Goodbye To All That

I have taken a leave of absence from this blog for quite some time. I simply didn't have the time, the inclination, or the wherewithal to put words onto the screen so no one could read them. Most of my writing and communication has happened on the social-media mecca that is Facebook.

But Facebook is not conducive for everything. I am put on my guard there against over-sharing or writing too much for that limited-space platform. I think the time has come where I need to start writing again and get back in that habit. There are things that ought to be put on paper. If nothing else, writing is a way that I can process things that happen and start to make some kind of sense.

It has been almost four months since my mother passed away from metastatic cancer that started two years before at the ampullary node which is like a junction of the liver, pancreas and duodenum. Those two years were a difficult time of surgeries, chemotherapy and radiation treatments, sickness and tiredness and loss of weight and strength, medications that helped or did nothing, stubborn drive and fight that is the height of human bravery, an uncommon grace, and a perhaps mercifully short "active dying" phase (as the hospice program terms it).

At the funeral, my brothers and I all spoke. Our words were uncoordinated --- we didn't really have time to read what the others had written --- but meshed well by joining the differing aspects of my mother's life. I wrote with the song "Change of Time" in my mind, and I had an acoustic version of that song played as I finished speaking.

There are so many memories. There have been so many tears. There are fleeting dreams. There are the indications of Signs... little moments of occurrences and flashes where you can feel something is at work just beneath the surface... which may or may not be mere coincidence but provides some small comfort at the possibility.

I'm not sure how the family is dealing with this. My niece M. seems to be handling it in stride. She cried when she was told that her Nana had died and was upset that she wasn't there on that Monday afternoon. I suppose it's easier for children to move forward and block out some memories, and although she had some questions about what happened and will no doubt have more (which I have assured her that I will always answer if and when she walks to talk), I think she can intuit a lot of things and deal with them logically. We have spent a good amount of time together when she's at home, playing, watching television, walking Ruff to the corner store for ice cream, when I'm making a dinner, quizzing her in advance of her Friday spelling tests.... Like my other niece and nephew, she has taught me a new depth of the importance of family and the next generation. The time that I have to spend with them and other other family has been the most joyful moments of a difficult, cold, long and dark winter in New England. I have to admit that my 'biological clock' has ticked with a tinge of regret that I've waited this long to even start thinking about relationships and hoping that it's not too late. Once upon a time, I had visions of living out a Spartan life, and yet I now think I would go batty if I were alone for any length of time. A cousin said to me in the days before and after the funeral that when her grandmother, who she was very close to, died rather suddenly a few years ago that she "turned from someone known as the Ice Princess into the bubbly and chatty person here with you today." When we experience a deep loss, our personalities and our priorities can shift fundamentally. 

I am currently writing from North Carolina while visiting and helping a friend. The weather is warmer than the Quiet Corner is experiencing --- including an 84-degree forecast for Friday(!!!) --- and the break from the scenery at home has helped a bit. It was nice to be able to drive and think (or not think, at times) and put some distance to it all. Loss is not something you can outrun, though.

I've had so many things I've wanted to share, lay down and unburden myself of, and perhaps be able to transition from grieving and start healing. That has not happened yet. I don't know when it will. There is someone down here who went through a similar loss and I hope to visit and talk with her and maybe by helping I can be helped.

This is also a bit of an exploration for me, checking out the South and seeing what's what. Northeast Connecticut has been my home for all of my 34 years, but it may be time to move on. The state is becoming more and more unlivable with huge property tax increases, one-party rule, and the state government spending up to the hilt and far beyond which will mean more tax increases. It's a fairly nice place to live if you can afford it. My mum would always be browsing real estate listings in Maine or New Hampshire or North Carolina with an eye toward where she and my dad would spend their retirement. Connecticut was way too expensive, she'd say. She didn't get to retire; she worked at UConn up until three months before she passed (and I must mention here how great her co-workers and bosses were through all this time and how much the "work family" meant to her).

I don't know how long of a timetable this will be. The idea of picking up and moving away from the place I've lived all my life isn't easy. But neither is the prospect of remaining.

"All good dogs are a little loopy. Otherwise, they'd just be like [mobile] furniture." 

