It depends on where you stand, doesn’t it? On what you are looking at. Personally, I want coffee. But first, I need to capture that interesting shadow on the wall in the little bathroom.

Morning Shadows

And the fur people, they have a different perspective. Biscuits. Until they get their biscuits, they are obsessive, determined, focused. Notice that Bonnie is missing? She’s a bouncing shaggy black ball of energy. No way I’m going to catch her (but I keep trying). Even if I do, she doesn’t look like a dog. She won’t until I find money to get her groomed. She looks like a pile of dirty black dog hair. In perpetual motion.

While Mr. Coffee brews and I need to put some clothing on. Sandy is in my office, making copies on the printer.

Bish and Nan Biscuit Time

“What are you doing up so early?” It’s eight in the morning.

“I’m not up. It’s an illusion. There’s a picture I need to take.”

“I’m not going to ask.”

“Good choice,” I agree. I realize I don’t have my glasses on and can’t see anything clearly. If I fail to notice I’m not wearing my eyeglasses, I’m asleep. Ignore me.



Yesterday, all the doors and windows were open to catch the fresh air on one of the remaining warm days of late autumn. Mid late November is when it switches from summer to winter in a few hours. Last night, the temps dropped 30 degrees. Yesterday, zephyr breezes. Today? Chill winds.

DangerDogsWe have four dogs, one of whom is a giant constantly shedding hairball (Australian Shepherd to you). He’s affectionate and despite all evidence to the contrary, believes he is a lap-dog. His sensitive feelings are constantly hurt because I won’t let him in my lap. All 75 hairy pounds of him.

I have conversations with him. I explain, in detail, the issues involved. Not only will he not fit, but his paws are wicked weapons, cats-like with claws that dig deep holes in me. Bishop is a passionate boy. We have all learned to never look him in the eyes. The moment you do, he will become a huge piece of velcro, use his tongue to slather your eyeglasses with a thick layer of dog spit.

Which brings me back to the weather. Bishop and Bonnie (the Scottie) love winter. Bishop is at his happiest sleeping — literally — in a snowdrift with Bonnie on top of him, using him as a bed. Nan, at 12, is a couch potato, thinks the ultimate good time is a comfy spot on the sofa with frequent biscuit breaks. Amber lives under a blanket downstairs. Of the dogs in the house, Amber (the dachshund) is the one with short hair and does not care much for ice and snow. Garry and I are with her on that one. And with Nan (the Norwich). A nice nap, a cozy throw, a good TV show and maybe a little fire in the woodstove.

Nan and BishopThe issue is not just weather, but dog hair. Oodles of dog hair. Great gouts and lumps and bushy piles of fur on sofas, rugs, in  corners and on clothing. I find I own a lot of nice clothing I refuse to wear because I don’t want to ruin it with dog hair, not to mention the giant holes that Bishop — in a fit of overwhelming love — will tear with those wicked paws. What then, you ask (I ask, we all ask) is the point of having nice clothing?

That is a good question and if anyone has an answer, I’d like to hear it. I seem to be under the illusion I might actually go someplace someday and need attractive clothing. A lifetime of working embedded this idea in my brain. One must have Decent Clothing for job interviews — but when was the last time I had one of those? For Events — once in a blue moon seems to be the frequency. So I have nice stuff and anything I wear is instantly covered with dog hair. Everything looks tweedy.

Terriers and Garry

Ironically, the other day I realized the clothing in my closet, including stuff I’ve never worn, is hairy. Pet hair is vicious, pernicious, aggressive. It sneaks into closets in rooms where dogs are  forbidden — though somehow they manage to steal my underwear.

It’s part of what makes this time of year challenging. I have wonderful sweaters. Cashmere and cotton and wool. Tunics and ponchos. Many are years old but barely worn. I don’t want to ruin them.

My nice clothing is dying in the closet. Getting old and hairy and hanger worn. We could solve the problem by having fewer dogs.

Nah. Not happening.


How many sad country western songs have we heard about the heartbreak of your man or woman cheating on you? Dump the bitch/bastard. No cheaters allowed!

Okay, wait minute here. I’m not condoning bad behavior … but aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves? Life is long — hopefully. Stuff happens and we don’t always do the right thing. Is anyone so free of blemishes they can point the finger of blame and not have a little twinge in there somewhere that says “Maybe this has something to do with me too.”

the doctor is in

It’s not about condoning cheating. There are chronic cheaters, but honestly? If your mate is one of them, you knew it before you got married, before you set up housekeeping, before you shacked up. You did. Don’t tell you didn’t. You knew. Maybe you were the one he or she was cheating with at the time, so what made you think that it would never happen again?

The issue isn’t entirely what he/she did. The question is: “Is this relationship worth keeping?” Because it isn’t going to be easy. You don’t just have one conversation during which someone says “Hey, Babe, I’m sorry. It’ll never happen again.” That’s a bad Hollywood movie, not reality. Changing behavior is a process. It’s many discussions, fights, arguments over an extended period of time. It’s small changes, itty bitty ones that over the long haul grow bigger. Some problems never go away entirely. Liars once, liars forever. Cheaters once? Probably at the very least, wandering eyes forever.

What’s it worth to you? What is he or she worth to you? Is this a good person with a flaw? Are there other things that compensate? That make the relationship worth fighting for? How about compromise? Is that a dirty word? All relationships that endure involve a lot of compromise. Every single one. If you are looking for perfection, good luck on that. There’s always something wrong. For some reason, people are far better at adding up negatives than positives. Maybe we should rethink how we do math.

Relationships aren’t supposed to be disposable. Got a problem? Toss it. Get a new one. Uh uh. If the relationship was ever worth having, then it is probably worth fixing. Or at least, trying.

Of course, if it was a dud from the start and you wonder which drug you were taking addled your brain enough to get you involved … then move on. But first, stop and think. Just give it a good think before you split.