Saturday, July 23, 2016
My goodness, this is yummy! So I went to the hardware store the other day, to get some picture hooks; exited with them and a new 1.5-quart slow cooker. Oh, right; like you can go to the hardware store for A and not walk out with B, if not C, D, and E? Then you're a stronger person than I am. Now, I'm not into cooking; haven't been for years, ever since I discovered the amazing takeout at Ipswich Shellfish Company. But what's not to like about fill it and forget it cooking? So, what the heck. My first attempt wasn't more then meh. Might have helped if I'd followed the recipe exactly rather than substituting X when I didn't have Y.... But today's effort? Oh, my. I plucked it from Phyllis Good's "Fix-It and Forget-It New Cookbook, 250 New Delicious Slow Cooker Recipes" -- one of several cookbooks I browsed through at the local library, and one of the few that didn't start most meat recipe instructions with "Take a large skillet...." Listen, folks, if I wanted to be messing about with skillets and browning and sauteing and shit I wouldn't be looking at a slow cooker to begin with, ya know? Anyway. Today's effort I actually started last night with fixing the marinade and putting the chicken into the fridge overnight. Popped it into the Proctor-Silex this morning, turned it on, and.... Well. I didn't have chicken thighs on hand, just drumsticks, and I was using a 1.5-quart machine rather than the 4-quart one listed (but it all fit!), so I started it on high for an hour plus. I did take the lid off and rearrange the drumsticks a couple of times rather than leaving it alone. I sort of guessed at the remaining cooking time after I turned it to low, let it go a bit longer than the instructions. And I left out the parsley. But! The aroma that filled the house was wonderful. When I took out the drumsticks the meat was falling off the bones tender. I stripped the bones and packed the meat away in the fridge to microwave with a side dish for supper later -- sampling as I worked, and OMG OMG OMG delicious! The recipe's on page 22, "Simple Chicken Thighs," and calls for 2 pounds of thighs (I had 1.6 of the drumsticks), a marinade of olive oil, red wine vinegar, honey, soy sauce, minced garlic and ground pepper -- oh, and fresh parsley if you've got it. I ladled some of the marinade over the pulled-apart chicken meat and will probably discard the rest (unless it will freeze and be reusable?) but if I had some cornstarch lying around, the recipe says I could whisk some with water and stir it into the marinade to make gravy. I've already found several other recipes I want to try in this. Imma gonna buy this book. Fix-It and Forget-It New Cookbook
Friday, July 22, 2016
Poor Peanut. This has not been a good day for him. I've been concerned for a while now about his occasional bursts of irrational hostility toward other of my cats -- even toward his best buddy, Squash, or blameless Sally, though his preferred target has been Stanley. We're talking bottle-tailed, hissing, pinned-eared, screeching rage fits. Peanut could be puttering about, his usual placid self, then start staring at one of the others. His target would freeze in that baleful glare. Hiss. Hiss back. Growls. Then the target would break and flee, pursued furiously, with caterwauls and flying tufts of fur strewn about. I tried putting a Sentry calming collar on him. This diminished the attacks but didn't eliminate them. So today I took him to the vet to be checked, see if there were some physical reason for this unsettling change in his behavior -- which arose after the bout of constipation that required a trip to the emergency vet several months ago. He's been on a daily laxative since then, and seemed to be doing fine. But he's also lost weight since then (down now to 15.2 solid pounds). Could something serious be brewing? He was easy to capture, since I'd prestaged the carrier near the feeding area a few days before. I carried him to the box, swooped him in before he knew what was happening, and got the top shut before he could surge out to freedom. HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. Grumble whine mutter. He was quiet in the car, quiet in the waiting room, quiet as I took him out of the carrier and put him on the exam table.... HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS............... A surly, flattened Peanut glared at the tech who took his story, then at the vet who came in to examine him, and spoke his mind. The hissing made it hard to hear his heartbeat (but much