Tom lives in our neighborhood. He is big and bold and he’s always carousing around for ladies. He’s a handsome, confident guy. Tom spends most of his time hanging out on the corner of a major intersection in the neighborhood. Tom has become sort of a mascot or maybe a unifying symbol of our neck of the woods, and we all love him. Tom is a big old wild turkey.
The other day on our Nextdoor social media app, one neighbor posted an angry rant about the people who are supposedly feeding Tom. This was followed by righteous posts about the dangers of feeding wildlife, and then other posts about how frustrating it is when Tom is strutting his stuff and causing traffic jams, and then other posts about how neighbors need to stop being so mean and cynical, to stop driving so fast, and just enjoy the fact that we live in the midst of so much natural wonder, which was followed up by further posts from other people, who live outside of our neighborhood, admonishing everyone to just “chill out”, which sparked angry posts from inside of the neighborhood, asking those posters why they even felt they had any right to talk about Tom, because they probably had never even seen him! All of these paragraphs and paragraphs of posts continue on and on, with the usual likes and dislikes, and hearts, and happy face emoticons and angry faced emoticons. I believe that even at this moment, “the infamous Tom thread” on Nextdoor, is still quite healthy and active.
Do you know what a group of turkeys is called? It’s called a rafter. Watching the antics of the excitable “Tom thread” on our local social media, makes me realize that we have quite a rafter here, in our neighborhood. Turkeys abound. But my one and only favorite wild turkey is Tom. He doesn’t read Nextdoor. He just hangs out at the corner, doing his thing.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I remember a time clearly, when I was a kid, that my teacher told us that our assignment was to write instructions on how to make a banana split sundae. Much to our surprise, she brought the ingredients for these sundaes to school, and she sat in front of the class and started to make banana split sundaes, according to our instructions. What resulted, was a disaster – a comical disaster, but a disaster nonetheless. It turns out that none of our instructions were written explicitly enough, and our teacher made a very clear example of this, with her demonstration (For example, some students forgot to write “get a bowl”, the amounts of ice cream and whipped cream were not specified – you get the picture.) It was a memorable experience, to say the least. I was in grade school when the lesson was taught, and I am now 50. Teachers are amazing.
This old lesson popped back into my head, because we have a couple of summer trips coming up, and we have hired new pet sitters to come into our home. Also adding to the mix, we have a pandemic puppy, Trip, who has never experienced a pet sitter in his short life. Trip is the least friendly dog, out of all three of our dogs, to anyone who is not in our immediate family. He keeps a small circle of trust. So, I have a level of climbing anxiety, as I am writing out the instructions, as to how best to keep our fur friends happy, safe and alive, while we are away.
When I was a teenaged kid, I babysat quite frequently. As a babysitter, I experienced every type of household – neat and prim, all of the of the way to the other end of the spectrum – wild and chaotic. I recall some mothers would write out very explicit directions on a tight, minute by minute time schedule (one particular mother noted in capital letters, which rooms I was not enter at all, as to not to disturb and distort the freshly made vacuum marks on the thick carpeting), while other mothers would just seem so relieved to see me, and they would yell out, “See you some time later!” with the assumption that my goal was to just keep the kids alive, and un-sunburned, until the time when the mother got up her nerve, to show back up. As a teenaged kid, I didn’t experience too much anxiety about any of this. My main goal was to see who had the best snacks in their pantries ,and to save up the money from my $3-an-hour gigs, for a new bright yellow Sony Sportsman cassette player.
Still, I do remember, in a way, appreciating the very explicit directions which some mothers wrote out for me. It left less room for ambiguity and questions. It was easy to just follow a checklist. I didn’t have to think too much, on the job. I often secretly made fun of these mothers with their “uptight” concerns, but they had set me up for success. I knew exactly what they expected, and so if I completed the clear-cut checklist, we all could be assured that I had done my job well, and to her satisfaction. We both breathed a little easier, seeing that there was little room for confusion and error.
As I became a mother myself, and hired babysitters for our children, I fell in-between these two extremes. I would jot down a few notes on a fancy, specific babysitter’s notepad, but with four kids and many pets, my house always naturally just veered towards chaotic. And of course, by the time my kids had babysitters, we had cell phones, so we were always accessible for questions and concerns that the babysitter might have about anyone, or anything.
