Scratch game

Recently Dagny was at my house, hanging out for a couple of lazy summer hours with me and Rizzo.

She'd come to where we sat in the big recliner in the sun room -- the one I share with Rizzo or he shares with me, whichever way you want to look at it -- and got up there on the side that my dog wasn't occupying.

Dagny had my phone and was watching Elsa and Anna YouTubes -- a source of endless fascination for her -- while I played Royal Games Midas Mahjong -- a source of endless fascination for me -- and Rizzo snoozed.

A source of endless fascination for him.

All was peaceful for a number of minutes. Then Dagny, my phone still in her right hand, extended her entire left arm in my direction.

Scratch my arm, she said, her eyes riveted to Elsa and Anna's peripatetic online existence.

? ? ? ? ?

I complied. I'm the one with the fingernails, after all. She chews on hers.

I scratched her forearm. No response; she continued to watch the screen but did not take her arm back.

So I scratched her upper arm. Again, no sign that I'd succeeded in locating the spot that itched.

Then:

Well ... she said. She put the phone down and used her right hand to scratch her own left arm -- on the inside of her elbow.

Oh, okay.

Next time be more specific.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday :: Happy Labor Day Weekend :: Happy September

Star spangled success

Nearly three years ago when Andrew was deployed for the first time, he did something that many military personnel do.

He purchased an American flag for TG and me, and hung it respectfully in the KC-135 tanker where he served as a boom operator, while he and his fellow soldiers flew a mission over hostile territory in the Middle East.

The mission was part of Operation Inherent Resolve. The date was September 11, 2015.

We were so moved when he presented the flag to us. I wrote about it here.

I know this is often done and it's not unique to our family; countless parents have them. But I cherish that flag.

I unfolded it from its triangle -- at least I think it was folded in a triangle when we received it, but now I'm not so sure -- and took pictures of it for my blog post.

Then I refolded it (not in a triangle because I don't know how to do that) and returned it to its box, where it has been ever since.

Recently I came across that box while cleaning out something or other, and became determined to see the flag and certificate framed so that I could display it in our home.

The thought of Andrew going to all that trouble just for the flag to while away the ages in a box, simply didn't fly. 

See what I did there?

TG took the matter in hand and, on a recent day of errand-running, took the box and its contents to Hobby Lobby where I have a great deal of confidence in one of the employees in the framing department.

His name is Dave and he has special expertise in the framing of military awards and memorabilia.

TG told Dave what we wanted and he knew exactly what to do. For one thing, TG learned that you don't display the flag folded in a triangle unless it is meant to commemorate the death of a soldier.

But Dave knew how it should be folded, and we trusted him. He recommended that first, we take the flag to a dry cleaner and have it pressed.

He also suggested that, in addition to the certificate that accompanied our flag, we include a picture of either Andrew in uniform, or Andrew in uniform with the two of us as recipients of the gift.

I happened to have such a picture of the three of us, taken last Spring by Brittany one day when we were all together at church. It's featured in the sidebar of this web site.

A week or so after first consulting Dave on the framing project, TG picked up the photo and the pressed flag and took them back to Hobby Lobby.

It was expensive to "do it right" as Dave advised TG to do; the glass, for instance, is not just any kind of glass. It is archival glass, museum quality, as befits something that has now become an heirloom.

This piece is big -- thirty-four inches high by twenty-one inches wide. The frame was custom made and it's heavy. I'll need help hanging it but I've already picked out a spot.

Fifty years from now, when TG and I are long gone and Andrew is an old man, he can bequeath this treasure to his own son or daughter. Or they can wait until he's gone too and fight over it, haaaha.

Today TG paid for the finished work and brought it home. And I am again impressed that someone would do this for me, and still touched by the story it tells.

As Dave put it, a legacy item such as this should be self-explanatory. What it is, where it came from, to whom it was given, when, and why. It's all there for anyone who cares to ponder its provenance in the future.

