Today just seemed to be the right day to start looking for another Beardie. I've sent an email to my friend Gill in Wales and asked her about a puppy. Gill replied that she was planning to breed one of her brown girls next week to a stunning dark brown boy. If all goes well, the sound of little brown puppy feet will be thundering around the place in early June. She is also planning a litter sometime this year with one of her lovely dark slate girls. She may have picked out a dad already, but if so, I don't know who he is. She might repeat the last breeding she had, which was with an outstanding slate boy. We shall see. This means I'll be planning a trip to Wales for sometime this year!
I've always liked her dogs and her lines; her dogs come from some of the old English Beardies whom I've admired for so many years. Some appear in Duncan's and Doogie's pedigrees, and some others in Charlie's.
I also sent word to my friend Jane, who maintains the list of available dogs for rehoming, that I'd be interested in a good-natured adult if one should come along. I myself am used to rehabbing rescue dogs, but I want Greg's first new Beardie to be an "easy" dog.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
More Good News
Greg just received an offer of a job as Music Director/Organist at the Wells Congregational Church, and he's just over the moon about it. The position pays quite well for the time and expertise involved, and the people there are friendly. (A few also sing with me, so he has a friendly audience over there.)
He has enjoyed subbing for other organists, and they've been glad to have him. After he finishes his month-long substitute gig in April, he'll start his new job in May -- and he'll have to look for a reliable sub himself! Life is good.
He has enjoyed subbing for other organists, and they've been glad to have him. After he finishes his month-long substitute gig in April, he'll start his new job in May -- and he'll have to look for a reliable sub himself! Life is good.
Home Again
My whirlwind tour of the West Coast (such as it was) is over now, and I'm hip-deep in dirty laundry and bags of fleece. (As if I needed another hobby -- I saw one of my knitting buddies from work and my friend Pam while I was out there. One gave me two lovely bags of combed, ready-to-spin roving and one gave me a bag of washed-but-uncombed raw wool. I'll either take up spinning, or felt them as is.)
I also managed to meet up with quite a few Beardie buddies and one college classmate, collect Beardie kisses from three Beardies (Pam's two blue dudes plus a darling six-month-old puppy girl belonging to friends in Santa Clara), dine at a couple of wonderful seafood restaurants (Il Pescatore in Oakland and Gladstone's in Santa Monica), visit the See's Candies factory store, and go on a yarn-shop crawl that included the Knit Cafe and Stitches from the Heart in the south, and the Menlo Park Building 17 parking lot in the north. (My knitting buddy from work met me there. We were both in a hurry, but we managed to show each other some works in progress and play with some yarns.)
I had intended to work on my Fletcher sweater while I was in the air, but my initial gauge swatch was too tight on 10 1/2 needles. My larger circulars are all embedded in other projects (including my Denise needles), so I needed to pick up an 11 and a 13 before I could continue. I took a skein of Schaefer Yarns' Elaine (in the Indira Gandhi colorway) with me to California instead, and made myself a nifty skinny scarf in 2x2 ribbing. (The skein is big enough to make two such scarves, so I'll make another one sometime.) I picked up the circulars at the Knit Cafe, and am now ready to tackle a second gauge swatch in earnest.
Lots of good knitting news to report:
I also managed to meet up with quite a few Beardie buddies and one college classmate, collect Beardie kisses from three Beardies (Pam's two blue dudes plus a darling six-month-old puppy girl belonging to friends in Santa Clara), dine at a couple of wonderful seafood restaurants (Il Pescatore in Oakland and Gladstone's in Santa Monica), visit the See's Candies factory store, and go on a yarn-shop crawl that included the Knit Cafe and Stitches from the Heart in the south, and the Menlo Park Building 17 parking lot in the north. (My knitting buddy from work met me there. We were both in a hurry, but we managed to show each other some works in progress and play with some yarns.)
I had intended to work on my Fletcher sweater while I was in the air, but my initial gauge swatch was too tight on 10 1/2 needles. My larger circulars are all embedded in other projects (including my Denise needles), so I needed to pick up an 11 and a 13 before I could continue. I took a skein of Schaefer Yarns' Elaine (in the Indira Gandhi colorway) with me to California instead, and made myself a nifty skinny scarf in 2x2 ribbing. (The skein is big enough to make two such scarves, so I'll make another one sometime.) I picked up the circulars at the Knit Cafe, and am now ready to tackle a second gauge swatch in earnest.
