It's a Happy Sort of Day

Simple things, really: catching up on rest, internet which works properly and is f a s t, a tree making it through winter, a candle in the oven; decisions made. I always feel better when I have a plan of action, don't you? But first, the images I'll be using for this week's prompt:

image source

and...

image source

So, the tree we worried wouldn't make it through the winter - do any of you recall the corkscrew hazelnut (aka Harry Lauder's walking stick, aka the devil's walking stick) we planted last year? Even though our winter has been a mild one we worried it wouldn't survive, but it has! It's budding and even blooming! (The long catkins are it's blooms.)

And speaking of trees, I had a couple of photos of magnolias which were gifted to me, that I would like to share with you:

From the kidling (taken on the way from her flat to our house)

And from one of my nephews and his partner, the magnolia which blooms in their yard...

Yes, spring has sprung and yet we have a polar vortex headed our way next weekend. I fear we shall lose much of the fruit tree's production to the cold and we'll have to protect our wee corkscrew hazelnut. 

Candle in the oven? It's the safest way for me to make my own candles and works a treat.

Decisions, decisions: Multi-tasking is no longer my forte' so, in order to have the time and mental energy to edit and revise stories which have already been written, I'll be cutting back to one new story a month (near the end of the month) as well as participating in Words For Wednesday when possible. 

In other news: My oldest brother, who is preparing for a lung transplant, is in the final stages of the preparation process. Next week he'll be spending several days in hospital undergoing the final tests and assessments which are necessary before a transplant takes place. If all goes well, it will give him several more years of healthy life. During the testing process, Jim was diagnosed with a genetic disorder called Alpha 1 antitrypsin deficiency, inherited from our father. (You can learn more about it >Here<.) Right now, I'm taking it as very positive that Jim has made it to this stage in the 'vetting process for the transplant, many don't. 

So what's happening in your lives?

Just In Time

“Sometimes I can feel my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.”
—Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Our crappy internet has been even crappier than usual the last week or so; when we can get online our speed is even slower than the old dial we were all happy to see go the way of the dodo. Since our (ahem) 'service' provider does this regularly, sometimes leaving us without service for weeks at a time, we've elected to do the sensible thing and toss them like a stinking gym sock. As an example: our internet has already switched off four times (erm, six times by the time I could get it published) and had to be manually re-connected whilst typing up this post. 

Our new modem arrives today and on Monday we're having a new line installed from another service provider we've used in the past, with good results. We'll have much better, faster and more consistent service for the same price we're paying for the crappy, slow and horribly inconsistent service we have now. Sure, there will be some bugs to work out the first few days, but it will be worth it. Why, I do believe this is happening just in time to save the last ragged bit of my sanity.

In other news: Spring is truly here; the magnolias are blooming, the birds are serenading us with their horny chorus and a thunderstorm (with 30+ degree temperature drop) is on it's way. I'm not complaining; this time of year is exhilarating! 

A bit of new (to me) music... absolutely love this man's voice:

Personal Challenge #6 The Truth About Bulldogs

On the Care and Keeping of Humans

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to reality is probably a figment of your imagination.

Image sources may be found Here. Once again, many thanks to John Gray for kindly letting me use his photograph, you can visit him Here!

(Taken from the lectures of the renowned Miss Eliza ManyFolds, longtime Keeper of the human: John, discoverer of the Bulldog penchant for buttered toast crusts.) It is a little known fact (among humans) that we of the Bulldog race rule the world. Any person of good sense would realize this, which naturally excludes those with homo sapiens tendencies; they have yet to make the simple discovery that we are perfectly capable of understanding their endless talk. Nor have they figured out that we are perfectly capable of speech, we simply choose to be taciturn with bipeds. Frankly, their hairy cousins aren't much better, being mostly full of nonsense; outwith the great apes of course, although it may simply be that their size gives them a certain dim dignity, but I digress . . .

 Among our many backstairs operations is the covert protection and guidance of certain important humans. Scoff if you like, even among the humans there are individuals who can manipulate their world to make it a more pleasant place, which makes them important. For instance, where would the proud Bulldog race be without the male who invented sandwiches or the delightful female who invented the Scotch egg, hmmm? It goes to prove that even the most disadvantaged creature can rise above their circumstances, if given the proper guidance, discipline and affection. That they have opposable thumbs simply adds to their usefulness. Keep that firmly in mind, pups, should you find yourself in charge of one of the unfortunate two-legged; protect those thumbs!