I'm down with that. For posterity, so that generations following us may remember with gratitude our son's service, and be made aware of the honor he bestowed upon us in the form of this glorious banner.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Thursday

I keep my words

I would be willing to wager, were I a betting blogger, that I have more journals than you.

Twenty-seven at last count, when I rounded up all I could find in order to prove it.

My family and friends know I love journals and they give them to me all the time.

I'd no more dream of being without a journal by my side and in my purse than I'd contemplate going without Chap Stick Candy Cane.

Not going to happen.

Once, years ago, I wrote an entire long poem during a wedding. I was sitting there listening to the couple exchange vows when inspiration struck.

What are you going to do? Reach for your journal, is what.

My kids and TG are familiar with my rummaging in my purse during church when, in the course of the service, a thought strikes me which I figure may change the course of the world, so I'd better write it down.

Many is the time I have my journal and pen on the pew beside me with my Bible -- no; I don't take notes in church so it's not for that -- to spare myself and those sitting with me the part where I dig for my journal.

Why is this so important? You may ask.

It probably wouldn't be of grave import -- in fact, the likelihood of my thoughts being earth-shattering are slim to none -- if I neglected to write something down.

But it's therapeutic.

Even though sometimes it's no more than a shopping list or a raft of to-dos.

Not really all that mysterious. My memory isn't what it used to be.

Some of my journals have been in my possession for decades. Some are fancy; some are plain. I have journals in small, medium, and large sizes. Some have lined paper while in others the paper is a clean, blank canvas.

I have black journals, brown journals, gold journals, and brightly-colored journals.

Some feature words, pictures, and various media. Most have ribbons inside, to mark your place.

Several have handy elastic bands to keep them closed. A few are embossed.

A number of them are mere cardboard, some on a wire spiral. I have -- and love -- moleskines. I have steno pads and cheap composition books from the dollar store.

I also have a few cherished real leather journals.

I need them all. I'd be lost without them. They're somewhere safe to keep my words.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

Bon voyage

The bride and groom with the bride's parents

In early August my niece, Joanna, was married in Greenville, South Carolina.

As far as I know, no more weddings are planned for our family in this calendar year.

These pictures were taken with my iPhone and so I apologize for the poor quality.

Joanna is the seventh and youngest child of my big sister Kay and her husband of forty-two years, Philippe. She was born on Kay's thirty-ninth birthday.

Joanna and Susanna

I first met Joanna when she was eleven days old, on Christmas Day in 1994.

We had gone to Quebec, Canada, where my sister and her family lived, for the holidays. There were several feet of snow and a new baby.

Fast forward nearly a quarter-century and Joanna, wearing a dress she made by hand, was a lovely bride marrying her sweetheart, Jacob.

Joanna secures her mother's corsage minutes before the wedding

Both Joanna and Jacob are extremely talented in music. Jacob is in fact a career classical musician. He's currently in graduate school at the Cleveland Institute of Music.

It's hard for me to picture Joanna grown and living on the shores of Lake Erie as a new bride, but that's the way things are.

Meanwhile Joanna's grandmother -- Philippe's widowed mother -- could not be at the wedding. For one thing, she lived in France. For another, she was elderly and in a care home.

My sister and brother-in-law with six of their seven children, plus their new son-in-law

My brother-in-law, who is French, had spent many weeks in France in the late spring and early summer, helping his mother get situated in her new and final place of residence on this earth.

My niece Susanna, who also lives and works in France as a corporate interpreter and English teacher, was on hand to help and has been with her grandmother a great deal in the last few years.

Two weeks after Joanna's wedding, my brother-in-law's mother passed away.

May she rest in peace. I think it was considerate of her to wait until Joanna's wedding was a happy memory for the family, to take her leave.

Dagny chats with three of my brother's four children

Susanna, having returned to France after serving as her sister's maid of honor, was with her grandmother when she died.

Kay and Philippe traveled to his home country early last week for the funeral and everything that comes after.