Lots of good knitting news to report:
- Pam is reviving her blog soon. She's the one who inspired me in both knitting and blogging.
- I'm making good progress on the felted tote bag.
- Before I left town, the nice ladies in the local yarn shop explained what to do on the Warm Winter Poncho, so I'm no longer buffaloed by it.
- My friend Susannah bought me some Twisted Sisters Voodoo yarn to play with. She gave me a skein of yellow, a skein of jade green, and a skein of blue-green variegated yarn. They should be fun to play with.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Hello from Silicon Valley
I'm in Newark, California today, blogging from my cushy hotel room across the street from the Sun building where I'll be working for the next couple of days. We're here for two days of training -- more opinions about that part later. A bunch of my colleagues, some of whom I email every day but have never actually met, are here. I met a few of them (plus two I know well) in the lobby last night, but I was so pie-eyed from exhaustion that I declined an invitation to stay and enjoy a cocktail. I'll enjoy coffee with them this morning instead.
One of my Boston-based colleagues is a definite shoo-in for the Liars' Contest -- no one can tell a tall tale like this guy can. He told all my colleagues that I wear a horned helmet and dress in animal skins. Of course they got the joke, but every single one has been asking for the helmet. I should've brought the purple-and-gold velour one I bought at Mardi Gras.
Last night I met a couple of long-time Beardie buddies in Palo Alto for a Vietnamese dinner and much catching-up. They have an adorable 6-month-old Beardie girl who is just a happy little bag of wiggles. I collected as many sweet puppy kisses as I could, but she was wiggling so much she often missed my face completely.
I'll be catching up with three more Beardie friends tonight up in Oakland. It's a bit of a hike just for dinner, but one friend is coming down from Sacramento, so we agreed to split the difference and meet in the middle. I don't think any dogs are coming along, since all of us have to put in a full work day today, but we'll always have pictures.
Hi ho, hi ho... it's off to two days of compulsory training I go. More anon.
One of my Boston-based colleagues is a definite shoo-in for the Liars' Contest -- no one can tell a tall tale like this guy can. He told all my colleagues that I wear a horned helmet and dress in animal skins. Of course they got the joke, but every single one has been asking for the helmet. I should've brought the purple-and-gold velour one I bought at Mardi Gras.
Last night I met a couple of long-time Beardie buddies in Palo Alto for a Vietnamese dinner and much catching-up. They have an adorable 6-month-old Beardie girl who is just a happy little bag of wiggles. I collected as many sweet puppy kisses as I could, but she was wiggling so much she often missed my face completely.
I'll be catching up with three more Beardie friends tonight up in Oakland. It's a bit of a hike just for dinner, but one friend is coming down from Sacramento, so we agreed to split the difference and meet in the middle. I don't think any dogs are coming along, since all of us have to put in a full work day today, but we'll always have pictures.
Hi ho, hi ho... it's off to two days of compulsory training I go. More anon.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Nostalgia Still Ain't What It Used to Be
I can barely believe that my 30th high school reunion will take place this year. I certainly don't feel that old, and I like to think I don't look that old (though no one would mistake me for an 18-year-old, for sure).
I also don't feel much longing for those days. Aside from the fact that I struggled with a crippling depression for much of my adolescence, the rigidly stratified if-you-don't-play-football-you-don't-exist nature of small-town high-school society just didn't appeal to me. Some of my friends and my then-boyfriend had already gone on to college by the time I became an upperclassman, and I spent a good deal of my high school years wishing I were already in college.
Even though I've moved to another state, my friends from high school and I are still in frequent touch. My friend Sue, whom I've known since kindergarten, emails me almost every day from her office in Dallas. Other friends and I swap jokes over email and try to get together when Greg and I head south to visit my family. Those friends who still live in Massachusetts still get together every so often, and we've thrown our own "non-reunion" parties from time to time. I saw another high school classmate while visiting New Orleans in January; Sandy and I have a guaranteed date to get together every other year when I head south for Mardi Gras.
Not surprisingly, I didn't attend my 25th reunion back in 2000. Sue came up from Dallas and Sandy from New Orleans, and it's nice that they got to see each other, but I wanted no part of that scene. Fortunately, I was able to avoid the issue altogether because I was working in California that week anyway. I later saw a videotape of the occasion and literally did not recognize anyone on the screen. Who were all those old people?