I remember also, as an exhausted young mother, getting winsome for those days when someone would just hand me a to-do checklist. “Get this done and your golden.” I think that was my biggest lament of my mothering days. I didn’t mind doing any of the chores, I just didn’t want to have to plan it all out. I didn’t want to have to think about anything. I was too tired to think. I remember my sweet husband wanting to give me a break at times, and hauling all of the kids down to McDonalds. But then (not wanting to make any ‘mistakes’) he would call me up, and ask me what he should order for the kids to eat, and that’s when I would want to scream. That’s the Catch-22 of mothering, right? We want someone to give us a break, but then these break-givers have to walk on eggshells, hoping that they are doing things the “right” way (according to us).
Some of my friends are now becoming grandparents. One of my friends was asked to take a grandparenting class, by her daughter, to make sure that she was “up-to-date” on all of the new baby stuff and requirements. Of course, we all got a big giggle out of that, since my friend successfully raised three children of her own. (It’s a wonder any of us are alive and well, isn’t it? Helmets, seatbelts, and the like, were foreign concepts when I was kid.) Still, my friend admits that the class was helpful and eye-opening to see how much had changed, and it preempted a lot of hurt feelings, and helped everyone in the family to be more relaxed, by understanding everyone’s expectations.
So, in conclusion, as soon as I finish this blog post, I will be adding the finishing touches to my pet sitter’s to-do list. I want to make it clear and simple for her, so that we both have peace of mind. In the end, though, I hope that she’ll be mostly be focused on the priority of just keeping our dogs alive and well, without sun-burned paws and noses, for the short while that we are away from them. Possibly, considering all of her years of experience in dog sitting, “Keep them alive and well,” is all that really needs to be put on to the checklist.
“Sometimes our stop-doing list needs to be bigger than our to-do list.” – Patty Digh
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
(The Cure – of course, it is actually Friday that is the cure for everything, correct?)
Hello to my friends and readers! Thank you for supporting my blog. Thank you for showing up for me and my art (writing). It means the world to this middle-aged gal, trying to blaze new trails for myself. I’ve gotten a few new subscribers this week. Woo-hoo and welcome!! I was trying to do a new feature on my Thursday blog post called “Throwback Thursday” in which I highlight old blog posts that have been among the most popular ones which I have written over the years. Of course, I immediately forgot to do that yesterday, so for my new readers, I am going to point you to this previous post of mine. It explains my writing process, and also why you probably won’t get the typo/mistake free, mostly smoothly worded version of my blog in your inbox. Still, I am beyond honored that any of you want a daily email from me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
My regular readers know that Fridays are devoted to the fluff in life. I love fluffy Fridays!!! On Fridays, I discuss three songs, books, websites, apps, beauty products etc. that have made my own life a little more sensory, and fun, and I strongly encourage you to add your own favorites to my Comments. Also, please check out previous Friday posts for more good stuff. Here are my favorites for today:
Calamityware – This porcelain china is awesome. From a distance, it looks like fine, expensive, Blue Willow china (that ornate blue and white, antique dinnerware that has an Asian quality to it), however when you look real closely, the patterns actually show all sorts of crazy fiascos happening in the scenery depicted. Dinosaurs, flying monkeys, aliens, sharks etc. are all doing their crazy antics on fine dinner plates and teacups. The irony of this, just tickles me! My favorite pieces are the soup bowls with flies painted at the bottom of them. Years ago I was gifted “Dirty Dishes” from Fishs Eddy. The “Dirty Dishes” depict topless women, lazily lounging all around the rim. I also have a martini glass ornament that is decorated with ornate swear words. It’s called the “dirty martini glass.” I love this kind of stuff. Calamityware is made by a cheeky Polish artist, and his website is a such a pleasure to peruse (a perfect activity for a Friday). Check it out and at least get yourself a mug from the “Things Could Be Worse” series. Get your laughs wherever you can (I think perhaps, that the best laughs come from the most unlikely of places. Unexpected laughs are really, really good for the soul).
Flip Flop Feet Planter – My husband found me this at Ace Hardware. It was the last one left because they were so popular with the customers. Apparently you can also get these cuties at Walmart. These whimsical pieces are not the highest of quality. They are made out of some sort of light plastic. Hence, including the plant, the Flip Flop Feet Planters only cost around 10 dollars. What an inexpensive way to get a smile every time you look at it! It’s like a dimestore mannequin with a bushy little plant body. Wow, okay – I promise that the planter is not nearly as weird and creepy, as my description sounds.