As my brother-in-law was his parents' only child, they'll be in France until mid-November, dealing with his mother's affairs and settling her estate.

The newlyweds with the bride's parents and maternal grandparents

Funerals are not inherently happy occasions and loss is difficult, but I hope my sister and her husband enjoy some lovely times in that beautiful and picturesque place, in between the myriad tasks before them.

If God is willing and things go as planned, they'll be home in time for the holidays.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday

Lab results

I promised to show you Andrew's Lab mix Rambo with, if not his name in lights, then he himself in lights.

Because he's a star even if he doesn't walk around with a strand of battery-operated mini lights around his neck (and sometimes draped across his face).

It's a somewhat loose interpretation to say that Rambo walks around, however; he mostly lays around.

It should be noted here that Rambo is a different dog around Andrew. They have a relationship that's special as only a dog's owner and pack leader can lay claim to.

I haven't seen this in a long time, but when Andrew and Brittany take Rambo on frequent gambols through the countryside with Maverick, he rips around the landscape like he's on fire.

He'll play and fetch and jump and cavort and exert endlessly. 

At my house he's mostly motionless, sometimes with his paws crossed, perhaps remembering those times. He frequently barks in his sleep and I imagine he's dreaming about day trips.

When called, though, Rambo comes. He stands there wagging his tail (albeit lazily rather than excitedly). He makes it clear that he desires head rubs and ear scritches and full-body mini-massages and whatever else he can get in the way of tactile affection, which he craves.

It's funny because on my kitchen floor, if Rambo sits, his paws immediately begin to slide. He's so preoccupied with remaining steady, he can barely enjoy the pats and rubs coming his way.

So generally I steer him outside (he's not allowed on my still-new carpet in the TV room, because of his outrageous shedding problem, which is not his fault, but still) where, on the deck, he can sit and not slip.

Or I encourage him to stay on his bed but sit up so that his paws stay put. Then I can comfortably administer love pats and rubs and nuzzles and kisses and call him the best boy in the world and tell him that I love him.

He did not register even a hint of impatience when I began arranging the lights around his neck, securing the small flat battery pack beneath his collar.

The camera causes him no angst, either. Whereas Rizzo is leery of the lens, Rambo couldn't possibly care less even if you gave him extra treats and belly rubs for caring less.

There's no such thing as less than none.

The only problem is that Rambo lacks the wherewithal to (technically) obey certain commands. Or maybe he just chooses not to.

At any rate, simple suggestions like "Why not sit here, Rambo," get you nowhere.

Don't get me wrong; he sits on command. It's where he sits that presents a problem.

I learned this lesson when I was trying to pose him for his picture (without lights) beside Rizzo. He'd sit, but facing the wrong direction. No amount of pointing or nudging would convince him to weigh anchor.

Thoroughly nonplussed, Rizzo ran under a nearby table to create a remove between himself and the unfolding drama.

Eventually I was sliding a big heavy dog by pushing on his haunches, in an attempt to get him face-forward with my chosen backdrop behind him.

Of course I didn't hurt him, but Rambo was so traumatized by this that he ended up hunkered down, hanging his head, unresponsive to even the softest of my coaxes for him to help me out a little.

I gave up.

So when I got the bright idea, a few days later, to deck the dogs with many mini-lights, I remembered what I already know: Just let the subject do what they're going to do. Follow them around and photograph them the way they really are. 

Like children. Most effectively photographed when totally unposed.

And that's what we have here. I did lead Rambo to the front door and encourage him to lounge there, which he was happy and content to do.

I believe he would have stayed there for hours if I hadn't called to him when I finished getting those shots.

Easygoing does not even begin to characterize this canine. He borders on the inert. But whether dynamic or drained, Rambo oozes sweetness.

He's a darling dog. Sugar on paws. Sometimes lethargic but always loving. In fact Dagny often observes of Rambo: He loves me.

To which I always respond: Everybody loves you, Dagny. The person has not met you who does not love you.

The same could be said of Rambo.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday