Ohio, for the Midwest Haunter's Convention. (Huh???)

    Allow me to explain.

    My husband is a complete Halloween addict who loves anything in ANY way related to Halloween (which is why we own and operate a haunted house), and my daughter is almost as bad as he is. She is a budding make-up artist who jumps at every opportunity to utilize and improve her skills. This particular convention offered any number of make-up classes, not to mention an opportunity to meet and speak with some of the season two Face Off cast members, a dream come true for her. Needless to say, Christmas had come as far as the two of them were concerned. And as for me. Well…

    As for me, I'm a writer. Surely this particular venue had to provide an endless supply of subject matter, right? Right? Right…

    Okay, for me truly it was more of an opportunity to get away for a bit and relax.

    Relax? Really? What was I thinking? How can you possibly relax when everywhere you turn there are evil clowns lurking, or man-eating zombie rabbits rabid for brains, brains, brains! or evil demons fresh from the seventh level of hell, or, well you get the picture.

    So anyway, there I was, along for the ride, and not sure what I was walking (er, driving) into. Well, let me tell you in as quick a format as I am capable of. (I know; there is no hope for that.)

    A quick comparison of my last two trips; the first (a working trip) to Atlanta, Georgia, and the second (as it turns out, another working trip) to Columbus,Ohio:

    Georgia: Upon landing at the airport we were accosted by a limo driver who drove us to our hotel forty minutes away in a Lincoln Town car ($50).

    Ohio: Upon arriving at the hotel we were accosted by a homeless man who deluged us with TMI (too much information) regarding his various illnesses and dialysis (this was a show and tell event that included the startling exhibition of several of his surgical scars) leaving him incapable of working. So he sells 'newspapers' for a living- a two page print from the homeless press ($1).

    Georgia: In front of the hotel we were greeted by a man carrying a plastic grocery bag, who walked up and began passing out $100 bills to us and everyone else in the area. (Turned out the money was real.)

    Ohio: In front of the hotel we were greeted by a crazed man screaming nonsensical words and epithets to the vehicular and human traffic around him. Also the trees, shrubbery and various insects (or invisible people) around him.

    Georgia: We walked through the sunshine to a local restaurant for lunch.

    Ohio: We headed to the food court for lunch, but were stopped along the way by a man who greeted us with the words, "My beautiful, fellow Americans, would you be so kind as to help a man who is four seventy-five short for his cab fare?" Hmmmm. When did we leave the country? We're still in Ohio, right? How difficult is it to stumble upon 'fellow Americans' in OHIO?

    At this point it was decided that the next person who staggered up to us asking for money, my daughter and I were to stand there looking confused, while my husband rambled at them in Polish. Mind you, the only Polish my husband knows is what his former journeyman taught him; a vast array of dirty words and highly imaginative curses. He can accurately tell you shockingly vivid things to do with various body parts, but he can't give you directions to the nearest gas station. But really, how many people in Ohio are fluent in Polish? Turns out, there was one…

    Somehow, we managed to make it to the lobby to check in with at least a few dollars left in our pockets, and headed up to our rooms.

    My daughter was ecstatic upon entering her room: a corner room with a king size bed and huge bathroom. Windows lined two walls of both the room and the bathroom, exhibiting a breathtaking view of the skyscraping buildings surrounding the hotel. She was in heaven. (The next day she claimed to have spent half the night doing the back-stroke on her bed.)

    My husband and I were not so lucky. Our room was far less glamorous. We lucked into two double beds, a much smaller bathroom, and one wall with windows displaying the construction going on next door. Every morning I had a first rate view of the cranes lifting the Port-o-pots onto the roof next door. Awesome.

    Needless to say, she took pictures.

    I did not.

    There was so much going on and so many things happening, that I will warn you this is a topic I will probably return to in the future, but for the time being I will only add the following thought. Various conventions run at this convention center/hotel back to back. One of the activities following the haunter's convention was a pageant. Think little girls, big hair, fake teeth, and lots of make-up. Now that I think about it, not a far cry from the haunter's convention… Just different types of scary. (Don't even get me started on these things.) The same night as the masquerade ball (where all the monsters come out to dance), there was a bridal shower.

    I began to put myself in the place of these, for lack of a better term, 'straight-laced' people. Imagine being the bride to be, whose only intent is to whoop it up with her besties at a very expensive, no doubt exclusive, party being held in your honor. On the way to said party, you pass countless demons, monsters, zombies, and ghosts in the halls, elevators, lobbies. You can't get away from them. Is this a good sign or a bad one?

    All I can say is, I was one of the dead the bride to be ran into. And my husband and I have made the bride's bridal shower album. By request of her mother, I posed with the bride (dressed in a wedding type gown while my skin peeled off my face revealing open wounds- remember my daughter the budding make-up artist). I also showed the bride the 'rope burns' where I 'hung' myself and couldn't help but to remind her she was the before the wedding shot and I was the after.