--- G. Will Eggers, English 110W instructor at UConn

10 November 2010

It's been awhile since my last post and I'm entering a blog post to inform all of my readers (that is, myself) that I am still alive and kicking. Since I last wrote, me and my cousin installed a tile floor in the same basement as in the post immediately below. In flooring you are given certain givens that are hard (and sometimes nigh impossible) to overcome satisfactorily. In many other applications, like the wall veneering, things can be mitigated and jury-rigged.... but a floor has to be level. Or, as level as one can get it. It would've helped in this particular house if the guys who poured the foundation / basement floor back in the '60s had actually been sober or gave a sh-- what they were doing. We managed to produce something workable out of the nightmare scenario that was present. I have done a 4' x 5' tiling job before using adhesive and pre-mixed grout, but it would have been nice to learn the from-scratch mastic and sanded grout tiling on a level floor. It was nice to be able to work with my cousin on this one; besides good-natured ribbing about him being a Democrat, we see things eye-to-eye and get along very well.

Foremost, I think, is our appreciation for using quality materials and doing a job correctly one time, as opposed to times when a homeowner buys straw and expects the installer to turn it into gold. Doing a job right the first time is always less expensive than paying to put in shoddy materials, then paying to deconstruct and reinstall when they fail. I ran into a family friend at Lowe's a while ago who was finally buying a good-quality kitchen faucet after having gone through four cheap models in the previous 5 years. This person has a buddy who'll install the faucet for a case of beer, so that is something of a saving grace rather than paying a plumber. Now, the savings on the so-called "cheap" models is about $40 give or take. But, rather than put in a reliable Kohler or Moen brand for a one-off $200, this guy probably spent $580 to $600 on faucets in the last five years. Whereas, picking the right faucet at the outset would have saved him about $400 and four cases of beer (plus, as he said it, the "Wife Inconvenience Factor" of not having water during each of those removal and installs).

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Got Ruff a so-called "Gentle Leader" collar yesterday and after some fits and starts, he was doing pretty well with it today on a walk on the dirt roads up the hill where I like to walk with him. This collar's function is to provide some tension on the muzzle so there is no lunging or pulling while walking. Apparently, this muzzle hold is what the wolf pack alpha uses to keep the others in line; nature and 10,000 years of domestication hasn't changed this methodology. Even for the first use (and I found out after the walk that I had missed a doohickey that eliminates slack in one of the straps), it seemed to calm him down a lot. I expect to be putting it to the test more in the coming days and weeks, and I'm certain it'll get my unvarnished opinion right here on TMT.

Hot and Bothered

The thermometer has been in the high-80 / low-90 degree range for the past few days here, with accompanying dew points in the 70s (read: oppressive humidity). Too much of this type of weather has a tendency to wear on my nerves, and doubtless this is true for many people.

But, last night giving the ol' middle finger to the weather, I took Ruff on about a half-mile walk-run-walk and then put some rib eyes and squash on the grill. 'Course, the grilling was full of caveats --- Step C needed to be done before Step B, and Step A couldn't be done until after Step C, and Step D.... This kind of situation is tolerable to me, regularly, but the closeness of the air has a way of bringing down the boiling point, so to speak. But here we are, I got through it. Ruff got some water, panted for a while, and had a nap on the cold basement floor. I took a cool shower, we have the air conditioner on, and all is well, until I go outside again.

Ruff is 6 months old today. Still being debated whether he'll get the big snip at the vet. I really it would be best, but the other point is whether we could use him for breeding. Having helped raise three litters of GSPs during my late teen years, I can honestly say that I am not in any hurry to do that again. With a male, though, that isn't the consideration. My argument is that breeders typically don't go outside of their own circle in selecting pairings and they use dogs that are well tested, so it's probably a moot point anyway. To be sure, one doesn't go into breeding to make money --- it's nearly even-steven money-wise, and then factor in the opportunity cost of the many hours of effort. But to avoid any potential accidents in this area of puppy-making, I think it best to have Ruff neutered. The running wisdom also adds that neutering helps to calm dogs a bit, which, given the last few weeks' behavior (chewing things that aren't his to chew, including two electrical cords (they were unplugged)), is desirable.

9 June 2010

Yesterday, I processed two batches of strawberry-rhubarb jam, using a slightly different recipe than from my last post. We opened a jar of one of those and it was a little too thin and sugary for my taste; the rhubarb was like candied fruit. Don't get me wrong, it's perfectly edible and delicious on a bit of buttered toast or English muffin. Still, I think those four that are left are going to be the give-away jars.... Well, let me fine-tune that sentence a bit. I want the jars themselves back. It gets expensive having to replace those, don't you know. Really is a shame that the glass-top jars aren't recommended for canning anymore, as there's probably 100 of them under the workbench downstairs. I guess they'll just be nuts-and-bolts jars now.

Anyway, yesterday I used an envelope of pectin and reduced the Jell-o to one small box. The pectin really helped to firm the mixture up to a proper jam consistency. In the interest of preserving some of the rhubarb's tartness, I also cut down the sugar from 8 cups to 5 cups. In all, it produced 12 half-pint jelly jars and two pint-sized jars, and there was about 1/2 cup left over that I gave to our neighbor.

