The Leaning Cow

Our musings . . . Our emoos

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BookBub blindsides me again

September 8th, 2017 · 1 Comment

Drat, I made an inappropriate pun in the title above, and, really, it was totally unintentional; it had to be subconscious. I caught it almost immediately and could easily have changed it, but maybe it is appropriate because it testifies to the intensity of the emotion that wells within me when a certain topic comes up.

The title of the book was enough to sent up a red flag: Thunder Dog. The short synopsis was confirmation of the assault on my heart:

This #1 New York Times bestseller tells the inspirational true story of Roselle, a loyal guide dog who led her blind owner from the World Trade Center to safety during the harrowing moments of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. With nearly 2,000 five-star ratings on Goodreads.

Shane. It will always be Shane; Shane, whom I did not name, remarking that I would always be reminded of Alan Ladd; Shane, who came to live with me when Quentin had to find him a new home. “Will you take Shane,” he asked. There wasn’t time for a breath between his question and my answer, “Yes, of course.”

There was the trip to Memphis with Cameron to meet up with Quentin who brought Shane from Houston, a trip that had us stopping at Historic Sites and staying at a motel and detouring to show where his grandfather and I had lived at the former AF base at Blytheville, Arkansas. It was a trip that was a marathon drive back from Memphis, with no motel and frequent calls from home for the last four hours as anticipating people queried, “Where are you now?”

And there were the years with Shane. Shane who was an Australian Shepherd clown, who loved Wubbas and hugs and trips to the fairgrounds. Shane who was ordered around by Sydney, our elderly Australian Shepherd who had been the last one to whom my father addressed his last coherent words and the one who was by my mother almost a decade later when she died.

And Shane was Quentin’s dog. Shane had followed in the line of the dogs we have had and said goodbye to, and in quite a few years I knew I would have to say goodbye to him. But it didn’t work out that way. Shane had an asymptomatic genetic condition that led to cancer in the heart that struck its lethal blow in a 48 hour period. He was lying on the floor and I was trying not to stimulate him because I knew he would try so hard to please me. And, so, he died alone and untouched. It was shocking, leaving even the vet to wonder and it was the necropsy that gave us the answer. Answers don’t bring dogs back. In fact, someone said to me, “Shane’s gone and he’s not coming back.” Maybe that was the push that got me thinking that everything Shane represented, everything to which he was linked was gone . . . and not coming back. And it was so much to lose forever.

Shane’s memory was the master key to so many boxes of sadness that were stacked in my mind like safety deposit boxes in a bank’s vault. And so when I watched Marley and Me with Owen Wilson, I sobbed and was near tears for days. Homeward Bound? Oh, heaven’s no.

There are so many deserving stories of loyal and wonderful dogs, but I can’t bring myself to read them. I have lived that story

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Well, a Hoosier hello to Harvey

September 6th, 2017 · 1 Comment

I met a part of Harvey’s extended family this morning at the gas station. I winced at the price per gallon and turned my back to the pump and when that pump shut off automatically, I turned slowly and groaned.

And it occurred to me: With all the notifications about voluntary help for Hurricane Harvey’s victims, am I making an obligatory donation to oh, say, some gas companies?

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How fast can I jump up?

September 4th, 2017 · 1 Comment

I have spent most of the day sitting and reading, sitting and watching a Homicide Hunter: Joe Kenda marathon I got sucked in to, surfing around on the Internet and trying to get motivated on this Monday, a day that feels like Sunday. I have not done much moving at all. However, just a few minutes ago, I moved. I moved my leg up to rest on a stool on which I had placed an iced sparkling water drink.

And, yes, my heel nudged the cup and down it went. I didn’t see it happen because I was I staring at the computer screen. One split second later, icy liquid and half melted ice flowed down my leg that had rested on the stool. There might have been cursing. Carelessly tossing the laptop to the side, I jumped up with a scream and discovered I had a skirt spotted with liquid and, under it, soaked underpants. That is probably too much information. Fortunately, I was alone in the room and so no one will ever know. Uh, maybe I should have thought this through.

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Jeez, I had to remember my password again

August 31st, 2017 · No Comments

Once upon a time, I would come to this site and not have to sign in because I had clicked keep me logged in. Well, I guess those days are long past. And perhaps I shouldn’t have remembered the password because what I intended to write about was the green snot in my nose. Yeah, I just put it right out there: SNOT. Before I had to go through the password thingie, my mind was already mulling over a more proper word than snot, although one that would imply the same GREEN.

Why am I writing about it? Because my nose hurts and pain radiates up into my sinuses and it has been doing so for about a month and so, finally, I made a doctor’s appointment. However, I just could not bring myself to go into his office in my plumped-out, woebegone state and so I made it for two weeks hence. As if regained weight will fall off and blossoming wrinkles will fade and I will get a perky bounce in my step.

What the real problem is is that I turned 69 and there on the next step is 70. That number makes me feel kind of snot green all over. 70!!!  Who knew that the second star to the right, straight on through until morning would lead to 70?


