I'm sooooo tired. I planned to sleep till 7 today.
New puppy Gracie, who does sleep through the night (she said proudly), nonetheless decided that 6 a.m. was a really good time to get up. You know how we devise these diabolical routines to get the kids up? Gracie figured if she started gnawing on several somethings I had to sit up or get up and take away from her, sooner or later I would get up. At 6:30, she won.
Huh. Along about 8:30, she took a little nap. I don't have time today.
For awhile, at my house, chairs are not for sitting. My two granddaughters are mostly in residence this week, and the chairs are for storing their stuff out of Gracie's way. Gracie knows she's not supposed to mess with their stuff. But as she grabbed a sock and ran merrily into the next room with me in pursuit, it's just so much FUN!
I have gotten some vet reccomended chew sticks. That is helping a bit. She can finish one in about 20 minutes, though.
This morning while I was busy in the kitchen, she started attacking a bag of dry supplies on the floor. I kept telling her no and stop, and then I realized I was calling her Cam, the last dog's name. She ignored me completely. When I finally said, "No! Stop, Gracie," she stopped, looked at me directly and then went back to the bag. So she knows her name. And I moved the bag. We both learned something.
I have a big back yard. I'm beginning to think I need to put in a doggie playground, with pipes to run through, things to jump, and maybe a strong rubber tug attached to a strong post so she can play tug of war. I won't do it, though. I WILL look into the dog park and obedience classes. She's really missing canine companions, and most of the dogs in the neighborhood have made it clear she is the puppy, they are in charge and she should just run along.
Better go make my cake. Fortunately, I don't think ear-splitting yaps when she chases her squeaky balls will make it fall.
Thank goodnessszzzzzz.....
Monday, July 11, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
I finally found my forever dog
I have an announcement worthy of learning how to get photos in my blog. I've planned to for a long time. It's good for my blog. It will mean I can write about more things.
But the magnificent reason is: I have a puppy. An awesome, smart-as-a-whip puppy that at 9 weeks of age, is edging into becoming a fulltime chewing machine. I am already keeping house better.(No perishables or chewables lower than two feet.) And believe me, I am putting my leather shoes on high surfaces (I don't trust her not to figure out the closet door.)
Yes, her. A nine-week old girl Welsh Corgi. She has a mostly golden coat with white muzzle, feet, and neck. The tail unfortunately was sacrificed to fashion.
She has a friendly, fun, outgoing take on life. She thinks the world is a friendly place full of good people. She's not quite so sure about really tall dogs that are fascinated by her taillessness and want to sniff her butt again and again.
She does think. She learned to play fetch and return the ball in about 10 minutes. She adores my granddaughters and vice versa. I've had her two days and nights now, and she hasn't whimpered at night. Just sprawled on the cool wood floor next to my bed, although I have already gotten her a truly magnificent dog bed which she uses to lounge in while attacking her squeaky toy rabbit.
She goes to the vet today; she's started scratching since exploring my lawn, and the fleas are very bad this year. She's too young for most treatments but the vet has some stuff.
A nearby community center has obedience classes on Tuesday evenings, and I am thinking she and I may go. One thing I've learned: her nature is so circumspect that I have only myself to blame if she doesn't behave well. Queen Elizabeth would like her.
We must have tried 100 names in two days before I decided. I thought for a while it might be a kick to have a dog named Kitty. But wiser heads prevailed.
Here is where I should have the portrait of my alert, big-eared puppy.
Her name is Gracie.
Pictures as soon as I learn how to put them in.
Since my main web teacher took off for the Pacific Northwest this morning (hmmph!) It will be a week or two.
Blogs will be a might short here and there--she's learning the concept "no", but I am trying to be as preemptive as possible and head off the nos.
More later!
But the magnificent reason is: I have a puppy. An awesome, smart-as-a-whip puppy that at 9 weeks of age, is edging into becoming a fulltime chewing machine. I am already keeping house better.(No perishables or chewables lower than two feet.) And believe me, I am putting my leather shoes on high surfaces (I don't trust her not to figure out the closet door.)
Yes, her. A nine-week old girl Welsh Corgi. She has a mostly golden coat with white muzzle, feet, and neck. The tail unfortunately was sacrificed to fashion.
