My PapJack

Although I rarely write about him, there is another member of my family that I love dearly. My dog Radar. (He is a Jack Russell/Papillon mix.)

My husband and I adopted Radar from our son when college life became too demanding and city life was too restrictive for Radar's canine desire for more territory. We have a big yard- and big hearts- so this is where Radar came to live.
He was the cutest puppy you ever set eyes on! A perfect example of movie star dog. The most photogenic, fuzzy, black and white ball of licks and hugs that you could imagine. You just wanted to hold him in your lap and feed him a bottle -or sing him to sleep- or pet him till your arms hurt.
But Radar grew up. His fuzz turned to shag. His stumpy overly-large feet became thin and narrow and his plumpy legs sprouted out like magic beanstalks. His muzzle morphed into a tiny fox-like mouth that came to a point with a black nose on it. He loved to jump as though he had some amazing hidden springs inside those long. slender legs- and soon there was no couch or bed or chair that he couldn't reign over.

I didn't really want Radar at first. It was like babysitting a stranger. I had things to do, places to go. A dog totally messed up my routine. He demanded food, water, playtime and potty breaks. And besides that- he was ugly homely unattractive.
But something happened that still astounds me. Radar became handsome. Oh, not in the physical sense of the word, but my heart dug a soft warm place for him and love began to grow. It didn't matter that his head was too small, his legs too long, or that strangers would ask disgustedly- "What kind of dog is that?" To me, Radar was a special child and I was his mother.

I had company dropping in the other day and looked around the house to see what needed straightening. As empty nesters, we can usually keep the place picked up and fairly neat since there's just the two of us. But, factor in Radar. A dog with a hundred toys. And where were those toys? All over! There was a mangled doggy by the footstool, a ratty lizard by the couch, a headless bunny at the foot of the bed, and a shredded possum in the hallway.
"Radar!" I shouted. "why can't you put your toys back in the basket?" (It would be really cool if he knew how.)
None of his toys have stuffing. They did at one time. For about an hour or so after arriving on Radar's doorstep. But even though he has flattened and gutted approximately twenty victims, he still seems to love them all and continues to play with them daily.
Radar is getting kind of stodgy as the years pass. If he were human, he'd be a cross between Barney Fife and the Professor. He could easily look the part in a tweed jacket and a bow tie. He sometimes sits like a man and acts rather aloof and conceited - as though he's figuring quantum physics in his head while all his dog friends are thinking about kitty cats and snicky-snacks.
I have noticed lately that Radar is getting fat. Plump. Tight like a big pork sausage about to burst its skin. I can't understand why. Or how, Especially since my husband and I have been practically vegetarians since starting our diets. There's no "people food" to graze upon after meals. There's no ice cream or T-bones, or hard salami available lately.
You know, it really wouldn't be a problem if he slept in his own bed. But, he insists on touching some part of our bodies when he retires for the evening. If we curl up our knees to sleep, he nests in the little triangle of space behind our butts. If we lay on our backs with our legs stretched, he plops down between them. And sometime in the middle of the night he works his way up beside us and lays his head on the pillow. 
There have been many mornings when my husband and I awoke, only to find Radar laying between us on his back, his feet sticking straight up in the air, and looking at us as though to say "What's for breakfast, my good people?"

Sometimes our pets have a way of blending into our lives so well, that we forget to appreciate their loyalty and companionship. Some days we take for granted their warmth and excitement and giving nature. Radar is the best dog we have ever had and he has brought us joy and humor and something to love.
So, take time today to hug your pet. Talk to them. Give them a treat. Tell them that you love them. Take them for a walk. Play games with them.
They won't be here forever.

Flavors and Flashes

I must say that I've had a rather inspired weekend. After the murky-hooded-darkness of depression I wallowed in on Friday finally lifted, ( sorry readers!) I saw my way out and tried adjusting my perspective.

And Saturday morning, I actually invented a new blend of coffee!
I've named it Pumpmintvanillaspicechochazelnutalmondtoffeelatte.

So, here's the story on that:

I guess I'm a sucker for flavored coffee. Anytime I see some mouthwatering blend in the grocery store, I inhale like a blood hound and go after it. There is something so tantalizing about exotic names like coconut vanilla breakfast blend or triple chocolate cocoa coffee beans or pumpkin marshmallow swirl latte.