As well, do keep in mind and have patience with their rather simple-minded assessment of our race's intelligent, good looks as 'cuteness' and the oft-times regrettable actions taken as a result. For example: Yes students, my human, dear as he may occasionally be, affronted my dignity by offering me a sandwich (why else would he have left it lying on the coffee table unsupervised?) then called me by the peculiar name he gave me, Petunia of all things, with camera in hand. You must rise above these occasions as best you can, as I did.

 If they become too profligate with their buffoonery then one may take corrective action which is appropriate to the offense. Refusing to make eye contact is good, especially if you hide your face against a wall, as is passing gas in their direction. Use your Bulldog creativity to maintain the ascendancy over your charge. In fact, during a particularly galling incident where my male tried to feed me a noxious mixture of sliced bread and something he referred to as Spam, I climbed surreptitiously into his bed and shat on his sheets. He never again tried to feed me that mess, let me tell you! Remember: You must remain in control of your temper! Never let a silly two-legger make you forget your inherent dignity and restraint so much that you nip or bite; a biter has lost control of the situation and may never regain it. 

There is one more responsibility that a Keeper of Humans must be aware of at all times: the human tendency to become unhappy for oft-times inexplicable reasons. One may apply to the Institute of Humanalysis for help, but you may find it to be both quicker and more effective to attempt some simple remedies of your own. Is your person getting enough exercise? It is reasonable to suppose that those with only two legs lack the stamina that we with four are happily blessed with, but this doesn't mean they don't require regular and adequate exercise. Lack of exercise can lead to such things as: lethargy, loss of appetite, depression, and constipation. Don't let your human suffer needlessly!

 In addition, your biped may suffer from unmet mating urges stemming largely, so some suppose, from the female being always in heat. I know, it sounds quite ridiculous to us and a good deal of research has been done as to why humans attempt to control these needs so rigidly; they can, after all, manipulate the frequency of births and (mostly) the number of pups they have. I suspect we will never have a truly definitive explanation for human mating peculiarities, but, regardless, if they are stifling their own needs, then it is incumbent on us to take action, albeit subtly. Before we end this lecture, it may be helpful to share an example with our perspicacious Trainee Keepers, from my own experience. It would be quite helpful if young Keeper Michaelangelo BumbleButt joined me on the Speaking Lawn. 

He and I both hold responsibility for human adults who were desperately suppressing mating urges and both were suffering from it terribly. As is often the way with these odd creatures, both worked unimaginably hard at not allowing their loneliness to show. Fortunately for them, there's no fooling a Bulldog nose. Equally fortunately, Michaelangelo and I often met at a nearby park for frolics and to discuss our humans. (Remember pups: If you meet a Bulldog with a human companion, that biped is important for some reason.) 

After a bit of casual chat about the interesting smells our people could produce, my young friend opined that his person was showing definite signs of repressed mating urges. On further questioning, he admitted that the incessant playing of 'Aida' had worn down his nerves to the extent that he had considered biting his charge to make it stop. Having been subjected to bouts of operatic overload myself, I could certainly sympathize, but vehemently warned him not to descend to the level of biting. After a bit of discussion, we came up with a reasonable plan and young Michaelangelo trotted off to initiate the first part, stopped and turned to face me again: “So, Miss Eliza, is it true your veterinarian said you have a fanny big enough to park a Mack in?”

 The cheeky wee devil certainly pulled off that maneuver brilliantly! How he heard that unfortunate tale baffles me to this day, but it certainly gave me incentive to chase him down with murder in my eye. As agreed, when our respective companions dashed up, I managed to wrap my lead around my John's ankles whereupon he fell right into the arms of the charming young Professor he'd been sighing over for days. Whilst it may not have been quite what humans refer to as 'love at first sight', they had their first anniversary a fortnight ago. So keep a stiff upper lip young pups, we Bulldogs shall ever prevail and the world will be better for it!

And with that, I am taking a week off from writing, although not from blogging. In the meantime I will attempt to decide on a better way to plan my writing time. 

And the Fog Rolled In

My apologies for not having the story out yet. It's been an odd week, not bad just... odd. Distracting, but in a good way. 