easier to check his teeth!), but she persevered and got it. She wanted to vaccinate him and get some blood to test, so carried him away to the back area while I waited in the little exam room. Waited, and listened to the dire cacophany of hisses and growls coming through the closed door. Poor Peanut! I poked my head in briefly to offer a tidbit of information and there he was, scruffed and pinned on his side by the tech while the vet had at his inner thigh. He lay there, immobilized, furious, helpless to do anything about it, vocalizing bitterly. Eventually vet and cat returned, with no one damaged despite the dramatic commentary, and Peanut, still complaining, was allowed to slink into the sanctuary of the carrier while we talked about what she found and what to do. Things were pretty much normal except for a good deal of fecal buildup. The vet theorized that the bouts of temper could be from episodes of constipation despite the Lactulose dose he's getting, so the plan is to up the twice-daily dose somewhat, add a quarter teaspoon of unflavored Miralax to his wet food, and see if that helps. Other than that, the current feeding regimen is just right. Also, the vet suggested trying a Feliway multicat diffuser to lower tension levels through the chemical miracle of maternal facial pheromones. Since the calming collar uses the same sort of approach and has done some good, I'm going to give it a try. So, Peanut is home, has had his first dose of increased laxative at supper, and appears to have forgiven me for the brutality inflicted on him. I'll be getting the blood results back tomorrow afternoon. I sure hope all the bellyaching and lashing out is just, well, a backed-up bellyache. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Update on Peanut, next day: Talked to the vet today. Most of the bloodwork was normal, but: 1. His thyroid levels were borderline for hyperthyroid. Could be why he's shed weight recently. Could also explain the aggression. Can put him on meds to adjust that. 2. His calcium levels were high. Could be nothing; a prescription food could take care of that. Could also be an indication of a mass, cancer somewhere. We're going to do fasting blood tests to check that, and go from there. Obviously I'd prefer Door Number 1. Odds in fact are good that it's the right one, given what I'm finding online, e.g.: Has Your Cat Become Irritable?
Friday, July 8, 2016
Yesterday Ben's long-time masseuse, Lael Cook, came to the barn to give him a good going over. She's very familiar with all the aches and pains he's had over the years, and I wanted to see if she'd find any signs that this going back to work is not right for him. Well, Lael palpated and rubbed and pressed and pushed all up and down the giant bay body, and.... Found nothing. No problems. No spasmed croup, no flinching back, no neck knots. Not even tight hamstrings that she thought likely given his sagging suspensories. Nada. Zilch. He was in fact, she said, the best he's ever been. EVAH. We speculated it might be that, given his long history of back and hock problems even when in work, it could be something as simple as having more than a year completely off from work, enough time for everything to heal. And certainly that his previous life on the farm, almost always out on heavy clay soil pastures instead of spending nights bedded on shavings on top of mats on top of dirt, could be a big part of it -- I've certainly seen a marked improvement in his arthritis since he came back to Seven Acres. So he's got her all-clear to keep working, and she'll come back in a couple of months to do him again and see how he is, but she expects he'll do fine. I rode him today, for about ten minutes total, all walk but with some gentle leg-yielding here and there, and he was solid. This is wonderful. And from the Wayback Machine, from 2007, here's Lael massaging Ben while fending off his then paddock buddy, who wanted some too:
