We’re calling in the big guns. Truffle and Alba’s spats (mainly Truffle flying into a Tasmanian devil fury when Alba comes near), the biting-off-the-tail incident, Alba baring her teeth at strangers, it’s all gotten to be more than we can handle on our own armed with nothing but tips from watching the Dog Whisperer. It may have been a bad decision to adopt such a big puppy, but she hasn’t turned out like we anticipated either.
A dog behaviorist is coming Tuesday to observe the dogs and for a consultation. Hopefully she’ll see that things can be turned around and work with our furry little family. Our homework for Tuesday is a list. We’re to write up the good and bad behaviors of each dog. Something like:
Truffle good
Can hold it all day like a man, never has an accident
Loves all people, lets kids manhandle him
Truffle bad
Hops on two legs for the entire duration of a walk
Barks at every twig and leaf that floats across his line of vision
Alba good
Walks with a loose leash
Sits when told
Alba bad
Drags Truffle around by the tail
Threatens children and the elderly with fangs and growling
Eats furniture, remote controls, shoes and winter squash
We’re putting a lot of faith into this behaviorist to train us. We know perfectly well it’s not the dogs with issues — we’re the ones that need to be trained (I did say we watch the Dog Whisperer after all!)
We were talking about the ten plagues of Egypt yesterday at work (if you know where I work you know that’s not as strange as it sounds). We were talking during a meeting in which we watched the sky spew rain from leaden clouds, then turn black and ominous across the Ohio River, then brighten with a rainbow. Louisville was under a tornado watch. Because we haven’t had enough sever weather lately.
I walked to the bus stops in crazy high winds – it was a workout just pushing my way through the wind. Brian met me at the bus stop and we drove home under the threatening sky. I knew as soon as we opened the door that we had no power. A house with electric feels different, alive somehow.
What can you do when you find your power out for the third time in five months, second time in a month? Laugh, cry, or go get takeout pizza and wine. We opted for the latter and sat in the dark surrounded by candles.
We were out four days in September, six days in January/February. I’m hoping for one day during this bout of the plague of darkness. (Especially since we just restocked our fridge *again.*)
It’s déjà vu all over again. Last September we read by candlelight and threw out everything of our fridge when the power went out after Hurrican Ike sent some crazy winds our way.
I remember commenting that September had to be the best time to lose power. “At least it’s not January!” I said a lot in the four days in the dark.
Yeah. January is a different matter. We watched the ice build on the trees and lines and gave thanks that we still had power Tuesday and Wednesday last week. When my office building re-opened after two days I left a warm, bright house. Brian dropped me off and returned home to dark and quiet. I learned how ignorant I am about things house-related — a gas furnace is useless without electric to blow the heat. With temperatures expected to drop to 15 Thursday night, we left town in the afternoon for my parents’ home in Somerset. They escaped the storm with only a little snow.
On the way down I noticed some red streaks in my Truffle’s tail — it was blood! I knew Alba was fond of nipping at his tail in play but I thought all that fur protected him. My poor puppy! We took him to the vet in Somerset Friday (small town that is is, the vet used to work for my dad while he was in college). Turns out Alba didn’t just nip it, she nearly snipped it off. The tip of Truffle’s tail was hanging on by a bit of skin. The vet put him under, shaved his little tail and stitched it back together. If it heals properly, we won’t have to bob it. I know some dog owners bob tails on purpose but it makes me oh-so-sad to think about Truffle losing his plume.
So here we are on Monday. The ice is melted but our power is still out, we’ve managed to make Truffle leave his bandage on and we’re waiting for electric. Thank goodness for dog-loving friends who are sharing their home with all of us!
I haven’t had a snow day since college (if I ever even had a full day then, I don’t actually remember). 34, 24, 14, it doesn’t matter. A snow day is a snow day. The dogs are even happier than I am — their human is home *and* there’s this fabulous cold white stuff outside that they were born to play in. Alba, especially is a snow dog. Look at her:
So a few months ago my co-worker and friend Bryce Hudson, a contemporary artist in Louisville, photographed me for his latest project, the Holding Pattern Series. He worked on the series during a residency in Beijing last fall, letting me know in the middle of his night and the middle of my day when my piece of the series was complete.
The series will open in Louisville February 6 at the Green Building Gallery. Drop by and have a look!
I like to have a song that goes with an upcoming trip. Istanbul was an easy one — Magic Carpet Ride. An October trip a few years ago was “Wake Me Up When September Ends.”
I have my song for my very-hoped-for next trip.
Wouldn’t you know we’re riding on the Marrakesh Express
Wouldn’t you know we’re riding on the Marrakesh Express
They’re taking me to Marrakesh
All aboard the train, all aboard the train
I’ve been saving all my money just to take you there
(the incomparable Crosby, Stills & Nash)
I will be playing this a lot in the coming months, alternating between excitement at “All aboard the train” and determination at “I’ve been saving all my money just to take you there.” I read a quote today that is no more than common sense, but struck a chord.