There's been a bit of illness (and not just mine) and a lot of canine silliness. Brain fog has perched itself securely on my head the last several days so I've spent time in a mostly happy fugue which has not been conducive to coherent writing, let alone thought. 

"Brain fog, also commonly known as brain fatigue, can be a mild to severe episode of mental confusion that can strike without warning. When this occurs, it is common to experience a lack of focus, poor memory recall and reduced mental acuity." - bing

Tonight I spent 15 minutes looking for the rice I was holding in my hand. So, in lieu of a semi-intelligent post, have a couple of photos!

Buddha 'making eyes' at me from my sweetheart's recliner and a rather tasty 'Cheater's Lasagna'.

The fogginess should be clearing soon, if all goes as it usually does.

Someone's in the Kitchen With...

Momma!

The kidling came over yesterday evening and spent several hours: taking me to the store, catching up on Walking Dead and a series on space which reminds her of shows she and my father used to watch. We also did a bit of cookery, her contribution was cheddar and garlic pull-apart bread.

I made spicy tomato soup, not that we really needed anything to warm us. It reached 75 F. today.(About 24 C.)

The wind has risen and temperatures are falling however; we may well have snow this weekend. As the saying goes "If you don't like the weather in Indiana just wait a minute, it'll change!"

Later, I'll be making Cheater's Lasagna. Such is my 'exciting' (yet satisfying) life.

Personal Challenge #6 Clash of the Titans?

Methinks we'll be hamming it up a bit this week, or at least having a laugh or two... seems a good idea after last week's tale.

 Why do I do this? To encourage myself to continue writing and to explore new genres and voices; to see what I can achieve. Each week I select disparate images and concoct a short story which connects them in some fashion - the results have been interesting. Feel free to join in if you like.

The first photo comes to us through the good graces of John Gray. (You can view the original by going Here.) Thanks John!

And here is the second, equally adorable, photo:

image source

I feel a major (and funny) clash of wills coming on, how about you? Anthropomorphizing here we come! 

And now, appropos of absolutely nothing, a bit of new (to me) music which I like:

Personal Challenge #5 - Trigger Warning for Alzheimer's/Dementia

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

This is a work of fiction; anything resembling reality is a figment of your imagination.

Go Here for image sources. This is a sad tale, just as I thought, so be warned.

The sharp rapping of knuckles on glass and the high pitch of young voices woke her from strange dreams of frozen land and sky, steel grey water, and ice growing in her veins. “Miz Haymes, Miz Haymes! You in there, Miz Haymes?” Fighting for consciousness, like a deep sea diver struggling up from cold depths to reach the warm, sunlit surface, she pushed herself out of her chair and tottered toward the front door. Outside, lazy snowflakes glinted in the light of the setting sun and she shuddered.

Still confused from sleep and that other thing which had been preying on her mind of late, she shook her head at the number of young bodies thundering through her front door. Once the herd had gained admittance and headed for the warmth of Miz Ruby Jean Hayme's parlour, she shut the door firmly against the cold she'd always hated.

Moving as slowly as the woman of 'leventy one she laughingly claimed to be, she headed toward the fireplace herself. “They's cookies in the jar” she called, “ help y'selves, but save me a couple!” “One each” instructed the oldest girl, firmly. “Mama said not to eat Ms. Haymes outta house and home! You want me to put some wood on the fire while we're here, Miz Haymes? Wood's almost out too, we could bring some in for you.” The girl pointed her twin brothers toward the porch and turned to grab the last two pieces in the wood box, tossing them on the dying fire. Another, younger girl wandered over and leaned against Miz Haymes, thumb firmly planted in mouth. “Now you take that thing outta your mouth right now, Arabella” insisted the old woman. “That's Angela, Miz Haymes, not Arabella” said the older girl.

“So what's all the ruction about, Miss Sassy Pants” asked the old woman. “We can't find Snow, we looked everywhere we can think of and Daddy and Mama said we could come ask you” the girl, who was more patient than most adults would be, answered. And just like that, it was back again... the worry that had been eating her up for weeks now. 'Either that girl ain't got a lick a' sense or you losin' your mind, Ruby Jean Haymes!' Confused, she looked out the window at the snow coming down, then glanced at the boys carrying wood in. The first one dumped his wood in the box and headed out for another load... as he passed Ruby's rocker he whispered to her “I'm missing my dog an awful lot, Miz Haymes”. His dog! That big old white bear they called Snow! Relieved, she patted his shoulder and murmured “I'll find your dog, Reese.” “I'm Marcus!” he whispered back cheerfully.

