Water and Fire

You know my obsession with water. Give me a lake, a pool, an ocean, a bathtub ... I'll take a swim. Now it's autumn and there's a chill in the air. It's time for fires.

If I like something, I want "two of 'em." It's a trait I was born with. Selfish? Yes. But the giving part of my personality wants everyone else to have one too.

We bought a fireplace for the oldie's room. Our bedroom also has a gas fireplace. Our living room has an old fashioned, wood-burning fireplace that I enjoy hauling wood to keep it going. I consider it two minutes of camping.

I grew up without a fireplace in my home. I was very confused about how Santa was going to shimmy down the chimney when we didn't have one. Lucky for my parents, I was gullible enough to buy whatever story they told me. Even when they broke the bad news, I knew I was lucky. I don't need some fat man at the North Pole -- I lucked out with them. (I still like the fantasy.)

We also have one of those fire pits on our patio. On my best days I can sit in front of a fire and then swim in the tub.

Shooting Stars

When we visit our friends' lake cottage, one of our favorite activities is nighttime boat rides. Since we never eat dinner until after the sunset, late night rolls in quickly. We argue about the music, we sing along and we watch for shooting stars. Everyone can find the big and little dipper, the North Star and we can point out planes and satellites.

Although we've been doing this for years, one of our friends had never seen a shooting star. By some fluke, she always managed to be looking down or in another direction when one would happen. It became a mission for her to see one.

Last weekend we had a debate about what makes a shooting star. (It's a meteor entering the atmosphere.) During the debate, we saw a vivid one.

The streak, so to speak, is over.

Don't Forget the Old Days

During a friendly chat last night, a friend of ours was lamenting his unending fear of the dentist. There was a little nervous laughter and then he explained.
"If I sat in his chair as a 6-year old in 1945 and he was roughly 70-years old, that means he went to dental school in the 1800s. How current was he?"

One of my brothers-in-law is a dentist. I wish he didn't live 4 hours away because we all want to go to him.

I'm pretty sure the daughter and the baby have not witnessed laundry run through the ringer and hung on the line to dry. Microwave popcorn is older than the baby. I grew up with plumbing in the house but visits to relatives occasionally involved outhouses. They also involved fun things like swimming in a lake, sitting around a bonfire and actually discussing things. No one had an electronic device plugged in an ear or molded to their palm.

Dentistry is painless and routine to our children. Don't I sound like an oldie?

My childhood/early adulthood dentist was a hip-hopping dude in the 70s. He wore psychedelic shirts and multiple gold chains. He was not patient friendly but he did freely dispense nitrous oxide for fillings. I found out later that he enjoyed hauling a tank of it to parties and enhancing the atmosphere with a mood-altering substance.

In the early or mid 80s, I was with a group of girlfriends celebrating a new job for one of them. He approached our table and he was still wearing his gold chains and a loud shirt. Thankfully, he was not carrying a tank. We did not bite. (or spit.)

The Lamp Light and the Vodka

We had two bedside lamps in the oldie's room. When they retrieved some of their stuff from storage, they chose to use their very ornate lamps instead. As they should -- it's their room. But these are not like flipping a light switch -- if you have these on, it's intentional. I went in the other day to put some mail on the desk and the bedside light was on. They are out of town.

I took a bottle of vodka to the lake. We never opened it. So, I brought it home. The other day the husband noticed that it had been opened and used for at least one drink.

Maybe Pa is turning on lights in the oldie's room (looking for his photo) and Wild Bill is mixing up cocktails in my kitchen.

Bad Dogs Have More Fun

Any dog lover worth his or her salt has read the runaway hit book, Marley and Me, by John Grogan. Especially if you own (or have ever owned) a Lab or any Retriever.

Grogan has a new book out titled, Bad Dogs Have More Fun. It's a collection of articles he did for The Philadelphia Inquirer. The topics go beyond dog stories and it's a fun little read. Here's an excerpt:

The current Lab-in-residence at the Grogan house thinks "Come!" is a suggestion she is happy to take under advisement and get back to us on. She's never met a rustling leaf that hasn't been worth barking herself hoarse over.

... Gracie's unique gift is her eye-tongue coordination. This allows her to leap into the air and smash her snout into our faces at the exact moment we are opening our mouths to speak, allowing her to jam her tongue where no canine tongue was meant to go. We call her the Phantom Frencher.

Beyond the fun stories, the title makes me laugh. Plus, the cover shot is precious. I have given the book an honor spot on my kitchen window sill so I will smile every time I do dishes or stroll through the kitchen.

I threatened to send Gabby with the oldies. She's still right by my side. So, I'm going to load my bad dog in the car and take her to the lake for the season's last hurrah.

Phonics -- It has to end in an E sound

Once, I was at the lake and we got into this weird discussion about names and nicknames. It was Patsy, Sheri, Betsy, Kathy, Mickey, etc. The men use formal names for business but when we're together, it's Danny, Ronnie, Dickie, Jimmy, Phillie, etc. We pondered -- is this a generational thing?

I have a girlfriend who insists on Deb or Deborah. She's always Debbie to me.

The only person who's allowed to call my girlfriend Cynthia, "Cindy" is her husband. Big Daddy pushes this rule a bit. When the Baby is feeling wild and crazy, he calls her "Thia" (Pronounced Thee-ah.)

Even the word "oldies" ends with an E sound.

The Mean Voice

Just the girlfriend, her daughter and I at her lake cottage this weekend, plus dogs. It was bliss.

This was only the puppy's second trip so she's still wild and getting acclimated to different surroundings. A friend and neighbor suggested I should use my "mean voice." Stupidly, I said, "I don't think I have a mean voice."

My girlfriend laughed so hard I thought she was going to develop hiccups.

Crate Training

Every veterinarian and dog trainer I have known in the last 20 or so years recommends crate training. I was a holdout on the theory that it made the dog feel secure -- I stupidly thought they would feel like they were in prison. The husband cured me of this 16 or so years ago when he would only agree to a dog if I agreed to crate training. Done!

Our puppy has been crate trained since the moment we adopted her.

For Christmas, Santa brought the puppy a pop-up, portable crate. I'm sure he thought it would be great for the lake trips or other overnight needs. I took it to the lake. The first night, she figured out how to unzip it. The second day, she figured out how to scratch a hole and put her head through it. Then she figured out that she had enough body heft to move it around. She just bounced it around -- she looked like a slinky toy bouncing down the stairs.

I called the husband and said, "When you come to meet me, bring the real crate." Once he did, she ran in there so fast it was comical. She was safe and my anxiety eased.

Big Daddy and I disagree on a lot of things. Crate training isn't one of them. One of my girlfriends made an off the cuff remark that she should have tried crate training with her children. I'm considering it for the oldies.