Doggie Dynamics

Houseboy brought the maniac dog to me yesterday. Sorry to be ridiculous but I wept. Perhaps the reason I am so crazy about the maniac is she has been my bright spot. I didn't realize how much until the last few days.

My current oldies (although they are not very old) have been kind enough to let me live with them, mooch off them, etc. I run around rearranging their furniture, interrupting their well-oiled routine, making coffee at 5:00am, etc. The dog has always been an issue with female oldie. She's slightly afeared of big dogs (bad episode in her childhood) but she's also aware that the Gabster can be a tornado, i.e. "Hope you didn't like all that glass stuff on the table because I just wiped it out with my tail."

Here's a couple of other reasons I wept:

I was reminded, repeatedly, that there are still people who value something other than material possessions.
I stood in awe as my oldies said, "We would never ask you to go without your dog. We'll figure it out."

They have two little dogs -- a sweetie and a biter (although she's growing on me.) The biter thinks she is the alpha dog; Gabby has no desire to be the alpha dog but she freaks them out. We're all getting acclimated. Gabby slept with me last night and she keeps looking at me like, "You never told me this was an option."

I don't think the little dogs are having a barking good time but who knows? Sometimes it's good to have your world shaken a bit. Trust me. I know.

A Note from the Dog

Unfortunately for Houseboy, the nickname has stuck.

But lucky for me, I don't even have to call him. I know when he's in the neighborhood. The maniac dog starts moaning and groaning. She destroys window sills trying to find him and wishing for him to come over.

Today is Houseboy's birthday. Gabby is wishing him happy 29th! Or whatever.

Over Ice

Hot and cold. That could describe my preference with foods, my moods and several other areas of my life.

Although the maniac dog lives indoors, I put fresh water outside every day for our time on the patio. I like ice in drinks so I always put ice in her water. (For the record, the husband advises me to stop channeling my personality onto her.) The other day, Houseboy freshened her water and of course I asked, "Did you put ice in it?"

I'm also convinced she's a big country music fan.

The Boys

I have lots of boys in my life. Okay, most of them are grown men but I think of them as "my boys." The top three are the husband, my father and the baby. Houseboy (a nickname he tolerates) is one of my boys. So are my uncles and many of my friends. They advise me and make me laugh.

Today I accompanied two of my boys to the doctor. By some fluke, they had back-to-back appointments. I was invited to one and barged my way into the second. Intrusive people know that they are annoying but we can't help ourselves. I need to hear the information first hand. I need to see the scans and have the doctor explain it to me like I'm a 5-year old.

I've got to keep my boys healthy. There are some surgeries in our future but they're relatively minor. When I dropped in on the husband's visit, he said, "Who invited you?" I planted myself in a chair.

Marital Strife

The Belle told me that the sex organs are the last ones to go. I tried to wipe that image out of my head.

On the "Today Show" the other morning, they featured two couples. Both had written books and both had to do with their sex lives. One couple chronicled their experiment to recommit to their sex life over 101 days. The other couple vowed to have sex every day for 30 days. Maybe you have to understand my sense of humor but I found this intriguing and hysterically funny.

Marital issues usually come down to:

Money
Children
Exes, if you have them
Parents
Household chores
Sex

We don't fight about household chores. I do as many as I can stand. My dad pitches in with projects. Houseboy does the bulk of it. I've never mowed a lawn in my life and I plan to keep it that way. I'm pretty good at weed pulling.

We don't fight about sex either. We prefer to annihilate each other over more mundane things.

Then, it's the middle of the night and your legs are intertwined. Or, you decide to clean your wedding ring and you read the inscription inside for the millionth time. Or, you dance on the patio and fight about who gets to lead.

Or, you go to a wedding and hold hands and then say quietly to each other, (like you're speaking to the bride and groom,) "Don't do it!" This cracks us up.

Forget that list above. I'm convinced a sense of humor will see you through.

Second Opinions

Anger is not a bad thing. Sometimes it spurs you into action.

You know, anger is an alternate of scared. It's the same emotion, just spun in a different direction.

My doctor (saint-in-training) welcomes second opinions. He often refers us to someone else with additional expertise in a particular area. Depending what ailment was plaguing the oldies, he would make sure we saw the right person.

My computer guy welcomes another opinion. Houseboy does not get offended if I call in someone else for a tree problem. When Dr. Gwen was my minister, she often encouraged me to talk to another minister for guidance.

People who are secure do not get offended when someone requests a second opinion. If my attorney didn't feel comfortable with a second opinion, I'd get mighty suspicious.

I'm pushy and often overstep my boundaries. If I love you, you need to accept this about me. I'm forcing someone I love to get a second opinion. When I hear, "Well, I don't want to offend Dr. So and So...." I want to scream.

Instead, I make the appointment anyway. They can get mad at me later.

Impromptu Parties

If you're with the right group of people, a party can break out at any time. I live with an "out there" person. A lot of my friends can turn any occasion into a party. I used to think I was a victim of circumstance but now I accept that I am often the instigator.