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Made an appointment for today at the veterinarian for Ruff to get current on his vaccinations and such. The little boy was 5 months old yesterday. Growing like a weed.

Training is a constant process, and he's doing well in house-breaking. Only a few accidents when he gets really excited --- if someone new comes over or when his favorite human, Papa, comes home from being away for an extended time. Otherwise, he's been very good with telling us he needs to go outside. He's gradually getting better with staying on this bed while everyone's eating. Ruff is also doing well on walks, but he still has work to do with not pulling on the leash. Word is that he was the Alpha / lead dog in his puppy litter, and he needs to learn that here, he's the Beta. And on that note, I think it's time for a morning walk.

1 May 2010

After a day of putting down some grass seed, getting some seeds sown in the garden and strawberry planter pots, and being led into three 1/4-mile walks on the back roads by Ruff, I got inside near 6 p.m. I was taking a shower to get the day's dirt off when I remembered the Kentucky Derby, which would be run shortly. I remember thinking, "I don't know the horses this year, but whichever one Calvin Borel is riding has to be the pick." The dude seems a little simple-minded and has a one-track mind for racing, but hey, when you're really good at one thing, what does it matter? I wouldn't want to bet against him. When I dried off and turned on the television, they were loading the final stall and the race started a few seconds later. And wouldn't you know it.... Super Saver, ridden by Mr. Borel, hugged the rail most of the way and snuck through the field to win by a length or two.

Otherwise, puppy training has been going at its own paces. Ruff is doing better in the box, he's waiting for an 'OK' for certain things (food/water, in/out the door), but he's still got a thing for pilfering shoes from the mat and absconding with them to his bed. Full of vim and vigor, especially so right after feedings, but he's also calmed down appreciably as he's gotten used to the new surroundings and goings-on. Quite the talker and grunter, don't you know.

"Whoever said money doesn't buy friendship obviously never bought a puppy." --- Unknown

My post-count over the past couple of months is positively shameful, I know.

I wrote a while back that we were looking to get a puppy in the spring. This past Saturday, this little guy entered our lives:

We have not officially decided on a name, but for all intents and purposes, I'm going to be calling him "Ruff Ruffman" here. I think it's fitting. And, in the "There are no warnings, only signs" meme, the L.L. Bean adjustable collar we got for him yesterday prominently reads, "RUFFWEAR." I've had designs on the name for quite a while, courtesy of the PBS kids show, "Fetch! with Ruff Ruffman" where a cartoon dog sends human kids on challenges in order to earn points toward a great ... or not-so-great ... prize. There are others here who want to come up with something stuffy like Otto von Brustenfield or something. After having named many of our dogs Sammy Whoopka over the years, venturing something different seems a challenge to some in this house. I like "Ruff." It's playful, fun, short. And it gives an instant intro-conversation piece. One can pitch right in with, "Life was missing its mystique / my squeaky toys had lost their squeak. / When BAM! outta the blue... / I pitched my vision for a show, they loved it --- thought I was a pro! / They got the contract back to find, to their alarm a dog had signed! / Fetch! (It's very catchy!) with Ruff Ruffman! ..." I could go on, but I'll just stop there to avoid completely embarrassing myself.

After so many years of having German shorthaired pointers --- including raising three litters ourselves --- I suppose there is a certain comfort level with the breed. We basically know what we're getting. But even still, for any breed, a slightly chubby male has always seemed to have the best temperament, and following from that, take best to training.

But puppies arrive in this world like a rough-hewn board. Training often only puts a fine sanding to them. Ruff arrived white with black ticking. I've read that GSPs can have black coating, but I'd never seen it. We always had some combination of the chocolate/liver color. The genes make the difference, tho, and I must say with some relief that Ruff sheds exponentially less than our previous GSPs. As someone who is a little compulsive about keeping the house clean, it would be hard to make me happier. It doesn't look like his tail was docked much, and for some reason, still has his dew claws, which are usually removed in the first few days. He's exhibiting the classic separation anxiety of this breed and its close cousins (Weimaraners, Dalmatians), barking and carrying on when they're left in a crate. I'm trying my best to break him of it. After he's firmly house-broken and out of the chewing stage (there have been a few mishaps in the former category) I don't imagine we'll need the crate very often. Ruff also seems to have a medium-sized frame, so he may be close to the breed average of 55-60 pounds when fully grown. Not like our large-pawed, thick-legged Mack and Sammy, who tipped the scaled at about 90 pounds (and not much of it fat). I hate to think so much in terms of comparing Ruff to his predecessors, but there it is.

So, here we are, about to do this again....