She has a friendly, fun, outgoing take on life. She thinks the world is a friendly place full of good people. She's not quite so sure about really tall dogs that are fascinated by her taillessness and want to sniff her butt again and again.
She does think. She learned to play fetch and return the ball in about 10 minutes. She adores my granddaughters and vice versa. I've had her two days and nights now, and she hasn't whimpered at night. Just sprawled on the cool wood floor next to my bed, although I have already gotten her a truly magnificent dog bed which she uses to lounge in while attacking her squeaky toy rabbit.
She goes to the vet today; she's started scratching since exploring my lawn, and the fleas are very bad this year. She's too young for most treatments but the vet has some stuff.
A nearby community center has obedience classes on Tuesday evenings, and I am thinking she and I may go. One thing I've learned: her nature is so circumspect that I have only myself to blame if she doesn't behave well. Queen Elizabeth would like her.
We must have tried 100 names in two days before I decided. I thought for a while it might be a kick to have a dog named Kitty. But wiser heads prevailed.
Here is where I should have the portrait of my alert, big-eared puppy.
Her name is Gracie.
Pictures as soon as I learn how to put them in.
Since my main web teacher took off for the Pacific Northwest this morning (hmmph!) It will be a week or two.
Blogs will be a might short here and there--she's learning the concept "no", but I am trying to be as preemptive as possible and head off the nos.
More later!
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Summertime, and the pigging out is so easy
It happened again. It does every year.
The other day I finally bit into my first perfectly vine-ripened tomato of the year, just a sprinkle of salt, and POW!!!! my mouth exploded in this total absorption of sweet, tomato goodness. Firm texture, juicy, oh, and bright red. Bright red counts.
For me, NOTHING else tastes that good. Nothing!
I remember blogging about a similar event a few summers ago. It seems that one involved a smidge of venison summer sausage as well. Same overwhelming reaction.
Huh. So my favorite food is fresh garden tomatoes. Now I know.
It just sounds a trifle....mundane. (Never mind that my eyes involuntarily close in orgasmic bliss.)
But wait! My favorite food is not just tomatoes, good though they are. My absolute favorite is a perfect, vine-ripened tomato. And that's different.
Actually, my favorite food is pretty much anything fresh. with tomatoes heading the list. They don't have to be organic, but more and more often, they are. Baby spinach. day-old free-range chicken eggs. a perfectly ripe peach. (Ohh, the aroma of a tree full of ripe peaches! and the smell isn't even fattening.) Fresh peppers and chiles, fresh onions, baby squash, zuchinni and okra. Fresh green beans. We can't get them here, but I grew up eating raw about half the English peas I was sent out to pick for dinner. We do have black-eyed peas with snaps. Our cantaloupe are flavorful beyond what most soil can produce.
Fresh cheeses. Increasingly in Texas, we can find the soft, yummy, Mozarella and a host of others cheeses, if often at pretty prices (for the seller.)
I like my meats freshly butchered by a pro. I wish Texas had more affordable lamb, which I love. Conservationists stock more and more of our lakes and ponds with tilapia,which cause our water to taste better and are tasty themselves when caught. Catfish is fine, too. If you are from other climes, you may not know about hush puppies, little balls of cornmeal and chopped onions fried in deep fat to accompany the catfish.
I love my romaine. Some pickled stuff to go with the greens are any kind of olive, artichoke, jicama or water chestnuts. MMM.
In summer, several friends confess and I agree, celery and carrot sticks are sometimes preferable to crackers or bread just because of that fresh thing.
Texas has some very nice-flavored blueberries and blackberries, if not the size of the same produce in greener states. We have our pecans, which unfortunately are becoming so popular in the world our own prices have gone up a bit.
Anyhow, the next time I get one of those questionaires that ask my favorite food, I no longer have to write, "yes." I just state, "fresh."
Golly, gee, that even sounds trendy.
The other day I finally bit into my first perfectly vine-ripened tomato of the year, just a sprinkle of salt, and POW!!!! my mouth exploded in this total absorption of sweet, tomato goodness. Firm texture, juicy, oh, and bright red. Bright red counts.