Dog Poop Bag Holders – These are another super cheap, “must buy” for anyone who has a dog, and walks their dog. We have three dogs, who prefer to “save up” and do all of their elimination on our walks. We are also good, considerate neighbors, so we always pick up after our dogs. And we take long walks. And we live in sweltering Florida. It is not fun to walk around for miles, in sweltering Florida, holding a swinging bag of poop. It just isn’t. Trust me on this. These holders are little plastic clips that you attach to the dog leash, which allow you to tie the bag up, slide it on the clip, and the clip then allows the bag to dangle far, far away from any of your bodily parts, until you happily arrive at a trash can. Make sure that you attach the clip to the top of the leash. My husband accidentally attached Josie’s (our lovely collie) clip too low, and being the priss that she is, she was absolutely mortified when she was thumped with a bag of the three dogs’ excrement. (Understandable. We may have to get her therapy.) I got a set of two dog poop bag holders, on Amazon, for around 6 or 7 dollars. Worth every cent.
Have a great weekend, friends! I’ll give you the advice which I often give to my adult children: “Live it up, but don’t eff it up.”
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I was perusing some online shopping outlets and I looked at a “faux” shearling jacket. I live in Florida, thus I don’t need too many jackets, and I certainly do not need too many warm jackets. Therefore, I passed on buying the jacket. Still, I paused on the description page, and I felt a tad nostalgic and wistful. Having grown up in Pennsylvania, there are two things that I miss about living in the north, these things being fall leaves and winter clothes. Certainly, I don’t miss having to wear winter clothes to ward off frigid temperatures and snow, but I do love the look of winter clothes. Winter clothes have more texture, and comfortability, and richness of quality to them, than summer clothes do. Winter clothes beg to be layered. And the biggest plus about winter clothes, is that they are so much more forgiving than summer clothes. They’re like make-up/masks/disguises for your body, whereas a bathing suit is like that giant magnifying glass at your dermatologist’s office.
Reading the description of the jacket, I had to giggle at the word “faux.” The French have a way of making everything sound lovely and sophisticated, don’t they? What if the description kept it all in the same language and said, “Fake Shearling Jacket.” Yep, it’s fake. Do ya still wannit? I wonder if the word “faux” is as off-putting to the French, as the word “fake” is to us. Do they change “faux” to the word “fake” in their descriptions of things, to give their products a more exotic, foreign appeal? I have my doubts. I’ve read that a lot of Europeans like to buy American western wear here. Do their catalogs advertising “vegan leather” (ha!) cowboy boots read, “Fake cuir des bottes de cowboy”? Maybe using the word “fake” gives the boots a charming, Americana twang to the description?
There are so many word comparisons like this, that seem to accentuate our American down-home flavor, versus the French air of sophistication:
biscuit/croissant
swagger/savoir-faire
really good/par excellence
fancy clothes/haute-couture
friendliness/bonhomie
one-on-one/tête-à-tête
“the bomb”/crème de la crème
get together/rendez-vous
presto!/voila!
I love being American. I’ve been to France once, and it was nice. The French were actually much kinder to us than they are reported to be. In fact, they sure were super friendly! 😉 I think that the French people, who we met, must have felt my joie de vivre, being on a fabulous trip. Truth be told, I don’t speak French at all. I took five years of Latin for my foreign language requirement. There are so many stories and sub-stories from this experience, (my erratic and dramatic Latin instructor was also my hyper-competitive high school Forensics coach, and his wife, alarmingly looked exactly like a human version of Betty Boop), but these stories are for another blog post, some day.
Reading over this post, I see how “off track” I tend to get, and how rambling it is. It’s been a crazy week. Pardon, my la divigation, s’il vous plaît. Thank you, kindly! Merci!
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
The other night we attended a large graduation party for one of my daughter’s tennis team members. The party was held in a big banquet hall, and it was the size of a medium wedding reception. We knew the graduate, my daughter, a few of my daughter’s friends, the graduate’s parents and one other mother attending. That’s it. In a hall of at least a hundred people, we knew about eight of them, and four of those people who we knew were kids who, understandably, had no interest whatsoever, in hanging out with parents. We had been having work done on our house that day, so in waiting for the workers to finish up for the day, my husband and I ended up arriving to the party, a little later than most. Our daughter was already ensconced in some corner tables with a bunch of her friends, and was fully engaged with talking and laughing with them. The graduate and her parents were being excellent hosts, going from table to table, talking to everyone. I nodded “hello” to the one other mother who I knew at the party, who was sitting at a table, with all of the seats already taken. I could feel a little social anxiety creeping into my gut, especially with being so out of practice, from dealing with the pandemic shutdown, for over a year.
