Tag Archives: pets

Need some booty

I just decided footsy pajamas are appropriate for a woman of my age; I’m 50-onesie.



The skies opened up with one loud boom and our cat zoomed to the bathroom in a flash.  He pawed open a cabinet and scurried under the sink. I understood his behavior, knew where he’d be positioned and checked on him. 

In a few minutes, I’ll open the door again, and like Randy’s Mom in  A Christmas Story, hand him a taste of milk until he’s ready to come out.

Conference call

Despite being the only two people left in our household, my husband and I still tend to have three and four-way conversations. And nobody is on the phone. 

Richie went out to breakfast with his Mom yesterday and when he pulled into the driveway, I let our dog, Otis, know “Daddy’s home!” My husband talked with us for a minute on the deck and then went into the house to get another cushion (it rained the night before, so we bring them in). I heard my husband’s next conversation through the kitchen window screen. He was also confirming to “The Dude” that he was back. 

Other days we might acknowledge that we didn’t hear or understand what was said:

 “What? I didn’t catch that.” 

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Kapper.”

Are the additional conversations no different than talking to houseplants? Maybe we’ve always talked to the pets but are only now paying attention to one another? Either way, I wonder if this post will get us more conversations with household visitors – or less?                     



A walk with the family dog after work usually makes my day.

Our pug, Otis, was following at my heels as I entered the kitchen, where my daughter was reading her book at the table. 

As I headed toward the back door I said, “you have to do poohs and pees before you get your dinner.”

My 21-year-old daughter muttered an “okay” as she looked up at me.

I broke into laughter and explained that I was talking to Otis.

“Wait, what did you say?”

I repeated myself as the dog and I continued toward the back door.

Tarah’s embarrassed sly grin, as she realized the humor in her response, is actually what made my day.
Photo credit: Disability Images

It’s a wrap

Most people that know and love me will tell you that I take time to wrap  a lovely gift. This hobby of mine is an over the top ceremonial process, like a young woman taking the day to beautify herself for prom. My arsenal of supplies includes a plethora of gift wrap, unique adornments and miles and miles of curling ribbon. I create folds like an origami expert, press seams like the owner of a dry cleaning store and my bow application would make any dressmaker proud. My curling abilities should be included in the decorated Olympic sport. I equate the peace I get from wrapping gifts to the cup of tea my husband enjoys at the end of a long day.  It is time spent with a calm and settling companion.  

Last week I rented a moving van, drove two hours to pack a campus apartment with my daughters, drove another two hours back to unpack the van with my youngest and then returned said van.  On the way home, I ran several local errands in my own car, had a late dinner with the family, cleaned the kitchen and then packed my bags for our graduation and 21st birthday celebrations. I was tired from all the preparations but was also excited for the days ahead. When the house went quiet, I had my own pre-celebration by wrapping the last graduation gift, adorning others with ribbon and using cards from extended family to make a decorative arrangement on top of our bedroom dresser. 

I climbed into our bed exhausted but pleased with myself. The fruits of my labor looked gorgeous and I couldn’t wait to present the few carefully chosen gifts to our daughters. 

We woke in the morning and found sunshine to pack the car…..and cat puke all over the graduation gifts and cards.   

All that time and heartfelt preparation went right out the window. The discarded emotions were accompanied with a bag full of gift wrapped throw-up, slimy colored ribbons and soggy envelopes. Throwing it all out was very ceremonial.

There was no time for a redo. 

It was ultimately a presentation of ripped packaging, bent cards and soggy cash. Perhaps the cats had wanted to add their own embellishments to our lovely gifts?


The calendar has turned like a tumbleweed, approaching with the help of nature and time. We all saw it coming but weren’t concerned until it was right in front of us. One more breeze flipped us into December. We’ve arrived at that wonderful time of year that brings friends, family, charity, shopping, food, spiritual celebrations and … radio Christmas carols playing 24×7.

Here in New England we are grateful the snow has held off and that our heaviest coats are still in the back of the closet. We are happy to be out-and-about in our 45 degree weather in a sweatshirt. We are greeted by a ringing bell, so we can put our loose change in the hanging red metal pot. We meet family at holiday craft fairs, turkey suppahs and the mall. If we are “Lucky” enough, we go see our men in green at the Gaahden. We finish getting the leaves off the lawn, bring in the wood and start making our lists. What we are not doing is firing up the snow blower, chiseling ice from our windshields or leaving home an hour earlier to get to work on time. 

While there’s no snow, Christ’s birth is upon us, so I don’t mind that Christmas carols started playing the day after Thanksgiving. What does burn my ass is that the local radio stations include all the songs about snow. Don’t put a “let it snow, let it snow, let it snow” melody in my head if I’m hoping it holds off for another few weeks. It’s lovely weather but not for a sleigh ride together. Frosty would be exactly not that. In fact, he would not be jolly or a happy old soul either. He would be dead. These almost Indian summers would kill his round ass. 

The rest of the country is either embracing the next few weeks with the grace of God upon them or freaking out about shopping but it is not “beginning to look a lot like Christmas”. 

The local DJ’s need to know we want the carols without reference to the snow. We know it’s December but ease us into the month and our hibernation. Here in New England we enjoy your happy tunes but please don’t add the snowflakes. We are out with the shoppers, church goers and neighbors. It’s only when the snow falls that we want to be “home for the holidays”.

Roasting chestnuts on that open fire.

Tumbling into the future.

Enjoying every song on the radio.