For me, NOTHING else tastes that good. Nothing!
I remember blogging about a similar event a few summers ago. It seems that one involved a smidge of venison summer sausage as well. Same overwhelming reaction.
Huh. So my favorite food is fresh garden tomatoes. Now I know.
It just sounds a trifle....mundane. (Never mind that my eyes involuntarily close in orgasmic bliss.)
But wait! My favorite food is not just tomatoes, good though they are. My absolute favorite is a perfect, vine-ripened tomato. And that's different.
Actually, my favorite food is pretty much anything fresh. with tomatoes heading the list. They don't have to be organic, but more and more often, they are. Baby spinach. day-old free-range chicken eggs. a perfectly ripe peach. (Ohh, the aroma of a tree full of ripe peaches! and the smell isn't even fattening.) Fresh peppers and chiles, fresh onions, baby squash, zuchinni and okra. Fresh green beans. We can't get them here, but I grew up eating raw about half the English peas I was sent out to pick for dinner. We do have black-eyed peas with snaps. Our cantaloupe are flavorful beyond what most soil can produce.
Fresh cheeses. Increasingly in Texas, we can find the soft, yummy, Mozarella and a host of others cheeses, if often at pretty prices (for the seller.)
I like my meats freshly butchered by a pro. I wish Texas had more affordable lamb, which I love. Conservationists stock more and more of our lakes and ponds with tilapia,which cause our water to taste better and are tasty themselves when caught. Catfish is fine, too. If you are from other climes, you may not know about hush puppies, little balls of cornmeal and chopped onions fried in deep fat to accompany the catfish.
I love my romaine. Some pickled stuff to go with the greens are any kind of olive, artichoke, jicama or water chestnuts. MMM.
In summer, several friends confess and I agree, celery and carrot sticks are sometimes preferable to crackers or bread just because of that fresh thing.
Texas has some very nice-flavored blueberries and blackberries, if not the size of the same produce in greener states. We have our pecans, which unfortunately are becoming so popular in the world our own prices have gone up a bit.
Anyhow, the next time I get one of those questionaires that ask my favorite food, I no longer have to write, "yes." I just state, "fresh."
Golly, gee, that even sounds trendy.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Do we blame dementia for the hearing difficulties in the old?
While I was in rehab, I noticed the majority of patients were older. They would do what they were told, but often the therapist had to tell them 2-3 times before they heard the instruction clearly. This slowed down what they could accomplish in an hour.
Very few were proactive. One of the few was a vivacious 92-year-old woman who had fallen and broken her hip. She has always been active, and the fall and resulting break frightened her.
"I'm staying here as long as I can," she said. I don't blame her.
My therapist said he loved to see me coming because I was proactive. As we were going through a set of exercises one day, I talked to him about that.
"It seems to me one of your biggest problems is loss of hearing," I observed.
He said it was, but more than that, it was what it led to.
"People who can't hear tend to become passive and just go along to remain a part of things socially," he said. "They are embarassed to keep saying 'I can't hear you' and they also fear, quite realistically, that if they do, people will just quit trying to talk to them."
The habit is so engrained, he said, that it takes a while for them to realize the physical therapist isn't going to give up--if they even notice their habits by then.
(I remember the first morning in therapy I was walking with a therapist who smiled and pointed. "Why aren't you bending your knee?" she asked.
Right. I was walking the way I had before surgery and I was there to learn to walk differently.)
The therapist I talked to about hearing problems had more to say.
He said that when patients really don't hear well, he then has to determine if the problem he is working with is poor hearing, diminished mental capacity, or both.
This takes time. So the therapy I was able to do in a week usually takes them two weeks.
A few weeks ago, I heard a paper on dementia that said 40 percent of those who reach their 80s will develop dementia of some kind. But that means 60 percent will not. And we are talking 80s here, not 70s.
However, I know quite a few in their 70s who are deaf as posts.
It makes me wonder if a lot of the dottiness of old age is actually more attributable to hearing than diminished ability to think.
One thing I noticed about the oldsters in my classes--they were tough. Most did the exercises required without grumbling, whimpering or protest. Waiting for the next exercise, they would talk among themselves.
