Her Name Is Sally

I'm watching my dog.  The way she breathes.  The little paw twitches as she runs in her sleep.  Chasing rabbits no doubt.  I'm looking for anything different.  Anything that will support what the vet told me six days ago.  That she has days or weeks to live.  I just can't get my head around that.  She seems so...well...normal.

But she's been diagnosed with hemangiosarcoma, a rapidly growing, highly invasive type of cancer in dogs.  It has already metastasized.  An ultrasound revealed tumours on her spleen, liver, and the lymph nodes around her kidneys.  There is no treatment.  Most cases of visceral hemangiosarcoma are only diagnosed after the dog collapses or bleeds out internally.  In our case she lost her appetite.  But it was June and we were having a major heat wave.  Who wants to eat much when it's 35 degrees C day after day?  She was never a food whore anyway so the on and off eating thing wasn't a major concern.  There were still days when she would wolf it down.  And then on the day she was scheduled for her annual physical I found a large lump on her back, so big it filled the palm of my cupped hand.  The vet found another small lump in her neck.  Blood tests followed.  The lumps were aspirated.  Urine analyzed.  She's anemic but still producing red blood cells. There must be an internal bleed.  And that spells tumour.  The ultrasound confirmed our worst fears.

Her name is Sally.  I adopted her from the SPCA 9 years ago when she was about 6 months old.  We named her Sally after the Sally in The Nightmare Before Christmas.  Two little ragamuffin girls.  She is a sweet, gentle soul. There is no one who has met Sally that does not love her.  Including cats. When we walk down the farm road there are cats who will run from me but press their noses up to hers.  Until she turns and runs that is.  Bunnies do not enjoy the same reaction. Those, she chases.

And so here I sit watching my ticking time bomb of a dog.  As the days close in on a week, time grows ever shorter.  The tumour could burst at any time.  I am afraid to leave her alone in case I pick the wrong moment to run out to the grocery store.  When I have an obligation I can't put off, the anxiety of thinking of her at home gives me the shakes.  Thankfully Sally's "other mother" lives next door.  You know you are blessed when you have people willing to do anything for your dog.  Anytime.

We are spending our final days together sitting quietly.  She sleeps, I read. No house cleaning, no yard work.  There will be time enough for that.  We go for walks, just a little slower than we did before.  The end must be getting closer because I can feel all the bones in her back and shoulders and rump. Even though she has embraced her inner carnivore and happily eats the meat we now cook for her, she is wasting away.  She must be getting tired of being touched and kissed and cuddled.  I wake up throughout the night to put my hand on the sleeping form beside me, ensuring she is still warm, still breathing.

Sometimes she catches me staring at her and she lifts those brown button eyes to meet mine without lifting her head.  Sometimes she's asking me, "Why do I feel this way?"  But most times she's saying, "It's okay, Mom.  I'm doing fine."  When her times comes, I've asked the universe to take her quickly.  Without pain.

I have enough pain for the both of us.

Oh, The Horror!

It is sooooo much harder to write horror than it is to film it.  Conveying with words what a movie needs music and lighting for, is a true art form.  So it has been with much anticipation that I've begun delving into 50 of the Best Horror Novels as proclaimed by my bookmark that I told you about on May 31.  If you read my post from August 13 you already know how I feel about The Wasp Factory, the book I started with.  After that major disappointment I picked another that had this to say on the back cover....

     Think you know true fear?

Think you've read the most chilling book?

Think you can't be shocked?

Maybe you're ready for the most truly frightening reading experience 
of your life.

If you're a horror fan I bet you're just drooling.  I know I was.  And I had this little gem sitting waiting for me while I slogged through The Wasp Factory. So it was with high hopes and great expectations that I began Dan Simmons' Song of Kali.  Did it live up to the hype, the hoopla, the high praise?  Sadly, no, no and no.  Maybe I missed something.  Maybe the fact that I kept falling asleep while reading it had something to do with that.  There was never any point in the book where I felt true fear, I wasn't shocked, and I didn't feel those little skin prickles up my arms or on the back of my neck.  What a bummer.

If it wasn't for the fact that the ten books I had previously read on the list contained three of my all time favourite scariest books, I wouldn't be going any further. In no particular order...

     The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson
     The Shining - Stephen King
     Salem's Lot - Stephen King

And not on the bookmark but to round out my all time favourite scary books list, I would have to add...

     Harvest Home - Thomas Tryon
     Heart Shaped Box - Joe Hill

Except there's one more.  And this is where you come in -- there was this book I read back in the early 80's.  If memory serves it was called They Live. It was a vampire book, back before vampires were done to death.  Back in the good old days when vampires were scary blood sucking creatures of the night, not glittery pretty boys.  This book scared the crap out of me.  I would read it in bed at night and then either have to leave a light on or burrow deep under the covers.  It was truly frightening.  And I have no idea who the author was.  I would love love love to find a copy of this book but searching for it by title has proven fruitless.  So if anyone out there knows the name of the author, please please please let me know in the comments.

No prize.  Just my eternal gratitude.

Okay, maybe a clove of garlic or two.

The British Invasion

I was born in 1958 so even though I didn't really come of age musically until the 1970's, I consider the 60's my music.  Two of my all time favourite movies are The Big Chill and Pirate Radio, thanks mainly to their soundtracks.  I remember watching The Beatles on Ed Sullivan and they remain my favourite band to this day.  Everyone had their favourite Beatle and George was my guy.  His was the only "celebrity" death I ever cried over.

