Tonight I was doing dishes when a big fat fly landed on the vertical window frame in front of me. My first thought was to reach for the fly swatter, but while I've killed a lot of flies over the years these days I always hesitate, feeling that Jill is looking over my shoulder and disapproving. She never liked to kill anything. So while I was mentally debating the fly's demise, another thought came into my head: Place the edge of the fly swatter next to him. He will step onto it, and you can carry him to the other window and put him outside. Wondering where that thought came from, I said out loud, "That's ridiculous." Flies seem to recognize fly swatters, and I was certain any fly, including this one, would take off the instant I approached him with one in my hand.
The thought persisted. So I dried my hands, picked up a fly swatter, and reached out to the fly. I put the edge next to him, and in the process got a little too close and actually bumped him. He took a step backward. Then after a moment he stepped forward—onto the fly swatter. I carried it, with the fly aboard, to the window at the other end of the kitchen. Leaning over, I opened the window. When the fly got outside, he flew off.
Leave it to Jill to orchestrate miracles that don't involve obvious props like burning bushes and parting waters.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
(Trying to) Do the Right Thing
"Do the right thing." It was a mantra of my crowd when I was a teenager. I'm not sure why, and I'm not even sure what it meant. Certainly we weren't a gang of do-gooders. We were decent kids with good hearts for the most part. But we also acted like teenagers. If each of us helped an old lady across the street at least once, we had a similar track record of sneaking into the local movie theater.
Anyway, when I came upon some old prescription meds from my late dogs this week I tried to do the right thing. I know flushing them is a bad idea, as is tossing them in the trash. Some environmental-minded communities collect pills for proper disposal, but my rural area does not. So I called a pharmacy to see if they would take my old pills. The pharmacist said they wouldn't, but the State Police would.
So I called the State Police. The officer was very nice, but said they wouldn't either. He told me that a neighboring county collected hazardous materials, but they wouldn't take anything from my county. He said, "Why don't you just flush 'em?" I said, "Because I don't want pharmaceuticals in my well water." He then said maybe the hospital pharmacy would take my old pills.
The hospital pharmacist was very nice, but said they wouldn't. He had another suggestion for me: Burn the pills, plastic bottle and all, in my woodstove. He sounded quite pleased with his suggestion. Ugh.
Why is it so hard to do the right thing for the environment? I know in some cities it isn't hard, but there are areas—like mine—that really need to catch up. My family recycles, but around here it isn't easy. Until recently we had to separate the different kinds of plastics and the different color glass bottles, and remember to take them to the nearest collection site on the right day of the month. That was always a roll of the dice, and I often ended up with a garage full of recycling while I waited for the appointed day to roll around in the following month. Then I discovered that another county had single-stream recycling. We bag up all the glass and plastics together and put the newspapers in paper bags*, and I load up my SUV and take everything to the recycling center, which is 26 miles away. It's convenient for me because it's near several stores that I visit about once a month.
But how many people will do this? We don't go to a lot of trouble, but I suspect it's more trouble than a lot of people are willing to go to. Recycling is important. Proper disposal of hazardous materials is important. Our local governments should give these things some priority. Meanwhile, I still have my dogs' old pills. They've become a symbol.
*Paper bags! I tried to get some from a supermarket to use for recycling, but they were literally snatched out of my cart by an officious employee. This was so completely unexpected that I didn't react as I should have (taking the person's name, etc.). I told this story to a friend who lives in another state, and she stuffed a Priority Mail flat-rate box FULL of paper grocery bags and shipped them to me. Good friends make up for a lot.
Anyway, when I came upon some old prescription meds from my late dogs this week I tried to do the right thing. I know flushing them is a bad idea, as is tossing them in the trash. Some environmental-minded communities collect pills for proper disposal, but my rural area does not. So I called a pharmacy to see if they would take my old pills. The pharmacist said they wouldn't, but the State Police would.