"This your first?"
"No, this is my second hip. I did the knees 10 years ago."
Then they would enumerate the heart surgeries, the appendix, the gall bladders before day surgery, and on and on. They would smile grimly at each other.
They knew full well they were survivors.
And I, doing my knee raises, or peddling, or whatever, just listened, marveled, and muttered to my Creator, "Lord, if it is possible, I don't wanna be that tough."
And it's time again for a bout of my daily exercises.
Very few were proactive. One of the few was a vivacious 92-year-old woman who had fallen and broken her hip. She has always been active, and the fall and resulting break frightened her.
"I'm staying here as long as I can," she said. I don't blame her.
My therapist said he loved to see me coming because I was proactive. As we were going through a set of exercises one day, I talked to him about that.
"It seems to me one of your biggest problems is loss of hearing," I observed.
He said it was, but more than that, it was what it led to.
"People who can't hear tend to become passive and just go along to remain a part of things socially," he said. "They are embarassed to keep saying 'I can't hear you' and they also fear, quite realistically, that if they do, people will just quit trying to talk to them."
The habit is so engrained, he said, that it takes a while for them to realize the physical therapist isn't going to give up--if they even notice their habits by then.
(I remember the first morning in therapy I was walking with a therapist who smiled and pointed. "Why aren't you bending your knee?" she asked.
Right. I was walking the way I had before surgery and I was there to learn to walk differently.)
The therapist I talked to about hearing problems had more to say.
He said that when patients really don't hear well, he then has to determine if the problem he is working with is poor hearing, diminished mental capacity, or both.
This takes time. So the therapy I was able to do in a week usually takes them two weeks.
A few weeks ago, I heard a paper on dementia that said 40 percent of those who reach their 80s will develop dementia of some kind. But that means 60 percent will not. And we are talking 80s here, not 70s.
However, I know quite a few in their 70s who are deaf as posts.
It makes me wonder if a lot of the dottiness of old age is actually more attributable to hearing than diminished ability to think.
One thing I noticed about the oldsters in my classes--they were tough. Most did the exercises required without grumbling, whimpering or protest. Waiting for the next exercise, they would talk among themselves.
"This your first?"
"No, this is my second hip. I did the knees 10 years ago."
Then they would enumerate the heart surgeries, the appendix, the gall bladders before day surgery, and on and on. They would smile grimly at each other.
They knew full well they were survivors.
And I, doing my knee raises, or peddling, or whatever, just listened, marveled, and muttered to my Creator, "Lord, if it is possible, I don't wanna be that tough."
And it's time again for a bout of my daily exercises.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Looking Forward to Better Times
Surgery has been a really social event for me. Most of it has gone extremely well, and I've had a lot of good company at the hospital and now at home. I had a couple or three really bad hours the second day when the femoral nerve block faded and the pain took its place.
About two hours into that, my friends from Oregon called. Blake completed his second knee replacement in December. Blake and Jo Ann were both on the phone, and without even saying hello, Jo Ann told me,"Charlotte, we want you to know the pain never gets worse than this." And Blake agreed. They timed it perfectly, and I relaxed. An hour later, all was well.
The rehab hospital was everything I had hoped. Three hours a day, I had physical or occupational therapy. From the third day, I walked down two long halls to therapy, unassisted on my walker. I came home after a week because by the third day, I had reached 100 degrees of motion and could hold the knee down flat. And that is a tribute to the hours of therapy I put into prepapring for this. I didn't even need help dressing the second day!
In rehab, I saw many patients of other doctors. Some had the white compression stockings. I think some used the machine that straightens, then bends the knee automatically. I don't think it matters too much, so long as we exercise and get no infections.
Yeah, it's still sore. Since the surgery, though, I am standing differently and my lower back no longer hurts. I trundle the walker down the drive to pick up the paper, then again to get the mail. A therapist comes 3 times a week and the nurse comes twice a week. I run through exercises twice every day.
I see the doctor July 5 and hope then I will be able to drive and stop taking the damn coumadin. I am beginning to get hints of the change in my life that is coming. With only one knee repaired, I will be able to do so much more. When I do the second knee next summer, it will move my internal clock back years. Wow.
