Confessions of a Grandma

The early part of last week was pleasant and I managed to get out and do a lot of weeding and some planting.  All of that work, unbeknownst to me, was being scrutinized by the neighborhood watch committee that maintains a station on the hill to the west of us.  Yep, my old friend Chuckie the Woodchuck has kept watch. I am sure that he is perturbed that I did not plant beans and lettuce this year.  He did sample the liatrus and the chervil.  He dug a hole behind the lattice for the clematis vine and buried a few daffodils in the process, but when the expected veggies did not sprout, he moved on, just not too far. You wouldn't think a little old woodchuck could do this much damage, would you? Well. he didn't. A couple of dogs escaped their yard and came crashing through the field.  Two standard poodles.  They chased the woodchuck under the shed.  Persistent poodles.  They were not going to give up this fun game.  They were determined ...

The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. I went through a dry spell for a while where everything I picked up to read would lose my interest before I finished.  This book ended that bit of ennui.  I stayed up late last night to finish reading it. Not to give it away, you learn this in the very beginning any way, but the dog dies.  I usually try to avoid books in which a dog dies.  I always cry like a baby.  And I did with this book, too, but sometimes a good cry is just what is needed.  It's about life and love and loyalty and dreams.  I give it two thumbs up. The flat tongue and also lack of thumbs figure prominently in the story.

Yesterday I noticed a  bus for a doggie day care going by.  It looked like a small school bus except that it was purple.  At least one of the several doggie day care places around here will pick up dogs and then deliver them at the end of the day.  I realized that I never saw a doggie day care place in Venice, Florida. Now, Venice is dog paradise as far as I can tell.  The sidewalks are abuzz with people walking their dogs each morning and evening.  Many of the dogs seem never to even have to touch their feet to the ground since they are carried or carted in strollers or bicycle baskets.  Dogs have their own beach.  They have a downtown parade and an official day in the park.  There are dog grooming places and even higher end salons for the pampered canine.  No day care facilities, I'm guessing because the population is so heavily skewed to the retired who don't need day care or a bus to transport their pets. What I did notic...

On Sunday I went with a friend to a "Stampin' Up!" party. Remember Tupperware parties? This was more fun because we got to make two cards to take home instead of playing silly games. Ginnie and I were the only two there who were not totally immersed in the world of all things Stampin' Up. I mean, we knew about stamps and paper punches and the joys of fancy papers; we are both kind of artsy-craftsy types. We just were not fully prepared for the consuming world of the dedicated stamper, complete with its unique vocabulary. "Good-bye Chocolate Chip! I'm all about the Early Espresso now!" ( very similar browns) "Hand me that clam shell, please." (glue) "This embossing folder changed my life!!" "Oh, goodie! We're doing a top note." Like I said, it was fun to make the cards, but of course the intent of such parties is to sell things. There was no pressure here at all, but if we had to purchase everything we used to make those...

My step daughter has four active children. About ten years ago they decided they all needed a puppy and they found Gracie, a female boxer. She was a great choice as their family dog. Boxers, as a breed, seem to genuinely like children and enjoy being active and playful. They require little in the way of grooming, but they need a lot of exercise, something four active kids who really wanted a puppy could easily accomplish. Gracie has grown into quite the gentle lady--quiet, obedient, well-behaved, intelligent, sweet, gentle, loving, loyal, and trust worthy. Then there is their second boxer, Buckwheat. Buckwheat is a male boxer the family took on in his adolescence five or six years ago. He'd belonged to a couple with a new baby. They just did not have the time or energy to give him the attention and activity that he needed. I don't believe he was physically abused, but his emotional needs were definitely neglected. Buckwheat is playful, loving, gentle and sweet. He can act dumb,...