Famous Last Words

After I lost my beloved Sally last September everyone asked, "Are you going to get another dog?"  My response was always, "No."  First off, it would just be too hard replacing the perfect dog.  And I wanted to travel, stay overnight if I went out of town, not rush home from whatever I was doing because the dog needed letting out.  And then my answer changed to, "Not right away.  Maybe in a couple of years."  But I'd be out walking, see someone with their dog, and my heart would hurt.  I started approaching strangers like a drug addict looking for her next fix -- "Can I pet your dog?"  Within the past couple of months my answer changed yet again.  "In the fall, maybe...maybe I'll get another dog in the fall."  It was just too hard not having a dog.

My plan for a next dog was always to adopt an older one.  A dog who needed a place to live out his last few years. Maybe a family moved and couldn't take Fido...maybe the owners were elderly or died...maybe I'd start looking in the fall.

And then a friend from the neighbourhood knocked on my door.  His elderly next-door-neighbours were experiencing health problems and needed to move. They could no longer care for their dog. Would I be interested in adopting him?  My first reaction was, 'no, uh-uh, no way.'  But I agreed to think about it.  The thinking took all of about two minutes after I closed the door.  I mean I knew the dog, sort of.  He would run out to say hello when I'd walk by with Sally.  He was a big brute --  a Giant Schnauzer / Standard Poodle mix -- but seemed oh, so gentle.  After all, he walked so nicely with the old gentleman who owned him.

So the next day I called.  Yes, I'd adopt him, IF his current foster home could keep him until after my trip in April/May.  Turns out she could.  At first.  And then she couldn't.  The owner's son was preparing to have the dog kennelled. For three months.  I talked it over with the kid and she was on board, willing to take on his care while I was away.  Except for the week she'd be away. And then he would have to be kennelled.

And suddenly we were dog owners once again.  Unlike a puppy you get to shape and mold from scratch, this guy is 7 years old.  Pretty set in his ways. So we're getting to know each other.  And comparisons are inevitable.  But what's this?  While drying Sally off after a walk in the rain was akin to trying to towel off a greased pig, this guy leans into it like it's a full body massage. Where Sally would run and hide as soon as the brush came out, I now have a dog who will stand stock still and let me brush every inch of him, including legs and feet.  She squirmed to get out of your arms; he tries to crawl onto your lap every chance he gets, despite being triple her size.  He only half fits.  This guy retreats to his sleeping pad as soon as you tell him to "go lie down."  He won't go down the hall to the bedrooms, leaving at least one area of the house dog hair free.  He curls up in his open kennel cage as soon as we leave the house.

I admit there are moments when I think, 'what have I done?'  The kid admits she's had moments when she thinks, 'Mom, what have you done?'  But now that I've figured out what was causing a little aggression problem, stress levels have diminished.   Just don't hold him by the collar when greeting people or other dogs because he then seems to perceive them as a threat.  Such a relief to sort that one out.  

But if it's tough for us, what about him? We're his third home with two foster stays in between.  Since he's arrived I've taken him to the groomer to clip his overly long nails, to have the waxy hair clumps pulled from his ears.  He's been poked and prodded at the vet for a long overdue checkup.  His food has changed, his house has changed, the people around him have changed.  And still he greets us every morning and every time we leave and return with a lip curling smile and a wag of his stumpy little tail.

No, he's no Sally.  I can't ask or expect him to be.  His name is Indy.

And he's my dog.

Book Reviews:  OMG! You have to read The Guest Room by Chris Bohjalian. Could not put it down.  And the whole time I was reading it I kept thinking how happy I was not to be the people in this story.  I've only read a few of Bohjalian's books. Clearly I need to correct that oversight.

I love short stories.  I love reading them and I love writing them.  For me the key to a great short story is the ending.  I love when I get to the end of a short story and the final line makes me go, 'WOW!'  So I spread the joy of reading Stephen King's most recent collection of short stories in between other books. Read a book, read a few shorts.  The Bazaar of Bad Dreams is further enhanced by an introductory post of when / how the piece was written.  There are some gems in this collection.  Except the poetry. Sorry, not a fan.  But don't skip the intro -- some of his best writing is always found in the intro.  Constant Readers know that.