So when I heard that the little 265 seat theatre in Chemainus was putting on a production of Twist and Shout:  The British Invasion, well there was no way I was not going to that.  I had no idea what to expect.  Maybe a few bands doing covers from the 60's.  Maybe some Beatles, some Dave Clarke Five, a little Kinks and Hollies.  Well let me tell you, The British Invasion was one rocking good time -- Beatles, Stones, Herman's Hermits, Donovan, Petula Clark, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Dave Clarke Five, Dusty Springfield, Lulu, The Kinks, The Zombies, Peter and Gordon, Manfred Mann, The Searchers, The Hollies, Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders, Animals, Cilla Black, Procul Harum, and The Spencer Davis Group.  What a line up!  (Whoa...just occurred to me...where were The Who?)  Mick Jagger and Donovan were worth the price of admission alone.

This was all presented in the form of a mock TV show a la Ed Sullivan called The Roy Solomon Show, complete with commercials from the 60's. Remember 'you'll wonder where the yellow went, when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent!'? Fake black and white Philco TV screens flashed facts about the songs -- the date and number reached on the Billboard charts and how long it stayed there -- and the host, Roy Solomon, did comedic magic acts and skits between bands.  I haven't had that much fun at the theatre since...well...ever.

Which brings me full circle to the next GREEN JAR ADVENTURE!  Yup, the Green Jar is planning a British invasion of its own.  UK here we come! Spring 2016.  A feast of all things Harry Potter, Downton Abbey and Beatles.  This will be the first time I've traveled anywhere as an adult with someone other than my kid.  I'll be in the company of two troop mates from our police training days, neither of whom I'll have seen for ten years, and twenty before that.  Potential personality conflicts?  I doubt it.

You just know that anyone who sends out Cownton Abbey postcards to commemorate 230 days (give or take) until departure is going to be a fun time.

Besides, she knows all the best places to drink.

The Pursuit of Happine$$

I think the statement money can't buy happiness is just so much bullshit. How's that for a provocative opening line?  I've been doing a lot of thinking about this lately, mostly while I'm out on my paddle board, mostly to quell the incessant counting of the paddle strokes.  Not that there isn't something kind of soothing and hypnotic about that...one two three four five six switch sides one two three four five six switch sides...but that's a little too OCD for me and when I catch myself doing it my brain yells, "STOP THAT!"

It's pretty easy to think about happiness out there on the SUP -- the sun, the water, the trees, the mountains.  Nature at it's finest.  Yeah, money can't buy that.  But wait.  How did I get to the lake?  In my car of course, the same car I have to pay to insure and put gas in.  And what am I doing on the lake? Well it's my latest and greatest passion.  Stand up paddle boarding. Yeah, I tried it when I went over to Hornby Island and rented a board.  That outing cost a few bucks -- the ferry over, the board rental, gas to get there and back, dinner out.  It was an awesome day.  The kind that makes me happy.  The kind I couldn't indulge in if I didn't have some money.  

And then when I found out there was such a thing as inflatable paddle boards I could actually fit in my little car?  Well, it was a no-brainer.  I zoomed off to my closest Mountain Equipment Co-op.  The closest one being three hours away.  And I bought a couple of those boards.  Paddles too.  The second board was for the kid, early birthday present.  It's great.  Something we can do together.  Or I can do alone.  We can even invite a friend out.  

I'm a pretty happy person generally speaking.  But if I had to worry about putting a roof over my head, clothes on my back, or food in my belly, I wonder how happy I'd be.  Now I know there are some people who are unhappy no matter how much they have.  The ones that go out of their way to look for the negative in everything.  They could have a million bucks in the bank and still not be happy.  And sure, conversely there are those without the proverbial pot to piss in who are happy no matter what.  Was I happy before the addition of the boards?  Yeah, I was.  Am I happier now that I have them?  You better believe it.  I guess my point is, unless you are totally happy rooted in one spot, you pretty much have to have money to get out there to do anything.  So maybe money really can't buy happiness but it sure can enhance it.  

There is one thing I'll agree with though -- Money can't buy you love.  

'Cause if you're paying for it, it ain't love.

Book Reviews:  Wayward by Blake Crouch is the second in the trilogy.  Still waiting for number three before I impart my thoughts.

Second Life is the second novel by SJ Watson.  I picked up her first (Before I Go To Sleep) in Spain to alleviate my reading withdrawal and it was just okay.  Billed as a thriller, the first half of Second Life read like mild erotica and it took way too long to set the scene.  The only saving grace was the ending, which leaves the reader to make up her own mind (no tidy bow on it.) Don't think I'd read another by this author.

The Concrete Blonde and Trunk Music are two of Michael Connelly's earlier novels featuring Harry Bosch that I hadn't yet read.  Neither disappointed. To my mind there is no one writing in the police procedural mystery category to even come close to Connelly.  He is the Stephen King of that genre for me.

Critics say The Girl On The Train by Paula Hawkins will appeal to fans of Gone Girl.  The problem is just about every novel of that ilk is now compared to Gone Girl.  I enjoyed this book, especially Hawkins' portrayal of the alcoholic protagonist.  She nailed that.  Kind of made me never want to drink again though.  But I'm sure I'll get over it.

Remember my book mark listing the 50 Best Horror Novels?  And I said I was going to start reading the ones I hadn't read?  I started with Iain Banks' The Wasp Factory.  Written in 1984 it was reviewed as a "Gothic horror story of quite exceptional quality."  There were parts I found horrific but it was never horrifying and frankly I would have to call it pure crap.  Don't know why I even finished it except that I rarely don't finish a book I start.  Keep telling myself it's bound to get better.  It didn't.