    As for the pageant people, I don’t particularly care what they were thinking. Those kids have a lot of therapy in front of them, and I doubt any of it will stem from the monsters in the hallway.

    Or the blood in the elevators.

Did This REALLY Just Happen?

After a lifetime of writing and telling stories, my first short story has finally been e-published. The story, Gilda's Locket can be found at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/169055 and is free. It will also be distributed to Barnes and Noble, Apple, and many other retailers, and will be available for almost any form of e-reading from Kindle to Nook. Needless to say, I am very excited! At the end of the short story is included a sneak preview to my first full length novel, The Dradon Project, slated to be released in the very near future. Thank you all for your support and encouragement and I truly hope you enjoy!!

Toast Is Good a.k.a. Attack of the Killer Bra a.k.a. Food, Glorious Food

   Dogs are funny people. I know this because, as I have mentioned before, I live with two of them. They thrive under routine and I swear they wear little watches. I don’t know where they keep them, (suddenly I realize the thought is too ill-considered to fully conceptualize- SCARY). Or maybe some portion of their brain actually acts as a sundial… That’s a theory I have to work on.  Unfortunately, their clocks are not always in sync with each other’s, or mine, but that’s beside the point.

    Their routine has changed a bit after my father-in-law moved in. Now they get up early each morning (even slug-a-bed Ellie who used to lie in bed long after ten and give you a one-eyed grumble when you got out of bed as if to say, “No, I don’t wanna get up yet. I’m tiiiiirrrrred.”) But now there is a reason to drag her sorry butt out of bed. As the saying goes, ‘The early bird gets the worm,’ or in this case, the toast. My FIL, who gets up anywhere between six and eight every morning, has the same breakfast every day. Milk and toast. The entire time he eats this, he has two dogs sitting beside him, staring up at him with big, googley, watery eyes. They are waiting to partake of the toast, which is especially good since he uses not only butter, but also grape jelly, and they have discovered that grape jelly is DE-LI-CIOUS!

    Which leads me to my first tangent. The other day I was partaking of some toast, or rather bruschetta. Tomato basil bread, sliced thinly, toasted crisp, and adorned with kalamata olive spread, feta cheese, and a roasted red pepper. A culinary delight. Ellie (who we still call Ellie Bellie from her pudgy puppy days and I also often call Ellie Bean- tangent #2 I know- a tangent inside a tangent- I have pretty awesome tangential powers….); as I was saying, Ellie, who navigates her world primarily by smell, but almost as often by sound (which is how she knows when you are eating raw carrots- one of her favorite treats- because if you are crunching it MUST be carrots- not raw red peppers (blech!) or radishes (ew!)- see there- I did it again- tangent 2.5). Okay, so where was I? Oh, YEAH TOAST, (thank you Heywood Banks and my son who made me LOL over that….), SO back to toast, and Ellie. Ellie, hears the sound of someone munching toast; Maddie is of course oblivious, but she has learned to trust Ellie’s instincts, and therefore is quite willing to follow her partner in crime to the kitchen, whereupon the two of them seat themselves beside me and proceed with the googley, watery eyes.

   Now let me tell you, there is just no explaining to a dog (or two) that there are differences between kinds of toast. They’re not having it. Pretty much the conversation goes like this:

   Me: You two won’t like this; this is not like Grampy’s toast.

   Them: Give us the toast! Give us the toast!

   Me: You don’t understand, this is not toast, it’s bruschetta.

   Them: Whatever. Bruschetta, schmuschetta, give us the toast lady.

   Me: For the last time- bru-sche-tta! Not toast!

   Them: Fork over the toast lady and no one gets hurt!

   Naturally, in an effort to convince them this is NOT what they are coveting, I break off a small piece for each of them, removed the pepper, feta, and olive spread (by way of licking- they’re dogs they don’t care), and pass it over. Ellie, who is determined never to chew anything, sucks it up like a vacuum and in less than a millisecond it’s gone and she is none the wiser. Maddie, of the more discerning palate, not to mention actual mastication, almost instantly spits it out onto the floor. Her expression is clearly disappointed and a tad bit miffed. She was expecting butter, a little grape jelly, sweet rapture with just a touch of salt. She got vegetables. Like any small child she was not happy. (Try giving a kid Brussels sprouts in lieu of a cookie and see what I mean.)

   No matter, Ellie the vacuum had already sucked it up and by the time Maddie considered giving it another go, it was already long gone.

