Reunion

Boy, this was a late walk.  I just got back -- Banks and I walked all the way to the Home Depot on I-35, circled back home, and I dropped him off just short of an hour, then did a few laps around the St. Ed's track, just now returning home.  The reason I started so late?  That cold I so optimistically predicted would be over by Tuesday seems to actually be a prolonged allergy attack.  I came home from work and after dinner went straight to bed, setting the alarm for 7:45 PM.  I'm still coughing, but now it's that yucky, unproductive hacking which tells you it's time to pull out the Mucinex.  Jackson's eyes are burning and running; we seem to get affected at the same time, but with different symptoms.

But enough about me.  This is about Banks.  The vet finally called around 6:00 last night.  He thinks Banks has a touch of arthritis (my suspicion as well), centered in his "wrist" -- he likened it to Carpel Tunnel Syndrome in humans.  He also said -- and this is one of the things I love about my vet -- "I could take an x-ray and charge you $85, but I don't think it would change my diagnosis."  So he prescribed some non-steroid anti-inflammatory drugs to be given for 10 days, and after that as needed. He also assured me that he didn't think our five miles a day was necessarily overdoing it -- this was about arthritis, not strained muscles -- but shortening Banks' walks right now is more about the heat than anything else.

Then he said, ominously, "We had to give old Banks a tranquilizer shot."  Confirming my worst fears, he said that once in the holding pen, Banks went crazy, barking and throwing himself against the walls.  Oh, God. I knew it.  How could this NOT bring up the memory of his drop-off at the pound?  When I think about what must have been going through his brain -- no more mom and Jackson, no more walks at the lake, no more snuggling on the couch while watching "Top Chef" -- okay, his brain is not that sophisticated, I get it, but I have no doubt that for the long day he spent there, he thought life as he knew it was over.  I couldn't get to the vet's fast enough.

He was still a little loopy when the attendant walked him out, but if I was expecting an emotional, grateful reunion -- no.  He wagged his tail almost involuntarily when he saw me, and walked over to me at my urging, but kept his eyes averted and took on a regal, aloof countenance.  He warmed up a little after we got home, but did not reach full Banks-ness until this morning. 

Right now he's sleeping on his favorite green velvet chair, happily tired after his walk, and, I can only hope, having already forgotten yesterday's trauma.

L

You ever have one of those days when it seems like you have a flashing red “L” on your forehead?  That was yesterday. My first clue that it was going to be one of those days was when I took my disgustingly dirty car to the car wash.  There was one vehicle ahead of me, and I punched in my receipt code as I waited.  A minute or two later, a few drops of water fell on my windshield.  I thought it was blowback from the car in the washing garage, but then realized it was in the midst of the power dry cycle.  Yep, it was raining.  And I had already committed to the process by handing over my code, and the guy in the car behind me, who actually had some options here, seemed grimly determined to see the thing through.  I burst out laughing as I obligingly pulled into the stall.  I mean, you hear about people who wash their cars, and a couple of hours later it rains, but who gets their car washed WHILE it’s raining?  Fortunately, it was a brief shower, and even though it continued for a few minutes after I pulled out, the drops didn’t seem to leave an impression.  (Maybe there’s something to that “spot-free rinse" after all).

Next it was off to Goodwill, where I hoped to purchase a couple of kids’ CDs for the nursery.  As “a couple” was exactly what they had, I bought both of them (cheap) and tried them out in the car.  One featured French children singing in their own language; since the babies are not even crawling, much less speaking, I figured they wouldn’t be too put off by language barrier.  Unfortunately, most of the songs had a rather shrill quality that did not bode well for nap time.  So I popped in the second CD, which had looked fine in the store but must have been damaged, because it made a snapping and whirring sound before settling on “What do you do with a Drunken Sailor?”  Startled, I checked the CD case and confirmed that this was indeed “Children’s Melodies” from something called Creative Labs.  Tell me, on what planet is “Drunken Sailor” considered a children’s classic?  But there it was, hidden among “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and “Old McDonald Had a Farm.”  Another dud, but the thought of these parents returning to the nursery and seeing one of the caregivers warbling about paddy wagons and captains’ daughters and rusty razors set off another fit of giggles.

This morning I dropped Banks off at the vet at 7:00 AM sharp.  I had pleaded with the front office for a set appointment, where I could bring him in and leave with him, but this is not the way they work.  It could be 7 PM before he's ready to come home.  All I could think about was Banks wondering if he’d been dropped off at the pound again.  Oh God.  He seemed fine when I left him, though. 