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Something that needs saying about riding Ben: That I owe Friday's and Saturday's rides to Finny, and Royal before him, for their steady calm reliable nursing me through of nerves at getting back on any horse, let alone great big powerful (elderly, yes; out of shape, yes; but still immensely powerful) Ben. And to Hillary Prime's endless patience with my irrational fears and dithering over whether to go ahead and ride one of her patient schoolies. I've always lived with fear when riding, probably a relic of one or two scary crashes in my late teens/early 20s, coupled with the fact that I didn't have much formal instruction back then, went a couple of decades without riding at all, and took it up again as basically a beginner around age 40. I lucked out in Nick, my first horse, my 43rd birthday present to myself, even though at first he put me on the ground more than once; once I learned to ride better, and discovered the unparalleled security of an Australian stock saddle, our trail riding partnership blossomed. Toward the end of our time together I'd even bareback him. By the time I met Ben I'd developed (through painfully tedious effort; I'm not a natural) some decent riding skills, and with the aid of Sue Edelen, an excellent dressage instructor, I forged a fine partnership with my great spiderlegged Thoroughbred. It helped that Ben is naturally placid, easygoing, eager to please, and had superb training put into him before I got him. We rode all over the local trails, with much enjoyment. And yet.... And yet, over all the quarter century of my adult riding career, fear has niggled at the back of my mind, no matter how much I knew and loved and trusted my horse. Irrational, sometimes barely discernible, but never wholly absent. After Nick's death in 2005 at age 23, though Ben was still in his riding prime, just age 13, I found myself riding less and less; somehow there was always some excuse or other not to ride this day or that. For a while, a cruelly short while, I had a marvelous Morgan I'd putter about on, till founder lamed him and finally took him, and sometimes I'd pop on him for a short ride and let Ben continue loafing. Then, five years ago, before my hip went to hell and needed replacing, before the long layoff from physical activity and slow recovery of whatever strength and agility survived, this happened. And my riding courage, never sturdy, finally and fully deserted me. The hip surgery a year and a half or so later merely reinforced what was already a painful reality for me. Ben's own physical infirmities have offered a convenient excuse not to ride him, but the truth was, I was just plain afraid. Afraid, once I was back on my feet, to get on any horse at all. And yet.... And yet I did miss riding. I did think wistfully of all the amazing, exciting, lovely, fulfilling, wonderful rides I'd enjoyed over the years, and wish I could do it again. So finally I decided to start again, start with something safe, safe, safe, dear sensible little Royal. At a walk. Eventually at a trot. For brief ring sessions -- I wasn't fit for more. Then, after Royal's tragic passing, along came wee red Finny, safe, safe, safe, in the ring and hacking out, and my tiny riding horizons expanded a wee bit. And I began to think about riding Ben again. Now, as I've said before, Ben and I will never again go hacking out for hours at all gaits; neither one of us will ever regain that kind of fitness; but if the fates are merciful, we will enjoy a twilight renewal of sedate rides. And I will not fear. Or not very much. Royal: Finny: Nick: Ben: Commander:
Friday, July 1, 2016
This morning I went to the barn to ride. It’s been a long, hard week of work, lots of rush pages to proofread, lots of long hours and late nights, but this morning would make up for it, I’d decided the night before. Getting on a horse would be my reward. Boy, was it ever. Because I rode Ben. Yes. I RODE BEN! Ben, 24 years old, with arthritic hocks, sagging suspensories, kissing spines, hasn’t worked in years. Paddock potato. Honorably retired years ago. That Ben. But! He putters about his paddock looking completely sound. His back is still unswayed. The last time I had his hock arthritis checked by the vet, he was remarkably comfortable even off his daily dose of bute. What harm could a few minutes of walking around the ring do? None, as it turns out, judging by his happy ears during and happy face afterwards. He was unfazed by being tacked up and mounted after his long layoff; stepped right out from the mounting block when I asked, cheerfully went wherever I requested, and had that quietly contented look afterwards of a horse who knows his job, likes it, and enjoys having done it. So I rode my horse. My own horse. My amazingly responsive horse. As much as I adore little red Finny, as much as I adored the late stalwart Royal, they couldn’t give me what Ben can and always has: Near-telepathic lightness to the aids. Just a shift of the hips, a softly laid leg on his side, and Ben glided into a curving turn. Shift again, lay the other leg gently on his flank, and he curved back the other way. Ditto for response to rein aids; just hint and he responded. Egad, but I’d missed that! And his walk, oh, his walk, oh, his big, swinging, springy walk! Little horses are a helluva lot easier to dismount from, but they just don’t, can’t give you that long swinging gait. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it till this morning. Now, this does not mean I’ll be taking Ben out for hours-long hacks. (For one thing, the deerflies are out now, sigh.) If he’s to go back into work at all, other than this kind of one-off once in a blue moon, he’ll need to be reconditioned slowly, carefully, inch by watchful inch. I’m thinking five-minute walk rides for a week or two before I even begin to think about upping the time, and forget about trotting at all for the foreseeable future – got to get his back, his muscles, his joints all used to carrying a rider again. I’ll also be talking to his vet, maybe have her come do an exam to tell me what’s safe to try. But if he can come back into work, if he can get up to, say, half-hour walk rides, that will be enough to make me very, very happy. Because it’s Ben. Ben, who looked like this back when he was in regular work with me, and perhaps will look like this again:
Friday, June 24, 2016
So the other day I was driving home along the main (sort of; it's fairly rural where I live) road leading to my little side street, and saw a policeman up ahead giving me the halt signal. Since he was on a detail for water line replacement road construction, I wasn't surprised; since between him and me there were a couple of honkin' big water department dump trucks parked on the left shoulder, narrowing the way for a couple of oncoming cars to get by, I halted right away, several dozen yards from him. This apparently was unacceptable to the driver behind me. How dare I stop way back there? He promptly swung wide around me and zipped ahead, reaching the officer as that fellow was beckoning my side of the bottleneck to proceed and tootling right past him. Son of a bitch. I went ahead, slowly since I prefer not to run over construction workers if I can help it, and halted by the officer to ask if I could turn right just up ahead to enter my side street. Nope, sorry, newly laid pavement, got to keep on down Linebrook and circle back to enter the other end of Kimball. Then he asked, "Did that guy swing around you?" I grimaced, resigned to injustice; nodded: "Yeh, he did." He smiled. "Never mind, I got his license plate number." And he waved me on. Sometimes there is justice.
Friday, June 17, 2016
Another ride today on the mighty mite Finnegan -- this time for a full hour! All at a walk, first in the ring, then riding out with Hilly on her new horse, Slugger. Slugger is a Standardbred, who had a brief career on the track, then became a trail horse, and when Hilly went to try him hadn't worked for two years through no fault of his own. He was, she reported, indeed a get on and ride no matter how long the layoff type of horse. She brought him to the barn on Sunday, gave him a couple of days to settle in, then started working him. He's been a star! He doesn't fret in the ring even though he'd spent his previous career on state park type trails; yesterday she tried hacking him out a short distance and he left the property without a fuss, ignored trash barrels, ignored cars, just delighted her with how sensible he was. Standardbreds generally have very good minds; he's got that in spades. Today's ride out to yellow house field was a further test -- hacking out with another horse, one he doesn't know; going through a bug-infested stretch; riding along a wide-open field; trading the lead with another horse -- oh, and passing a large isolated rock that MIGHT have horse-eating fangs. The flies annoyed him but he kept his head; the rock worried him enough for a brief halt, slow sidestep, and careful examination. Then he was fine, went on calmly, and passed it on the way back without a second look. He's not thrilled about having to halt and wait for a slower horse to catch up but he doesn't make much of a fuss about it. That is some seriously excellent behavior, especially when he's been here such a short time after such a long layoff. He's also seriously cute, a bay with a star on a shapely head and lovely conformation. Not surprisingly, given his breed and history, he needs some work on his big trot and on cantering but the foundation is there for a really fine horse. I gotta get some pictures. And here they are!