But then, my eyes glommed on to the buffet tables, which were overflowing with incredible delicacies (all handmade by the graduate’s mother). The graduate’s mom is Italian, and so it naturally follows that she is an amazing cook. It’s just in their genes. I have never had an Italian friend who wasn’t an incredible chef. I don’t mean to stereotype, but this has been my divine experience, and I have my fair share of Italian friends. Seeing the delightful spread, I got over my sinking feeling of not knowing anybody, and I got right to the task of filling up my plate, as high as it could go. My husband followed suit.
With my mountainous, overfilled plate, I started scanning my seating options. What appeared was several full tables of people laughing, and enjoying each other’s familiar company. There were also two empty tables, which I started to make a beeline towards, but then the table with M. and B. appeared. M. and B. (keeping their names private), were two older ladies sitting by themselves at a table, quietly eating their food. To get to the empty tables, I would have had to walk right past M. and B.’s table, but my arm was getting heavy with my food (and my husband was at the buffet, still filling up his plate), and plus, my mama taught me good manners. “Are these seats taken?” I asked M. and B politely, with a frozen smile on my face. “Oh no, please take a seat!” they both exclaimed.
Okay, this is the part of the story in which I admit that I am an ASS. As the saying goes, “When you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME.” I had already made a bunch of assumptions. I assumed M. and B. were elderly family members. (wrong, they were neighbors of the graduate and her family) I then assumed M. and B. were a lesbian couple. (wrong again, they lived on either side of the graduate’s family and they were both widows. They did get a charge out of the question, though. M. looked at B. with her eyebrow raised and said, “Well, I never considered that before . . . ” B. just laughed) The biggest assumption which I had made is that I was going to be bored to tears, making polite, careful conversation with two senior citizens. Ha! M. and B. were a blast! They were interesting, inspiring, witty, edgy, and funny as hell. They teased and flirted with my husband, who teased and flirted right back. Before long, we had become “the raucous table”. I wasn’t even getting to gorging on my delicious food, because I was having so much fun. We were creating so much merriment, that the other mother, who we knew, noticed, grabbed her purse, and excused herself from her own table (full of boring, dull people of our own age, according to her) and joined and added to the merriment. I was sick when M. and B. said it was time for them to leave. We were having such a good time.
It turns out that M. was 83 and B. was 79. We were all shocked. Besides the teens, M. and B. were the most lively, fun-loving, vivacious people at the party. (on an aside, shocked to learn their ages, my friend asked them what creams they used on their faces. “Oh you know, that stuff in a red jar,” M. said, which I assume is Olay and I am not surprised.)
Whenever I start into a new decade (I turned fifty last December), I find myself looking at the generations older than me. I am goal oriented. I like to look ahead to be inspired to be who and what I want to be, when I become of the next age subset. When I am in my eighties, I want to be young. I want to be lighthearted. I want to get a kick out of living, no matter what I am doing. I want to be M. and B. I want to pleasantly surprise the hell out of a fifty-year-old woman, who almost walked right past me, full of her dumb assumptions. And I want to have good skin, so I am going to run out to Walgreens, after I post this, and get some Olay.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I came across these Coyote Vests in my morning readings, and I think that they are wonderful! We live in an area where it is not unusual for small dogs to be mauled, and killed by a whole bevy of creatures such as alligators, coyotes and even hawks. These vests are an attempt to make adorable dogs look formidable. Still, I think that there are certain dogs that are just made even cuter by any embellishment that you put on to them. (Who doesn’t get an emotional lift from seeing a Dachshund in a hot dog Halloween costume?) You can’t erase “adorable” with quills, and spikes, and evil eyes. Still, these vests may at least give the pups a “not worth the effort” kind of a look. We can relate when we think about how often we avoid ordering crabs or crawfish to eat at a restaurant, even if we love shellfish. You have to be focused, famished, bibbed and full of stamina, to get your money’s worth, from a lobster dinner.
