OK - this new thing of starting holidays months before they actually appear on the calendar is getting out of hand. It's not even October and already some eager beavers are putting up their spooky decorations. They're great, mind you, but it's so early for that! Alright - rant over and here it is:
My world famous brownies, and by that I mean a roughly 3 block area in my neighborhood, go into recycled date containers. To cover up the label, I make a round background for origami cranes. Most of the time, the cranes are flat on the box lid, but occasionally they are fluffed up as they're supposed to be. Either way, they have elicited comment, and in the case of some kids, excitement for how they are made. Just me having fun.
It was my love of origami that inspired a project at the library where I worked in the dark ages. That building doesn't even exist any longer. But I digress. The project was to make one thousand cranes for peace, commemorating the bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We held little maker space demonstrations and provided origami paper so our library patrons could add to the display and learn something at the same time. Things were going well enough, but an amazing young man took it into overdrive. He not only sat at the work table rapidly making cranes, he also convinced others to join in and instructed them in the folding process. Frankly, we had never had such enthusiasm before, so we were frankly gobsmacked and so pleased. Ah, but here's the best part. I expected we might get a couple hundred cranes made before everyone got bored and gave up. I've never been happier to be so wrong about a library program. We ended up with (take a deep breath) 1,192 cranes.
That amount created a bit of a pickle in terms of display. Where would they go? How would we account for all of them? Then the idea light bulb went on. I had some large metal rings at home and lots of string. Why not string them up on a metal ring? But then what? Fortunately a Public Works guys said we could hang them from one of the wooden beams that ran across the building. So, after many hours of carefully stringing cranes with a needle and strong thread, we had our display. Instead of leaving it up for a short period as we usually did for displays, it remained an integral part of the decor until the building was torn down and replaced by new architecture. If you're wondering what happened to the cranes -- a teacher saw the display and asked if they could have it for their classroom. Of course the answer was a resounding yes.
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Yesterday, Nellie and I decided to change up our walk and go down to a street we like to wander, but of late, rarely get to. Frankly, I'm so glad we made that decision because we came upon this:
Yes, that's a little dog, shivering in fear, tied to the gate of this fence. Here's the thing -- we knew the dog lives there. Or thought we knew that anyway. Since the leash was attached from the inside the gate, we were certain the dog belonged within and frankly were puzzled (read HORRIFIED), this dog was ALONE, outside the gate, and tied up with no human in sight. It was immediately clear that slipping in and out of the gate was easy peasy. There are four immediate things that are so very wrong with this:
1. The dog could be stolen by any passerby. While that may seem like a life-saving thing to do, unfortunately, there are many bad actors who do not have the dog's well-being in mind and use them for dog fighting bait and other horrific acts.
2. In our neighborhood, coyotes roam quite freely at all times of the day. We are regaled with coyote sightings and horrifying tales of coyote attacks on NextDoor almost daily. It ain't pretty.
3. It would be all too easy for the poor baby to strangle or cut himself by getting caught by the collar or leash while going through the bars. What you can't see clearly in the picture is the chicken wire, which presumably is supposed to keep him in, has been torn, has sharp edges, and no longer covers the entire area.
4. Even if this was meant to be a short-term thing, there's no water bowl.
Naturally I stumped my way up to the front door and knocked. To add to all that is wrong with people, there was a container with dirty water, two turtles and lots of eggs. I shudder to think what they were doing there. But back to the doggie. Someone finally answered by third knock and I sweetly asked if the dog was theirs. "Oh yes, I meant to bring him in," was the reply. I'm sure you know how dangerous it is to leave your dog there (and proceeded down the list), and she nodded and went out to retrieve that poor pup.
Lest you think that's the end of the story, no. Nellie and I will be going by daily to check on the pup and if we ever see anything untoward again, Animal Control will be involved. We went by this morning and all was well. Let's hope that was a one time event and they learned their lesson.
