The Last Date Night

. . . before the wedding, I mean! FryDaddy and I hadn't had a "big date night" in quite a while - our lives have been crazy-busy and not just with the wedding plans. (Scale back all you want to, Gentle Readers, you still have a long list of errands to run and goals to accomplish. This is a fact you'll be much happier off accepting early in the process.) In the past, we tried to have a "big" date night every couple of months. These ranged from our trip to the opera (with our funny plastic Viking helmets) to my exposure to Metallica. But lately, there just hasn't been the time or the energy. You see, living in the pleasant boondocks means that most "big date nights" involve a fair amount of planning; such events really can't be totally spontaneous.

But there was a glimmer of light - the somewhat-local symphony was presenting a full-scale version of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 in D Minor. You know this piece if you've ever listened to the opening of Countdown with Keith Olbermann or heard the popular hymn "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee." (Although I'll admit I didn't know the bit about how the piece allegedly influenced the development of the compact disc. Read the article!) I got tickets as an early wedding present, we got dolled up and out we went.

The tickets were second row, which gives you a different point of view from being up in the balcony. We were close enough to see the gouges on the floor from the endpins of the double basses. And it's just a magnificent piece of music! It's so overwhelmingly joyous that you want to leap to your feet, pump your fist in the air, and yell from the depths of your soul, "YEAH!"

And that's without understanding the German chorus!

Seriously, a wonderful night and one well worth repeating. Until then, listen to this and remember that Beethoven was stone-deaf by the time his final symphony premiered in 1824. Or go watch Immortal Beloved - that's pretty cool, too!

Bad Hair Day

I must have been the worst hair salon client ever. Okay, maybe not the "worst" in terms of mistreating the staff, but the "worst" in terms of being the client you really hope goes to someone else.

Women have a complicated relationship with our own hair. It's true. We're never really happy with it - if it's curly, we want it straight; if it's blonde, we want it red; if it's short, we want it long. It's always like that. Oh, we may like it well enough some days, but trust me, it's only a temporary truce. We get especially weird around big hair occasions. No, that doesn't mean an occasion that calls for big hair; although living here in the South, we do have a few of those. I mean events for which your hair really, REALLY matters.

Like a wedding.

So imagine, if you will, being the well-meaning hair stylist who has been at work, patiently minding her own business who suddenly is faced with me, a two-weeks-away-from-the-wedding bride who comes in hating her hair, wanting it changed totally (cut, color, and style) but doesn't have the faintest idea what she wants.

I wouldn't have blamed the stylist (oh, let me add that I'd never gone to her before - see what I mean about being the worst client ever?) if she had suddenly discovered that she was due for her break.

Bless her heart, she was a total professional in dealing with a near-madwoman. We talked and talked - what did I like? What did I NOT like? (A very important question that isn't asked as often as it should be.) When I said "red," did I mean "auburn" or "copper"? Highlights - did I want "honey" or "caramel" or maybe more of a "gold"? Oh, sure you don't think these are important questions, but trust me - there are certain situations in which these are VERY important questions. We're talking "defending the dissertation" important. And some things just shouldn't be rushed. Hair decisions two weeks before the wedding - that's in that particular category.

And it was worth it.

Meanwhile, back at the Nest, puffy, fluffy clouds of white dog hair continue to float through the breeze. I want to clean the house, but it just seems futile. In a Samuel Beckett sort of way, had he ever chosen to write about dog hair. (Hmmm - Sam Beckett's Hair of the Dog. It could have been wonderful!) With two white dogs taking up residence AND having to keep them separated for another three weeks (Haint's still undergoing heartworm treatment), it's as if the shedding fur has a life of its own. And it's a twisted, mocking life. I swear, I (okay, in all honesty, it's much more likely to be FryDaddy) can vacuum the floor and suck up half a Pomeranian worth of fur and thirty minutes later, there are furry tumbleweeds rolling across the all-too-briefly clean floor.

Sigh.

Hair. What can you do?

Licensed to Wed!

April came in with a heat wave - temps are breaking records around here, sticky pollen is turning everything a less-than-charming shade of yellow, the mutts are shedding to the point that sweeping seems pointless, and - oh yeah - we got the wedding license! Only took two trips, too.

First things first. As much as I've been trying to enjoy the warm, sunshiny weather, I'm breaking down and shutting the windows to crank up the AC. Truly one invention that makes living in the South a bit more bearable, although it's also damaged our molasses-slow pace of going about life. (Seriously - in late summer, it's just too bloomin' hot to rush! Better to sit still and take all day to make really good sun tea and comment on your neighbors' grilling ability.)

Pollen. Yuck. Nuff said.

License. Yay! A painless process and we have a lovely, embossed-with-gold-seal-and-in-no-way-official version that, yes, is suitable for framing. There are still details to finalize (of course), but nothing that is all that crucial. We've got the church, the pastor (who's been wonderful about viewing some of the craziness with a world-weary smile - I bet he's seen just about everything), our families will surround us on that day, and we've got each other, although we still occasionally wonder just how that happened. Without getting into too much gritty detail, suffice it to say that planets had to align and lessons had to be learned, some of which were very bittersweet.

But here is where we are. And this is who we are here with.

