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Archive for September, 2023

Are dog and cat people like the musical Oklahoma; its farmers and cowboys, never to reconcile? If I had my way, we would have always had dogs and cats. In fact we did for awhile in the Berkshires with our first German Shepherd dog “Bones” and my old red tabby cat “Henry”. That is, until the toddler Bride proved to be highly allergic to cats – and that was that! Turns out Bob is also allergic to felines, only we didn’t find out until we cared for the Rocker and Kiki’s cat “Pou” (pronounced like NO) while they moved to California.

I’m asking about pets because I just read that President Biden’s two year old dog “Commander,” a beautiful German Shepherd, has bitten yet another Secret Service agent. I looked at Bob and said he’s probably a secret MAGAT, dogs KNOW THESE THINGS!

The attack happened on Monday night and the officer was treated at the scene, the Secret Service said in a statement on Tuesday. This is the 11th time the dog has bitten a guard at the White House or the Biden family home.The White House press secretary has previously blamed the attacks on the stress of living at the White House.

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-66932087

But eleven times? We can blame a lot of things on stress: psoriasis, anxiety, insomnia, to name a few. But how stressful can it be for a dog living the good life at the White House? Granted, the Bidens had to foster their other German Shepherd rescue “Major” with friends after moving to DC. Still, in all our history of family dogs – Bones, Tootsie Roll, Blaze, Buddha, and Bean – we have never had a biting incident. Never. IF I had a dog that bit a person, it would go back to the shelter.

Don’t get me wrong, our dogs were brave, cold-hearted killers. Squirrels mostly with an occasional rabbit. Ms Bean could catch a bird mid-flight! Still, most of my past injuries have been dog-related. Starting with big baby Buddha, who didn’t yet know his own size and side-bumped me across our patio while running out of the rain into the house. And ending this year with our funny fast Frenchie finger kerfluffle. Of course cats can be dangerous too, just ask my brother Dr Jim. His black and white tuxedo cat “L’il Bit” actually sent him to the hospital with sepsis. Twice!

If I had to choose between a dog or a cat, I guess I’m a dog person. I’ve always had dogs, mostly mutts. Our little rescue dog Ms Bean passed away this summer at 16 years old. I’ve had trouble trying to write about it. She was so sweet, even though she came with phobias and hip dysplasia. She was our special needs puppy who navigated both the Albemarle country and Nashville city life with ease. She was my last dog, even though Bob isn’t ready to throw in the towel. Like the Queen, I know when my old age will no longer align with a puppy’s friskiness.

We all know which President didn’t have a pet in the White House in the last 100 years right? The only one? Not a dog or a cat or even a lizard? Let’s do our best to keep dogs on the Hill, even if they nip now and then.

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Fall is in the air and birthday celebrations are mostly behind us. The Love Bug, my sister Kay and both daughters (Nashville and Cali) are Virgo babies, aka Christmas party babies. I can’t tell you if a planet is in retrograde, but I do enjoy reading a daily or monthly horoscope from time to time. It started after 9/11 when I was working with the high school librarian – she would always arrange all the newspapers on a wooden rack every morning. But first, we’d read our horoscopes!

Happy birthday season to you, Virgo! The Sun is in your sign until September 23, filling you with brilliant ideas and a yearning to explore fresh terrain. Scratch that itch…and the next one. While your sign is known for putting others first, this is the time to prioritize your own needs and plans so you can set up the next 12 months to flow in the direction you desire.” 

https://www.elle.com/horoscopes/monthly/a78/virgo-monthly-horoscope/

No one knows how to prioritize their own needs like a teenager; and lo and behold our Bug is well on her way to becoming a glorious teen. For her birthday she asked us for a new duvet and hanging shelves because she’s redecorating her bedroom! We hit the mall last week shopping for her friend’s birthday at Sephora, which if you don’t already know is where every tween and teen shops for skin care. Yes, I said skin care. My first thought about my “skin care” routine happened in college. So, late teens and no pimples thankfully.

The only thing available then was Clinique, and I refused to give up using a bar of soap. Why buy a “cleanser?” But moisturizer became a must-have, quickly followed by sun protection. The Bride recently turned me onto the Ordinary which is like dermatologist-grade-serum, only generic and sold at Target. I’m still using soap, Dove for sensitive skin, and a combo of LaRoche-Posay anti-aging primer with 50 SPF sunscreen and CeraVe ultra-light moisturizer 30 SPF.

Hot Button Issue: I am certainly NOT anti-aging; in fact I’m PRO-aging! The whole beauty industry or wellness/health/goop people need to stop using “anti-aging” in their marketing. My generation burned their bras and stopped teasing their hair. We gave up girdles for God’s sake. We are embracing our laugh lines and electing not to have plastic surgery or even fillers!! The Flapper was all about hair and nails but not me.