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
It's done! The painters finished doing the trim on the majority of the second floor and part of the first floor today (leaving undone the areas so cluttered with furniture and stuff it would be a royal pain to move to paint what's not visible anyway), in gleaming basic white, and it looks great. No more chipped, dull, dingy "linen white" baseboards and doors; even the "linen white" walls, not repainted, look better with the white trim contrasting against their pale, pale beige and making it subtly darker and richer rather than the former overall blahness. Before it was all bland and tired-looking; now it pops. So, let's see now; over the last year or so in my townhouse I've upgraded thus: Put new toilets in the second floor bath and first floor half bath, getting better workings with lower water usage in clean white fixtures (bye-bye stains of age and manganese-laden water), not to mention eliminating a slow leak downstairs before it rotted out the floorboards. Repainted the second floor bathroom, including caulking fixups and installing a new cabinet. Put in three new windows upstairs and four downstairs. What a difference from the barely functional 30-year-old clunkers they replaced! Repainted the woodwork around the new windows, including the window seats under the first and second floor double windows. Put new carpet on most of the second floor and the stairs down, replacing 30-year old gray beaten-down horribleness in the bedroom and sadly fraying berber on the stairs. Replaced all the ugly beige plastic switch plates in the kitchen with copper-toned brushed metal plates that complement the color of the wall tile pattern. Replaced three overhead light fixtures in the bathroom and the first and second floor hallways, putting in daylight LEDs that banish the former sullen dim yellowish light with bright white; also replacing "soft white" yellowish CFLs in the kitchen overhead with daylight LEDs, and an elderly incandescent overhead in the half bath with ditto. Replaced the outside cutoff switch (that had a broken door fallen off its enclosure) to the exterior central air compressor, so that I then could... Replace the 30-year-old compressor, sadly rusted, with a more efficient unit even though it was still functioning, rather than wait for it to die during a heat wave. Took out the garbage disposal that quit working and replaced it with straight pipe since I'd pretty much stopped using it when I began composting, thus eliminating the smelly dark gunk that would accumulate even when it wasn't being used and the frequent semi-clogging of the drain, not to mention the leak from the bottom of the disposal I discovered when clearing out under the sink for the plumber. And now, the repainting. What worlds are left to conquer in my tiny realm? Well, the berber carpet in the living room looks kinda old and tired.... But then I look around at all the crap I'd have to move to replace it and think, okay, having the rug professionally cleaned would be a lot cheaper and require moving a lot less stuff. Oh, and the first and second floor decks badly need power washing, sanding, and repainting -- but that can wait another year! I'm done for now.
Saturday, June 11, 2016
Pumpkin's getting old. He's now in his midteens, and time is catching up with him. One kidney has been found on x-ray to be enlarged, and he's been put on K/D as his primary diet. He's had minor arthritis in his hind end for some time but lately his left hind has been noticeably stiff when he walks and he's having some difficulty jumping up on the bed, chairs, etc. I tried putting a set of carpeted stairs next to the bed for him but he never did figure them out, just kept scrambling up at his favorite corner. He's been on Cosequin for cats for a few years and now I've doubled his dose but I'm not seeing much difference, although it's only been a couple of weeks; perhaps I'll see more effect with time. He used to be chubby but he's at a healthy weight now, so that's not an issue. Googling "cat arthritis treatment" I find there's not much in the way of medication that's available and safe for maintenance pain relief in cats, alas, although I probably will have my vet check him out. Other than the stiffness and reduced mobility, Pumpkin is his usual happy little guy self -- well, except that I have seen him be more irritable at times with one or another of his feline companions. But he's still ecstatically happy with my attention.
Thursday, June 2, 2016
I meant to post this on Memorial Day: In many countries -- United Kingdom, Canada, and others both within and outside of the Commonwealth -- their Memorial Day is called Remembrance Day, and it falls on November 11th of each year. It evolved out of celebrations of Armistice Day, and honors all those who died in the line of duty. The blood red poppies that bloomed so fiercely across the fields of Flanders after the slaughter there are a familiar symbol of the day. Mark Knopfler's "Remembrance Day" captures the poignancy and sorrowful pride of the observance:
Friday, May 27, 2016
Yesterday was rather busy. New carpet installed on the second floor, then putting the bedroom back together when they were done. Also proofreading during and after, plus doing the five loads of laundry displaced by the carpetlaying in the closet. Hey, it's the perfect opportunity to wash all that winter-weight stuff I won't be wearing again till fall, right? Total pages proofread: 744. Yeh, I’m tired this morning. But the carpet looks great. Now I need to get the woodwork painted....