(Confidentially, there are times when I needed new underwear, but I'd spend eight dollars on a bag of coffee instead.)

I don't know why I've never learned my lesson, and this is it: Flavored coffee never taste like its name.
Never. Ever. Ever. They all just taste like...coffee.

So, Saturday morning while fixing breakfast, I fumbled through Ziploc baggies of coffee flavors and poured them all into a three pound canister. The aroma was to die for! But, sadly I know that the taste will be lacking the actual essence.
I'm content enough now that I've got this exotic bland of my very own and I'm staying out of the coffee aisle for awhile.

Now... we can move along to invention #2 which floated into my mind Sunday morning.
And all because I went to bed Saturday evening wearing this:

 A long sleeved tee and fleece pants. The perfect pajamas for a snowy night of single digits. And I lower my thermostat to 62 at night, so this makes for the ideal in-case-my-husband-hogs-the-covers outfit.
BUT, this is what I woke up in Sunday morning:

My husband's boxer shorts (that he has never worn, by the way) and a short sleeved pajama top. Sometime in the middle of the night I woke up in the Amazonian jungle with sweat the size of baseballs glistening on my forehead and my skin sticky and boiling.
I tumbled out of bed like I'd just crossed the Sahara Desert in a coat, and immediately started looking through the dresser in the dark. Hence, the unattractive and uncoordinated outfit above.

This got me thinking: Why can't they make sensible pajamas for women who are menopausal challenged? Why doesn't some nightwear-designer-savior come rescue us ladies that suffer in the middle of the night?

I think that a perfect pair of pajamas would be made out of a very thin version of Under Armour. This clothing brand pulls sweat and moisture away from your body so that you can maintain an even body temperature. And they say it feels like wearing nothing.
Then, it needs to be at least a Capri length to keep the bare thighs from suctioning together. And I am thinking it could possibly incorporate a removable sleeve.

You know how those Chippendale dancers whoosh off their shirts and pants on stage? (Well, I don't either, but I've heard stories). My newly designed pajama top would have pull away sleeves. That way, you can go to bed snugly warm- even with your arms outside the blankets, but can easily relieve yourself of the perspiration that attacks you later. Just pull on the break-away sleeves and you are cool as a cucumber!

Of course, this amazing lingerie would have to produced in a variety of colors and patterns to suit the discriminating over-50 set.

I laid in bed Sunday morning, telling this all to my husband. (Except the Chippendale part).
He stared at me like I was some sort of loony tune.

But, you know- history is full of inventors and creators that were laughed at. Mark my words- some designer will come up with these wonderful Hot Flash Pajamas and I'll say "I told you so!"

But, for now, I'll just sit here and drink my                
Pumpmintvanillaspicechochazelnutalmondtoffeelatte and contemplate my new discoveries!

Candid

I had planned on celebrating handwritten letters all week, but I'm fresh out of ideas and the energy to compose one today. I guess that's why it's a lost art. It takes time and thought and ...does anyone really care anyway?
I suppose that's one advantage of running your own blog. You can promise people things and not deliver. You can change your mind on the spur of the moment. You can even leave this page intentionally blank.
I had such high hopes for this new blog. I thought it would be different, a new kind of voice...fresh. But I see it developing just exactly like my old ones. And with it, the new year also takes on familiar molds, old habits, repeated routines and diminished hopes. Why is it that a clean slate is so exciting at first, and then it takes only days to become a messy hodgepodge of unimportant tracks that form a weary rut?
I suppose I also deceived myself to thinking that the new year would change me. That I would look in the mirror and see bright eyes and silky hair and energy that exuded from my pores like sweet honey.
But, no. I am still me. Still trying to grasp that better part of me, that faint voice that murmurs from somewhere inside my heart - only to be silenced by trivial obligations.
I have never been a leader. I have always been a follower. I usually accomplish something if I'm told what to do- and how and when to do it. I rarely take that first step, that so-called plunge, the gamble, the chance...I feel safer when someone lights the way, holds my hand, carves the path for me. Why?
Is it the fear of failure? Of appearing independent, aloof, unconventional? Of being laughed at, frowned upon, deserted?
Less than halfway through this first month of the year and I'm already talking discouraging words and sucking myself into a cave of my own making. Didn't I imagine all these days to be open and bright... and redesigned?
I suppose I haven't wasted too much time. It's better I recognize it now than six months down the road where habits just snowball into a huge blur of lost years. I've got to venture out and find new eyes. I must take that giant leap of faith.
I am truly sorry this blog has not been Fresh. But, it is me.
And that's all I can promise you.