My face is the least of my worries – my bone density has star billing at the moment.

Which is why I wasn’t allowed to move any of our furniture back into the dining/sitting room after Bob finished installing the wood floors. Lifting heavy objects is a definite NO with an osteoporosis diagnosis. But I was happy to take a cue from my granddaughter and supervise rearranging everything for maximum CHI! Also, I never miss an opportunity for a little Swedish Death Cleaning!

“There’s been a shift in the consciousness of people 70 and over,” said Ann Lightfoot, author of the forthcoming book, “Love Your Home Again.” “They’re like, ‘Oh my God, nobody wants my stuff. I don’t even want my stuff.’ Professionals often refer to the task as “death cleaning,” a term popularized in 2018 with the publication of the book, “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning,” by Margareta Magnusson.”

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/02/25/realestate/how-to-discover-the-life-affirming-comforts-of-death-cleaning.html

And since I wanted the Chi – vital life force or energy – to flow freely again after all that cleaning and reorganizing, we moved the dining table to the other side of the room in front of 3 windows and set Buddha on the vintage French Cupboard facing East for maximum feng shui. Now I walk into the front room and smile. The morning sun sweeps over our table and the room looks much bigger.

As I begin to close in on the fourth quarter of my ‘one and only’ century on this earth, I’m beginning to appreciate a less is more aesthetic. Or maybe Bob is rubbing off on me? Wait, my daughter just walked in with a few things she thought we might want… I asked her if she wants a needlepoint I did in 1979 of a clown with her birth data inscribed in balloons… 7 lbs and 3.5 oz. And here is our Bug finishing up her mosaic bird bath.

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I’m always caught by surprise

A Fall morning blue and crisp, with

Change in the air, suddenly I Look Up.

It was a day like any other that

Became a day like nothing we could ever imagine

Everything slowed into soft focus…

My children, where were my children?

My neighbor wandering aimlessly on our street

My husband waiting by the dock for bodies

Waiting,,

Should I give blood, what can I do?

How could 22 years have passed by

And every year that beautiful, cloudless sky

Descends, demands that I pay attention

That we say their names, that I say his name

Michael Patrick Tucker

Buena Vista Avenue, Rumson

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For the first time ever last week, Facebook sent me a warning. Granted, I wasn’t suspended, only put in detention with a “restriction.” Why?

Because I posted a WAPO article about police stopping cars in a TX county if they think women are going to cross borders to obtain an abortion. You read that right. Passing an ordinance legislators call “abortion trafficking” is the latest ploy of religious zealots designed to frighten women into submission. Here’s what I said with the link:

“If this sounds like a dystopian novel, it’s not. It’s real. Pro or anti-choice this is not what democracy looks like.” https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2023/09/01/texas-abortion-highways/

And Facebook didn’t like it: “Some of your content in the last year didn’t follow our Community Standards.”

Maybe I should feel honored? I wonder exactly what word triggered their algorithm – dystopian? Because watching TN legislators pass laws about decorum in front of Covenant families asking for a modicum of gun safety legislation, while celebrating the Love Bug’s birthday with a gaggle of tweens at a Barbie movie felt pretty Orwellian!

Republicans aside, Bob is in the middle of tearing up our house. Staining a fence wasn’t enough in his ongoing quest to upgrade this old cottage core house. We had wanted to save the original pine floors in my snug and the main living/dining area, only to find out later they weren’t really salvageable. We all know if someone were to drop dead on the street in front of him, Bob could save a life. He can also sew up a laceration like a plastic surgeon. What I pleaded with him NOT to do was lay the new engineered hardwood himself.

But thanks to the wonders of YouTube, my husband has turned into a floor guy; along with the fence guy and fine woodworking guy, and the all around Mr Fixit guy. On the one hand, he’s happy learning to do something new. On the other hand, my house is almost always a construction zone. In the past, like 30 years ago, he laid tile in our kitchen. But that was fun, sort of, and we were young, definitely. Now, he’s busy introducing his grandson, the Pumpkin, to power tools.

I find myself lost in memories of wood burning stoves and diapers hanging on a clothesline. Milestones included buying our first house and bringing the newborn Bride home. Her first tooth was miraculous. She started walking on our orange shag carpet. My first published essay was about black ice in the Berkshire Eagle. Then the Rocker was born and he lit up our house like a perpetual motion machine. How could I know that sometime in the future I’d be censored by a large, strange social media corporation?

I read last night that the First Lady has Covid. I wish her well and hope that Joe is staying isolated. After all, if his polls are still running even with a twice impeached, ex-president facing a charge of insurrection who is too afraid to even debate his challengers, well then the next milestone may be just as incomprehensible.

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