Have a Funny

Here in the Emerald City, the granola-eating, Tevas-with-socks wearing natives love the small pet stores that keep their chocolate labs living the organic life.

There was one down at the bottom of my hill that just moved to a different space.  The front of the shop has three large windows, and across the three they had painted, "A great funky pet store for pets and the people who love them" or something to that effect.

So now that they've moved out the landlord is refurbishing and had removed the signage from the first and third windows, so for a few days it read:

And I was all, that is TOTALLY going to be my band name!

"Okay everyone, give it up for our headliner tonight.... FUNKY.... AND THE PEOPLE!!!"

Crowd goes wild.


I'm a simple girl.

Have a great Friday.

My Village

As some of you may know, I am lucky enough to host The Band's practice in my basement.

The Band is the third most-popular cover band in the West Seattle/Queen Anne/Ballard area.

I'm teasing - they are pretty awesome.  They have a great concept, and the idea of 'Rockaroke' (folks sign up and sing/practice with The Band) is so much fun.  You get to be a rock star and sing on stage!

You are AWESOME!

And the members of The Band are so great in their own right, because everyone is Good People, along with their spouses, significant others, and kidlettes.

They are all part of My Village.

Saturday they rehearsed.  It was one of those perfect Emerald City Summer days.  I had to work but on the way home I picked up a big o bucket o KFC (what is summer without fried chicken?).  We visited, there was more good ol rock n roll, and then everyone pitched in on help I needed on the house.

Let's call The Band members John, Paul, George and Ringo.  WARNING: Photoshop Filters Ahead:

Ringo worked on replacing my leaky bathroom faucet.   I've probably wasted hundreds of gallons of water with that Stupid Thing.  Don't tell any of my Tree Hugger friends.

Ringo

Ringo is a very nice, quiet kind of guy.  He works on airplanes, and is always willing to very patiently explain how planes work, which ones are sound; why they fail.  I'll ask something painfully uninformed, like, "How does a megaton machine fly through the air, much like a bird, but without the flapping?", and he'll proceed to lay out the theories of aerodynamics in words of one syllable.  My dad is a pilot so we have a little to talk about there.  Ringo says my dad's plane (which he recently sold) was known as The Fork-Tailed Doctor Killer.

I really like talking to him about such things, because he never makes me feel stupid for my lack of knowledge.  His lovely girlfriend is in town and during practice she helped me changed out light bulbs (People, heights freak me out.  Even little ones.  There it is). 

Paul supplied tools (and helped with plants). 

 

 Paul

All this rehearsing is for Paul's wife's birthday party Saturday who is a very sweet person (shout out to Paul's wife!).

John and George did heavy lifting to polish up my flower bed structures in the front yard.

John

 

George*

Not that I didn't help.  I cut the lumber to size with a big o electric circular something-or-other, and it was very satisfying.

BBRRRRRrrrrrrriiinnnnnnnnnngggggggg!!!zzzzzzzzzZZZZing.

SWEET.  Who, I ask you, DOES NOT LIKE POWER TOOLS?  That lumber had NO CHOICE.

I was, in fact, THE MAN.

Then John and I set the wood screws and built the trellises.

How it looked before, with Ringo multitasking (mowing and drinking).  Not the best shot but as you can see I only have the uprights to the flower beds:

How it looks now:

  

So life is pretty good these days.  I have a good job, and a loving village.  You can't ask for too much more than that.  I could not be happier, really.


But as a bonus, here are two sunsets we've been treated to recently:

This is completely unretouched - that's how beautiful it was.

This one too.

And what's a Disclaim and Deny post without something semi-random:  My current favorite song The Band is rehearsing.  By Eric Clapton, Teh Genius**:









*Possibly also a reference to Nancy Drew, for those In The Know.
** With all due respect to SRV.

A New Season

Summer doesn't usually start around here until July 5th.  Just to rub in how crappy the other eight months of the year can be.  But we've had a lovely spring and as I write this, it is sunny and 81 degrees.  Although, with the humidity, it feels like... 81 degrees.

I LOVE SAYING THAT.

I find the turn of the seasons a wonderful thing.  It reminds me that change is the only constant; a crippling time of darkness can fade and the sun will rise and warm.  I am feeling much...clearer these days.

Two dear friends, who are married to each other, both lost their fathers in the past few weeks.  As much as I would take their pain into me to spare them, I know I can't.  Seems obvious but when it comes to Empathy, I'm dialed up to eleven, and I need to get a hold on that.

I cannot let my heart keep breaking for others.  More specifically, I need to recognize when someone just doesn't add to my party.

I have a lot of baggage, but I'm trying to get it down to carry-on size.

More on the Happy of my life in the next post - and Yes, I have a lot of Happy to report.

A New Season.

