Archive for the ‘dogs’ Category

My Bloodhound Ate My Bra

 

Who, me?  I'm innocent.  Really.

Who, me? I’m innocent. Really.

My Bloodhound ate my bra.  Chewed a hole right through it.  Luckily, the hole is at the top of the right cup, and the bra is still wearable. (What was she thinking?  Nylon smells nothing like dog cookies!).  The point is, this used to be my BEST bra. It wasn’t my usual outlet-mall-discount-rack-$5.99 special.  I shelled out serious money to buy it: A super-converter bra, strapless, backless, cross-back.  All equally supportive thanks to its advanced architecture, underwire, and the little rubber skin grippers that may have been engineered by NASA and used on the Mars Rover.  This is a seriously great bra.  You wouldn’t even think hey, she’s wearing a bra in this picture.

 

And then I FOOLISHLY put it in the laundry basket…

Where the hound dog seized upon it one rainy afternoon…

Wore this taffeta creation to an end of the year prom-themed party!

Wore this taffeta creation to an end of the year prom-themed party!

Darn it!But I’m not tossing the bra (yet).  I paid too much.  Plus, what are the chances of finding a second one just like it?  Shoot, I’d even settle for something similar.  In the meantime, fixing the hole in is an option.  Wearing tissue-thin T’s over a Franken-bra is not. My black James Perse razor-back is out of the question.

So I’m thinking layering… I’m thinking sweaters… and fabrics that don’t require perfectly smooth cups beneath… I’m thinking of the outlet mall.  Because maybe, just maybe, I’ll get lucky and find a Super-Bra in my size, one that will NEVER EVER see the inside of a laundry basket, or the jaws of a bored Bloodhound.

 

Embarrassment and Surrender

Like many bloggers, in the closing days of 2012, I am reflecting back on the year that was.  Successes, disappointments, frustrations, and a lot of laughter, too.  It’s all there.  Summarizing the year into a single word, I’d call it a curve.  As in learning curve.  But I was also tried to recall a single moment in 2012 that really stood out from the rest.

There was that ONE moment.buddhist hound

My memory jogged back to the T-mobile store a couple months ago, and I shuddered.

As the sales guy wrestled my phone open to replace my fried SIM card, a shower of dog hair floated from the phone’s guts to the countertop.

How does dog hair get INSIDE my phone?  In that moment, I felt my face burning. Dog hair?  Inside my phone? Who has dog hair inside their phone? 

I do, apparently.

The embarrassment was quickly followed by surrender.  I own a Bloodhound. I’m with her almost all day, every day… so now there’s dog hair covering this man’s work station.  Apologize profusely.

Still, as I cast about for a MOMENT, why did this one come to mind first?   I don’t have an answer, but…

1. This moment wasn’t symbolic of 2012.  ( I hope not!)

2. This will never happen again (because I will slide the cover off myself and blow out the dog hair before I return to T-mobile).

3. If I worked there, fixing people’s cell phones all day long, I wonder where dog fur would rate on the scale of gross phone moments?

art-resolve2013Anyway, this is my final post of 2012.  I hope your year has been a good one, and that 2013 will bring you happiness, entertainment, and all that you seek.  And don’t forget to check back here on January 1st, when I begin a nine-day advice-a-thon with 8 superbly talented authors I’m anxious to introduce you to.  What will we be talking about? Resolutions, of course!

 

Clothes Closet Archeology

If archeologists from the future time-traveled back to my closet today, what would they think?  Would they scratch their heads and consider my wardrobe DNA to be equal parts Target, J. Crew, and vintage (with a few designer items thrown in for good measure)?  Maybe they’d marvel about how all these clothes belong to just one person.  Or perhaps they’d dig deeper, seeking out the pieces that have seen heavy rotation, and puzzle out who I was based on multiple pairs of yoga pants and the dog-hair-dust-bunnies congregating in recessed corners.

(Fur is forever… not that I own any fur garments!)

Today I’m starting the first of a series of posts about clothes.  My clothes.  Or rather, my problem of too many clothes.  This past summer, my collecting issues came to a head and I decided to tackle my closet once and for all.  My goal is to pare my wardrobe down to clothes I actually wear and reflect who I am.  My deadline?  Next spring.

So, when it comes to what I wear, who am I?

Dog owner is obvious.  But like many women, the aspirational aspects of my wardrobe don’t always match everyday reality.  Like the never-worn cocktail dre$$, or the size-too-small Armani pencil skirt with its original 1986 Neiman Marcus store tags attached.  There’s also a minor collection of shrunken cashmere sweaters I’ve vowed to de-shrink-ify… one of these days… when I have time.

Time that never seems to happen. I can just see myself, decades from now, an octogenarian laundress, imprisoned by the vintage wardrobe she always meant to wear but never got around to.  I don’t want to be that person!  But do I really need 19 filled storage totes, two stuffed closets, and one brimming cedar chest full of clothing?

