will the real Pablo please bark?

this one's a girl

I thought you said Chi's don't DO water?

woof!

Enough of this nonsense!  Let's vamoose!

The twiddling of thumbs

Other people's holidays beset me.  There is literally nothing to do, so I do nothing.  Without deadlines and time pressure and too much to do, nothing at all gets done.  

I didn't think it was a good day to go out taking pictures, so I only brought the phone with me on our morning walk.  Still, not such a bad shot of the beach, there really is quite a lot of sand out there, other side of the rocks, but I like the aspect with rocks framing the softness, natural landscaping edging the rocks.  Hards and softs mixed.   

Amazingly, well, amazing to me, anyhow, this picture came out of the camera - whoops, I mean phone - with the horizon absolutely straight.  This is an issue I have always had with photography (well, at least since someone pointed it out to me).  I don't see straight (I have a pretty pronounced astigmatism), so all my photos come out with the horizon at an angle, and I need to photoshop them to level them off.  If I don't, I suspect all the water will run off the edge of the picture, so the waterscape will no longer have any water in it....which might look rather odd, I think.

If someone had not pointed it out to me, chances are I never would have noticed.  Now I notice constantly, incessantly.  When I look at photos being sold at art shows, the first thing I notice is whether the horizon is level.  I'm amazed at how often it isn't, and not because someone was trying to be artistic. 

This appears to be one of those things where ignorance is bliss.  And awareness is a PITA.  If anyone doesn't know what a PITA is, drop me a note.  I'll be glad to fill you in.

Heat Lightning

Here's an old story I wrote a number of years ago, one summer night when the weight of the air was pressing down on me:

It was a night much like tonight - brooding clouds after a day just a bit too hot to be comfortable; lightning skittering across the bay; a hope that something had to happen, and soon.  All the cousins were down the shore at our place; Mom said 'let's go to Dragon's,' and we all piled in the '57 Ford wagon, green and white the way Fords could be then, T-bird engine roaring as we pulled away, tailgate open, the older cousins' legs hanging off the back.

Dragon's was a soda fountain and notable comic book store (aka newsstand for the older folk) and it was next to a marina in a place inexplicably called Green Island - a place mostly tan, not green, and, as far as we could tell, maybe a peninsula but definitely not an island by any measure.  It wasn't too far from our bungalow in Silverton, just far enough to want to ride, in the heat.

Closer to the bay, a cool breeze was blowing, so it was inspiring to walk out on the marina docks with our ice cream and comic books - always, the new ones were at Dragon's first, long before we could find them in the city.  We all got so inspired, the whole gang of us cousins decided to walk back to the bungalow - officially known as Uncle Steve's Cabin - seeing as it was just heat lightning and it wasn't gonna rain....

Don't you know we were halfway home, the parents had long gone by in the wagon, and the whole sky broke open with gusting wind and soaking rain and man, were we scared, running like chickens without our heads, all the way home.

The old Ford's long gone, Dragon's is, too, though the marina is still there.  Uncle Steve's gone, too, but his Cabin still stands.  We all survived, and anymore when someone mentions heat lightning in our family, we all just laugh.

Post-Labor Day bliss?

Well ok, not sure I would call it bliss, exactly.  But it is nice to be able to use my beach again, the way it ought to be used, with dog, sans leash.  That's Pablo up above, making tracks.  Notice my own tracks, going the opposite direction....he is a contrarian Chi, that's for sure.  But he's learning to do the off leash bit without dashing off and getting lost.  I leave his harness on, tho, so I can see him.  Being fawn with white markings, he tends to blend in with all that sand.  Natural camo.

Back in the day, Cid and I used to walk miles on the beach together, he learned early on how to do the off leash thing, and would snorffle along checking out the scents while I could do my thing, take pictures, search for collectibles, whatever.  Or just lose myself in my own mind.  That's the part I miss the most, being able to let my mind wander while the dog was getting his fill of physical and mental exercise and fresh air.

Since this dog is small, I still have to be somewhat alert for predators out there.  I've seen foxes and raccoons, hawks and eagles, and oh, rattlesnakes (we have Eastern Diamondbacks now), any of which might find Pablo a tasty morsel.  So alertness is required, or else I might find myself dogless again, and I would not like that one bit.  Pablo may be small, but he's kind of grown on me.  And he thinks he's big.  So.