So I called the State Police. The officer was very nice, but said they wouldn't either. He told me that a neighboring county collected hazardous materials, but they wouldn't take anything from my county. He said, "Why don't you just flush 'em?" I said, "Because I don't want pharmaceuticals in my well water." He then said maybe the hospital pharmacy would take my old pills.
The hospital pharmacist was very nice, but said they wouldn't. He had another suggestion for me: Burn the pills, plastic bottle and all, in my woodstove. He sounded quite pleased with his suggestion. Ugh.
Why is it so hard to do the right thing for the environment? I know in some cities it isn't hard, but there are areas—like mine—that really need to catch up. My family recycles, but around here it isn't easy. Until recently we had to separate the different kinds of plastics and the different color glass bottles, and remember to take them to the nearest collection site on the right day of the month. That was always a roll of the dice, and I often ended up with a garage full of recycling while I waited for the appointed day to roll around in the following month. Then I discovered that another county had single-stream recycling. We bag up all the glass and plastics together and put the newspapers in paper bags*, and I load up my SUV and take everything to the recycling center, which is 26 miles away. It's convenient for me because it's near several stores that I visit about once a month.
But how many people will do this? We don't go to a lot of trouble, but I suspect it's more trouble than a lot of people are willing to go to. Recycling is important. Proper disposal of hazardous materials is important. Our local governments should give these things some priority. Meanwhile, I still have my dogs' old pills. They've become a symbol.
*Paper bags! I tried to get some from a supermarket to use for recycling, but they were literally snatched out of my cart by an officious employee. This was so completely unexpected that I didn't react as I should have (taking the person's name, etc.). I told this story to a friend who lives in another state, and she stuffed a Priority Mail flat-rate box FULL of paper grocery bags and shipped them to me. Good friends make up for a lot.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Where Everybody Knows Your Name
I watched a long-forgotten rerun of "Cheers" last night, and when I heard the lyrics of the theme song I thought of the Jazz Club. A bar in a small hotel in town, they had a jazz trio—piano, bass and drums—every Wednesday night. My friend Bobby and I went there the first time because he knew the bass player. I was working full-time then, and thought Wednesday was an odd choice for a night out, but I quickly changed my mind. It wasn't long before we showed up every Wednesday. We'd have a drink and dinner, and listen to the music, and then I'd go home around 10:00 while Bobby stayed on until the end of the last set.
Some of the patrons were transient (it was a hotel, remember), but the club had plenty of regulars: Mark and Sharon, the young couple who knew every fancy step to every sophisticated dance; Mary, the pretty, middle-aged lady who filled a table with her girlfriends each week; Leroy, the slick romantic who seduced Mary despite her friends' warnings. And then there was Ira.
Since my diet was even more limited than the limited menu, I always ordered the same salad for dinner. Betty, the waitress, always remembered. Thalia, the Greek bartender, understood whatever hand gesture I made over the heads of other customers. I became good friends with the trio and some of their family members, and the piano player was startled to discover that the beautiful young musician whose obituary he had cut out and saved years earlier was my daughter Gillian.
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came
For a few years the jazz club gave me the feeling of community I have always sought in my life. But nothing stays the same, and so eventually the trio lost that gig, the jazz club became just another bar, and we stopped going. If I walked in tonight, I doubt I'd be recognized. But that's okay, because I suspect I no longer have the energy or inclination to make a 40-mile round trip every week to eat, drink, and be merry. I still seek community, though, and these days every other Wednesday evening is spent with a writing group. Everybody knows my name there too.
Some of the patrons were transient (it was a hotel, remember), but the club had plenty of regulars: Mark and Sharon, the young couple who knew every fancy step to every sophisticated dance; Mary, the pretty, middle-aged lady who filled a table with her girlfriends each week; Leroy, the slick romantic who seduced Mary despite her friends' warnings. And then there was Ira.
Since my diet was even more limited than the limited menu, I always ordered the same salad for dinner. Betty, the waitress, always remembered. Thalia, the Greek bartender, understood whatever hand gesture I made over the heads of other customers. I became good friends with the trio and some of their family members, and the piano player was startled to discover that the beautiful young musician whose obituary he had cut out and saved years earlier was my daughter Gillian.
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came
For a few years the jazz club gave me the feeling of community I have always sought in my life. But nothing stays the same, and so eventually the trio lost that gig, the jazz club became just another bar, and we stopped going. If I walked in tonight, I doubt I'd be recognized. But that's okay, because I suspect I no longer have the energy or inclination to make a 40-mile round trip every week to eat, drink, and be merry. I still seek community, though, and these days every other Wednesday evening is spent with a writing group. Everybody knows my name there too.
Friday, January 06, 2012
You Get What You Pay For
This week I read Lali's post on getting a Kindle for Christmas. I got a Kindle for Christmas, too, and earlier this week I wrote a blog post about it. And then I deleted the post.
The post was about all those free books that are offered for the Kindle. I'd been hearing about them for a long time, and as soon as I got my Kindle I began looking into them. I discovered that other than out-of-print classics, etc., many are self-published. While we know there are some good self-published books out there (at least that's what we're told), we also know it would be best if we avoided the rest.
I took a serious look at scores of free ebooks, reading the descriptions and the Amazon reviews. Knowing how authors' friends like to write rave reviews, I paid special attention to negative reviews. When a reviewer commented about the lack of editing (or lack of character development, lack of dialogue, lack of plot), I knew the book wasn't for me.
Often I didn't have to go to the reviews; the description gave me enough information to keep me away from the book. Some of the statements in the descriptions, although not intended to be funny, made me laugh. I thought it would be fun to share them here, so I collected a bunch and included them in my post. Then I decided it would be mean-spirited to publicly make fun of someone's sincere effort to write a book (hey, when was the last time I wrote a book?), and that's why I deleted my post.
But Amazon reviews are fair game, no? Thinking they are, I'll share one review as an example of the kind of thing that's out there . . . and why I think most of my Kindle books will come from the library.
She is such a fun writter when I am just in the mood for some fun easy romance. Her books do tend to be repeditive tho so I can only read one and then wait for awhile to read another. This was on of the weirder ones for me not my fav.
The post was about all those free books that are offered for the Kindle. I'd been hearing about them for a long time, and as soon as I got my Kindle I began looking into them. I discovered that other than out-of-print classics, etc., many are self-published. While we know there are some good self-published books out there (at least that's what we're told), we also know it would be best if we avoided the rest.
I took a serious look at scores of free ebooks, reading the descriptions and the Amazon reviews. Knowing how authors' friends like to write rave reviews, I paid special attention to negative reviews. When a reviewer commented about the lack of editing (or lack of character development, lack of dialogue, lack of plot), I knew the book wasn't for me.
Often I didn't have to go to the reviews; the description gave me enough information to keep me away from the book. Some of the statements in the descriptions, although not intended to be funny, made me laugh. I thought it would be fun to share them here, so I collected a bunch and included them in my post. Then I decided it would be mean-spirited to publicly make fun of someone's sincere effort to write a book (hey, when was the last time I wrote a book?), and that's why I deleted my post.
But Amazon reviews are fair game, no? Thinking they are, I'll share one review as an example of the kind of thing that's out there . . . and why I think most of my Kindle books will come from the library.
She is such a fun writter when I am just in the mood for some fun easy romance. Her books do tend to be repeditive tho so I can only read one and then wait for awhile to read another. This was on of the weirder ones for me not my fav.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Pages From the Pets Book
Crystal requested pics of some of the Pets Book (see below) pages.
I'll start with one of my favorite pages. This is toward the back of the book. All the animals here were written about earlier in the book. I like this page because it shows how much affectionate interaction we had with them. On the left are Jill with Houdini and Liz (my granddaughter) with Grimmy. In the center is Jill & Joey with Music, Liz with Caroline, and me with Thistle; on the right are Liz with Caroline and Joey with Wolfy.
