Can I Keep It?

Take a Whiff of That!

Yesterday, I was sitting on the couch with Simone.  She turned about sharply, sniffed her derriere and faced me.  Her nose twitched to the left.  It twitched to the right.  She looked horrified.

In mere seconds, I discovered the scent of her distress. 

Years ago, I had a Dalmation named Howard.  He was not the sharpest tool in the shed.  Anyway, I lived in a house in east Memphis on Peg Lane.  It was a California Contemporary.  Laid on a slab, like most homes here, someone had installed hardwood floors.  They did not insulate between the flooring and the concrete.  When you walked across it, the effect was rather like the sound box of a guitar.  All noises were amplified.  When Howard walked on the wooden floors, he clicked like a couple of ladies in high heels on their way to the restroom.  Throwing a ball for him rang out like the Lord of the Dance was performing in the living room.  And when Howard, sitting down, tooted on the floor?  It was like a symphony rehearsal. 

Howard would fling himself around, startled.  He would pace in circles, growling and searching for the offending musical instrument.  I was no help.  Eventually, he would make his way over to me, as I lay crumpled on the floor.  Dying with laughter.  Because I am mature beyond my years.

Yeah, Simone didn't find me funny either.

Snow Day

The commute to my studio the past few days has been treacherous. The boss really should have called off work.  Eejit.

Wait.  That would be me. 

And I love what I do, so making the long journey to the studio to paint puppies was a perfect thing to do on a snowy day. I also love the snow.  And boy, did it snow.  Five inches.  Which for us down here in the sunny South is a weather event of epic proportions.  The entire region is without milk, bread or beer.

I bundled up the kids in their jumpers and set off.  Simone in blue and Zali in red.

Simone's not really all that keen on having cold wet feetsies.  Or wearing a sweater for that matter.  But she looked adorable, so she can just get over it.

Arriving at the studio, I cranked up the heat and laid my down jacket on the floor for them to snuggle up.  Simone also has an extreme dislike of anything wet on her face.  She ran through the house from the bedroom to the living room to the studio rubbing her face on all the pillows, comforter, couch, chairs and my coat.

Zali had already settled in for a snooze, but Simone booted him out for proper face rubbing rituals.

Wrapped in a sweater and cuddled in the warmth of the down, she soon fell into lalaland.  I painted a comical boxer named Boomer for a Lt. Colonel in Arkansas and watched the snow drift quietly onto the garden. 

 

Hours passed.  The snow grew deep.  My painting became too wet to work.  I woke the Pappies.  Simone looked befuddled like Marilyn Monroe in those photos by Norman Mailer.

And we started out on the long way home.

 

 

Random Acts of Photography

This is what Sunday looked like at the Hudarosa.

 

We were a bunch of spent pennies after toughing it out in the 100 degree heat

for fourteen and a half hours.  Good thing the Pappies know how to relax.

Ath-uh-lete

Every day, Hud must take Zoe out to run and chase the ball.  Pacing and baying, she rushes him into tying his shoes, grabbing the keys, opening the car.  Zoe lives for those precious few moments of the early day.  She is an athlete. 

 

I cannot believe that I am about to admit this to you all, but since I hurt my back, I have not been able to exercise.  And I, the Furry Godmother, who once said she would never run unless I was being chased by a monkey with a machete who was angry because I ordered the wrong wine for dinner, miss it.  There.  I said it.  I don't know myself at all.

I tried to walk on the treadmill this morning.  I have spent the rest of the day the Pappy way.  In bed. 

 

JustGibUp,Dammit!We'reMoreFunDanGoingToTheGymAnywhoo!

Simone has been languishing beside me on the pillows.  Zali is stretched along my leg, upside down, airing out his pee pee, snoring just loudly enough to make concentration difficult.  It's a siren song to join them.  Close my slothful eyes and weave dreams of chasing rabbits in an open field of wildflowers.  It's how they get their exercise.

And for now, so do I.

What I've Been Doing On My Summer Vacation

Repairing and reupholstering the office is what I've been doing!  Not lounging and snoozing like the Pappies.  Exhibit A:

Simone, Zali, the Doppleganger and a random snake toy foozing it up on the newly covered dog bed. Under a silk screen with hand painted sparrows and quails from China. I know.  Who knew there would be an animal theme?  Next to the china cabinet Hud's mother gifted us some years ago that Hud displays vintage camera gear.  I keep my Boris and Natasha bobbleheads in there for fun as well.  Just in case you were thinking that I only have a fetish for animals.