Sort of makes the dress and the shoes unimportant.

But I sure hope the AC is the church is working that day!

The New Normal

Nothing like a life-changing event to, well, change your life. Let's see . . . since last posting, FryDaddy is home and (mostly) okay, although we both have days in which the fears come a-callin'. But we're adjusting.

Work is both a saving grace and a massive annoyance. It's good to have something to focus on (not to mention something that I at least have the illusion of controlling), but my temper is seldom level. I swear, I managed to misplace a parking pass walking from Point A to Point B last week and it's clear that my attitude toward students is a bit - frayed, shall we say. And the work that has piled up! Sheesh. But again, it's getting better.

There's much to be grateful for in all of this. The two dogs are getting along fine and Haint is adjusting to crate-training without too much rending of garments and gnashing of teeth. Spring is definitely on its way, complete with sudden thunderstorms, but dogs (and clothes!) dry and it's good for what will one day be my vegetable garden. People have been overwhelmingly kind and helpful and all truly is well. Everything important, anyway.

It's just a shame it takes something like this to make me see it. Then again, I really do seem to be determined to learn the hard way, sometimes.

Sigh. But it still counts as learning.

Medical Technology and Gratitude

Much has happened since the last posting. Little Haint has become a part of the family and we have our fingers crossed that the heartworm treatment is successful.

Speaking of hearts, FryDaddy is dealing with some cardiac issues. Three years back, he had to have a cardiac defibrillator implanted in his heart. Long story, let's not go into the details. The idea behind it is that if his heart ever goes wonky (it's a technical word, I know), the "device" will shock his heart back into working properly.

Only on Thursday, it needed to and it didn't.

So we're in the hospital, having tests run and (mostly) waiting to have tests run. We've been in one hospital or another since Thursday afternoon and we'll be in one hospital or another for the next few days. You always need to pack your sense of humor (and the laptop!) and maybe even more so at the hospital. So - a partial list of things to remember:

1. Vampires should look at working in the health-care field. No one blinks when you come in at 2 a.m. to take blood.
2. IV stands make great places to hang baseball caps.
3. Be sure to refer to your cardiologist as a "mechanic" and ask if that pine tree scented air freshener comes with your tune-up.
4. Hospital coffee is just awful. Plan accordingly.

I know that last one isn't funny; it's just good, hard, practical advice.

Funny How Things Work . . .

I've always attracted strays. It's just one of those quirks of mine. And strays come when they will; it's not the sort of thing one can order and arrange.

I know this, but that knowledge didn't stop me from being greatly surprised when a medium-sized mutt adopted me yesterday while the Spookster and I were out walking (in preparation for our upcoming assault on Cerro Aconcagua, but that's a tale for another time). Friendly li'l fella, very well-mannered. He walks on a leash well and seems to be well behaved in the house (although he has a penchant for hopping up on the couch, which is a strict no-no in the bounds of our pack).

You may be asking yourself, "Mockingbird, what are you doing? Clearly, this critter has been owned by someone who taught him these rules of civilized behavior. You can't be thinking of keeping this animal - someone, somewhere must be missing him terribly!"

To which I say, "Ha." And furthermore, pffft! Look, this dog is so thin, he makes runway models look like a size fourteen. When a dog gets that skinny, he hasn't just been missing a day or two. There are no signs up in my neighborhood and the dog doesn't have tags. He's been living hard recently and I see no reason whatsoever to return a good dog to a home that would treat a kindly creature in that fashion.

So he's been flea-bathed and de-wormed. He's got his own crate (many thanks to Texas Woolf) so he doesn't have to sleep outside in the cold anymore. Tomorrow, it's off to the vet to check on his overall health and find out what sort of bloodlines he's got (more for curiosity's sake than me having certain breed standards). And, bless his cat-lovin' heart, FryDaddy has christened him. Since the doggy-not-in-the-window bears an uncanny resemblance to Spooky's country cousin, he will now be known as "Haint." Makes sense - I already had a bottle tree in the back yard; it's only natural that it eventually attracted a haint.

Looks like the Nest is a two-dog household now.

Falling Down & Picking Up

Hmmm - I've often said that February seems like the longest of months, rather than the shortest. In my corner of the world, it tends to be cold and grey and windy, without even the benefit of snow to make things pretty and contain the potential of a snow day. (And listen to me well on this one, children. No one ever outgrows the little thrill of excitement that comes with a snow day! It may be tempered a bit as you grow older, but oh, it's still there!)

And this February was a bit of a downer for other reasons - natural disasters abounded, the High Museum trip didn't happen (due to - ready for this - snow. See? Sometimes snow days aren't all that great), work piled up in great looming towers, and so forth and so on. Really, it wasn't that bad a time in the Nest - cross reference with things like tsunamis and earthquakes for a sense of proportion - but it was February.

Aha! But now it's March. And while bad weather may still threaten (maybe tomorrow, actually) and while work may be filled with more chores than joys at the moment, etc. etc., there are daffodils almost blooming in the front yard and a St. Patrick's Day flag flapping merrily outside. And while I fell down a bit on keeping up with this blog, I'm now trying to lurch back to my feet.

I think I need a kite. And to carve out some time to fly it.