Ch...Ch...Ch...Changes

I don't want to be one of those people who resist change.  Makes me feel so old.  But I also don't believe in change for the sake of change, especially when it comes to technology.  So I wasn't too keen to switch out my 2 year old PVR for the latest edition.  Some background...

Remember how I changed my cell phone plan, saved a bundle, and announced the cable bill was next?  Well, I finally got around to doing that yesterday after receiving my latest statement showing a $16/month increase.  I have my cable, Internet, and home phone (yup, I'm a dinosaur...still like the old land line) bundled together and the monthly bill has been creeping up ever so slightly over the past couple of years.  But a $16 increase?  So I took a long hard look at our cable package and realized we don't watch even one third of the channels we pay for.

Off I toodled to the Shaw office and, lo and behold, they have some better packages than they used to.  You know the ones I mean -- you have to take a gazillion channels you don't want to get the one you do.  Now they have some smaller packages, some of which you can break down even further.  We pared it down and I ended up with a package that would cost $65 instead of $93 including a couple of new hockey channels I didn't have before.  And the recent increase in my bill?  Attributed to my 2 year service contract expiring and my now having to pay for the PVR box.  But...if I signed a new 2 year contract it would be free again.  No brainer.  But did I want to upgrade to the new box?  Nope, I didn't.  The old one worked very well, thank you very much, and did everything I needed.  But oh, what's this?  I can't sign a new service contract unless I upgrade the equipment.  Which, I'm assured, I can take home right now and install myself.  Yeah, right.  But for $15/ month I guess I can figure out a new machine -- which now records 6 programs at the same time as opposed to the 2 on the old one.  Just how much TV do they think I watch?

Home with the new machine, remove the old one, hook up the new, improved version of exactly the same thing.  Except now it won't do what the instructions said it would do upon plugging it in.  Push this button, unplug that wire, start again, and nope, still won't do what it's supposed to.  Put in a call to service and push this button, unplug that wire as instructed.  Then wait for 30 minutes while they do whatever they do on their end.  And then -- success!  I have picture. Thank you very much.

Until I start to explore around the dial.  (The dial? That doesn't make me sound too old.) And what's this? The HD channels are fine but all SD channels are coming in fuzzy and the picture does not fill the screen.  Not like with the old machine where everything was crystal clear on every channel.  Call service again.  Explain what's what. Oh, we can fix this over the phone.  Hit the Menu button.  Oh, the Menu button isn't bringing up the right screen? Hmmm... well... guess we'll have to send out a technician.  I express my displeasure at being forced into the new equipment which is apparently not as good as the old, and the fact that if we stretch the picture to fit the screen, it will only be taking a fuzzy picture and making it fuzzier.  All said in a very nice way, by the way, because I do like the always helpful people who work for Shaw.  But I'm frustrated so I think I'm entitled to a mini rant.

And now I have to reschedule my day around waiting for a technician.  He arrives, fixes my screen aspect ratio or whatever it's called.  But he just can't seem to grasp what I'm saying when I tell him all the channels used to be clear with the old box.  We go back and forth on this topic until I pull out the old remote control and he has an AH HA! moment -- the old box was an even older piece of equipment than their newest old piece of equipment even though it was only two years old.  He tries to reassure me that there are some great new things coming for these new boxes.  Will it make and serve me a drink? I ask.  Reluctantly he shakes his head.

Bottom line?  I've now wasted the better part of two days pissing around with something I didn't want in the first place to save about $25/month while sacrificing ease of operation and quality of product.

Technology.

Ok, maybe I am getting old.

Testing The Waters

Okay, I know I live in a rain forest.  I know I live in a valley that makes it difficult for some weather systems to penetrate, but also makes it equally difficult for some to get out.  And normally I like rain. But this rain, this bucketing down day and night rain?  Well, it's all getting a bit much.  But we're west coasters, a little -- or a lot -- of rain isn't going to stop us.  So when we say we're going for a hike because the weatherman says the morning will be dry and the showers won't start until the afternoon and by noon it's painfully obvious that he lied, well, damn it, we just go anyway.  Because hey, it's a perfect opportunity to test drive the waterproof hiking gear.