Going waaaayyyy outside of my comfort zone, I chose to color the walls a deep saturated blue.  Normally, I lean towards shades of food --greens, melons, red.  Lots of red.  It's Hud's favorite hue, too, so we've got our money's worth of red at the Hudarosa.  The railroad desk on the left is where I paint ceramics.  Ruby's by the window.  She matches the drapes now.  Her green, yellow and blue ensemble with a bright red cap are the perfect compliment.  Yes, I got the fabric because it matches my finch.  Shut up. Don't pretend you're surprised. A Bert Sharpe concrete wall sculpture is resting on top of the mantle.  I'm too chicken (!) to hang it anywhere.

Yes, the furniture in this room is standing at attention around the walls.  This is not only my office, but the Romper Room.  It is generally littered with toys.  The middle of the room is clear in case some dog breaks out into spontaneous wrestling.

Way to rock out the fooze, Simone.

My computer desk, a tiger oak trundle table from the turn of last century, is home to the Hammies.  I like to watch them while I work.  Sometimes, when my lap is not full of cat, it is being perched upon by a tiny little dude.  The budgies are constantly squawking loudly in the aquarium behind me.  Floyd cannot get enough of the sound of his own voice.  Mozelle and I however, have had plenty.

I should have taken a shot of the fabric graphics.  The red *surprise* background has frolicking lions and monkeys.  I know.  Animals.  Shocking.

And that is what the Furry Godmother has been up to so far this summer.  Maybe now that's complete, I can find some time to get out of this room and into the studio.

A girl can dream...

In The Nick of Time

The rain has been relentless.  Zoe has slept so much that she acted like Rip Van Winkle when she spied the sun for the first time in weeks.  She gazed through the picture windows in the bar and stared in amazement at the bright cerulean sky.

"Whaaaa?" Is all her feeble brain could muster.

After her ferocious workouts with Hud in the morning, my daintiest daughter wiles away her days napping in her favorite chair.  It's on the sun porch.  We call it the "Hair of the Dog Bar", because you will surely be covered in bright red hair should you sit on any surface.  It's Zoe's room.  She can get a handle on the world from there.  She can stand in the enormous windows, intimidating people as they arrive at the front door. She can bark threateningly at any stranger who dares to pass Scytherbolle on the sidewalk.  Mostly, she can sleep undisturbed.

Seeing the sunshine perked up the Pappies and we ventured out to see if Zoe would care to join us for some weeding.

I was stunned to see my big red headed girl's face has suddenly become as white as snow.  It's as if all the sleeping had aged her overnight.  She was losing her color in a mask across her handsome visage.  The sun has arrived just in the nick of time to stop the process.

"Come on Old Girl," I roust her.  "Time to get our lives back.  We've been sleeping far too long."

In Praise of Naps

Boy, do I love a nap.  Nothing breaks up the stresses of making the journey through an entire day like taking a one hour (or two, if no one’s looking and/or counting) nap.  And from the looks and sounds of things around my house, from the number of four-footed children who are willing co-conspirators in my evil afternoon enterprise, from the copious amounts of snoring, snoozing and foozing that go on during naptime, I am pretty much resting assured that it is an endeavor which will persist despite the ravages of time and the interruption of a ringing telephone.  Regardless of the weather, be it hotter than the hammered hinges of Hell in July and August or colder than my ex-wife’s heart in January and February, I can always get a taker or two (or three or four) to quit whatever important task is being pursued for the pursuit of a good nap.  It doesn’t matter whether we are piled up on the couch, me on the bottom, a couple of little dogs on top of me, Zoe on the fainting couch (as she is faint of heart) or her specially constructed, tornado resistant ottoman (see photo) and Carmen on the floor by the stairs (with her cold little tootsies under the rug for just the right amount of warmth), or whether we make it an official nap and go rip the top blanket off the bed for a proper afternoon siesta, a good nap is always in style and a bit hit with the family.

The Furry Godmother (Angela) always used to say that she only took a nap when she was under the weather.  But that was yesterday, long, long ago, before the little dogs came to stay and the soothing sounds of rhythmic breathing filled the house with nature’s best sleeping music. Now Angela can throw down an hour’s nap with the best of them (read: Hud) and get up raring to go, or ready to take another nap.  Whichever.

If I had to pick one of the kids who takes the deepest, sleepiest nap, I would have to pick our little Zoe, that little 80 plus pounds-of-joy girl who snores like a 75 year old man.  The first time I ever heard it I said she sounds like an old guy named Morey taking an unplanned nap in a synagogue in the Bronx. This girl can rattle the windows with her big chest and huge lungs.

Having said that, let me also note that Zali is no slouch when it comes to the couch.  The first time we ever curled up and rode off in the sweet arms of Morpheus I awoke and told Angela, without fear of contradiction: Darlin', this boy is the Napmaster.  He lies down up against you and you are powerless to remain awake.  He has knowledge and is skilled and practiced in the art. If I sound like a proud papa, I guess I am guilty as charged.  I feel so bad about being caught that I think I'll go round up some of the furkids and take a nap.  I hope you do, too!