Expelled!

 Yes, she was expelled.  Didn't play well with others.  In fact, didn't play with others at all.  Flat out, refused to have anything to do with others.  Except the staff.  Loved the staff.

Who is she?  Parker, one of our two therapy dogs.  Our other dog, Maisie, wasn't expelled, apparently played well with others.

Trish took both dogs to a high-end dog hotel.  The pups spent 4 hours there yesterday, to see if they could be accepted into the elite company - of dogs that did play well with others.  

If I ran the dog hotel, I would have said, "So what?  Who cares if she doesn't want to play with other dogs?  She likes to play with Maisie."

Trish figures it's Parker's training.  T trained her to stay away from other dogs because doing so, conflicted with the training and therapy dog work.  She took it in stride, though.  Trish, not Parker: got a large charge out of it - despite the 6 hours wasted in Spokane.  Not totally wasted, though: she's pleased that she got to shop for clothing she didn't really need (in my view, not her's).  In my view, there's no such thing as a woman with too many clothes.

In her defense, Trish donated a few pairs of pants recently, which only left about 150 pairs.

PJs

 Pajamas.  Mom bought them for my brother, Gerry, and I in our early teens.  First PJs ever for any male in our family.  

In winter it got near freezing at night in our upstairs bedroom, so I guess Mom thought they would help keep us warmer than sleeping in just briefs.  And they did - for one night.  Having slept in our briefs since forever, the PJs felt too restrictive.  So, one night was it.  For both of us.  Thanks, Mom, but they just don't work for us, feel like straitjackets.

I don't recall ever seeing guys in PJs except on TV.  The military sure didn't issue olive drab jammies.  Don't recall anyone in my college dorms wearing them either.

Women like them though.  Trish has a few pairs.

Doot Ta Do!

Empty cardboard cores of toilet paper, what do you call them?  In our family they were called Doot Ta Dos.  When we emptied a roll of TP, we'd hold the core to our mouth and yell Doot Ta Do (DTD!  Did one of my brilliant siblings start that great tradition or did it come from elsewhere?

The lower corner cabinet in our kitchen was a swivel-out flour bin.  It's usage ended when flour was marketed in more user-friendly packaging than 100-pound bags.  

Then it became a home for DTDs.  It was some do-good thing or a maybe-some-day craft project of my Mom's.  I don't recall what the mission was and, later on, I doubt Mom did either.  

It was plumb full of the things, 100s of 'em.  They became part of the huge bonfire that my oldest sister Mary and I had going before the farm was sold.

Trish inspired this little story: she held up and empty plastic bottle and said Doot Ta Do!

Do any readers know the origin of DTD?  If so, please share.

Mom

A salute to Mom on Mother's day.

She was 5' nothing tall, highly religious, piano and organ player, was the organist at the nearby church.  Her children made up the bulk of the choir.

She was a teacher: for the time (1920s) she was highly educated.  My Dad, on the other hand, had a 6th grade education.  I've often wondered how he managed to seduce Mom into marriage.   With most young men serving in WWI, it was slim pickings, I suppose.  Not that Dad was a dummy, far from it.

Mom was 100% German, Dad 100% Irish.  Interesting that they got together during the height of WW1, where there countries of origin were on opposite sides. 

She bore 8 children, plus 3 that didn't make it; 11 total.  I'm the youngest.

Being a farmer's wife was anything but easy.  No plumbing or electricity for the first 20 years or so.  Imagine cooking on wood stoves, heating water for baths in a collapsible tub, doing laundry by hand using a washboard, including dirty diapers from 8 kids.

Dad and kids would milk the cows by hand every morning at 5 AM - and again at 5 PM.  Mom always had a hot breakfast waiting for us when we returned - and more hot meals at lunch and dinner.

When I was in grade school, she'd sometimes walk the 1.5 miles to the school, sit and watch the teacher and classes, then walk back home.  I was always glad to see her there, did my best to make her proud.  

Influenced by the depression shortages, she couldn't bear to throw anything away.  Spare bedroom full of worn-out clothing, broken furniture, old mattresses and other junk.  Same with food.  Kitchen counter covered with leftover dribs and drabs, leaving about 10" of work space.  Fridge full of trimmed lard parcels, leftover veggies, you name it.

She'd take naps in the afternoons.  When I came home from college, I'd take advantage of that interlude and clean house.  I'd start a bonfire outside, burn everything combustible, wash empty containers, etc.  When Mom woke up the counter would be bare and the freezer mostly empty.  She was okay with that: although she couldn't throw stuff away, she was okay if somebody else did.

She was one tough, hard working lady.  RIP, Mom.

Blame the Pagans

 Easter traditions, how did they get started?   

I never saw an obvious connection between eggs, rabbits and the (alleged) Resurrection.  I say alleged because I'm not a Christian - or any other religion.

There is no 100% certifiable reason but the popular belief is that it dates back thousands of years to the pagans.  Pagans supposedly associated eggs and rabbits with fertility and spring.

Okay.  So, what's a pagan?  It is: a person who is not religious or whose religion is not Judaism, Islam, or especially Christianity.

Which is pretty much the same as heathen. 

Both terms, pagan and heathen, are rarely used these days.  Atheist is used instead. 

That said, my ex, Patty, marketed small signs to place by entry doors that read: Cheap, apolitical pagans live here.  We don't want to buy it, contribute to it or hear about it.

Somebody (loved it or offended by it?) ripped it off our front entry in our last home in Oregon.

Train - And Cars and Planes

Trish planned a train trip on the California Zephyr, from Emeryville, CA to Denver, and back  We wanted my sister-in-law, Linda, and her guy to join us.  She did.  He didn't.  So, she invited her daughter, Trista, instead.

Linda flew in from MN, Trista from FL,  Trish and I drove from Lake Havasu City.  We met up at the Hyatt House, a nice hotel, right across from the train station.  

Trains are inherently tight on space.   Two people plus their luggage plus their beds in a space that's 3' wide, 7' long and 7' high is cozy indeed.  But it all worked and the food was good.  We spent 1.5 days on the train.

The plan was to spend 2 days in Denver, do a tour of the city, head home on the train AM of the 3rd day.   But - the best laid plans of mice and men.....  Our return train got stalled by a snow storm somewhere between Chicago and Denver.  That gave us 2 choices:

     1. spend an extra day in Denver and take the train back to Emeryville, lose our Emeryville hotel reservation $, get home a day late, pay doggy day care more $. 

    2. Linda and Trista fly home from Denver; Trish and I fly to San Francisco, to get the car and use the hotel reservation.

The 2nd choice won.  

The lobby of The Crawford Hotel.

The down side is we much enjoyed visiting with Linda and Trista, and wish we'd had a couple more days for that.  And the 'luxury' hotel, The Crawford, in Denver.  Apparently, luxury means pretty.  With no microwave and a pissant coffee-maker that was worthless, jazz music all day in the lobby.  I think the only thing worse than jazz is opera.  Yes, I have pedestrian tastes in music.

The upside was our last night in Emeryville, on the 9th floor of the hotel, with a great view.

This was my 2nd (and last) overnight on a train.  The first was when I entered the army, in 1966.  The airlines were on strike so I took the train from Fargo to New Jersey.