Rain, rain go away....

little Pablo wants to play.  And to recover from his PTSD....and so maybe I can get him to not be glued to me every minute of every day.  Today's cooler, and he was shivering up a storm this morning, so he is wearing a t-shirt and still won't let me be away from him for more than a minute at a time.  At the moment, he is on my lap with his head draped over my left arm.  So I'm hot, what with the windows mostly closed due to the all-day rain, and the dog attached to me.  Yes, Pablo is a dog, in case you didn't know.  He's a Chihuahua.  Doesn't weigh much, but puts out a lot of heat.

So why, you might ask, does the dog have PTSD?  Well, it started with the earthquake, followed closely by the forced evacuation and hurricane, followed by a visit from my grand-dog, who is six times his weight and many more than that times his size, and still a puppy, and therefore kind of pushy-enthusiastic, followed by interminable rain.  HD hasn't shown up yet with the ark kit, but I expect them any day now, just hope they get here in time.  My carpenter is coming Saturday to start work on it.  I'm hoping I don't need it before then.

Got the old oars ready to use, one at each side of the house, in case it gets up and floats away.  It'll be a chore racing from one side of the house to the other to try to steer, you know how a kayak goes in circles if you only apply oar from one side....I imagine the house would do something similar.  Since I no longer have anyone living here other than myself, I guess I have to do all the rowing.  Chihuahuas don't row well, and besides, they don't do water, or so Pablo has informed me on numerous occasions.  I myself don't mind water, I just prefer that it stay outside the house.

At least this storm is bringing plain rain.  This is the one coming up from the Gulf, whatever it's name was, Lee or something like that.  No hail, no thunder (so far), and no 'damaging winds.'  But the bench is still bungeed to the back deck, and the adirondacks are still bungeed to the railing on the upstairs deck, and the trash cans are heavy with contents, anyhow.   No allowance for migratory furnishings.  No outward migration of trash receptacles, tho inward migration is still possible.  That's how I got the trash cans I have - mostly they came here in various storms, and decided to stay.  It's not that bad a place to be a trash can.  They have a good life here.

I suspect the rain is rotting my brain.  What do you think?

All quiet on the eastern front

Nice day today, kind of overcast, occasional sun, nice breeze, but too much humidity.  Ah, humidity, that stuff that reminds us that there is a tropical storm in the Gulf that is leaking moisture up in our direction.  Not to mention drenching the folk along that coast.  Supposed to start raining tonight, continuing for forty days and forty nights, or something like that.  Home Depot is delivering my ark kit in the morning.  Meanwhile, I'm looking for a female Chihuahua who has not been fixed, so we can at least propagate one species after the flood.  Imagine a world where the only surviving species is a race of warrior Chihuahuas....

Irony

My brother-in-law said something yesterday that got me thinking.  He was here, working in my temporary tech shelter, because his power had been out since 11.00 Saturday night, and was on the phone with various business associates.  He had to tell each of them where he was, because of the irony of the situation.

And just what is ironic about it?  Well....start with the fact that, when Irene was threatening, my town was subjected to a MANDATORY evacuation.  Guess where we were told to evacuate to?  The shelter in the high school in his town, about ten miles inland from here. 

So whose power was out for four days?  Not mine, mine blipped during the storm, but generally stayed on. And my internet, Comcast, was only out from sometime Saturday evening (when apparently most of the lines in town came down) until service was restored on Monday.  (I noticed Verizon was around the neighborhood fixing the Fios yesterday.  Kudos to Comcast!)

Did I mention I live at the beach?

Did I also mention we are lacking something here that exists in abundance ten miles inland?  Can you guess what that something might be?

Trees.  That's why we generally don't lose power in storms, we have no trees.  And, much as I love trees, I'm very glad to not have to deal with them taking down my power lines, and crunching my house, and putting leaves in my gutters (which are way too high up for me to de-leaf without hiring someone to do it).  Not to mention seasonal raking. 

How does that poem go?  I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree...as long as they keep their branches firmly attached, that is.