As those following the Paco story know, he's in a new home. He's thriving there and now the family knows what I meant when I described him as a tornado. Well, we finally got him into the Vet for his neuter procedure and I had to call Paco's folks to say he was being kept overnight (a surprise). When I went to pick him up next day and return him home, I was greeted by T (the Dad) who said that L (the 7 year old daughter) was very upset when he didn't come back same day. That made me almost jump for joy. Why? Because that means bonding has taken place in the best possible way. That means this is the PERFECT family to take on a Pug who only needs love and a LOT of training. And patience. In another week Paco will go in to have his stitches removed and alas, that's my last duty as dog rescuer. I kinda don't want their reliance on my services to end; on the other hand, one must let go. And I still get to love him up when he's out on walkies with his new brother Milo (who is still trying to teach him to back off a bit), and his terrific family.
As for Misty, the feral cat who's decided we can feed her and provide a semi-safe place to hang out, she's trained me very well. She now comes up on the front porch to let me know it's time to feed her the dry food. Yes, your majesty, coming right out. Then, two to three hours later, she appears on the back patio where she stares at our back door until someone spots her and I run out her wet food with her special treats on top. The hissing I've decided to translate as "thank you very much," though I suspect it's nothing of the sort. She still backs off a bit when I put the bowl down, but I barely have to step away before she goes to her dinner.
Today, though, was an interesting breakthrough -- I think? I saw her on the front porch as I was heading out the door to accomplish a task that's been put off too long (as most tasks around here are), and assured her she'd have her food in a minute. She looked at me, looked at the open door, and almost came into the house. Let me repeat that. Knowing two dogs and this human she hisses at live inside, Misty came to the OPEN door and almost stepped over the threshold. Progress or insanity? With cats, one never knows. But I hold out hope we can gain her trust and she will allow us to do far more for her than wait on her outside.
Since it's been too hot to do anything other than deep clean my laundry room and other assorted messy areas, I decided to take a trip down memory lane. All outdoor tiling projects are on hold until the weather cooperates, but showing off the work I did when I was just learning mosaics seemed like a good way to avoid going out in 102° weather to water the backyard. I learned from Edith Heath herself at Heath Ceramics in Sausalito, CA. If you haven't heard of Heath Ceramics, definitely look it up. Interesting history. Anyway, these items are almost antiques at this point as they are around 40+ years old. The best part is that all the tile was scavenged and therefore FREE. What started out as large whole tiles met my tile saw and became little itty bitty pieces. And interestingly, my tile saw was housed in the tiny bathroom of my San Francisco apartment when in use, because otherwise I had nowhere else to use it. Where there's a will, there's a way.
Close up of a table center:
The whole table with faux finish surround:
Last, but not least, the table in my kitchen:
And yes, all of these took forever to do and I loved every single minute. And no, none of them are perfect, but I learned so much from doing them.
Way back in the mists of time when I had my first hip replacement, I bought an adjustable bed. To be able to elevate my legs or sit up a bit was wonderful. Then, it turned out that long-suffering partner also realized the benefits for things that ailed him. We love that bed. And then, wouldn't you know it, the bed decided to break on a Saturday of a holiday weekend. Yup, Labor day weekend. The bed had somehow decided it not only wouldn't go flat, it lifted the head so it was almost doubled over. There was absolutely no way we could actually sleep on it. This discovery was made at three in the afternoon. Naturally I panicked. Then, I remembered the name of the nice man who came and fixed our bed before, found his number, took a deep breath, and called. Oh boy, voicemail. Thinking it would probably do no good at all, I left a message anyway. Wonder of wonders, he called back. Said he'd check to see if anyone was available. Again, palpitations. And waiting.
We lucked out! Two repairmen had just finished another emergency call and though they were over an hour away, our town was on their way home. When they arrived, the lead kept apologizing for his shorts and flip flops. I looked at him and said that since I was in sweatpants and a holey T-shirt, he had better fashion sense than I do. And I didn't care as long as the bed could be fixed. He promised he would as least get it flat for us to sleep, but depending on the issue, we may have to wait for parts. He dove under the bed (which, by the way, I had spent the hour waiting for him to arrive by thoroughly cleaning the floor and the bed frame) to find that it was the motor that was broken. Again, I held my breath while they went out to the truck to see if they could find a replacement part. Ten agonizing minutes later, he comes in triumphantly holding the new motor, dives under the bed again, and voila, it's fixed.
If you ever have looked down on people who know how to fix things because they don't work in fancy offices or wear designer clothes, think again. Without people who know how to get things working again, we'd all be in a pickle. Deep respect for workers who get things built and fixed.