Saturday, May 21, 2016
It's getting close to suppertime for the felines and they've been gathering, as is their wont, near me in the living room. Fat boy Schooner just tried and failed to leap up onto the top of the TV in front of me. He fell back, unhurt, with a huge scrabbling clatter which startled the crap out of the assembled felines. They bolted in terror, in all directions. I laughed.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
Lately I've been suffering email miseries: Messages disappearing off the Verizon server, in a few minutes, an hour, a few hours, randomly but inexorably, for the last couple or so weeks. [Edit: Just checked an older blog entry and discovered this has been going on since mid-February! How time does fly when you're not having fun.] It started after an interlude of Verizon’s system refusing to recognize my email auto-log-in... refusing... okay, you’re in. Refusing... refusing... and on and on. My machines are set to auto-check for new email every 15 minutes, and I don’t know how many times I saw that “enter password” popup box twinkle into view (already filled in, of course), get yes’d, fail, pop up again, lather rinse repeat till finally I got signed officially in. The popup box refusals stopped after a few days, but then the vanishing emails started. I managed (I think) not to lose any important stuff via various workarounds, but talk about frustrating and annoying! What’s that you say? Did you seek help from Verizon? *snort* Right, like I really want to spend hours on hold or trying to communicate with some poor schlub in India who’s following a script that’s useless for anything more complex than “Have you tried shutting it down and turning it back on?” I’ve already done the deep dive into my settings, thankyouverymuch. Then, yesterday evening, working on my laptops, the auto-log-in got the same little “please enter your password” popup boxes as before, erratically for an hour or two, but without the serial refusals. Hmmmmmmmmmmm................. As usual, I forwarded everything I needed to have on the desktop in the morning to my Gmail account, to download tomorrow, and went to bed. So I fired up the desktop this morning, opened email, it began to download.... AND EVERYTHING WAS THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Every damned thing (barring what I’d moved to storage folders) since I’d last logged onto that computer yesterday. Everything! Huzzah! Now, I’m going to continue the Gmail-forwarding failsafe for a while, just in case. I'm encouraging everyone sending me stuff to use both addresses, just to be safe. But man oh man, I sure hope this means Verizon has fixed whatever the hell had been doing this!
Saturday, February 27, 2016
Today I bought a laser pointer. Fun for the cats! Right? Stanley was first, and he went bananas for the flitting red dot. Peanut heard the skittering and came racing downstairs. Hilarity ensued. Then I went into the living room and tried it on Squash. More frantic skittery pursuit. Stanley and Peanut heard the madness and came running in to join the wild pursuit. I noticed if I turned the red dot off they'd stay focused on where it last had been, as if their prey had dived into a hidey-hole. Schooner heard the crashing about and came racing downstairs. He stood looking into the living room from near the foot of the stairs. I flitted the red dot around and past him. He stared at it, stared at me, red dot, me.... Turned and bolted back upstairs.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Humph. I logged into my Windows Live Mail account on my desktop computer this morning. The inbox filled with new stuff, as usual. I scrolled down through it, as usual, and... Discovered that anything older than the 14th was gone. Everything that I'd left in the inbox from before, for whatever reason, had disappeared. I logged into my Verizon email account online, and it was the same thing -- nothing in the inbox older than the 14th. The Gmail account, which forwards to the Verizon, still had all the older emails online but those emails were also gone from the Live Mail inbox. Now, a few days ago, for a couple of days, my Verizon email had been wonky, sometimes refusing to log into and download from the server. Stuff eventually made it past whatever the problem was, but it interfered with mail on the desktop and both laptops for an annoying while. Then, suddenly, the problem was gone -- and a slew of emails I'd already received came pouring in again on the desktop -- but not, curiously, to the laptops, which use Outlook rather than Live Mail. Things went along as they should for the next few days -- and now this. Any emails not in the inbox but in other storage folders, even subfolders for the inbox, are still there, no matter how old, and the mail downloaded to Outlook on the laptops is also still in the inbox, but Live Mail inbox? Gone. So take this as a warning: If you use Live Mail, or perhaps any other cloud-based email service, it might be wise to put anything you want to save for any length of time, even short term, into storage of some kind, just in case.
