But I don't go around tearing my clothes off, do I? At least, not anymore.
I am officially changing TGIF to OMGIF. Too many Fridays have taken the helium out of my end-of-week balloon.
|What remains of a leash and fleece|
Mr. Butters is feeling better. This is evidenced by his complete frustration at still being held in captivity. We have had the talk countless times - "you can resume normal cohabitation when you cut out the bouncing." But Mr. Full Steam Ahead cannot help himself. He is still having lower spine issues and, at the present rate of recovery, it's going to take MONTHS before we can come to some level of normalcy. To relay his frustration in more tangible ways, he managed - somehow - to pull his heavy-duty leash and fleece jacket through a one-inch-square hole in his crate and shred both.
When I blissfully crossed the threshold on Friday after my usual hair-raising hour commute, I went to let Mr. B out but could not find his fleece jacket or his leash. Both had been on top of his crate. I immediately gave Lovey the stink-eye, poor girl. After searching high and low, I gave up and he went out nekkid. Just as I was going to let him back into his crate, my eye caught a dark fragment of something. Upon pulling out his fifteen blankies and specially soft padded crate liner, I discovered the remains of the missing objects. If I wasn't so thoroughly PO'd I would have marveled at the physics of it all - how DID he do it?
I have been trying to keep him out - safely - as much as possible, but he's certifiable. I have him using a ramp to get to our chair (one quarter of it is mine, he gets the rest), then I swaddle him in his favorite giant fleece blankie. I turn my back for two minutes, and he launches himself off of the chair ARM. He may be the death of me.
I dug out the dog Christmas PJs and found Mr. B's is too small. Lovey can still wear hers, and she does prefer them to her hoodie. I think it's the lack of the pootie sag in the back. She looks quite adorable, the little rye loaf.
|The wrinkled tube look goes with the |
wrinkled brow of anxiety.
Friday did start off well, as my co-worker brought his dog, Gordon, in for the last half of the day. Gordon and I are pals, and he makes a beeline for my office as soon as he's through the front door. He's a youngster, so is in constant motion and tried to scale my leg to get into my lap. It's distracting and lovely.
|Checking to see if I finished my lunch.|
|Always in motion.|
In my faltering effort to get into the holiday spirit, I was out of the house early Saturday to help my sister make our family's traditional gingerbread men. I managed to luck out and she had all the dough mixed by the time I got there. With our iceman sidelined due to dementia, and our clove-eye-clipping helper sidelined due to macular degeneration, C and I were left to our own devices. I had made these for years and years, with my great-aunt Edie. She of the Germanic will and temperament. There was no deviation allowed from the original recipe - especially not in the icing design. So imagine my surprise and delight when my sister, in an outright burst of creative genius, decided to make their bow ties RED. OMG. I'm sure Edie is spinning in her grave, but we think they look fabulous!
|The Holiday Season|
has officially arrived.
Alas, I cannot eat them. There was no need for a gluten-free recipe 60-odd years ago. I decided to go home and whip up a batch of King Arthur's GF gingerbread cookies. Had I been thinking ahead, I would have used the traditional W-Family cutter, but I wasn't, so I had to rely on what cutters were on hand.
|I call these "Mood" cookies|
I cut out a festive mix of stars, circles, fir trees, flowers and llamas. Snort. I will have to create a gingerbread tableau to share with you. Before I et them all.
Laughed at your description of great-aunt Edie as "she of the Germanic will and temperament" -- hoo boy, LOL, do I know what that means!
I think you could sell those. You must have an old cutter to get the shape? Wonderful. PB was industrious, I would be tempted to leave something else just within reach and nanny cam to catch him at it.
My mother's side of the family is German, through and through. STUBBORN. They live forever, too.
My great-grandfather made the cutter, so it's probably 100 years old. My great uncle, Ben (another German) made the wooden box we keep it in, and he also turned a bronze icer on his metal lathe that we keep strictly as a museum piece. It's hell to use. I was thinking that it would be fun to have a camera to capture all that brain power.
Mr. Butters frustration is completely understandable. There have been moments in my life when I have pulled my bra off, driving down the freeway, wearing a long sleeve, mock turtle neck blouse. I would have chewed it up, except people were already looking kinda weird at me!
Chew on, Mr. Butters! RESIST!
While I have similar feelings towards my bra, I have never pulled it off from under a mock turtle neck! You are awesome!!!!
"You can always tell a German, but you can't tell them much."
i love the gingerbread men! that cutter is such a precious thing to have. how magical!
What ELSE would their ties be? It's CHRISTMAS! Oy; I hope you can keep PB contained for his own good. Is Gordon a bulldog?
There's something to say about strong willed dogs.....LOL!!!
We love them, and they have a way of driving us crazy.
Gingerbread cookies.... I've got a pot of coffee on... I'll share some with you for a cookie.
Sending hugs and love your way,
Yup forever! My Grant Aunt Louise apologized to me once for being late in responding to my letter. Why was she detained? "Dear Terry Forgive the tardiness of my reply but I have spent the last several days on a ladder painting the porch on my farmhouse."
Unusual ? No , however she was 95 years old at the time. Greetings from the west coast branch of the Mt. Palatine Millers in Illinois. Can't keep good strong midwesterners of German descent down!
Once, I found my yarn inside a kennel. I had it under the coffee table and that stinker Zuri some how reached out through her kennel at night, and got my yarn, project and all into the kennel. I got it out safely, but sheesh.
We cherish it - and it came with a poem about gingerbread men, too, as our maternal side really did things up to the nines!
I don't have much hope of ever getting PB contained. He only has one speed - fast. Yes, Gordon is an English bully, a little over a year old. He's a dear.
Keep the coffee hot, Sandy! I'm on my way! (Wouldn't that be nice... :)
What a gal! Sounds like a book in the making...
I guess Mr. Butters said, "I'll show her". Bless her little heart ;-)
pets are just so frustrating sometimes! And the cookies look great!
Ha! All that got him was a smaller crate and a large marrow bone. Win-win. :)
They are - good thing I can't live without them. :)
Oh Mr. Butters, what a brat!! But so adorable...Jack does that, he launches off chairs and stairs that are just way too high for him...you need some kind of backpack or one of those baby sacks to keep him close to you! Lovey looks pretty in her pjs!
Those cookies do look fabulous, but that looks like a LOT of work! The cookies I iced took me over an hour and I was fed up at the end! Your mood cookies are great!
Demonshund, every one of them.
Could you wrap Butters in those stretchy bands for sports injured people? Just around his back, mind you!! Sort of a soft brace?
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