May You Live in Interesting Times

A phrase which, as you may know, is a bit of an insult.  One of those backhanded phrases, like, "I wish you all the happiness you deserve."

Been a crazy coupla weeks.

Went to Texas to sit at a Thing honoring my dad for his generosity.  It was a lot of money.  A lot of money.  Enough to keep any of us in business for pretty much the rest of our lives.

My mom said, Next time - Anonymously. 

That said it was an okay trip, and I only heard about my weight once!

I got off the plane at PoDunk and came through the gate (and when I say 'THE gate', that's literal).

Me:  Hey Dad!
Dad:  Hey Baby Girl!  Wow you've lost weight!
Me:  Oh, well maybe ten pounds.
Dad:  Well ten down - only twenty to go!

Then off to DC, an unexpected trip that afforded me time with folks.  All great evenings.

Home to the Emerald City, where all KINDS a things happened.

Wrote on my screenplay like a NUT, hope it's not as uncreative as I currently think it is.  Shared scenes with friends - some read some not.

Really excellent interviews, really shitty email exchanges.  Reconnected with old friends; lost another.  A marriage to come this summer (4th this year!); a death, a birth; another death. (see previous sentence).

My dad in Peru, ASKING to get dysentery.

Weird times right now.

The two universal thoughts I have from Buddhism, which I think of daily, are:

There is no constant but change.
The secret to happiness is not having what you want, but wanting what you have.


So it's all going to sort.  With the help of reliably, consistently administrated Effexor.

A Wedding

This past weekend was my dear friend Chippy's wedding.

It was a wonderful four days.  Everything went off without a hitch and everyone had a lovely time.  Girl evening on Thursday, rehearsal dinner Friday.  Saturday the wedding:  Cocktails, good appetizers, simple and charming exchange of vows (why don't more people do that?). 

Liquor was flowing, and we had an excellent dinner; folks got up and spoke for the couple including me.  Great music and dancing after.  Recovery brunch of Red Rocks Pizza and Bloody Marys Sunday.

But this is my blog:  therefore All is About Me.

The rehearsal dinner was in itself quite nice, except for the torrential downpour during the 15 minutes prior as I walked to the restaurant.  As the rain became more heavy I'd duck into a storefront but after a while, you know, you kinda give up and just lurch through.  It was actually a bit liberating - I'm dressed to the nines, completely drenched and at that point who cares?  It's raining buckets, the streets are overflowing, and Life is Good.  Except for my shoes which are now beyond repair.  And they were so cute!

Some kind soul handed me an umbrella as I got about halfway down King Street, which I promptly lost when I got to the restaurant.  I went to the ladies room, semi-wrung out my dress (my hair was a certifiable disaster, o well).  My sweet new polky-dotty dry clean only dress is now the most expensive and useless car waxing rag.  

It was a great night.

The wedding itself was lovely.  I took a couple of pictures but as per usual I was tearing up and I only got one decent shot.  More pictures to come, maybe. 

Chippy asked me to speak at the reception.  I was honored.  Chippy has a large family, a great many friends, and she asked ME.

No accounting for judgment.

I asked the shooter to please take a picture now prior to donning my reading glasses.  Never trust a photographer.  

Below is my speech.  Thanks to my friend Marie who suggested a 'Top Ten' format.  Feel free to steal it, change names, use as your own.  I got a lot of AWWwwws, and laughter; especially after threatening bodily harm to the new groom (lesson:  know your audience).  I received many compliments afterwards so I color it a success:

----

So first, two disclaimers.  I’m an attorney so no shocker there:

I am not (overly) nervous right now nor do I have low blood sugar.  I have a disorder that gives me a pronounced tremor.  Also I cry easily.  Hand shake and may cry.  Unrelated but both probable. You have been warned. 

I am deeply touched that Chippy asked me to speak at her wedding.  So here it is:

The Top Ten Reasons Why I Love Chippy – And wish her the best with the love she has found with Jack.

Number Ten:  Makes a mean tuna casserole. We shared many a home-cooked meal (usually her doing the cooking) and she made DC home for me.

Number Nine:  I like baseball but the whole ‘designated hitter’ thing, is, um, out of my league to be honest so now with Jack around, I can just look at men in tight baseball pants.* 

Number Eight:  The least judgmental person I know.  Always there for me, listens to my problems, and as justified as she may be to say I TOLD YOU SO, she never does.

Number Seven:  Her full and unquestionable passion for protecting our environment.  I am so proud of her work and not a little envious of all she’s accomplished. 

Number Six:  Jack loves her so much.  I am grateful he has given her so much joy. 

 Although - and he has been warned - if he hurts her I WILL kick him in the shins.  Just getting that on the record.  

Attorney disclaimer: There are now three disclaimers in this speech.

Number Five:  The memory of wild abandoned dancing in her apartment to ‘Twist and Shout’, while watching ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’.  Chippy has, in the best possible way, no shame.

