Are We Having Fun Yet?

I think I missed tomorrow. I promised to post pix of our lovely family dinner "tomorrow". Alas, it was not to be. I can smile about it now but the last few days have been extremely hard on a control freak like me. I like to know what's going on. I have advice and questions you know!

In any case, Jack called last Friday afternoon and said dinner was off for the evening. Carole wasn't feeling well. No shit---as the kiddies say. She'd just been in a traffic accident. It wasn't her fault but the car was totalled, Carole was in the hospital and they thought the dog was dead after hitting the windshield. Carole wasn't feeling well---no doubt.

But they didn't tell me what had really happened until Sunday. "We didn't want you to worry." Jack explained. Oh GD! I thought. Now I have two days of worrying to catch up on! There was no making him understand. His response was hardly comforting. "Ma, if you're going to carry on like this we'll never tell you anything." What a Catch 22.

It was a horrible, terrible accident. I WANT to carry on. I NEED to carry on. It makes me feel better to carry on. But the kids say it makes them feel terrible and like they want to kill me when I ask questions and worry. "It's all fine and taken care of," they insist. "What's done is done!" They are very annoyed with me and all I want is for everybody to be OK. I'm very upset.

Fast forward to yesterday. Carole is still in pain from the 150 mph impact of the airbag cover. However she's tall and the cover hit her chest, not her face. (I briefly considered the cover would probably fly right over my head.) However, happily her head didn't hit the windshield and she's aching but fine. Samthedog was not so lucky in that respect. He did hit the windshield and get a bit loopy--but still seemed fairly functional. When Carole's sister took him to the dog park for a walk later that night, Sam simply disappeared in the underbrush. Everyone thought his brain had swelled up and that he'd crept away to die.

But no. Sam is a terrier and refuses to do anything he doesn't want to. Somehow he survived 3 below freezing nights in the mountain brush. On the fourth day he was reported by a homeowner who hadn't been able to get close to him. Long story short, the police contacted Jack re his missing dog report. The kids went over to the neighborhood where Sam had been spotted and ultimately he came to their calls. Dirty, hungry and a nervous wreck he was ready to go home. And play ball. Yes, before eating, drinking or sleeping he wanted to play fetch. I guess you'd have to have a terrier to understand that. GD knows I can't figure it out.

Boy. what a long explanation for why I didn't post pictures. But there you are. Life in the Donn Dimension. Always a party. And speaking of that, I need to start talking about my holiday housewarming. Can you come?

Prison Pups and Organ Recitals

Hello, hello, hello! If you are reading this I'm eternally grateful for your faithfulness. If you're not, well I'm sorry I'm such a faithless correspondent. I just do what I can as far as posting is concerned but I'm ever the avid appreciator of my friends' adventures. So what did I do to entertain myself before the Internet? (Don't start fantasizing---I'm pretty conventional.)

In any case, here I am in my lovely new apartment. No dogs; no unexpected vistors;; no surprises. WHERE THE HECK ARE THEY??? Just kidding. I'm enjoying the simplicty of my new apartment life. It's relaxing and it gives me a chance to reflect on things instead of waiting for the new puppy to pee on my ankle.

Speaking of puppies I have a great story. Carole got a beautiful standard poodle by default. Just how is not that interesting but Rashi is magnificent----even if he tries to pee on my ankle. The kids sent him to the Canon City prison dog training program to teach him basic German Shepherd---sit; lie down; stay. Rashi was assigned to an inmate in the mens' maximum security prison---Possibly a serial killer or terrorist but the fellow did a great job of training our precious pup. Rashi came home perfectly trained and even able to navigate a complicated agility course. He spent 3 days a week in the prison hospice as a therapy dog. Hopefully he will continue that in hospitals and hospices here. He's so kind and loving. But thankfully he lives elsewhere. As you can see from the picture he is banished to the outside of my building.)


So that's the Rashi story---and just one of trivial tales I could share. However, I'm happy I can share something beside the "organ recitals" I often hear (and attempt to avoid) of my peers. Most days I still feel vibrantly alive----which makes me feel both grateful and terrified. I'm not interested in cards and gossip. I still want to argue about politics and the economy. I only pray I'll kick the bucket before I lose the ability to do so---and I don't regard that alternative as a depressing thought.


We're having erev Shabbat here tonight. We'll look over the city lights and the fabulous night-time terrace view and I'll give special thanks to GD for my life, my family and YOU!! Have a grand week!


Your loving lucyd


PS: I'm going to post Shabbat pix from tonight. Tomorrow. But for now here's a picture of Rashi and his girlfriend. They'll be having babies in the next few months. The puppies are called Sheepoodles---Old English Sheepdogs and Poodles---NO shedding and superior intelligence. Or so they say. At least those leaky pups won't be up here with me!