The children didn't think much about it when Miz Haymes called them the wrong names, she'd been doing it for a while now. Their parents had explained that sometimes old folks get forgetful and that her children had been named Reese and Arabella... Reese had died a long time ago in Viet Nam; Arabella had died just a few months ago, she'd got the breast cancer. As far as the children were concerned, Miz Haymes was the best storyteller and cookie baker around and she was as fun to be with as the friends their own age were. She'd told the children once that she was still young - that she'd been young a really long time; why, just this past summer she'd spent afternoons playing 'Hide and Seek' with them, they wouldn't dream of calling her a liar. Still, Miz Haymes seemed to get real old, real fast after her Arabella died . . .

Hugs, kisses and cookies filled a few happy minutes before the old woman scooted the children out the front door and on their way back home; Marcus reminding her once more to watch for his lost dog, Snow.

Muttering to herself, more confused as the sun slipped below the world's snowy rim, Miz Haymes grabbed her coat. 'Now where's them dang galoshes? Bet one of the kids moved 'em for sheer cussedness; just wait till I get my hands on 'em, I'll tickle 'em so's they can't see straight!' Squashing her knit cap down on her head, she spotted the Benadryl sitting on the counter (by her galoshes, as a matter of fact) so she grabbed a cup of water and three pink pills. “Better take these now so my nose don't run right off my face when I find that darn dog” she singsonged to herself. Going to the bathroom, getting dressed in her winter gear, and shoving cookies and a sausage... for the dog, of course... in her pockets took a few minutes more, then she started through the kitchen to the back door. “Whoops!” she sang out, spotting the Benadryl on the counter again, “don't wanna forget to take some of these, or I might end up sneezing my eyeballs right outta they sockets!” So, sooner done than talked about, Miz Ruby Jean took three (more) Benadryl and headed out the back door into a flurry of white flakes and sleet.

“Dammit,” she grumbled beneath her breath, “ I HATE the cold! Reese best start takin' care of his damn dog or I'll spat the seat of his pants for 'im but good!” Beneath the grumbling and confusion, however, lay an abiding fear of the cold; a deep fear that the cold would snatch her soul away from the world when she wasn't looking. “ Figures, Mr. Haymes bein' away when I need 'im for somethin'” she continued, “so's I guess it's up to me, cold or not.” And she marched toward the creek, which a wispy remnant of memory pointed her toward as Snow's most likely escape route. “Deer creek,” she harrumphed as she passed the outskirts of the small town, “Oh Dear creek be more like it!” Chuckling at her wit, Miz Haymes missed the faint whining and yapping coming from the creek's bank, at first. Yawning widely, the Benadryl working despite the cold, the old woman spotted Snow, half in the cold water, only because of his thrashing. “ Hey you!” she called, “get yourself on over here and stop messing around!” But try as he might, Snow couldn't seem to pull himself all the way out of the water.

“Well hell and damnation dog, how'd you get yourself in such a fix? Reese won't never forgive me if I let you turn yourself into a pupsicle!” Sliding down the icy bank, so cold she didn't feel the old fence post bash her leg, Ruby Jean finally reached Snow, only to find him tangled up in old fence wire. “Well, lucky for you it ain't barbwire, poor old soul.” Untangling him as quickly as her shaking hands would allow, she tugged at the dog's collar until he was out of the water; trembling so violently he couldn't stand. Unbuttoning her coat, she pulled Snow's half-frozen body to her; sharing a feeble spark of warmth with the dog, rubbing his back until, at last, his shaking eased. Tucking one of her sweaters around the pooch, she ordered him home, but he wouldn't leave her. Re-buttoning her coat, she surveyed the big white dog with growing exasperation: “What I'm gonna do with you, boy? Sure cain't drag you all the way home! SCAT!!” Finally; tired, confused, angry and frightened, the old woman shoved Snow as hard as she could, which was pretty hard for a 'leventy one year old. When he just circled back around to her, Miz Haymes flung her hands up in frustration, losing her footing in the tangled wire and landing in the river. 'Why, it's almost warm!' she thought in surprise, as her heavy clothes pulled her under.

Snow howled until a nearby farmer found them the next morning.