Dear Mus Musculus,

(Or aka) Dear Mouse,

I'm not sure where you came from, but I do know you are aware of the fact that you are uninvited in my home. Maybe you are lost. I realize they've mowed the last of Farmer Micheal's hay and the hooves of Mr. Bonner's horses can wreak havoc on tiny rodent feet. But at no time did I open my doors and bid you refuge.

There may be some type of legal loophole that allows you to enter through the crawlspace, beneath an ill-fitting door, or to chew your way up from the foundation into my pantry. However, I have taken all precautions necessary to make your stay here as uncomfortable and brief  as possible. Some people may accuse me of cruelty for purchasing an array of torturous traps and cages in order to secure your farewell, but I feel that you are fully aware of the consequences of trespassing.


I have substantial proof that you lurk amid the baseboards and skitter beneath the cabinets. Only yesterday I found a colorful pile of confetti on my pantry counter top and recognized it at once to be my electric bill. Apparently you have a immense appetite for Orville Redenbacher popcorn, have never been properly housebroken, and have somehow managed to elude the eagle eye of our loyal- although sometimes lazy- canine companion.


In considerable discussions concerning the matter of your misdemeanor, my husband and I continue to wonder why our home did not attract a superior type of rodent such as Mickey or Minnie, Jerry (of the Tom and Jerry duo), mighty Mouse, or Stuart Little. There may have been a great reprieve for sophisticated vermin such as those. In fact, there may have been an actual welcome and a comfortable bed supplied accordingly.


An although I have a profound aversion to rattus norvegicus, I could only hope that if we had such an interloper, he would be Remy of Disney's Rattatouille fame and- of course, my kitchen and pantry would then be open with all the graciousness and hospitality of Martha Stewart.

However, since you have chosen not to introduce yourself, I can only assume you are a bubonic- plague-carrying, mite-infested, simple field mouse who must be eradicated at once. I've been assured by legal council that all attempts to secure your capture or untimely death is totally within my judicial rights and each of my execution tactics are favorably permitted by my state and local authorities.


This letter is to inform you that your breach of my home's perimeter and your blatant destruction of my personal property will be met with stringent and heinous means if such unpleasant force is deemed necessary by myself or other family members. Please be mindful that this will be your one and only warning and no amount of goodwill or promises will free you from these consequences.

Can you say "Cheese"?   


Sincerely and Vehemently,
The Lady of the House,
Rae

Goodwill Wednesday: All Keyed Up

(It's taken me a while this morning to figure out how to incorporate today's letter writing into my Goodwill Wednesday!)

Dear Readers,

Thank you again for joining me on Goodwill Wednesday. My local Goodwill is getting all the credit for my fantastic finds, but today I'm utilizing a gift from my daughter that she found at an auction.
I LOVE these!

A giant tub of keys!
So...I had to do something creative with them.

I found this board in the laundry room.

It's way too long, but, hey, people- it's like 10 degrees outside and there's a few inches of snow- so I wasn't going out to the barn to find something better. I'll have my husband cut it short later.

I painted it black. And then a wash of red.

 Then a bit of aqua.

And then yellow/gold.

Time to sand it a bit to look old!

And I must tell you that I could not find even ONE of my three glue guns! That is why I need to be organizing closets and craft tubs instead of playing, but ..maybe in the spring.
Anyway- I used some glue I found on my husband's tool bench and started gluing on some keys...
I couldn't get the photos to look quite right, so I'm posting several. The glue is still wet and the board needs shortened, but here is today's project!!

So now that I have extra board already painted- and LOTS of keys, I'm going to make a LOVE and JOY sign at another time.

Have an awesome day!

Creatively Yours,
Rae