Now why didn't I think of that?

I wonder if they come in rugged/sport style for outdoorsy, country dogs, cause those little wheels won't work well on dirt roads or trails, or across a meadow for that matter.

And they should make a jog stroller version for dogs who like to go running.

If your dog needs one, you can purchase it here.

Me Allotting the Ordinary

I don't normally read spam mail, but I was intrigued by the title of this one (now the title of this blog). I can't remember what was being solicited, but I did find this below the advertisement. I am suspicious that Jon Sadler wrote it. Note the inclusion of his name below. It may be a clue.


...Here among pillows enough for six I soon fell asleep in a blissful condition
Why you see we wasnt aware sir returned the waiter still apologetically as
demeanour He never made a suggestion but once and on that occasion I dont know what put
as he can look at me out of his two eyes Is he indeed said Mr Wilkins
What a delightful and trichinella entertainment Sadler My bellwether young Davy
proposal so very ungraciously that he never ventured on a second but ever afterwards confined...

Mendocino

Today

I walked on the beach (in the rain)
Did yoga (and only fell over a few times)
Soaked in a hot bath (while watching wind blow through the garden, listening to cello concertos)
Slept for three hours (on a really soft mattress, under a thick poofy comforter, with fresh sheets)
Walked on the headlands (as waves crashed below)
Ate dinner with friends (good friends)

That was my whole day.
It was simple and good.

Real Problems

I write an advice column for young girls. Today I came across this.

Dear Auntie Em,
I am absolutley drop dead gorgeouse and I know it but everyone tells me that it's not a good thing to know i'm pretty. But how is that not a good thing when I'm just telling the truth? I can't help that everyone thinks I'm beautiful but I think my friends are getting mad at me but I don't understand why. I think they are just jealouse. Should I just find new friends?? please help ~Makayla~ <<< even my name is beutiful!! :D

Interesting

More than 60 percent of Britons use items such as screwdrivers, scissors and earrings to remove food from between their teeth, according to a survey published Friday.

The National Dental Survey found that, when it came to oral hygiene, people used whatever was close to hand to pick their teeth.

More than 60 percent questioned by the British Dental Health Foundation said they used makeshift items, including knives, keys, needles and forks.

The survey also found that 23 percent of people chose to leave food stuck between their teeth, increasing the risk of gum disease and bad breath, according to the foundation which promotes oral health.

History

In an effort to soothe the savage beasts in the back seat of the car (I was afraid that strapping them down was insufficient), I put on a Cat Stevens tape. It's a home made tape I made in high school, which if you know how old I am, means it's really old (and perhaps indicates my need for high sound quality and my... ah... conservationist nature). Anyway, as the music played, I heard the tell-tale sound of intermittent static - the result of an overly dusty needle playing over a vinyl record. And it hit me - I had made this tape recording from a Cat Stevens record my mom had bought in the 1970s. I liked that. I didn't mention it to the kids though. It would have involved a long explanation about what vinyl records were, and they were quietly listening to the music.

Done

No more lessons, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks.

Until August.

Equality

I've been thinking about this gate thing between the U.S. and Mexico. It occured to me that it could be a great equalizing factor for the United States, because then we would ALL be living in a gated community.

Finals

I started this blog last semester when I should have been studying for finals.

I'm studying for finals again. Maybe if I blog more and study less I'll do as well as I did last time.

Good Intentions Gone Awry

I went to my law school prom the other weekend. I haven't been to a prom since 1988, so I was prepared to make up for all the years I have suffered through without formal dancing. People don't look very formal at formal dances. I think alcohol has something to do with it.

Shaun had to leave early (1am) so that one of us could be a responsible parent and come home to the kids. Being the ever protective husband, he asked a young man named Blake to keep an eye out for me in his absence. This is a photo of that man around the time when Shaun made that request. Although, in Shaun's favor, I doubt Blake was wearing his drinks at that exact moment.

Law School Fall

I'd heard about the law school fall. It has a lot to do with a heavy backpack full of law books. This morning I experienced it. What should have been a minor trip off the curb, turned into a spectacular roll into the street as my heavy backpack gained momentum while still attached to my back, and hurled me to the ground. I suffered skinned knees, elbows, and hands, and not a little embarassment as people ran to my side, asking if I was alright.

I learned that it takes a really long time to fall to the ground when you're old. Long enough for me to think "oh, I twisted my ankle... no, I really tripped ... hey, wait a minute, I'm falling on the ground.... wow, I just rolled on my back."

Or maybe I'm just a really quick thinker.

Me Too

Last night, Lily whispered in my ear that she needs thousands of dollars.

The Summer Day

I don't know exactly what prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

-- Mary Oliver

I will miss you, Jessica. But I won't forget.

Aspiration, age 3

"Lily, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"A chicken."

Chocolate

I learned recently that (some) prisons have gift shops and, apparently, at least two of them sell custom tins of chocolate with the prison (logo?) printed on the lid. I know this because my sister Jane sold them the chocolate. That's her job, selling chocolate. Her clients include hotels, wineries, restaurants, and most recently, prisons. She's really good at her job. I think she may be the first chocolatier to break into the prison niche market.

I suggested that she look into the mental hospital market too. She could do custom tins with googly eyes. Jane liked that idea, calling them "looney tins."

So the next time you're in a prison or a mental hospital gift shop and see custom tins of chocolate, you won't have to wonder, "who the heck thought of this?" You'll already know the answer. Jane.

Dating Advice to Boys

Sage advice from a 14 year old girl named Tibby:

I think boys are hot....but I have had my heart broken ALOT of times and here is a tip for boys: when you get asked out by someone you dont like, dont like say: "Gross!" and act like you are throwing up, ok? To actually act like a guy or a MAN then at least say it nicely like: "Well I'm really sorry but I just like you as a friend".....because you don't know how doing that can stick to a girl FOREVER. And don't just like her for her looks, like her for her personalty too.