I won’t be ordering these vests for our three dogs, ranging in size from 40 pounds, to 90 pounds. When the daily wrestle mania event occurs with our canines, I can only imagine that scene, with neon colored quills and sharp spikes and evil eyes, added to the mix. I imagine that my couch might end up looking like an abstract Picasso painting, after the mashup, with the eyes staring up at me with an “I told you so” look, coming straight from the mess of it all. I like to think that my dogs have size on their side, when it comes to any predators, plus they are all separation-anxiety ridden, Velcro dogs. If I stay away from gators and things that go bump in the night, so do they.
I was thinking that I might like to have one of these Coyote Vests for myself, on days when I am feeling vulnerable, raw and exposed. The vests do have a way of saying, “Back off, Bozo!” without using any words. “Step off, stupid, lest you want a hot pink quill in your eye!” Maybe, if I keep checking the website, they’ll eventually have one in my size.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Hello Friday!!! Hello Holiday Weekend!! Fridays are the best, aren’t they? They are just so full of anticipation and relief. On Fridays, I don’t go for the deep dive. On “Favorite Things Friday“, I list three favorite songs, books, TV shows, websites, beauty products, etc. that remind me why it is so much fun to be alive. What is the material “stuff” that you love in life? Please add your favorites to my Comments section, and please check out previous Friday postings, for more good stuff. Here are my favorites for today:
Better Call Saul – If you missed this spinoff/prequel to the TV series Breaking Bad, like my husband and I almost did, this is your lucky reminder to check this series out. It has become our new nightly, couch event. This show is excellent and is full of flawed, but interesting, colorful characters who you can’t help, but to love and to root for, despite all of their shortcomings. Better Call Saul is so good, that last night we were attending a really fun, joyous graduation party, and yet, in the back of my mind, I was hoping that we would get home in time to watch another episode. We did. 🙂
Embellish Creative Co-op Tote Bag – I recently purchased this tote bag at a little local shop, because it was adorable, reasonably priced, large, soft and smooshy, and looked easy to clean. It appears to be made out of a bath rug, with a tassel for flourish. It is the best bag for boating, or for the beach, or for other fun summer activities. It came in a variety colors. I went with boring, blah taupe and I love it. Which brings me to my next favorite . . . my next favorite is a fun prompt to just put out there, when you are hanging out with your friends this weekend. You may remember my blog with the prompt “Your Drag Queen name is your Grandmother’s first name and the last dessert/sweet you ate. Go.” That was a good one. Here’s the new prompt for today’s shenanigans:
“Your Rapper Name is “Lil” then the last thing you spent money on. Go.” – It so happens that I purchased the above mentioned bag right before I saw this thought provoking prompt, hence my rapper name is officially “Lil’ Beach Bag.” I tried this prompt with my best friends from college and here are some of their rapper names:
Lil’ Biscuit, Lil’ Cookie, Lil’ Books (this rapper friend said that the books were for her daughter, Lil’ Money Pit), Lil’ Hula Hoop (she has much better hips and dancing skills than I could ever dream of having), and Lil’ Shorts (who we changed to Lil’ Shorty, even though she is taller than any of us)
What’s your rapper name? This is an important question, on a Friday.
The shop that I purchased my beach bag from, had this sign in the window:
Apparently this comes from the title of a book by the actress, Reese Witherspoon, which came from a phrase her grandmother used to describe Southern women: “her grandmother used to describe Southern women: Like whiskey in a teacup, they’re beautiful on the outside and fierce on the inside.” I suppose this is another phrase for “Steel Magnolias”. Frankly, I think that this phrase describes most women, whom I have known, and whom I have loved in my life, from all over the United States, and the world. Embellish the outside of yourself however you like, ladies, but remember, the inside of you is FIRE. Have a wonderful weekend!!
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
My husband had to have his wedding band cut off of his finger the other day. It’s only the second wedding band he has ever had in our almost 27 years of marriage. The first wedding band that he had, he actually lost on our honeymoon, while we were snorkeling. It was the opposite problem, that time. That ring was improperly sized, and ended up being too big for his finger. It either still lies at the bottom of the Caribbean, or it became fish food, or perhaps some lucky scuba diver found a little sunken treasure. It’s always been a fun story to tell, at cocktail parties.