Tuesday, February 16, 2016
An hour or so ago, I was planning to walk down the driveway to the condo mailboxes and pick up my mail, and I looked out the front door. Last night's snow had been plowed, then freezing-rained on. The driveway was coated with ice. With melt water flowing over it. Guess it wouldn't be such a good idea to take that walk after all. Oh, well. It's over 50 degrees right now -- after the subzero temps over the weekend, no less. And there's already been a whole heap o' melting since my last look. A fair amount of bare pavement showing up. I figure give it another hour and it will be safe to venture forth.
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Good grief. Watching yet another TV ad for Valentine's Day: The Vermont Teddy Bear Company's montage of sexy babes going orgasmic over being given a stuffed bear almost as big as they are (well, wider, but about as tall). And all I can think is, if anyone tried to do that to me my first thought wouldn't be "Oh, how arousingly wonderful!" but rather "And just where the FUCK am I supposed to PUT that?!?"
Friday, January 15, 2016
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Went to see an ophthalmologist yesterday afternoon, for an itchy eyelid that had been nagging at me, always feeling as if something was in that eye, grumble. Turned out to be blepharitis and dry eye, easily treatable with warm compresses and eyedrops, plus the doc recommended adding some flax oil to my diet since imbalance in fatty acids can contribute to the problem. I tried adding a spoonful to my delicious yogurt stir-ins this morning -- YUM! Well, acceptable, anyway. As part of the exam I got my pupils dilated. I had wrap-around sunglasses with me, as I'd suspected that would happen, but given how dull and overcast the day was, they turned out not to be necessary. "It'll wear off in a couple of hours," I was told. Yeah, right. I got the pupils dilated around 3:00 p.m.; they finally went back to normal a little before midnight. This was not fun. Try proofreading when you can't adjust your pupils to focus precisely.
Sunday, December 13, 2015
As part of the euthanasia process for Ted, my vet's office offered a range of options for his body's disposal. I feel the body is merely a shell for the spirit that animates it and have no sentimental attachment to remains, so chose cremation without return of the ashes. But I was intrigued by one option they let me know about: EterniTrees. It's a biodegradable urn for cremation ashes that's packaged with seeds and nutrients for the tree of your choice. http://eternitrees.com/ Noodling around the Internet, I see that's not the only company offering such services: http://www.thelivingurn.com/ - which provides a seedling rather than seeds And so on -- there are other companies out there offering these and related services. I was tempted, but have no place to plant a tree, so let it go. Still, I'm keeping it in mind, as these companies offer containers for human as well as pet ashes, and it's pleasant to think my corporeal remains might one day nourish, say, a dogwood, or a blue spruce. Certainly beats taking up useless space in the relatively sterile ground of a cemetery, eh? And you can even buy them on Amazon! Maybe I'll invest in one and give it to my executor-to-be brother so he'll have that all set when the time comes. Assuming the seeds would stay viable for another decade or two.... P.S. Can't wait to see what Google and Amazon start offering me after the searches I just ran!