I suspect one reason so many older people are living quality lives so much longer today is due to knee and hip replacements. I know my orthopedist believes that.
Matt mentioned that it was a REALLY bad knee. I understand one can, if one wishes, see a knee replacement operation on YouTube. Now, I used to be a medical writer. Saw a bunch of operations and wrote about them. One of my doctor's operating staff wandered in the third day and said more than I really wanted to hear about extreme hammering and chiseling. I know the whole leg was black and blue, and my surgeon prides himself on not leaving much brusing.
Nope, I don't really need to know more.
I have a few things else I want to say, though, so I'll probably post a couple more times on knee replacements and me before getting on to something else.
About two hours into that, my friends from Oregon called. Blake completed his second knee replacement in December. Blake and Jo Ann were both on the phone, and without even saying hello, Jo Ann told me,"Charlotte, we want you to know the pain never gets worse than this." And Blake agreed. They timed it perfectly, and I relaxed. An hour later, all was well.
The rehab hospital was everything I had hoped. Three hours a day, I had physical or occupational therapy. From the third day, I walked down two long halls to therapy, unassisted on my walker. I came home after a week because by the third day, I had reached 100 degrees of motion and could hold the knee down flat. And that is a tribute to the hours of therapy I put into prepapring for this. I didn't even need help dressing the second day!
In rehab, I saw many patients of other doctors. Some had the white compression stockings. I think some used the machine that straightens, then bends the knee automatically. I don't think it matters too much, so long as we exercise and get no infections.
Yeah, it's still sore. Since the surgery, though, I am standing differently and my lower back no longer hurts. I trundle the walker down the drive to pick up the paper, then again to get the mail. A therapist comes 3 times a week and the nurse comes twice a week. I run through exercises twice every day.
I see the doctor July 5 and hope then I will be able to drive and stop taking the damn coumadin. I am beginning to get hints of the change in my life that is coming. With only one knee repaired, I will be able to do so much more. When I do the second knee next summer, it will move my internal clock back years. Wow.
I suspect one reason so many older people are living quality lives so much longer today is due to knee and hip replacements. I know my orthopedist believes that.
Matt mentioned that it was a REALLY bad knee. I understand one can, if one wishes, see a knee replacement operation on YouTube. Now, I used to be a medical writer. Saw a bunch of operations and wrote about them. One of my doctor's operating staff wandered in the third day and said more than I really wanted to hear about extreme hammering and chiseling. I know the whole leg was black and blue, and my surgeon prides himself on not leaving much brusing.
Nope, I don't really need to know more.
I have a few things else I want to say, though, so I'll probably post a couple more times on knee replacements and me before getting on to something else.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Computer and writer both going for repairs
This is my first time ever to sign in on a library computer. Live and learn.
About 10 days ago, I stupidly opened an enclosed http file from a friend. This same file hit the same person who supposedly sent it and several others. They either had Windows 7, which can eliminate the virus contained, or deleted and shut down. I opened. I haveWindows XP.
I'm going to need professional help to clean the drive. This time, I'm backing up the pictures, too.
I will try to post once or twice in the next week while this mess is getting cleaned up, but in the meantime, June 1 I am going in for a total knee replacement.
I've opted to go into rehab for about two weeks, which hopefully will accelerate my recovery to a cane by the time I get home.
I apologize for the void right when I have been trying to accelerate, but life has interfered a bit with my plans. I have high hopes both for the computer and the knee. Both are being upgraded.
About 10 days ago, I stupidly opened an enclosed http file from a friend. This same file hit the same person who supposedly sent it and several others. They either had Windows 7, which can eliminate the virus contained, or deleted and shut down. I opened. I haveWindows XP.
I'm going to need professional help to clean the drive. This time, I'm backing up the pictures, too.
I will try to post once or twice in the next week while this mess is getting cleaned up, but in the meantime, June 1 I am going in for a total knee replacement.
I've opted to go into rehab for about two weeks, which hopefully will accelerate my recovery to a cane by the time I get home.
I apologize for the void right when I have been trying to accelerate, but life has interfered a bit with my plans. I have high hopes both for the computer and the knee. Both are being upgraded.