Luckily rain was a rarity on my Camino.  I can count on one hand how many times I had to haul out the raincoat and cover the pack.  And by the time the coat was on and the pack covered the rain would have stopped and the procedure reversed.  But that was late summer / early fall in Spain -- I'm walking in England in the spring this time.  Not holding out high hopes that we'll get that lucky.

So off we trekked in full wet weather gear for an 11 km round trip hike to the top of a local hydro cut.  At least there was no wind, no sideways rain.  It was coming straight down and didn't let up the entire time, not even under the trees.  And what did we learn? Well, let me just say that waterproof is a little too broad a term.  Maybe it should be waterproof under moderate conditions.  And granted, some of the dampness may have been excessive sweating.  Because even though my raincoat is advertised as waterproof and breathable, it's damn near next to impossible to have it both ways.

Here's how it all stood up...

Eddie Bauer raincoat, layered over Eddie Bauer First Ascent lightweight down jacket and Eddie Bauer quick dry hiking shirt -- damp all the way through.  And they're right -- once down is wet, there's no warmth.  My upper body was the only part that got cold, which probably isn't a good thing considering the location of all the vital organs.

Arc'Teryx water resistant pants layered over Icebreaker merino wool base layer -- soaked through the pants, merino wool damp but still warm.  Even my Exofficio underwear were wet.

Vasque gortex waterproof hiking boots -- soaked through, Wigwam socks were wet when boots came off but didn't feel wet when walking.  Feet stayed warm.

Gaiters -- unused since my cross country skiing days, actually kept the bottom of my pants clean and mostly dry.  They're a keeper.

Basically the only part of me that stayed dry was my Icebreaker merino wool bra.   So I guess I need to fine tune some things.  Or pray for a dry stretch of English weather.  Either way, a little -- or a lot -- of rain won't dampen my excitement for hiking the Cotswolds.

After all, I'm a wet coast girl.


Book Review:  Wow...two good reads in a row, this one non-fiction.  The Devil in the White City by Eric Larson was meticulously and impeccably researched. There was nothing dry in this account of the designing and building of the World's Fair in Chicago in 1893.  Add to this the parallel story of H.H.Holmes, a serial killer operating in the vicinity at the same time.  Fascinating reading on both parts.  The names from history associated with the fair and the inventions that debuted there were astounding.  A real history lesson.  I couldn't have enjoyed this book more.  Highly recommended!

Together Again

Me and Gregory...Gregory and me. Together again.  Two months from today we head out on our next adventure so we've been getting reacquainted over the past couple of days.  I loaded him up with some weights, nothing too heavy duty, we'll increase the load as we go along.  And nothing too strenuous for terrain, just some urban hikes so far.  A few hills, some mucky trails.  And it's through no fault of Gregory's that he's a major pain in my ass. Literally.

Seems my butt slide down the neighbour's stairs did more damage than I first thought.  When I wasn't totally immobilized the next day I figured I'd dodged a pretty high caliber bullet. Apparently not.  Coming up to two weeks later and I'm a hurtin' unit.  Not all the time.  Mostly bending over.  Or kneeling.  Or getting up from either of those positions.  Or doing anything that requires using my quads, like walking up hill. Today I added getting into and out of the car to the list.  Lying on the floor to do any kind of ab work? Fuhgeddaboudit. The pain when trying to roll up into a sit-up could not be any more excruciating.  Like a knife...with a twist at the end. I think I may have even screamed out loud.

And it's not like I can pinpoint where the pain is.  It just aches -- my lower back, my entire butt, the tops of my legs just below my butt.  I'm going with a bruised tailbone.  And no, I'm not going to the doctor to confirm or deny.  Remember the foot?  "It's tendinitis, doc."  "No, it's gout."  "Pretty sure it's tendinitis."  "No, it's gout."  "You sure?"  "No, it's tendinitis."  Besides, he'd just give me his usual advice -- if it hurts to do something, stop doing it.  Like walking?  Ain't gonna happen.

So Gregory and I are toughing it out.  Sure, it hurts where he sits on my lower back.  But I can deal.  And I figure I'm probably not doing any further damage. Probably.  Maybe.

Hopefully?