Monday, December 7, 2015
And it's done. The vet examined Ted's gaunt body and found nothing overtly amiss, except a somewhat enlarged liver. Most likely? There was a tumor hidden in there. So we did what was right and he slipped away softly. I came home and threw myself into disassembly of his cage complex; a grubby hard job, but an hour and a half later, it's done -- cages cleaned, collapsed, and stored in the basement, bedding bundled up for the trash, floor vacuumed to neatness -- and a dozen-plus cat toys excavated from under the cages where they'd accumulated over the years. The other cats seemed alternately fascinated and bewildered by it all. I find it strange now, even a bit unsettling, to have so much open space where the cage complex loomed for so long. Ted was a fine cat, handsome, affectionate, easy-going, occasionally goofy. I'll miss him. Where the cage complex sat for those four-plus years, there remain deep indentations in the rug. They may disappear with time. Ted's imprint in my heart will not.
Sunday, December 6, 2015
My tribe of seven felines is probably going down to six this week. Ted, my eldest, is 17, and I've had him since he was four months old. For the last four and a half years he's been living in my living room in a gigantic cage complex because he's an inveterate house-pisser. He was happy in there, safe from some of the other cats stealing his food and bullying him, getting plenty of attention from me, charging up and down his tower for play, chilling with his friend Peanut snuggling up to him on the other side of the bars. I'd take him out periodically for snuggles, claw-clipping, brushing, and he'd be anxious to get back to his castle. Now, though, he's going downhill. For the last several months he hasn't been diligent about grooming and I've had to de-mat him a couple of times. His fur has that old-cat look to it. He was never a voracious eater; once he no longer had to compete with the others, he preferred to eat a bit, go away, come back to it; cleaning his dish usually but at his own pace. He gets wet food at breakfast and supper and always has a mix of dry foods available, much to the greedy cats' thwarted envy. Over the last month or so his appetite's become erratic, gradually diminishing, till now in the last week he's hardly eating anything; still drinking, though. He's getting gaunt; no longer jumping up to the third level of the tower in his cage complex, just spending most of his time in his lair. I’m going to take him to the vet Monday or Tuesday, and unless this is something easily fixable, with no treatment distress for him, I don’t think I’ll be taking him home. He's old and frail and fading away. I’m not going to keep him alive till he’s outright miserable, just because I'll miss him terribly. I owe it to him to do the right thing. The history: Why Ted went into prison; how he adjusted; his first set of slammer digs; the creation of his current realm: http://exurbanmusings.blogspot.com/…/teds-in-slammer-and-it… http://exurbanmusings.blogspot.com/…/ted-held-hostage-day-t… http://exurbanmusings.blogspot.com/…/finally-floodgates-ope… http://exurbanmusings.blogspot.com/20…/…/teds-new-tower.html
Friday, November 27, 2015
My shredder quit working. Yes, it was plugged in. Yes, the head was seated properly on the bin. No, it refused to work when I turned it on. Sigh.... Off to the store for a replacement. I don't need it often, but I do need it. So Wednesday I got a new one, hauled it upstairs to the office, and left it in its box till after Thanksgiving. Today I decided to move the dead shredder to the basement pending finding out how to properly dispose of it. I took hold of the cord and began to lift the head.... And the furshlugginer "on" light blinked to life. Oh, come on -- really? Yes, really; it ate the sheets I fed it. I turned it off; turned it back on; it lit up again. So I guess I have two shredders now; one old but still functional machine, one sitting in its box awaiting its turn. Oh, and remember the scanner/printer that stopped printing for a while, then magically healed itself? It stopped printing again. Still worked fine as a scanner so I left it by my downstairs workstation. Then it had to get piled in the recliner seat during the window installation. When I put it back and turned it on, it hummed, buzzed, clanked, whined, made other carriage-moving sounds -- then seized a sheet of paper and began its little in-and-out alignment dance, ending with ... a printed page. And it's been printing ever since. I daresay it will eventually quit on me again, but this time I have A Plan.