The answer is, obviously, no.  Driving that NO home, I met two women whose lives revolve around clothes.  Both influenced me greatly, inspiring me to cull my wardrobe before it’s too late.  But that’s a story for another post.

I’ll admit it’s been a struggle to let go.  Just the other day I donated a bag of clothes to my favorite charity.  And eventually I’ll find my way through the cocktail dresses and cashmere sweaters.  Because if archeologists from the future visited my closet, I’d like my clothing reality to speak louder than the dog-fur-dust-bunnies.

Dog Days of Romance

I think we’ve all asked ourselves this question a million times. If I knew the answer, every book I write would be a best seller. Sadly, I haven’t hit that goal yet. So I’ll ask the bigger question…

What does my dog want?

From the photo below, I’d say the first thing Frankie Rose wants is to be literate. Until then, I have to read to her. So far we’ve read Racing in the Rain, Marley and several Lassie titles, but she always seemed to want more. Lately, we’ve been rereading Ayn Rand. While she finds the stories well thought out, it’s not really her cup of tea.

That’s one reason I write romance. Yes, my Bloodhound just can’t get enough of it. Knowing that there will be a bumpy ride for our lovers intrigues her to no end. What better genre is there? We build in love, hate, yearnings, twists, turns, suspense and wrap it all up with a happily-ever-after. No other genre can compete!

I don’t know the real percentages, but I  suspect that one in four romances features a dog. Not just any dog. A loved and beloved dog. One that is cherished, is a great listener, a sounding board to determine the virtues of our heroine’s suitors. This dog is a confidant and wise advisor. This is a woman’s dog, a man’s dog and a dog’s dog. It is a champion, even though it may come from humble (mutt) origins.

When I’m crafting my prose, all I have to do to stay on track is ask myself… What would Frankie Rose write? As you can see from her expression in the photo, she expects a lot from character arcs, plot development and originality. She’s a demanding perfectionist. A task master. Her focus is laser sharp and her critiques always dead on. And she wouldn’t mind a bite of my cookie, either.

Some Days are Diamonds, Some Days are Rocks

Driving home this past weekend I started thinking about life’s best and worst moments.  There are those spectacular moments like, say, exchanging vows with my husband.  Or even quiet ones.  Like contemplating a tulip tree in the Foster Botanical Gardens.  These are forever committed to my memory.  But the moments  that stood out most in my mind Saturday were ones that led to expansive personal change (and, dare I say, even spiritual growth).  In all, I’ve had three of those moments.

Their shared common denominator (other than me)?  These moments all include four wheels and an engine.

I blame last week’s unexpected car repair (ignition!) for my philosophical wanderings.  Two came during exceptionally difficult times in my life, and I couldn’t help but recall Tom Petty’s song, Walls.  Because, some days are diamonds… and, well, some days just plain suck.  Or do they?

ROCK 1: Driving a car older than my then-editor, my 1980 ever-reliable Toyota Corolla gave up the ghost.  It seemed luck was on my side when I rolled it into a church parking lot within walking distance from my home, because, of course, I forgot to bring my cell.  En route back to the car, the beloved Pitbull refused to NOT follow me.  His cable and leash were nowhere to be found, so I improvised with rope.  Which didn’t work.  Half way back the dog went off and I wound up skidding hands down on gravel and falling into the bramble-lined ditch with him.

The lowest point in my life? Laying in a ditch, bloody and crying with a Pitbull on a rope.

He apologized, licking away my tears.  Good dog.   The awful, hitting-bottom moment contained a lot of clarity.

ROCK 2: After replacing the timing belt, water pump, and winter-proofing the current car, my husband and I drove home in an Oregon-style monsoon.  If you live anywhere in the Pacific Northwest you know exactly what I mean.  A December night where the sun sets early, the storm is relentless, and sheets of rain gust across the road.  Seeing twenty feet in front of the car was difficult.  Envisioning my future after the mechanic forgot to hook up the generator to the motor and helplessly watching the car die in rush hour traffic?  Tragic.

Without getting into details, the result wound up being the one and only time, in 12 years, that I’ve seriously considered leaving my marriage.  Bottom line: still married, relationship stronger.

DIAMOND: South of France, driving a tractor through a vineyard .  Epiphanal moments strike at the oddest moments, or maybe it was the exhaust fumes from the tractor, but in that moment I was simply OVERCOME with a feeling of calm, of my heart filling with gratitude, and the bone-deep, soul-swelling knowledge that everything was going to be okay.  Sitting atop the tractor with Bob, I tossed my camera to a friend and asked for a photo.  A memento of the moment when I knew for sure, that no matter what, from that second on, life would turn out well and obstacles and challenges would be overcome.

Rocks happen.  For a reason.  So do diamonds.  I’d like to think that we carry the diamonds in our hearts and that we can rely on their strength to carry us forward through rocky times.

 

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