Book Review:  For those of you who think I don't like many books without the name Stephen King on the spine, well...I do.  Here's one -- Time of Departure by Douglas Schofield.  Without giving too much away, it's a genre bending mystery that left me wanting to go back and reread it knowing everything I did at the end.  Well executed and a good fast read.  I look forward to Schofield's next book.

The Blitz

Have you ever looked at your calendar and realized you have a whole week open without one single commitment? No appointments, no assignments, no obligations.  When I saw the big blank that was the first week of February, I decided it was time to put the purge into high gear.  No more one drawer here, a closet there.  Sometimes slow and steady wins the race, but in the game of high stakes purging, it just seemed like it was going on forever.  Like all I was doing was cleaning out stuff and accomplishing little else. Time for drastic measures.  Time for...The Blitz.  That the first day of the week was also the first day of the month was too good to pass up. It's a psychological thing -- fresh starts and all that.

On Monday February 1st I put aside all thought of doing anything else and waded in. My previous efforts in the main floor rooms meant I was starting well ahead of the game.  In two days I declared the kitchen, living and dining rooms, bathroom, and bedrooms done. There is nothing left in those rooms that I don't absolutely need, want, or love. For now.  Despite my blitz mentality, minimalism is an ongoing process.

The basement? Not so easy.  Part of that is due to the fact that all of the kid's stuff from her year of living away is now stored in the rec room.  Part is due to the set up of the basement -- mudroom (aka storage room); workshop (aka storage room); storage room (not to be confused with the mudroom and workshop); laundry room (aka storage room); bathroom; workout room; and rec room (aka storage room). Do you detect a pattern here? Has the word storage appeared at least four times too many?

To top it off, the official storage room is where all the boxes of sentimental shit ends up.  The stuff with a past, a history, an emotional attachment -- that you're perfectly happy to leave in a box for the rest of eternity.  So here's the question -- if you don't want to have this stuff displayed in your house, if you have no intention of ever letting it out of the box, why hang on to it? Because when you're dead and gone the person who opens the box will have no attachment whatsoever and will promptly donate or sell it.  That's what I kept telling myself as I opened box after box after box.  And I did pretty damn good. I'm almost positive that I wasn't hurting my dead grandmother's feelings when I relegated her bits and pieces of china to the garage sale pile.  Ditto my collections of salt and pepper shakers and Coke trays, remnants of my younger self.  Oh, there were a couple of things that tugged on my heartstrings, that yes, went back into a box.  But that box is so much smaller and there's only one.  I'd call that progress.

I even hauled out the bins of Christmas decorations of which I am quite sure I own more than the average person.  Because Christmas was always my thing. But now that it's not my thing it was oh, so easy to dispose of more than half of it.  Same with the Halloween and Easter decorations. Yup, I was the mom who decorated for every occasion, trying to create life long memories for the kid. Turns out they'll remember what they remember for reasons you can't direct or control.  Lesson learned.  

Now, with one day left in this weeklong blitz I know I'm not gonna make it. Because there's still the rec room.  And that's where I've dumped every single thing I've designated garage sale worthy.  But I'm on a roll so there's no stopping now.  A couple more days to organize the boxes for a spring garage sale and then that's it.  I'm out from under.  For now.  Because I think living with less is kind of like weight loss.  You loose a few pounds then stay there until your body gets used to being that weight.  I'll need to get used to the new weight of the house.

Before I shed a bit more.


Book Reviews:  Golden State by Stephanie Kegan is the story of a crime and its repercussions as told by a family member of the accused.  Unfortunately I grew tired very quickly of the narrator as the victim.  Overall I didn't see much growth in her character.  I like the premise of flipping the story to reveal how the family of the accused is impacted but it was done much better in Jodi Picoult's Nineteen Minutes and Lionel Shriver's We Need To Talk About Kevin.

Initially I wasn't a fan of Jessica Treadway's writing style in Lacey Eye but I got used to it, or it grew on me.  Either way, I enjoyed this tension filled story of a mother struggling to support her daughter, who many believe was involved in her own father's murder.

