Saturday, May 26, 2012

Give A Dog A Squeaky Ball

It's like giving a junkie drugs.  Thinking I'd get Porter to play a bit more when I let her out yesterday, help drain off some of that puppy energy of hers, I took along a squeaky tennis ball.  I threw it, she ran to get it, kind of brought it back, I threw it again.  We did that a few times and then she laid down with it and, well, look.  Doesn't she look like she's "having a moment"?  Too funny.  I finally managed to get a semi-decent picture of Henny2.  See her white earlobe?  Evidently white earlobes=white-shelled eggs.  Penny's lobes are brown, she lays brown eggs.  Never knew that.  I wonder if those chickens that lay pale blue and green eggs have blue-green lobes.  Maybe I'll call Martha Stewart and ask.  Or I could Google it, but calling Martha'd be more fun, and more of an adventure if rumors of her volatile nature are true.  Oh, I made a tactical dietary error yesterday at Olive Garden.  I was seduced by their commercial into ordering the Sausage & Orecchiette (means little ears, we thought they looked like foreskins, not that any of us know what that is or looks like, you understand) in garlic butter sauce with roasted asparagus and Alfredo bruschetta, salad and bread sticks.  It was delicious.  Dee. Lish. Shus.  But, oh mama, did it weigh heavily on my tummy all afternoon.  I was happy that I'd left Beverly to get her oil changed at Dell's a block away so I had to walk to lunch and back--and I detoured to JoAnn Fabrics in the same parking lot as Olive Garden--so that my food had a chance to settle before I set off on my appointed errand rounds.  I'm just not accustomed to eating such rich and fatty foods all at once and I was actually surprised that I managed to digest it without feeling like crap the rest of the night.  I was afraid I'd feel too icky to go to yoga & knitting but I managed--and I chose carrots & celery with a bit of dip for a snack instead of a gigantic chocolate chip cookie.  Go, me!  Once again Mardi's yoga class was exactly what I needed.  It's funny, I like the slow, stretchy, hold-that-pose yin (feminine energy) classes just as much as the fast, strenuous yang (masculine energy) classes.  Both of them drain off the tightness of the week and pull me back into myself.  Doing that one night of yoga a week sets me up on a positive note for the whole week.  Either that or I've got a crush on Mardi.  *shrugs*  No matter which one, I hate to miss it.  Do you do something for yourself that makes you feel great?  And don't tell me running 'cuz there ain't no way I'm getting this body running, not unless I'm being chased by... hmm, what would I run for?  Not a bear, they tell you to crumple up into a ball, besides there's no way you can outrun a bear.  Probably not a lion, either, but I'll bet your first instinct in either case would be to run.  I could outrun a snake but I'm not all that afraid of snakes so I'd probably stop and bend down to see it better.  I wouldn't run away from a shark, okay, okay, sharks don't run but you know what I mean, I wouldn't swim away from a shark, I know this for a fact because we saw a reef shark dart forward and eat some luckless fish when we were in Palau and I swam right toward it but the divemaster grabbed my attention and made me go the other way.  Spoilsport.  I don't run away from bees, wasps or hornets either.  Am I just not smart enough to be self-protective?  Too dumb to know when I'm in danger?  Or too curious about stuff to give it a thought?  Probably the last one.  I would run away from a person with a gun (okay a crazy person with a gun, because my chiropractor is a champion sporting clays shooter and I've seen her with a gun, I've seen Durwood with a gun) pointed at me.  With intent, not just some moron who doesn't know how to be safe.  (God, it just occurred to me that I've gotten into the habit of rambling on and on and on here.  I hope I'm not boring you or scaring you away with my blabbering.  Don't be afraid, I'm relatively harmless, just long-winded.)

May 26--Alexandre Pere & Fils, Accordion.  The music came from all around her.  Celia knew it was an accordion.  She recognized the sound because her Grandpa Paul played a concertina in the Germania Maennerchor band and Aunt Feelie played the accordion for weddings.  When she was small Celia and her cousin Donna Marie would play among the skirts of what Donna Marie called Mama's Wedding Dresses.  They loved the colors and the crinkly crinoline skirts..  The dresses smelled good too, like Tangee lipstick and Chanel No. 5.  The music seemed to be getting closer, wrapping itself around her and not letting her ignore it.

Okay then, that's part playing among Aunt Suzie's formals in Grandma's attic and part wondering what that metal arch over the rutted and overgrown driveway across from the end of Folz Lane where I waited for the school bus meant.  Enjoy your day.  I'm finally going out to lever up weeds in the garden.  It's a lot cooler and cloudy today so it should be a whole lot more comfortable out there.  I'll report.

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