I took my “lunch hour” at 4:00 PM, and took a nice, hot, but breezy and in some places actually cool, walk down at Lady Bird Lake.  I had my phone with me the whole time in case the vet called.  No word so far…..

Sick Day

I think I'm getting sick.  My throat has been scratchy the last day or so, and I keep coughing to relieve the itch.  I thought it might be allergies, but then I took Banks to the lake.  Let me back up.  I know I said I wasn't going to walk Banks again until we got to the bottom of his limping, but today his leg was fine!  No limping at all, even in the morning!  My friend Vicky emailed from Colorado after she read that blog, and said that when her husband used to run with their dog for long distances, he also developed a limp, and the problem turned out to be his pads were getting cut up.  I check, and Banks' are fine. 

So we drove to the lake, and the minute we got out of the car, it hit me.  No energy.  At all.  The walk was a plodding and shuffling affair; I must have looked like the walkers I see on the trail sometimes, and wonder to myself, Why do they bother?  Long experience tells me a cold is fomenting inside of me, and the only way to stave it off is to stay home from work tomorrow and sleep for hours and hours. That's it.  And I'll wake up Tuesday feeling just fine.

Cold aside, life is very good right now.  The walk has been walked, the blog is almost blogged, and .....a new episode of Mad Men is on.

My Lucky Day

I've decided to take Banks to the vet on Tuesday (my schedule won't permit any earlier), and beyond a couple of potty walks that either Jackson or I will take him on, that's the only walking I'm going to put him through until he gets checked out. His limp is not extreme, but it's there, and last night I noticed it in the evening -- before, it'd only been in the morning, which I attributed to typical early-AM stiffness. What if the vet tells me that all this walking has been stressful on Banks, and that he's pulled a hamstring or something? I'll feel terrible, and I'll let him rest as long as I'm advised to.

So, I took my walk alone today, and finally did a fairly early morning walk -- 9:30. For some reason, this particular walk was better than most. I had my newly loaded iphone, and was in an unusually good mood. It was the same old Stacy Park to St. Ed's route, but today somehow felt fresh and different.

Okay, here's what made today my lucky day. I've been putting off my taxes as long as possible (obviously), and finally walked in today, toting my W2s, my charitable deductions, my business expenses and my poorly masked anxiety. Last year I owed something like $1,700. This year? They owe me $600+. I think the taxes were done incorrectly last year, and so does my accountant, and we're looking into it, but today was a day for celebrating only.

That is, until Jackson and I went to see "Bully" at the Alamo. It was a great film, but prepare yourself. I can't remember the last time I got that emotional at a movie. It provoked deep, deep sadness, and I am afraid I'm going to be haunted by some of those young faces for a long time.

The Mullet Chronicles

Sometimes I wonder if God preordained this mullet just to keep me humble in the face of my daily five-mile triumphs.  It's working.  I had expected that the longer the mullet grew, the easier life would become, completely forgetting the fact that my longer hair is smooth and straightened, and the untreated mullet is my wooly, course natural hair.

Today I had lunch with my friend Amy, walking the half-mile to meet her at Scholtz Garten.  Towards the end of the meal, I, as usual, asked a fellow diner to take a picture of us. He obliged.  I got a little suspicious when he snapped one picture, muttered "I better take another one," and then handed back the phone with a weak comment about our "beautiful smiles."  I shrieked in disbelief when I saw the pictures.  Amy looked beautiful, I looked like I had an ill-fitting toupee on top of my head.  Leslie, next time you spend any time outdoors, check the FREAKING MIRROR before taking pictures. I told Amy I didn't care how great she looked, these pictures would never see the light of day.  I snapped a solo shot instead.

Let me give you a back story on Amy, because her fitness story is unprecendented as far as I'm concerned.  She was overweight in her teens and early twenties, and upon graduating from college,  went to Weight Watchers.  She lost 50 pounds, and has never looked back. I've known the woman 13 years, and have never seen her weight fluctuate a pound.  Let me repeat this:  She lost 50 pounds about 30 years ago, and has never regained any of it.  She's amazing.  We met when our sons played basketball together, became good friends, then actually worked together for a few years.  Every time we see each other, we pick up where we left off without missing a beat.  I don't even have to describe Amy, you can just see it in her face:  fun, funny, loving, smart, confident and beautiful. And thin.  Always thin. 