Jan has a routine that cracks me up. She will call twice on the home phone. If I do not answer, she will call twice on my cell phone. If I do not answer, she will walk into my kitchen. When a girl needs her girlfriend, the barriers go away. Strong people just knock them out of the way. The message is, "I will find you." I am always relieved to be found.

Houseboy came in for a cold drink after spending many hours loading the fallen tree and many limbs into the chipper. (Abby calls him Poolboy, although I do not have a pool.) My next door neighbor's daughter, and my friend, came over with her puppy. We passed him around like old women do with an infant. I played referee with my maniac dog.

The iPod was rocking. We discussed children and dogs and storm damage. It was an impromptu party and the most fun I've had in weeks.

Sick of Rain; Sick of Storms

I sound like a petulant child. Especially when I realize that many parts of our state have been declared disaster areas. Many, many people are homeless due to these sweeping storms. Many others will spend countless hours and countless dollars cleaning up water damage.

Yet, I lost a major tree yesterday that is now plopped across my circular drive. With every storm, I lose electricity and/or cable for a while. My yard is a muddy mess, with limbs everywhere.

I woke this morning to another torrential rain. Every county is under a flood warning. It's supposed to be sunny for the rest of the day. I hope so; otherwise, I might just go back to bed.

As I write this, I hear a chainsaw. Houseboy must be out there dismembering my fallen tree. I wonder if this is the day I can convince him to loan me the chainsaw.

The Voice of Reason

Between normal seasonal growth and the storms that have swept our state, we're all dealing with our stages of disarray.

People who work in landscaping, plumbing, roofing, electrical, etc. are overwhelmed.

Houseboy stopped by yesterday to check on our minuscule plantation. I pointed out limbs close to wires, overgrown trees and hedges, etc. I thought I had the perfect solution: While you're working with other clients, loan me your chainsaw.

Well, I wish a had a photo of his look of horror. Although I made the girl scout promise to stay away from power lines and keep both feet on the ground, he would have none of it.

Instead, I went out today with my big manual clippers and chopped for a while. It made me feel better. I know we have an axe around here somewhere.

Houseboy to the Rescue

Houseboy has come to my rescue more than once. Actually, more than I care to count.

When the oldies were with us, he dealt with many body function disasters. He never complained, even when Hangdog referred to him as "That man." He picked them up, took them places, ran errands for them and hauled many things up and down the stairs. After a major shopping trip, they would leave things in their trunk for him to unload. He installed lots of "must have" gizmos.

There's an Amish market near his home and he regularly brought them treats. Hangdog could not remember his name but he gobbled up the pastries.

I get teased for it but I admit, he does tons of things for me, like getting on ladders or toting things I cannot lift. He (and his crew) fight the weekly battle with the lawn. Or snow. Or storms.

This week, Houseboy and his wife are headed to a sunny destination to celebrate their 25th anniversary. I have witnessed them together and they are still madly in love. They have two children and their individual schedules are crazy. Yet, they stay connected. I don't think he's ever been in my home without talking to her and/or one of the children.

I tease him with the nickname "Houseboy." He's not a boy; He's a man. He's a man that I would be thrilled to see the baby emulate.

Work ethic. Kindness. Laughter. Loyalty. Family love. He's the poster child for all of these things. That's probably why I trust him with my dog and he has keys to my house.

Going Green

On certain days the only thing green about me is the ability to be green with envy.

My heart and my gut (and Al Gore) tell me I should be more responsible about the planet and our limited resources. As Pigpen, I seem to generate more trash than a family of eight. I'm a periodic recycler but I need to get better.

I'm not great with green things. If you send me a plant, I am guaranteed to kill it in record time. That's probably why I love fake plants. Every Spring, I put pretty flowers in the beds around our home. (Okay, Houseboy does it. I just watch.) Every year he gives me watering instructions. I do it for a while and then I:

Get busy
Get bored
Forget
Get lazy

And then, they die. One year they made it until September. I thought I was a miracle worker until I realized Houseboy was stopping by on a regular basis and doing my watering chore.

The Belle took this plant/flower situation to new heights. Last year she conferred with Houseboy about the type of flowers and the plants she wanted. Then her son sent her an enormous basket of multiple flowers for Mother's Day. I would've killed it in 10 days. She kept it flourishing for at least six months. I remember asking her, "What kind of weirdo are you? How do you do that?" She also had Houseboy buy us ferns. She loved them and tended to them. But once the crisp air of Fall arrives, you have to bring them inside where they wilt and shed. Two years in a row we had ferns. Two years in a row they were brought into the house. Two years in a row, I killed them. But, just for fun memories, I have these gigantic hooks in my sunroom where the ferns are supposed to be. I don't miss the ferns but I do miss the Belle.

Wacky Houseboy

I was supposed to be in Arizona this week. You know what they say about "the best laid plans..."

When I scheduled my trip, I made reservations for the dog to go to puppy camp. Yes, it's a kennel but it sounds more fun if you call it camp. Then, the death of the mother-in-law, changes in schedules, changes in flights, and so on. So, we'll be off to Mississippi with Hangdog in tow. I asked Houseboy if he would take the dog to camp.

