Earlier in the week, we heard from Lucky Dog Rescue that they had another candidate for us---Gypsy (whose name will certainly be changed if we take her; we're currently thinking "Lindsey") will be brought to us on Saturday for the usual introduction. Also on Saturday, Jim Winbourn will come to install ice dam preventive wiring in two places around our eaves. On Friday, Becky got a call from Lucky Dog Rescue that due to logistical problems they will not be able to drop off Gypsy until a week from Sunday. That news freed up Becky to drive to Los Angeles to attend Chris Buckelew's funeral on Saturday.
I'm not yet ready for prime time due to my surgery, etc., so I'll stay home. She packed her bag and hit the sack early Friday evening. At 5:10 Saturday morning, she and the dogs hit the road. It was apparently a well-attended and beautiful service at St. Alban's Episcopal Church in Westwood.
I spent part of Saturday "helping" Jim Winbourn with his project. He didn't quite finish it, so he'll return on Sunday. After using up the mussels we bought at Trader Joe's to make my dinner I spent a quiet evening Saturday night reading (I finished Beach Road). Jim returned on Sunday and finished the job.
Afterward, I puttered around, readying the house for the return of Becky and the dogs. They arrived home after their 909-mile round trip just a few minutes before the start of the Oscar telecast. I had already watched a few minutes of the red carpet introduction and found it extremely boring. The Oscar host, Chris Rock, who can be pretty funny, was suitably nasty in his racial commentary about the all-white nominations this year, but he was not very funny. Too bad. It made the too-long (3 ½ hours) show rather tedious.
Monday was a return to normalcy. I started reading Step On A Crack, another James Patterson crime novel. This will be my last Patterson book for a while; I need to read a different writer for a change.
Tuesday
involved a trip to Flagstaff to pick up a prescription for Becky. Naturally, we stopped at Oregano’s to pick up
a Pablo Picasso Mexican Salad for dinner.
Yum. Since we had no desire to watch the non-stop election coverage on TV Tuesday
night, we instead watched three hours of House
Of Cards. As usual, it was nasty and
fun.
Wednesday morning, Becky took Ramsey to the vet early so they could put him “out” for a procedure on his rear end that everyone knew he would not like. They found an infection as well, which they treated. Just after they returned from the vet, I finished Step On A Crack.
I immediately started reading The Story Of My Life, an autobiography by Clarence Darrow.
The book, published in 1932, was given to me by Virginia Martindale, a former client of mine when she was cleaning out her personal library several years ago. I've ignored it all this time but decided it was time to attack it. I discovered it was signed by Mr. Darrow! So far it is quite interesting how deprived he was in his early life, and how it seems to have influenced his attitude about the world in general and, specifically, his political beliefs. His mother died when he was 15 and his father never figured out how to make enough money for his family to do more than just survive.
Thursday was just another day, except that the Lucky Dog Rescue people called to say they had determined that Gypsy was temperamentally suited to be the only dog in a family, since she was not at all friendly to other dogs, and they would not be bringing her to our home after all. That was disappointing, but we certainly understood.
Wednesday morning, Becky took Ramsey to the vet early so they could put him “out” for a procedure on his rear end that everyone knew he would not like. They found an infection as well, which they treated. Just after they returned from the vet, I finished Step On A Crack.
I immediately started reading The Story Of My Life, an autobiography by Clarence Darrow.
The book, published in 1932, was given to me by Virginia Martindale, a former client of mine when she was cleaning out her personal library several years ago. I've ignored it all this time but decided it was time to attack it. I discovered it was signed by Mr. Darrow! So far it is quite interesting how deprived he was in his early life, and how it seems to have influenced his attitude about the world in general and, specifically, his political beliefs. His mother died when he was 15 and his father never figured out how to make enough money for his family to do more than just survive.
Thursday was just another day, except that the Lucky Dog Rescue people called to say they had determined that Gypsy was temperamentally suited to be the only dog in a family, since she was not at all friendly to other dogs, and they would not be bringing her to our home after all. That was disappointing, but we certainly understood.
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