I gave myself credit for the one-mile round trip to Scholtz, and Banks and I did the four-mile loop at the lake.  Just finished, in fact. 

Francophilia

I don’t have it. I love the language, but have no overwhelming desire to learn it. Love the movies, but have never worshiped the French “look” you hear so much about – the simple skirt and top, made to look fantastic by just the right belt, scarf and bag. To my American-trained eye, it’s always seemed a tad overdone. No one loves, or is more amused by, our uniquely American qualities that I. Our open-hearted (some would say intrusive) friendliness. Our too-loud laughter.  Our indifference to pedigree. Our inability to learn the metric system.

 There’s a book out by Jennifer L. Scott, called “Madame Chic: The Top 20 Things I Learned While Living in Paris.” Ms. Scott was an exchange student some ten years ago, living with a very wealthy, formal French family, and in this book, she describes the family’s exquisite lifestyle, which had very little to do with money, and everything to do with style and a commitment to excellence.

The tone of the book could be summed up in this paragraph: “Once you commit to living a life of quality, your discernment will infuse every aspect of your life. You will be more selective of the foods you choose to eat, the fabrics on the clothes that you wear, the way you choose to spend your time. You are less likely to binge on fast food – to hastily purchase an inferior article of clothing just because it was on sale – or sit for hours in front of the TV while your life slips away.”

 There is a temptation to jeer at such sentiments.  Really, who has the time to shop at the market every day and cook a four-course meal?  Or buy only ten very well-cut, super expensive items of clothing, and wear them interchangeably throughout the season? 

 Still, something about this book grabbed me.  The author describes getting up in the middle of the night for a drink of water and running into “Madame Chic,” the matriarch, who could scarcely believe what the girl was wearing – an old T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants with a hole in the knee.  Dismayed, she asked “Jennifer, why would you wear that?”  Jennifer realized she had no answer, but made an immediate decision to purchase some simple cotton nightgowns.  It’s all about Doing Things Properly. There is a description of the family’s living room, which is beautifully but subtly appointed, with a very old, seldom-used television at the back of the room.  Madame and her family had far better things to do than watch TV: dine together, give dinner parties, play board games, read.

 Perhaps the chapter that had the biggest impact on me was “The Clutter-Free Home.” The Chic family lived by the old saw “A place for everything, and everything in its place.”  No one came in the front door and threw the keys or the purse on the dining room table.  Closet space was tight, sometimes only a wardrobe, and items of clothing were mercilessly pared down to only perfect-fitting and quality items – no compromising. 

 I actually read this book about three weeks ago, and started to blog about it while at the height of infatuation.  I decided to give it a while, and see if it made a lasting impression.  Here are the changes I’ve made since then:  I went through my closet and drawers, filled two huge plastic garbage bags with throwaways and donations, and organized everything.  I cleaned out my back yard and decorated my small patio with plants and flowers.  I don’t believe I’ve left for work once without making my bed.  I recommend this book, but promise me you’ll check your cynicism at the Table of Contents.

Tonight I felt like a hard and punishing solo walk.  It was just too hot for Banks.  I went towards Stacy Park, and took five or six streets off of East Side straight up and down, all the way to Little Stacy, started backtracking, until I was almost 15 minutes out, and then headed for home. I love the way my face is hot and red at the end of these walks, and I love how I feel after a long shower.  All I’m missing now is a few proper nightgowns.  I’m going shopping this weekend.

It's Official

We have arrived at the time of year when Banks can no longer do five miles, at least on surface streets.  On the trail, he feeds off the energy of the other dogs and people, just like I do, and can stop for water. But the last two nights, when we did the Stacy Park and the St. Ed's loops, he started slowing down well before the one-hour mark. I hate feeling impatient and yanking at him, when it's perfectly understandable that he's simply getting tired, so I prefer to let him off the hook and just cut his walk in half.  So that's what we did last night and tonight.  I dropped him off, and was able to keep up my pace with no problem for the balance of the five.

Jackson loaded a bunch of new songs on my Iphone -- sadly, we've not yet been able to find "I Gotta Get Shorty Out of Jail" -- so I've got that support, as well as NPR and the  classical station from my new FM radio headset.  It's getting hotter and hotter, and I'm going to need all the help I can get.