Friday, May 6, 2011
OK-Buckle Up-Keep your own arts program going
I always thought "full of yourself" was derogatory.
Until my granddaughter was tonight. She was bubbling over, laughing, emoting charm 20 feet away without realizing it, and yes, she was full of herself.
I loved it.
It was after the concert.
Before, she gave me only a 2-hour notice, although she said she told me yesterday.
I was tired. I had had a hard day. I----went.
At the beginning of the year, my son spent a lot of time at the school arranging her schedule so that she not only got her accelerated courses but the Blue Band, which you must understand is more competitive than the White Band.
Same director for each. And what a director he is. Wow.
Can you imagine your angel volunteering to take the instrument home over the weekend and actually practicing? He got that, from bunches of kids.
My oldest granddaughter plays French horn (yes, I know it's one of the most difficult instruments, and it is beautiful to hear). At which point, my own"full of self" over my granddaughter exudes. She is good. And I will tell you so in an instant.
They played a very difficult program for UIL competition, and were rewarded with Sweepstakes when they played it very well.The music tonight was just for fun. For the parents, and grandparents, that remember Blackeyed Pea and Journey.
Oh, yeah! It was fun, and it was tuneful.
In the White Band, the director recognized 5 students for going above and beyond in practice. In my granddaughter's Blue Band, he recognized 10. My granddaughter is one of them and will receive a trophy with her name engraved on it.
The 10 rather enhances than detracts from the honor. The trophy represents hours of practice every one of them did. It's a trophy to discipline and hours and resulting performance. I hope she sees that.
Not many of us get trophies for the extra hours and work on improved ability that my granddaughter is getting in seventh grade. It's a good life lesson. The warmth of doing something she loves so much carries over to her academics. Success in one field often carries over to another. When she brings the French horn home, it isn't her cacaphony, but her practice on her part of a tune we all know that disconcerts us.
Earworms. How we hate them.
She is a second year student, first chair French horn, in a middle school band that can charm the older generation with melodic--admittedly amateurish versions--of songs we all loved.
I LOVE this school system! They even figured a way to keep most of the teachers.
Thank God, her music director is one of them.
Until my granddaughter was tonight. She was bubbling over, laughing, emoting charm 20 feet away without realizing it, and yes, she was full of herself.
I loved it.
It was after the concert.
Before, she gave me only a 2-hour notice, although she said she told me yesterday.
I was tired. I had had a hard day. I----went.
At the beginning of the year, my son spent a lot of time at the school arranging her schedule so that she not only got her accelerated courses but the Blue Band, which you must understand is more competitive than the White Band.
Same director for each. And what a director he is. Wow.
Can you imagine your angel volunteering to take the instrument home over the weekend and actually practicing? He got that, from bunches of kids.
My oldest granddaughter plays French horn (yes, I know it's one of the most difficult instruments, and it is beautiful to hear). At which point, my own"full of self" over my granddaughter exudes. She is good. And I will tell you so in an instant.
They played a very difficult program for UIL competition, and were rewarded with Sweepstakes when they played it very well.The music tonight was just for fun. For the parents, and grandparents, that remember Blackeyed Pea and Journey.
Oh, yeah! It was fun, and it was tuneful.
In the White Band, the director recognized 5 students for going above and beyond in practice. In my granddaughter's Blue Band, he recognized 10. My granddaughter is one of them and will receive a trophy with her name engraved on it.
The 10 rather enhances than detracts from the honor. The trophy represents hours of practice every one of them did. It's a trophy to discipline and hours and resulting performance. I hope she sees that.
Not many of us get trophies for the extra hours and work on improved ability that my granddaughter is getting in seventh grade. It's a good life lesson. The warmth of doing something she loves so much carries over to her academics. Success in one field often carries over to another. When she brings the French horn home, it isn't her cacaphony, but her practice on her part of a tune we all know that disconcerts us.
Earworms. How we hate them.
She is a second year student, first chair French horn, in a middle school band that can charm the older generation with melodic--admittedly amateurish versions--of songs we all loved.
I LOVE this school system! They even figured a way to keep most of the teachers.
Thank God, her music director is one of them.
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