    Okay, current tangent over, now back to the routine. After a leisurely breakfast with Grampy, Ellie immediately crawls back into bed until a later time. Somewhere between seven and nine I get up (more often than not, Ellie still gives me the one-eyed grumble and falls back onto the bed). I start my day, which of course begins with coffee. When the dogs hear the clanking and thumping of coffee preparation, they begin to get antsy. They know this means deck time. I will take my coffee and laptop out onto the deck (spring, summer and fall anyway) and commence to peaceful, uninterrupted writing time. With the exception of the two nitwits gallivanting all over the yard, thundering across the deck, and barking at the birds.

    Maddie, who everyone knows is a complete, unadulterated coward (if you haven’t read Maddie vs. the Grill, it’s a must read on the background of the epic proportions of Maddie’s cowardice- go ahead read it, I’ll wait….Da de dum, da de dum, da dee dee dum dum dum dum; done yet? Okay, moving on). Maddie, who is afraid of everything including, but not limited to, inanimate objects, suddenly becomes a ferocious beast when confronting birds. Especially robins. (I am still waiting for the day when one of the Hitchcock birds comes up against Maddie, I only hope to have a video camera available when it happens.) Now keep in mind, this is a dog that quakes in terror at the sight of a: other dogs especially puppies, b: the grill, c: thunderstorms, d: fireworks, e: anything (and I mean ANYTHING) that is out of place in the house ie: a pair of shoes where they don’t belong or the sleeve of a jacket rippling in the breeze when the a/c or furnace comes on.

    Which brings me to yet another tangent. One night Ellie (who is generally fearless, but somehow this night was channeling Maddie), was sleeping at the end of the bed which is her habit. At some point she picked up her head to turn over and saw something that scared the living heck out of her. All of a sudden, she jumped up, ran to the head of the bed plastering herself against me, growling and shaking all over. Naturally I assumed she had seen something outside the bedroom window (which she can see from her position on the bed). I went to the window and looked out, half expecting a boogeyman or a peeping tom, but found neither. Nor did I see a robin. While I was busy looking for whatever it was that had startled her, Ellie was quickly degenerating into a full on panic attack. She was walking in circles, still growling, still shaking, and still staring at the end of the bed.

    Finally, I turned on the light, trying to see what it was that was freaking her out. Her panic in no way decreased, but as I stared at the foot of the bed and the blanket chest just beyond, it finally came together for me. Normally, each night when we go to bed, I lay the bed spread over the blanket chest. This particular night I had added something extra out of pure laziness. The clothing I had removed. On the top,  sat my bra, a minor mountain in silhouette. I picked it up to show it to her saying, “Is this the problem?” She practically fainted. I thought I would pee myself laughing so hard. I was tempted to throw it at her, but as I had no desire to clean her pee off my pillow, I held back. The bra went in the hamper, Ellie cautiously made her way to the foot of the bed, eyeing the hamper suspiciously every so often, but order was restored.

    Okay, tangent over (worthwhile one though, right?), back to the birds.

    So there I will be, calmly sipping coffee, trying to get my competing thoughts focused into one general direction, and there’s Maddie, yanking and pulling on her leash, barking, growling and foaming at the mouth. It’s distracting. It’s annoying. It’s what Maddie does. And naturally, Ellie, who is the quieter of the two and not much of a barker, inevitably follows her idol’s example. Now I have two nitwits screaming up and down the yard, in an otherwise peaceful venue, (the neighbors must love me), while the birds, oblivious to the fixated behavior of the dogs, hop about the yard, pecking at the grass and doing whatever birds do. QUIETLY.

    After a few hours of this, (no I do not have that much patience, but I really do love to be outside, regardless of the idiocy of the two canines I share an abode with), I head back inside. The dogs find a spot and collapse for several hours (hey, barking at random birds for three hours is hard work, you don’t believe me, try it sometime). This is the only peace you will know in a day; when the dogs are sleeping. Of course this is generally accompanied by doggie dreams: the foot kicking, spine twitching, muffled yips and occasional growls chiming in. I think they’re still barking at birds…

  Eventually six o’clock rolls around, dinner time. Somewhere around five thirty Maddie will start getting antsy. I think she is convinced that this is the day I will finally forget to feed them. She paces neurotically, and you can tell she is worrying, stewing about how she can get the stupid human into the kitchen and help her find the food and show her where to put it. She paces from the living room (or the office depending on where I might be), to the kitchen, and back again. Over and over and over. She has worn a track into the carpet. I can almost hear what’s going on inside her brain.

    Maddie: What if they ran out of food? What if she forgot it’s supper time? What if she doesn’t remember where the food is? Or my bowl? Oh my God! How can I tell her? HOW can I tell her? She doesn’t speak dog… What’ll I do, oh woe is me, whatever will I do! I shall starve and then who will protect her from all those birds!!

    When I finally do cave in and feed them, often a few minutes early because I can no longer tolerate Maddie’s incessant whining and pacing, there is much rejoicing, leaping and spinning. Celebrating with interpretive dance. And the Hallelujah chorus is sung. The routine prevails. All is right with the world.  Life is good.