Discipline is remembering what you really want. (David Campbell)
I really want to go to Morocco. I really want to get on board the train. (Never mind that we’d be flying from Barcelona.)
Do I want it more than I want to eat sushi every week? Easy to say yes now. Remembering that I want some intangible experience months away when I’m tempted to pull out the debit card for some salmon sashimi will be hard. It’s the over and over remembering what I want that will make it possible. Do I remember I want it when I sigh that we “need” a new dishwasher? When I think about upgrading our camera?
Airfare is astronomical these days. We haven’t enough miles to get there so we’ll be paying real money for the fare. But I know we can do this. We didn’t use miles or free hotel points on our first trip of 25 days in 2001. And Brian was a waiter then, and I was at my first job out of college. I remember our savings chart, a hokey little printout of the Eiffel Tower with our savings goal at the top. For 14 months I charted our progress. It helped me remember what I wanted. Now I do the same thing with a Google docs spreadsheet.
Maybe it’s time to go retro and hang something on my refrigerator to help me remember what I really want.
I didn’t blog too much while we were in Quebec, or since we’ve been back, other than the cheater’s way out with photos. I needed to save my material — I’m in the middle of a ten-story series for Jaunted.com. Ten stories didn’t sound bad until I started. Four are live, two are submitted and I’ve got four left to write.
So if you’d like to see what we did in Quebec (spoiler: we ate a lot) visit the Eating Quebec stories on Jaunted.
So that’s about all you’ll get here, on my so-called travel blog. It’s time to start thinking and planning for the next trip. I think there will not be snow there.
We’ve taken some photos in Montreal, but I’m just not as interested in, or very good at, urban photography. I really enjoyed photographing Quebec though, and used a brand new tool in Picassa to make a short video of some of our favorite photos.
Where do I have time on vacation to do things like this, you ask? I can’t stand the cold for more than a few hours and my feet get tired of walking all day so we spend a lot of time later afternoon and evening before dinner in our room. Tonight’s our last night in the city — we fly back tomorrow afternoon. Our museum/metro pass ends today so we’ll spend the day at free sites on foot tomorrow.
I talked with a food writer for the Washington Post a few weeks ago. She was writing a wrap-up piece on her CSA experience and wanted input from others who had participated in a farm share. We talked for a good 20 minutes, all about my experience with Misty Meadows Farm. I described how it had changed my cooking style, helped me get more into rhythm with what nature is providing, made me more creative in menu planning. I talked about how much I loved the week I got tons of basil for pesto, how the sweet potatoes tasted unlike anything I’d ever bought from a store. I said receiving my share each week was like a cross between trick-or-treating and Christmas. And when she asked about the drawbacks, I made a joke about hating beets.
Never make a joke to a journalist.
Out of our entire conversation, she quoted me on hating beets, but eating them out of guilt (which seemed a lot funnier when I blogged about it this summer). She also used me as the poster child for waste. She had asked if I ever had to throw anything away, commiserating that it was hard to go through so much food in a week. I reluctantly admitted that some weeks I didn’t get to use everything, and felt really bad when I did — after all, when you know the people who grow your food it makes you look at waste differently. We try never to waste, I told her, but especially with our farm share. We went to great lengths to use things up, even cooking the beet greens. None of that made it into the article. From now on, I’m “Dana McMahan, a CSA member in Louisville who said ‘the guilt factor was pretty big.’ “(She was loose in her transcribing of my quote.)
I understand she needed to let readers know there are many factors to consider in committing to a CSA. I just wish that my 95% positive review of the experience hadn’t come through as a negative one. She also asked if I’d do it again next year. Since she didn’t quote me on that, I’ll quote myself.
There’s a Seinfeld episode where Elaine has an alternate Jerry, Kramer and George. I keep thinking of that because Quebec is like an alternate France. It can be a bit disorienting to walk along cobblestone streets by 300-year old buildings housing boulangeries and creperies, hearing French spoken around me, and remember I’m in North America. It’s French language and foods, but not demeanor. While I am *not* saying the French in France aren’t polite, and in fact are often friendly, especially in the country, the French here have been very helpful, friendly, smiling, even seeming happy to see us. Add to that the novel idea that we *subtract* 20% from the listed price instead of *adding* 30, 40, 50 or 60% (depending on when we were in France) and it’s like a little Alt France.
Quebec is a beautiful city. Here are some of my favorite scenes so far.
Made a Greek Zucchini and Herb Pie this morning, reheating now. Going to watch I Served The King of England (bit.ly/rpSZr) after dinner. 7 hours ago
Lazy Sunday, dogs napping, I'm window-shopping the French Laundry Cookbook. Finally found one dish I can handle: staff lasagna bit.ly/15xn5u 13 hours ago
