Good Morning all Heartwarming Heads!
August began as a trying month for me. The funeral of a very dear, long-time friend, followed by a colonoscopy, then a ginormous revision. There weren't a lot of laughs around here.
Then they started coming.
First, as I was waking up from the colonoscopy, the doctor leaned over me and said, "You have the colon of a twenty-year old!" Yahoo. But that's hard to brag about, or so I thought. My friend's daughter had a t-shirt made for me.
Second, the dog needed a bath. We have an old claw and ball bathtub. If you haven't seen one, the sides are taller than the average tub, and the base is a little narrower. The dog is 92 pounds and Ron can no longer help me lift her into it. Enter a new pet store in Astoria that also offers do-it-yourself dog bathing facilities. I thought it was the answer.
Each unit is set up like a raised stall with running water, a very short leash attachment, and floor boards that allow the water to run through. There's also a sort of hose/shower head thing, only mine didn't work exactly right, the clerk said - it didn't shut off.
There are three steps up into the stall and Cheyenne, who is a little neurotic anyway, refused to climb. The clerk took the leash from me, thinking she could do it. No luck. She told me she didn't think this would work for us after all. I said, "I have one more thought. If I climb up, she'll follow me." I did. She did. But she was very frightened. I sat on the floorboards to explain it all to her and while I was talking, I hooked up the small leash attachment, and took her leash off. The clerk was exultant. "I'll go turn the water on," she said, running to the back. Meanwhile, realizing I was about to leave her, Cheyenne took me down and stood on top of me whining, the malfunctioning shower head thingie right beside me. I heard water go on, the dog wouldn't get off, and I was pinned to the floorboards, one Skecher-clad foot in the air, arms flailing, dog howling.
The clerk brought me a rubber apron a little too late, and helped me out of the stall. Once Cheyenne realized what was happening, she gave herself over to the experience, practically raising an 'arm' so I could shoot the area with water, turning this way and that for optimum effect. I'm sure if she had language, she'd have sung "O, Sole Mio."
Across the room were two blow driers, but they were being used by two Prom Queenish Collies who looked at Cheyenne disdainfully as their beautiful honey and white coats rippled like wheat fields in a wind. Fortunately, I had brought a couple of bath towels in my backpack, and she enjoyed the rub-down.
Third, Our neighbors Barb and Steve, and Ron and I have a lot of friends in common who live in the neighboring town. We were invited to a birthday party there and Steve offered to drive. He has a Volkswagen beetle. A wonderful car - unless you're trying to put a walker in it. The walker folds, but along the width, not the length. It wouldn't fit in the trunk, so Barbara and I sat in the back with the walker on our laps. She has such a cheerful disposition, she makes me look like Pagliacci (I know, I'm in operatic mode.) She talked away about how fun it was to ride together, how wonderful it was going to be to see everyone, all the great things she was going to do the last two weeks of summer - and all the while she talked, she was looking at me through the walker's handles, and I was answering her through the wheels. We laughed a lot.
Fourth, we have a new independent ice cream truck running through the neighborhood. It's a pale blue, fairly old station wagon with pictures of the products taped to the side. I heard his musical arrival the other day and ran out with a fistful of ones to see what I could buy. The proprietor, a very pleasant man with a buzz cut, gave my order to a helper in the back, who pulled things out of a big white freezer. "All juice bars are on sale for a dollar," he said with real enthusiasm. "I have to go back to the shop and restock for tomorrow 'cause we're doing a tattoo convention." (Maybe you had to be there, but doesn't it strike you funny to think about the little blue station wagon filled with ice cream at a tattoo convention?)
So, thanks to the Funny Fates, I'm going to make it to September. Please share with us what the FFs have done for you.