Currently on my Desktop

This is what's playing on my desktop these days. A while back, I had an opportunity to visit Tacoma's old Union Station. I love buildings, especially stately ones. The old train depot has been remade into a courthouse, and features works by glass artist Dale Chihuly. What a great combination!

This shot, which is nothing original, is taken near the center of the great room, looking straight up at the dome. Chihuly's chandelier is suspended from the ceiling and catches the light (and the eye) magnificently.

Polo's Biggest Issue

It's about time I wrote another post. Sorry it's been so long again. Sigh. That's life.

Anyway, I've discovered another major Polo problem. This one may trump his separation anxiety, because it's more serious, more insidious, and definitely more permanent. What is this awful flaw? He's smart. Way smart.

Remember that beautiful fence we installed last summer? Polo loves to be outside, loves to run wildly back and forth, loves to find new ways to get out of the yard and explore the neighborhood. Youngest son made some adjustments so Polo can't squeeze under the north side any more. But he's still getting out somewhere.

Polo can't be trusted to stay alone inside the house yet, either. He chews things, steals things, finds things, hides things. He's a pup.

The funniest thing I've seen him do, though, makes up for the bad stuff. He loves to solve problems. Twice now, I've watched him work and work to get a stray kibble out of his water bowl. He'll chase the floater all around the bowl, drinking and licking and changing position. It's hilarious! Even if he's hungry for his dinner, he'll wait to eat until he nabs that pesky bobbing kibble. So cute!

I've occasionally given him another little puzzle to solve. The Kong toy is designed with a hollow center, in order to hide treats inside. But it's too easy to simply drop a dog biscuit into the Kong. If Polo really needs something to apply himself to, I put bits of biscuit into the Kong and then jam his Nylabone into the hole too. Either he has to pull out the Nylabone, or he has to work the Kong so that the little treats will fall out around the bone. This is good for 20 minutes of peace and quiet for me, but adds more IQ points for the pup. Oops...

After My Lunch Appointment...

I took a side trip to the beach today. I saw a ship coming in on the rising tide.

There were pigeons.

There were waves and foam.




And then in the valley, as I was almost home, I met these guys! A nice day all around.

An Aid to Peaceful Contemplation of Nothing in Particular

The weeks have been sliding past, up and down, over and over. It's been feeling like a rut, although I'm not really stuck anywhere. Just the same cycle of days, up and down, over and over. Time for a change.

I finally got my (library) copy of Jan Karon's newest book, In the Company of Others. Several years ago, at a sort of cocktail party, someone gushed about me being a "librarian" and asked what great new books I'd been reading. I chuckled uncomfortably. If I'd known her better, I would have laughed out loud. Although my library system gets the hottest, newest books on their public release date, I never plan ahead to get myself on the waiting list. On the day a new book comes out, I am privileged to unpack it and put it on the "hold" shelf for those other smart people to pick up. Sometime after that, I'll get around to putting myself on the list for it. In the mean time, I'm confident that there will be plenty of books for me to read.

Sometimes I don't want to take the time to read. Maybe there aren't enough available brain cells to allow for a journey of imagination. But in all this up and down, over and over, it's time to take the time.

Ms. Karon's writing is quiet, easy, comtemplative. It makes me feel good. It lets me think. It's beautiful. I'm taking time to read a good book, and I'm resting.

Lotsa Water, eh?

It's been raining here. More than usual, that is. The ground is over-saturated, which is part of the reason there was a septic pumper working at the library this week. Ugh.

But there are good things about rain. One of them is quiet walks. Polo drools like a St. Bernard when he has to ride in the car, but I hope I made it worthwhile today. We had a wonderful time together on the trail. He really wanted to chase the ducks, but I would only allow him to take pictures. It was good to get out and MOVE.

Here's Polo's best photo of the day:

Rescue Dog, Bad Dog?

Here we are in Week 3 or 4 with Polo the rescue pup. Sigh. At first, I didn't think of him as having been "rescued". He was mild-mannered, sweet, and only had a couple of accidents in the house. I thought this was going to be easy, bringing a six-month-old to responsible adulthood.

Maybe not so much.

Polo is still mild-mannered and sweet. He loves belly rubs, and finds ways to climb onto me and roll over so I'll massage him. He hasn't had any accidents, but consistently potties in the crate. We thought we had a very smart solution to this, and started leaving him outside when we had to go away. He's got plenty of fur to insulate him, and he loves playing outside. Putting him out should be a win-win, right?

Wrong-wrong.

Polo's biggest problem, as I see it, is separation anxiety. He hates being left alone in the crate, so he's learned to avoid me when I'm getting dressed and brushing my teeth. Now, he hates being left alone outside, so he has to find indoor places to pee AND poop in case we run away from home while he's outside doing his business. Ugh.

Poor Polo. He'll enjoy a lot of time with me this weekend, and I'm looking forward to being with him too. We have our first training class on Sunday. In the mean time, I have a couple of positive-training books on hand. I think we'll have some fun lessons in Mommy Permanence now. Polo needs to learn, little by little, that I always come back.

Poco a poco, Polito. Good dog!