Ever the practical businessman, my husband didn’t want to waste a lot of time at the Emergency Room, but time was of the essence. His ring finger had turned purple and was swollen like a balloon. We tried using almost a whole tub of greasy Go-Jo, and other tricks suggested on the internet involving string, etc. in order to try to get the ring to slide off, unharmed, but it wouldn’t budge. So, my husband went to our local jeweler and asked him to cut the ring off. Our jeweler had just the tool for the job, and my husband’s fingers are all back to normal, proportional size.
We will get the wedding ring re-sized, but in the meantime, the proud, protective, possessive part of me who likes everyone to know that my husband is “MY MAN”, did not like seeing his naked and exposed ring finger. So, while the ring is in the shop, we went to the Amazon Prime website and we purchased a package of seven of those gummy, silicone rings that a lot of men in the younger generations, seem to wear. The package was $20 for seven rings, and they are black with different accent shades, so he can match them with his clothes. The rings honestly look kind of edgy and cool and according to my husband, they are pretty comfortable.
I thought to myself, “Damn, the ladies of this current generation are so clever and astute. While the average diamond engagement rings seem to be bigger and blingier than ever, they’ve duped the guys into wearing $3 rubber rings. The money saved goes towards a bigger sparkler for her hand. These young women have also convinced guys that they think “Dad bods” are hot, so that their husbands spend more time at home, helping with the kids and around the house, and less time at the gym. I say, brilliant!”
“For years my wedding ring has done its job. It has led me not into temptation. It has reminded my husband numerous times at parties that it’s time to go home. It has been a source of relief to a dinner companion. It has been a status symbol in the maternity ward.” – Erma Bombeck
“A man’s got two shots for jewelry: a wedding ring and a watch. The watch is a lot easier to get on and off than a wedding ring.” – John Mayer
“A wedding ring is sort of a tourniquet worn on one’s finger to stop circulation.” – unknown
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Josie (collie, who turns 3 today): It’s our shared birthday today, dear Ralphie! May I be the first to wish the both of us, a very lovely and Happy Birthday! (prim, beautiful and alert with white-tipped tail swishing, like an overgrown, elegant fox)
Ralphie (yellow Labrador retriever, who turns 4 today): Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! (jumping around and licking everything in sight, hitting a few notes on the piano with his chin and leaving some dog slime on the keys, grabbing a now formless/headless toy and running around the house with it, tail going like a helicopter blade)
Trip(Boykin spaniel, who is a little over a year old): Treats!!! Does this mean treats?!? Does this mean lots of treats?!? Does this mean extra treats?!? Huh?? Huh?? Huh?? (springboards off of the couch and exuberantly and fearlessly jumps on top of Ralphie, despite $600+ dollars worth of training to stop this behavior, so as to not be mauled by Ralphie, a large dog who has 70 pounds on him, and a huge retriever mouth, full of sharp, white teeth. Ralphie, despite having a saint-like amount of patience, has shown that even a Labrador retriever’s renowned patience has its worldly, and understandable limits.)
Camera pans on Ralphie, the yellow Lab, dreaming of what his perfect birthday would look like: Ralphie, swimming in the pool from dusk to dawn, with his whole pack, humans and dogs, all swimming with him, and throwing his disgusting, wet, soggy toy into the pool endlessly for him to retrieve at the surface, and even from the bottom of the pool, and then clapping for him, enthusiastically, each time, as if we have never seen him do this 800,000 times before. Ralphie only comes out of the pool once, for a whole, hot, delicious steak, fresh off the grill, without even having to beg for it.
Camera then pans on Josie, the elegant collie, dreaming of what her perfect birthday would look like: A day when herding Ralphie, while he is swimming in the the pool would not be necessary, because Ralphie would not be in the pool. A day that the squirrels stay in their own nests, in the neighbor’s yard, far, far way, so that she does not have to worry about those icky, little squirrels dirtying up our trees and our lawn. A day when there will be no deliveries from Amazon Prime, so she can save her voice. A day when Trip would stand still long enough, so that she could tidy him up, licking him carefully, as if they were both Fancy Feast Persian cats. Josie, enjoying a long, long, long wonderful walk with no kids roller skating nor skateboarding on the sidewalks, to disturb her peace and comfort.
Trip, the boisterous Boykin spaniel: F*ck birthdays! I do whatever I want to do, every day!! Give me another treat!!
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