Accruing Karma

A year before my Camino I quit running.  To avoid injury.  With only 71 days to go until the great UK adventure I'm following that advice again.  Because I don't want to end up with something like...oh, I don't know...something like...tendinitis.  Just weeks before the Camino I also decided that keeping a low profile was the safest bet after a series of potential injury causing missteps.  And it worked -- by departure day I was fit as the proverbial fiddle. Not so much as a paper cut.  Today it became painfully obvious that it's time once again to break out the bubble wrap...

First, let me just say that there is nothing funny about people falling down stairs.  Second, wood exposed to relentless rain develops a slimy surface.  But it's like black ice -- you don't realize it's there until it's too late.  Third, doing someone a favour is a good thing. The gods of karma should be paying attention to that. 

So I'm leaving my neighbour's house.  I've gone over to get instruction on how to give some medication to one of his cats while he goes away over night. There's that good thing I'm doing.  Which the karma gods apparently missed. I put one foot down on the top wooden step -- did I mention the part about our relentless rains of late?  Feet go straight out from under me and I come down hard on my tailbone.  That might have been the end of it had there been a handrail to grab onto.  But nope, no handrail.  Lawsuit pending.  And because the steps are so greasy I thump down onto the next step...and the next one...and the next one...and the next one.  

Okay, that hurt.  I mean really really "fuck shit goddamn" that hurt.  All right, maybe it wasn't "oh, crap, I think it's broken" hurt.  For which I am beyond thankful.  But hurt enough that I've spent the day popping ibuprofen and cursing every time I have to crouch down or bend over or sit down or stand up. 

I'm lying in bed now.  Taking bets as to whether or not I'll be able to get out of it in the morning.  I'm betting no.  But I'll have to so I can get next door to give the cat his pill.  

Hear that, karma gods?

Downsizing My Life

Call it whatever you want -- purging, downsizing, simplifying, minimalizing. I'm getting back on the bandwagon.  Not that I ever really got off.  In 2013 I spent a year (albeit on and off) purging a lot of stuff from my house.  At the time I didn't think I was going after a minimalist lifestyle, but in retrospect I can see that is where I am slowing heading.  The whole 'live more with less' idea really resonates with me.  One of the things I like about minimalism is that it can be absolutely personal.  No two minimalist lifestyles have to be the same to lay claim to the title.  Today I'm embracing a different aspect of downsizing, because it's not just the physical stuff that needs purging.  I feel freer having made just two simple moves.

First, I changed my cell phone plan.  The kid's too.  Because our phones had been tied together for years due to one of those 'family sharing' type options, I had always assumed payment for both of them.  But it was time to cut the wireless cord.  And what did we really use the phones for?  Not as phones, that's for sure.  I rarely use mine to make or receive calls.  And the kid?  Well, if hers rings, nope, doesn't answer it.  And because there are so many other options, she rarely even texts anymore.  The biggest expense when it comes to cell phones?  Data.  Sure, nice to have when you're out and about but do you really need it when there's free wifi just about everywhere these days?  So we nixed the data and went from a post-paid to a pre-paid plan.  For $100 each for the year we get 100 anytime calling minutes and unlimited texting. Simple and basic.  Compare that to my previous plan and I'm saving about $1,400 a year.  WHAT?  Seriously?  I was utterly gobsmacked by that number.  How had I gotten so used to paying a non-essential monthly bill that could easily cover the cost of a flight just about anywhere in the world?  Every year.

And that's the thing with technology.  It wiggles and worms its way into every aspect of your life making you believe that you can no longer function without it.  Which brings me to move number two.  I deleted the couple of games I had downloaded onto my iPad.  We have never been into video games in our house -- no Nintendo or Xbox or whatever is currently de rigueur.  But somehow I had ended up with a couple on my iPad.  Word games and the such.  Strictly to exercise my brain, you understand.  To ward off dementia. But talk about a time suck.  And talk about an umbilical cord to the iPad. Because not only did I fall into the trap of "just one more game" but I had to keep jumping through hoops to get the 'free coins' or whatever was required to allow me to continue to play these games for free.  The only thing that was free was me -- after I hit DELETE.

It's not that I'm ridding myself of all my tech.  Because after all I am typing this on my iPad in bed at 4:30 a.m.  (Damn that mid day coffee.) But in two simple moves I managed to downsize my budget and a major waste of time.  Next up?

Facebook and the cable bill.