Ups and Downs, Ins and Outs

The Pup is named Polo (because he looks like a cuddly little polar bear) but is also known as Apollo and Spud. He kind of told his side of the story already, so here's mine. We were dogless for about a week, and that was as much as I could stand. I had said that the timing of getting another dog would be a family decision, but I couldn't wait. I let my husband talk me into "just looking" at the local animal shelter. (He didn't have to twist my arm at all. Seven days of not being gleefully greeted at the door is a long, long time.) We went home with a sweet six-month-old golden Lab mix. The naming rights were supposed to be a matter of family vote, too, but I stole the ballot box.

Polo loves to go on walks, although he still hates meeting oncoming traffic. If puppies are "chick magnets", Polo is a general "people magnet". Since we end up doing a stop/sit for many encounters, strangers praise us for great obedience. I can't take a compliment that we don't deserve, so I inform them that he's actually scared stiff and refuses to move. This is usually followed by, "Oh, I see, he's just a pup. Inn't he just the sweetest lil thang?" Yep. So much for aerobic walking. Here we are on the trail together:


There is one nightmare that keeps coming true for the Polo pup. At odd times of the day, tall bearded men suddenly appear in our upstairs hallway. Sometimes, they poke their heads into the master bedroom when they come into the house in the wee hours. They're big, they have man-voices, and they come from out of nowhere. Of course the pup has to bark at them -- they're scary! Unfortunately, this doesn't endear him to them, and not even the Mom and Dad show appreciation for this loud announcement of Polo's surprise. Nightmares, indeed.

So far, Polo has endured two shower-baths. He takes them sitting down, but doesn't particularly enjoy them. Although most dogs don't "mess their nest", dogs who have spent time in kennels don't know better than to potty in their crates. Ick. But with all his beautiful fur, Polo needs regular baths anyway. Here's hoping he'll learn to like them.

We're enrolled in an obedience class that starts later this month. At least, I am, and I think Polo is supposed to come with me. It's good to have a walking partner again. He's still learning the greet-Mom-at-the-door thing, but he'll figure it out.

Did You See That?

The Unnamed Pup and I took a walk this afternoon. Wish I'd thought to put on gloves. We did another mile or more, but this time he spent a lot of time looking over his shoulder for dangerously marauding joggers.

Halfway down the piece of trail, I saw a great blue heron sitting by the water. That's the first time I've seen one hunting on this trail! He was a good 25 yards away, through the trees, and it was too shady to get a good photo so I'm borrowing this one:

His body was lovely blue-gray, and his head very white. He must have been kind of hunkered down like this one, with his head atop his shoulders. Pretty amazing to be that close to him!

Guest Post (by potential New Correspondent)

Hi. My name is A***57 and Lady put me in front of compooter and said I must rite. I are golden lab pup, six monts old, fresh from streets and animul shelter. Here my face:

The Man and Lady brot me to home from shelter and said ManBoys would have to approve me to join famly. ManBoys not all crazy about me. Lady says name "Rufus" and makes cry. Lady slept on couch all night with leash on her foot. I go potty out by tree.

Lady made me go in Car today. We went "walk" on trail. She showed me footprint. Think it susqatch monster, but Lady say racoon. See for self:

I never rite before. I never walk with Lady before. I never have to wonder about ManBoy approval before. I very skinny but have buetiful fur. Lady secretly calling me Polo because I look like polo bear. Nap now.

Did I Go Overboard?

I didn't mean to. I was trying to use my waiting time in a productive manner. Reading, after all, is usually quite acceptable. Even in public. But did I do too much? Please, you decide.

I went to Portland this week to present information about Lutheran Blind Mission. Not only does LBM have the world's largest religious lending library of Braille/large print/recorded books, but they also have an Outreach Center in Portland. I was asked to talk about both of these opportunities, and to invite people to invite people to the monthly meals and conversations at the Outreach Center.

My contact person (PK) was on the phone when I arrived, so I introduced myself to a receptionist and took a seat in the lobby. I spent a few minutes reviewing data in my Wonderful Notebook of Information. (It never hurts to have the facts straight before you open your mouth, right?) The gal was still on the phone, but I had plenty of reading material with me.

Out came my Braille magazine. I got in the habit of carrying Braille stuff in my car when my kids were still in school. While I waited for the final bell to ring, I could practice my Braille skills. The only other time I practice is in bed at night, and after about ten minutes all the dots turn to mush. If I want to retain any skill at all, I have to remember to practice. Those synapses get lazy and forget how to fire if they aren't exercised regularly.

As I concentrated on feeling the dots, I stopped paying attention to what was happening around me. Except... I heard part of one whispered conversation as one receptionist told the other that I was there for PK's vision loss support group. Silence. I could feel eyes on me, but I kept reading.

Before I knew it, PK had come out of her office and disappeared to another part of the building. No one introduced us. I think it was assumed that I was a simply a client who would be attending the group. After all, only blind people read Braille by touch! It's likely that neither of the receptionists knew that PK had arranged for a guest speaker at this meeting. It's not that I felt disrespected, but it did seem like assumptions were made once I ceased to make eye contact and began feeling the Braille.

Assumptions. Ouch. I am guilty of making them. It was frustrating to realize that I became the object of assumptions, although I was able to act to change my identity very quickly. All I had to do was close my magazine and stride over to the desk. But there are lots of folks who cannot work so effectively to shake free.

This was an interesting experience of mistaken identity. But I have one nagging question: Did I somehow go too far, so that I insinuated actual participation in the blind community?