The 25th reunion did have its benefits, though, I must admit. Thanks to the people who so kindly organized and mailed a class booklet to everyone, I was able to get in touch with a few folks by email, including one high school classmate who went to the same college as I did. (We had different majors and lived on different ends of campus, so we rarely saw each other until junior year, when we attended the same classics seminar.) I even ended up not-really-dating another classmate for a couple of years. That was bittersweet and confusing, and I'm not entirely sure whether I've lost the friend from that experience or not. We still exchange Christmas and birthday cards, but emails are rare nowadays.
In spite of the fact that I wouldn't attend the 30th reunion if you hitched me to a Hummer and dragged me, I have to admit that I am looking forward to this year's questionnaire. The 25th-year questionnaire precipitated a rare introspective period for me: How does one distill 25 years' worth of living into a couple of paragraphs, so that people who were practically strangers 25 years ago can get caught up as if they were old friends? At that time, I settled for a busy-but-funky approach. When I wasn't at 30,000 feet somewhere over Omaha, I lived near the ocean in a drafty old converted one-room schoolhouse with three Beardies and various foster dogs.
One classmate just emailed me to describe how he copes with the idea that we're old enough to have a 30th reunion. He said he still tries to extract every bit out of juice out of every day, so that he doesn't have to live with regrets later. I like his philosophy.
I also don't feel much longing for those days. Aside from the fact that I struggled with a crippling depression for much of my adolescence, the rigidly stratified if-you-don't-play-football-you-don't-exist nature of small-town high-school society just didn't appeal to me. Some of my friends and my then-boyfriend had already gone on to college by the time I became an upperclassman, and I spent a good deal of my high school years wishing I were already in college.
Even though I've moved to another state, my friends from high school and I are still in frequent touch. My friend Sue, whom I've known since kindergarten, emails me almost every day from her office in Dallas. Other friends and I swap jokes over email and try to get together when Greg and I head south to visit my family. Those friends who still live in Massachusetts still get together every so often, and we've thrown our own "non-reunion" parties from time to time. I saw another high school classmate while visiting New Orleans in January; Sandy and I have a guaranteed date to get together every other year when I head south for Mardi Gras.
Not surprisingly, I didn't attend my 25th reunion back in 2000. Sue came up from Dallas and Sandy from New Orleans, and it's nice that they got to see each other, but I wanted no part of that scene. Fortunately, I was able to avoid the issue altogether because I was working in California that week anyway. I later saw a videotape of the occasion and literally did not recognize anyone on the screen. Who were all those old people?
The 25th reunion did have its benefits, though, I must admit. Thanks to the people who so kindly organized and mailed a class booklet to everyone, I was able to get in touch with a few folks by email, including one high school classmate who went to the same college as I did. (We had different majors and lived on different ends of campus, so we rarely saw each other until junior year, when we attended the same classics seminar.) I even ended up not-really-dating another classmate for a couple of years. That was bittersweet and confusing, and I'm not entirely sure whether I've lost the friend from that experience or not. We still exchange Christmas and birthday cards, but emails are rare nowadays.
In spite of the fact that I wouldn't attend the 30th reunion if you hitched me to a Hummer and dragged me, I have to admit that I am looking forward to this year's questionnaire. The 25th-year questionnaire precipitated a rare introspective period for me: How does one distill 25 years' worth of living into a couple of paragraphs, so that people who were practically strangers 25 years ago can get caught up as if they were old friends? At that time, I settled for a busy-but-funky approach. When I wasn't at 30,000 feet somewhere over Omaha, I lived near the ocean in a drafty old converted one-room schoolhouse with three Beardies and various foster dogs.
One classmate just emailed me to describe how he copes with the idea that we're old enough to have a 30th reunion. He said he still tries to extract every bit out of juice out of every day, so that he doesn't have to live with regrets later. I like his philosophy.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
The #2 Dilemma, Possibly Solved
We've finally found a solution for our little problem with Charlie and his fondness for cat crunchies. A friend of mine from work is letting me borrow her automated self-cleaning cat box. Apparently the self-cleaning mechanism waits 10 minutes before activating, in order to avoid scaring the you-know-what out of the cat... but as long as it freaks Charlie out just once with the noise and keeps the temptation away from him, it will be well worth the trouble. Patty (the friend from work) had to upgrade to a larger box when she acquired more cats, but she swears by the self-cleaning box and says her dog avoids hers. If we like the smaller box, we can take it off her hands for a much-reduced price.
(Thanks to the kind person who suggested a baby gate -- it's simple and makes sense, and like most people who have raised puppies, we have multiples. We might try them anyway; Charlie is a sensitive and suggestible dog, and he doesn't tend to argue with barriers. Most of my Beardies have either figured out ways around or over them or just pushed through.)