Number Four:  Her two amazing children.  I don’t know Jack’s children well but I do know he loves them just as deeply as Chippy loves hers.  Sandra and Tim are fine people in their own right, but are so, in part, because Chippy raised them.

Number Three:  Love of travel, the best travel partner I’ve ever had.  San Francisco, Napa, Chicago, Costa Rica, New York City.  Manhattan was our own Ferris Bueller, and although we had some fabulous, never-to-be-repeated adventures in New York, what really made it was I was there with Chippy.  Thank you for one of the best trips I have ever had, hands down, and that’s saying something.

Number Two:  Being my big sister.  I met her on a sunny summer day on the back porch of Nancy North’s house.  Nancy said, “Hey you need to meet Chippy, I think you two will hit it off.”  20 years later Chippy has continued to be the open, loving sister I always wanted.  Thank you Chips.

And the Number One Reason I Love Chippy…:  She has the taste and sense to love me too.

Chips: I love you — and I wish you and Jack all the happiness you deserve.

*I actually like baseball quite a bit, in addition to the pants.  Just a shout out to Jack.

Adventures in Veterinary Medicine

One of my cats, Mr. Smith, had to go to the vet and have some tumors removed.  It was a pretty involved surgery.  Three incisions to remove five tumors.

Being interested in, well, kinda everything, I asked the vet to save the tumors so I could look at them.

The two big ones from his chest were lyphomas, a benign fatty tumor.  The vet tech showed them to me, they were in a bag.  They were solid, whitish masses with traces of little red veins, floating in a blood-stained pinkish saline solution.

I will never look at shrimp cocktail in quite the same way again.

The three little tumors were really freaky.  Those were probably malignant mast cell tumors.  They look like big ol warts, and because they are usually malignant they have to cut away a substantial circumference of skin and flesh around it.  So these things are floating in a jar, big warty knob on top with a two-inch circle of skin around it and fleshy bits hanging below it.  They appear to be some kind of mysterious deep-sea creatures that can only survive 4000 feet underwater.

Creepy.

I was going to post pictures of Mr. Smith, with his crazy half-shaved body and sutures, but frankly it's a little unsettling.  I expected nice clean little stitches, but I'm here to tell you, he looks like FrankenKitty.  They didn't stitch him up, they CROCHETED him back together.

Although as my friend Drew pointed out, now he looks like a badass - "If you think I look bad, you should see the other cat!"

Bless his little kitty-cat heart.

When Boredom Strikes

I've been sick the past coupla days.

I was sitting around Tuesday evening, minding my own business, when my body announced,

ATTENTION GUESTS OF THE GASTROINTESTINAL SYSTEM:  PLEASE VACATE IMMEDIATELY.  MOVE TO THE NEAREST EXIT.  NOTE THAT YOUR NEAREST EXIT MAY BE BEHIND YOU.

I've been hanging out in bed all this time.  Bit of a challenge, since flat on my back invites use of the lower exit, sitting upright invites the upper.

I was staring at the wall and started wondering, if there was one animal who could talk, which should it be?

First I thought Elephants!  Then but, what could they tell us, really, when they talk to each other?

"Hot today."
"Yep."
"Pretty hot yesterday too."
"Well Africa and all."
"Remember when Frank died?"
"Which, Little Frank, Frankie E or Bull Elephant Frank?"
"Bull Elephant Frank."
"Like it was yesterday.  Man, after Bull Elephant Frank died back in '92, shit got real."
"This is what I'm saying."

Then I thought, Dolphins!  Dolphins rock.  They are very intelligent, they could probably solve the Middle East problem and end the drug wars in Mexico.  The UN could go home!  World peace!  Statues to Douglas Adams!

They could tell us all about the ocean and all the other critters.  "Sharks actually don't like eating People Meat. Too fatty."  "Sure otters are cute but man can they be petty!"  "Orcas are pussies!"

So if not dolphins maybe domestics, either dogs or cats.

Dogs would be cool because of all the shapes and sizes and breeds from all over the world.  And they'd talk with a little charming accent depending on where they are from.

Except for bichon frises and poodles.  For one thing I hate bichons, little whiny useless fuckers.  And poodles are apparently really smart and you know they'd be obnoxious about it, in their french accents.

But with dogs the conversations would boil down to, "DO YOU LIKE ME I LIKE YOU WILL YOU LIKE ME ARE YOU THE ALPHA DOG DO YOU WANT TO BE THE ALPHA DOG IS THAT A SNACK CAN I HAVE A SNACK TOO?"

I'd be great if cats could talk, but you KNOW they'd be all,  "Did I, or did I not say, FRESH salmon?  Is this not CANNED salmon?  I AM speaking ENGLISH, correct?"  "Leave me, Human, I'm trying to nap here."  "Listen, I'm not having this conversation with you."