State of Mind

"Wouldn't it be nice to be a pigeon" flashed through my mind today. I think I am unwell.

Although context for the thought was that I was trying to force myself to read Torts, while the pigeon was taking a bird bath.

Still. Couldn't I have looked beyond the pigeon? Couldn't I have wished I were a tree blowing in the wind? Or at least, perhaps, a finch?

Tigger

As a parent, one of the first things you must learn to do is let go. It starts as early as pregnancy when you have to let go of the idea that you have any control over your body, and culminates in the ultimate letting your child go off on her own into the world. Fortunately, there are many small steps along the way.

For example, when Molly was two, I had to let go of the idea that I could dress her in cute outfits. Apparently, though she had only existed for a matter of months, Molly had developed a clear, independent and wild sense of style that had no room for my humdrum ideas of complementary or matching colors, or belief that one should only wear one outfit at a time.

Molly's fashion heyday was kindled in no small part by an innocent three-dollar purchase of an hideously ugly Tigger-suit (thank you, Auntie Eliza), and a hand-me-down Little Mermaid bathing suit complete with stains and a tattered skirt. Every day, for a year or so, Molly insisted on wearing at least one of the two items. By "insisted" I mean I had a choice of a daily screaming, kicking, crying battle to get her into different clothes that she would rip off as soon as my back was turned, or I could just 'let go' of my feeling that the way she dressed somehow reflected upon me, and let her dress as she liked. She was the freak in the tigger suit, not me.

When Molly started nursery school, she made a new friend, Ivy. Ivy's parents and I arranged a first play date for the girls at the beach. Molly had grown out of both the tigger and mermaid suits by this time and had moved on to princess dress up clothes which included plastic high heels, purses, feather boas, and sparkly jewels. Per usual, I could not convince her to wear a sundress and sandals to the beach and tried to let go of feeling embarrassed by her most impractical get-up for the first play date of her life. Imagine my relief when Ivy stepped from her car in a matching outfit, and they tripped (literally) along together down to the beach.

Though Molly and Ivy were clearly soul mates, I did come to realize that the fashion plague is prevalent among the young set. They are short, but they have strong sense of style that has not yet been diluted by society's expectations and peer pressure. Molly still occasionally puts on an outfit that defies description, but the influence of elementary school style has (sadly? happily?)toned down her fashion statements.

Happy Anniversary

My friends, Jess and Marvin recently celebrated their first wedding anniversary. They got engaged only three months after they started going out. That was about 15 years ago. So though they only have one official year under their marriage belt, it counts for a lot more than that.

The first time I remember hanging out with Jess was at a party, long, long ago. She was drunk. She was also feeling sad (a dangerous combination) because (she cried, repeatedly) Marvin could never love her as much as she loved him. It turned out she was wrong. Although her lamentations were on the sloppy side of sweet, I think of that evening as my introduction to the largeness of her heart.

Thoughtful, quiet (except when drunk), strong, sweet, honorable, determined, safe, appreciative of the perverse, insightful, strong as can be, loyal, delicate, good. Words that jump to my mind when I think of Jess. When I was asked at my job to find another writer to work with, I knew it would be Jess. "She's my angel friend" was my recommendation. Not the usual criteria for hiring, but it seemed to work for my boss. I guess we were in need of an angel.

Jess has been sick for a while and through our discussions about life and death I know that she (like anyone) wants her life to be meaningful, to affect the lives of others. She has. Jess has taught me about goodness, about quiet strength, about true love. When I want to be a less selfish and more honorable person, I think about what Jess would do in the same situation. Admittedly, sometimes I've had to call her to find that out.

I wish Marvin and Jess many more years of happiness and count myself lucky to be a continuing part of their lives.

George

George swept up around the bar where I worked in exchange for sodas and company. He lived down the street in a residence home where he was irregularly medicated for his mental instability (which came first, I wonder).

I'd chat with George when business was slow, and over the years gathered bits and pieces of his story as they fell through the cracks of his dementia.

George was as unsure of the details as I am now, but he did kill a man when he was in his teens or early twenties. Angry (high on speed?), he pushed an old man who fell and hit his head and died.

George was sent to a mental hospital instead of prison, and years of drug and shock 'therapy' brought him through to his present condition of a state-mandated medicated existence.

Some days he'd be lucid, crack jokes, tell me he loved me with his gummy smile, and ask for my hand in marriage. I always demurred, "you're too old for me, George" and he'd laugh.

Other days he'd show up agitated, grinding his jaw, incoherent, and I'd send him home. "George, you're too crazy today, you can't stay here. Come back tomorrow. " He'd acquiesce and stumble back down the street.

Once I asked him if he'd pose for a portrait. I had been taking photographs of family and friends and was intrigued by the way people responded to the camera. Most people were self-conscious when being photographed, and often preferred to look away as though I weren't standing right in front of them. I wondered what it would be like to photograph George.

George, of course, was different. He had no self-consciousness. Maybe the drugs had taken care of that. He stared straight into the lens, not posing, just staring. He wasn't looking at the camera, but looking through it. At me. It made me feel self-conscious. I hadn't expected that.

He died several years ago. His condition had deteriorated so much that we couldn't allow him in the bar anymore. He insisted his caretakers were trying to kill him by overmedicating him. Our bar manager went down to the home to see what was going on and tried to help. I don't think it did much good.

He died alone and I don't know whether he expected anyone to remember him. I haven't thought about George in years, but he popped into my head for some reason the other night. So I dug up these photos and remembered him here.