Bach for Breakfast
When Greg was growing up, it was a Sunday-morning tradition in his family to play old vinyl direct-to-disc German recordings of Bach cantatas during breakfast. His great-aunt or his mother would make Danish pancakes and strong coffee, and then they'd enjoy a banquet for all the senses. Greg has since inherited all his mother's old vinyl Bach cantatas, and we just dug out my old turntable and installed it into the living room stereo. Even when we've skipped the effort and calories of making Danish pancakes in favor of Raisin Bran, we can still enjoy Sundays with Bach.
(Thanks to the kind person who suggested a baby gate -- it's simple and makes sense, and like most people who have raised puppies, we have multiples. We might try them anyway; Charlie is a sensitive and suggestible dog, and he doesn't tend to argue with barriers. Most of my Beardies have either figured out ways around or over them or just pushed through.)
Bach for Breakfast
When Greg was growing up, it was a Sunday-morning tradition in his family to play old vinyl direct-to-disc German recordings of Bach cantatas during breakfast. His great-aunt or his mother would make Danish pancakes and strong coffee, and then they'd enjoy a banquet for all the senses. Greg has since inherited all his mother's old vinyl Bach cantatas, and we just dug out my old turntable and installed it into the living room stereo. Even when we've skipped the effort and calories of making Danish pancakes in favor of Raisin Bran, we can still enjoy Sundays with Bach.
He's Still Realllllly Big
Greg stopped at the vet's and picked up Doogie's ashes a few nights ago. It never fails to astonish me how such a huge presence can fit into a little wooden box. The box has a nice little engraved brass plate on the front with his name on it, and it came with a little bouquet of yellow silk roses.
We always joked about how Doogie thought of himself as the biggest dog in the world (he did). He was a regular Doogasaurus Rex. Eventually, we would compare anything of a large size to Doogie and decide that he was still bigger: whales, tractor-trailer trucks, people's egos... You get the idea.
Even in death, Doogie is still huge. His little wooden box of ashes is the same size as Duncan's, and it weighs much more. The old boogerhead is still large and in charge.
Mr. Hall's Halling
Apparently a halling is a type of Norwegian dance. Greg's been working on a halling this week, orchestrated for two cellos or violin and cello. He's long been fascinated by the timbres of traditional Scandinavian music, especially the Norwegian Hardanger fiddle. (That's the plaintive-sounding solo violin you hear throughout the movie "Fargo" and in portions of the "Lord of the Rings." It has additional strings underneath the strings you play that serve as "drone strings," and which resonate when the other strings are played.)
Greg has written another piece called Hardanger for solo violin. It's scored for "regular" violin, but is open-stringed sound recalls that same plaintive Hardanger fiddle sound. He sent a copy of the piece to a violinist he knows up north, but hasn't heard back from him yet.
Greg did get some more positive news this morning. The music director from one of the local Congregational churches called and asked him to please apply for a full-time organist/choir director gig that will be opening up at the church in a couple of months. He was only too delighted to comply, and sent off his resume and his letters of reference this morning.
We always joked about how Doogie thought of himself as the biggest dog in the world (he did). He was a regular Doogasaurus Rex. Eventually, we would compare anything of a large size to Doogie and decide that he was still bigger: whales, tractor-trailer trucks, people's egos... You get the idea.
Even in death, Doogie is still huge. His little wooden box of ashes is the same size as Duncan's, and it weighs much more. The old boogerhead is still large and in charge.
Mr. Hall's Halling
Apparently a halling is a type of Norwegian dance. Greg's been working on a halling this week, orchestrated for two cellos or violin and cello. He's long been fascinated by the timbres of traditional Scandinavian music, especially the Norwegian Hardanger fiddle. (That's the plaintive-sounding solo violin you hear throughout the movie "Fargo" and in portions of the "Lord of the Rings." It has additional strings underneath the strings you play that serve as "drone strings," and which resonate when the other strings are played.)
Greg has written another piece called Hardanger for solo violin. It's scored for "regular" violin, but is open-stringed sound recalls that same plaintive Hardanger fiddle sound. He sent a copy of the piece to a violinist he knows up north, but hasn't heard back from him yet.
Greg did get some more positive news this morning. The music director from one of the local Congregational churches called and asked him to please apply for a full-time organist/choir director gig that will be opening up at the church in a couple of months. He was only too delighted to comply, and sent off his resume and his letters of reference this morning.
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