This is Thunder's page.
With a wide choice of layouts, you can have one picture on a page, or many. This page shows Thistle and Thor at upper left, brother and sister German Shepherds. Thor is in the center, and Thistle is pictured with Joe at upper right. Holly is at lower right, and Suzanne is shown with Music at lower left.
This is Music's page.
You can fill the page with one photo and put the text on top of it. Here's Liz (Suzanne's daughter) with Holly.
On the facing page, Liz—older now—is pictured with Caroline.
Here's Morgan's page.
This is the first page in the book. Suzanne is pictured with Barni.
And this is the last page. A picture of our house serves as a background. Clockwise from upper left: Joey with young Wolfy, older Angel, Angel as a puppy (with Jill), and older Wolfy. The book covers 39 wonderful animals.
I'll start with one of my favorite pages. This is toward the back of the book. All the animals here were written about earlier in the book. I like this page because it shows how much affectionate interaction we had with them. On the left are Jill with Houdini and Liz (my granddaughter) with Grimmy. In the center is Jill & Joey with Music, Liz with Caroline, and me with Thistle; on the right are Liz with Caroline and Joey with Wolfy.
This is Thunder's page.
With a wide choice of layouts, you can have one picture on a page, or many. This page shows Thistle and Thor at upper left, brother and sister German Shepherds. Thor is in the center, and Thistle is pictured with Joe at upper right. Holly is at lower right, and Suzanne is shown with Music at lower left.
This is Music's page.
You can fill the page with one photo and put the text on top of it. Here's Liz (Suzanne's daughter) with Holly.
On the facing page, Liz—older now—is pictured with Caroline.
Here's Morgan's page.
This is the first page in the book. Suzanne is pictured with Barni.
And this is the last page. A picture of our house serves as a background. Clockwise from upper left: Joey with young Wolfy, older Angel, Angel as a puppy (with Jill), and older Wolfy. The book covers 39 wonderful animals.
Friday, December 30, 2011
The Pets Book
I undertook a Christmas project that turned out to be a big success: I created a book for my kids and granddaughter about all the dogs and cats my family has had since just before my children were born. Pictured are the front and back covers.
I spent a lot of time researching online photo book publishers, and found the Photo Book Roundup Review particularly valuable. Photo Book Girl is another good resource. After doing my research, I chose Inkubook. I'm very happy with my choice.
My book has 40 pages (20 sheets, both sides) and is an 8.5 x 11" in landscape orientation. It contains 103 photos (almost all of which were prints that I scanned) and 4,500 words. I mention these details for those who might like to do a similar project. For some time I've wanted to create a record of all these pets so that they wouldn't be forgotten. The book works beautifully for that. But because my children and granddaughter are with the animals in so many of the photos, the book is like a family album, too.
The process was time consuming (I told my kids the book was the most labor-intensive gift they would receive), but fun. Once I learned the software (Microsoft's Silverlight) and got some experience choosing layouts and backgrounds, etc., I had a great time with it. In fact, I can't wait to do another one! I have an idea, and I figure it will take me till July to execute it.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The First Dog
I will always think of Poppy as The First Dog. My husband and I found her in Pennsylvania in 1968. We were living in midtown Manhattan and had just bought a weekend house in the country. Our first visitors were Shep, a handsome black collie-shepherd belonging to someone down the road, and his mate, a stray called Puppy. When Puppy had puppies, we took them to the shelter (where they assured us the pups were supremely adoptable) and adopted her and changed her name to Poppy. What a shock it must have been for a country dog to find herself in the concrete canyons of New York City!
She adapted well, though (other than chewing a big hole in the arm of our new sofa). She occasionally accompanied me to work at Lincoln Center, where she became the mascot of the Philharmonic's softball team. Later she moved with us to suburban New Jersey, and again to rural PA. She flew down to Florida with me many times to visit my parents. Poppy was a thoroughly nice dog who paved the way for many more dogs.
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