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Well, now I’ve gone and done it

August 21st, 2017 · No Comments

I decided to take a quick look through my mail before I actually did something productive – such as moving a cabinet out of the way in the basement so the plumber who came to day and muttered, “Ahhhhhh” could access a good place to cut through the floor tomorrow. I saw Book Bub’s suggestions and noted one in particular: Bushmaster. Yeah, it’s what you’re thinking – a book about snake guy Raymond Ditmars.

With a series of No’s pounding in my head I still let a finger move the cursor and click a key and, voila, it was headed to my Kindle. Now you know that when you do that they pop up titles of books of the same ilk. I was not going to push my luck and buy another, but I did let my curiosity get the better of me when the synopsis of one mentioned a snake guy named Joe Slowinski and Burma and a krait. I googled his name and found this article AND I READ IT. Oh, I don’t know if I want to close my eyes tonight.

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Ove, my kitchen drain is leaking into my basement

August 17th, 2017 · 1 Comment

I see that a book titled “A Man Called Ove” is a best-seller and has been recommended via a blog by three – now five – people. I looked over at Kindle Books to see a synopsis. This is the first paragraph:

Read the New York Times bestseller that has taken the world by storm!

Meet Ove. He’s a curmudgeon—the kind of man who points at people he dislikes as if they were burglars caught outside his bedroom window. He has staunch principles, strict routines, and a short fuse. People call him “the bitter neighbor from hell.” But must Ove be bitter just because he doesn’t walk around with a smile plastered to his face all the time?

Ove sounds quite a bit like me. Now, apparently, life changes Ove’s outlook, according to the rest of the summary on the Kindle site. Oh, good. And Cinderella marries the Prince. And the Grinch’s heart grew three times its normal size . .

I can tell you right now that I’m more than sure that what happens to Ove is a good thing, a heartwarming thing, a worthy thing, a thing to hope to experience. I can also tell you right now that sometimes a person is so Ove-ized that he/she just wants to say, “This is my pool of self-pity and I’m going to wallow in it.”

I should welcome the example of Ove for this has been a year of sort of dodged bullets, of weeks of tension and worry that turned out much better than it could have. I know, I know; this above expressed angst, irritability and desire to walk up to a wall and kick it needs to be Ove(r). But it hangs around – maybe I am leaving out food for it.

Sigh, I’m going to have to think about this.

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Oh, the things that motivate us

August 15th, 2017 · No Comments

Perhaps one person will recognize the reason for me linking to this post.

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How many pitfalls are there anyway?

July 18th, 2017 · 1 Comment

Yes, I was up and actually functioning when . . . the dreaded summer cold struck, mixed in with a bit of intestinal distress. I have had to postpone my second cataract surgery and that was a bummer, but having a stuffed nose, a racking cough and a fever made a good case for it. Only a week’s delay, so really not a foot-stomping event. Although, I have to say the shaking chills at 2 am one morning made me grateful it was a summer cold and not malaria or yellow fever. Remembered passages from books about Japanese POW camps and the Panama Canal workers haunted my dozing off thoughts; there’s no doubt about it: if you have a choice, go with the sugar plum fairies.

I am hoping events will even out somewhat, and I have such an urge to constantly knock on wood that I need to live in a log cabin or have Al Gore standing within arm’s reach at all times.

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Good Heavens, I had to take a couple of tries to remember my password

July 7th, 2017 · 1 Comment

Sitting in Fairborn, Ohio with my feet up on the coffee table and music playing on my iphone through a cute little speaker with lights that change, I venture into this space once more. God, there’s a lot of dusting to do and, drat, I see I’m going to have to clean out the cooler – you know, the one that looks like a chest freezer and you lift the lid and find drinks nestled in an ice bath.

Well, there’s nothing for it, but to get busy. So I guess I’ll turn off the iphone and plug in the jukebox. I’ll need something with a nice, bouncy rhythm – How about Red Dress? After all, they always said red was my color.

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Is it really me, AmeliaJake?

June 16th, 2017 · 1 Comment

I think so; I think I have emerged from the shadows. I may wander back in, but while I’m here, I guess I could at least say HI.

Let’s see, Der Bingle was taken to the emergency room on April 19th with lights flashing and the siren going. I was three hours+ away and did not find out about it until five hours later. I could tell a long story – anyone who knows me at all realizes it could meander around every emotion and hospital corridor and long, sleepless nights; BUT no need for going through it again – he turned out to be okay.

Then two days ago I had cataract surgery, which went very well and for which I thank the researchers who did the necessary “how to” work and the doctors who went to medical school and mastered the “can do” part.

And in between, I had vertigo.

If it weren’t for all that, the big news would be the glass shower door shattering out of nowhere on my daughter-in-law. She got some cuts, but is doing all right . . . and they tell me you could see her footprints left in the tub full of pebbly glass. I’m going to have to track down the warranty material – now that I can read it.

So, actually eating healthy and doing muscle building exercises doesn’t seem like drudgery. I could post before and after pictures, but given the existence of photoshop, I will either get in shape or get very good at carving away bulges and flab with a cursor. The latter would be a useful blogging tool, but I’m going to try for the first option.

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