No, he won't. He's taking our maniacal, frenzied, jumping and opinionated dog to his house. I tried to talk him out of it. I even said, "I cannot be responsible if she eats your sofa." He's doing it anyway. I told the husband of this plan and he said, "Is he crazy?"

I think Houseboy's wife likes me but after this weekend, she may not speak to me again.

Like Fairy Dust

I'm tossing around guilt like Tinkerbell threw fairy dust.

People are actually calling me to apologize that they are not helping enough. This is completely and undeniably untrue. Everyone -- friends, family, parents, children, other people's children have helped tremendously.

I give a special salute to Houseboy.

I can load enough guilt on myself. I certainly don't need to spread it around.

I Have a Bullet Too

During The Andy Griffith Show, Barney Fife was a buffoon. He was allowed to carry a bullet, but only in his pocket. Every time he broke the rule he ended up shooting the floor or the ceiling. Even though I am anti-guns, I laugh out loud at these escapades.

I come from a long line of hunters and gatherers. My aunt went (or tried to go) through airport security with bullets in her pocket. Hello federal officers!

My cousin sent me some photos today from his recent trip to Africa. He's a big hunter and an adventure hound. I'm impressed with the pictures but I don't think this is something I will ever experience.

Houseboy and I have an ongoing debate about the right to bear arms, whether you're safer or not with a gun in the home, whether hunting is a sport or a cruel activity.

He made me laugh today. He brought me a bullet. I don't have a gun so I'm going to put it in my pocket. If anyone annoys me, I won't shoot them. I'll just launch the bullet toward them.

Just Waiting to Die

Houseboy is here today and as usual, he's extremely kind to the oldies. He brings them sugary treats and respects their comfort zone. He deals with their room first and let's them know when they can go back to bed.

I happened to overhear a portion of conversation. Their response to his, "It's a beautiful day, how are you?" got this response: "We're just waiting to die."

This hurt (one of my) feelings on multiple levels. Their health is better than it has been in a decade. There is ample food in this house. There's a roof over their heads and a car in the driveway. I have dealt with bills, junk mail, etc. I write out directions for anywhere they would like to go. Big Daddy and I take them out to many places. Neighbors, friends and my parents treat them like royalty.

The husband is playing in a golf competition this afternoon. I asked her to go with me to watch it for a bit and cheer on her son. No! Not going to happen without the Unabomber. I'm not a big person and she's not a big person but we cannot fit three of us in a golf cart (with canes and walkers) unless one of us hangs off the back. Since I would have to drive, that might be a little cruel.

I lost a friend this week. A glib remark like, "We're just waiting to die" was like punching me in the gut.

Kamikazi Birds

Birds are a sign of evil, at least that's what my wacky grandmother taught me. Then, she ended up owning a pet bird later in life. She would let Petie fly around her apartment and land on her head or arm. Go figure.

We have a tree in our back yard that produces some sort of wild berry. This is time of year when the berries ferment and fall. The birds go crazy eating them and then they get confused (or drunk) and fly repeatedly into windows. Bang! Sometimes they can shake it off and fly away. Other times, they bash their little heads and they die in my yard. Gabby thinks this is great fun so I must deal with their corpses. This causes me to squeal. I'm always hopeful houseboy is here or my dad will show up when I'm faced with this situation. Yes, I am a wimp.

But, when I have to do it, I can.

'Fraidy Cat

I pretend to be brave but I'm not. Little things can send me over the edge. Before my mother and I went to the fair, there was a bird in my garage. Remember, I hate birds. He was confused and trying to fly out the window so that resulted in bashing his head and flopping. I had a broom but every time I got close to him, I squealed and ran. Thankfully, my mother showed up and batted him out.

We spotted a mouse in the house. (We live in a wooded area and the oldies tend to leave doors open.) Everyone was very nonchalant about traps, sticky stuff, etc. I kept my feet off the floor and called houseboy.

About a year and a half ago, the oldies had a double fall. They collided, which resulted in him face down in the kitchen and her with a massive head wound after hitting the corner of the piano. The husband was in bed. I ran in our bedroom and yelled, "911! Both oldies down!"

With surgeries or even routine tests, I become a maniac. It's a little embarrassing because most of my doctors are also my friends. I had a biopsy a few months ago -- it was fine -- and I finally asked the doctor to put a towel over my head. She laughed and complied. Of course, my mother was sitting in the waiting room.

The husband bails me out of trouble on a regular basis. He knows my quirks and humors me.

When I'm really a 'fraidy cat, I call my dad.

Electronics

I can work the TV/DVD/VCR/Cable remote controls. I can meander my way through the computer issues. I can change light bulbs. That's about it.

I bought a wireless pet fence system for the puppy. My friend installed it. There's a keypad on my garage door. My friend installed it. She's cheap labor -- it just costs me a cup of coffee. There's always something broken around here. My dad fixes it. Houseboy handles everything with the lawn and changes the light bulbs I can't reach.

It's embarrassing to be so needy. So, I remind myself that some people need me too.