coulda, woulda, shoulda, oughta

I have two dear friends who are currently on the outs. One offered the other some unsolicited advice (regarding her weight) and the other responded with some of her own (regarding performance of an impossible sex act.) It's easy to understand, because none of us likes to get advice, whether we need it or not.

When someone tells me what I should do or ought to do, my hackles rise. It matters not if the advice is good, bad, or excellent, my resistance is the same. The very thought that someone thinks they know better than I about me. They are not my parent, my teacher, my boss. I even had "obey" deleted from our wedding vows 52 years ago, so CJ knew I was not one to tell what to do. I even view traffic signs as mere suggestions. Right lane MUST turn right. HAH!

Every parent knows the difference in advice, suggestions, and orders. Ever tell a muddy kid that he should take a bath? That he ought to go to bed? Doesn't work, does it? Invites a response like my friend gave the other, but not out loud. Gets a response in the "I could, but," or "I would, but." Could and would are excuses. I could lose 20 pounds, but then I would get wrinkles.

Of course, I may not like getting advice, but I love giving it. No wonder people hate lawyers. We not only give people advice, but we do it for a living. They have to pay to be insulted. Now, you really should get up from that computer, take a brisk walk, wash the dog, start dinner, and call your mother.

Love for a quarter

CJ turns 73 next week. His brother, Judson, just turned 85. Judson found a yellowed note that he sent to his father on the occasion of his little brother's birth, in the depression in Missouri:

Dear Daddy,

Since the baby has come I know we are under circumstantial problems. I am provided with well enough and think I could get out the ashes and coal for nothing.

You put the extra quarter in on anything the boy would kneed.

Your son,
Judson

Human School

Romeo here again. Thought I could train these new humans, CJ and Carol, like I did the others. They had already picked up some bad habits before I adopted them, so today I took them to school.

The teacher, Kristen, looks a lot like one of them. Tall, hairless, only uses two legs. But, she uses that to fool them, so she can train them better. She agrees with us that they are nothing but big Pez dispensers, but she wants them to give up more treats when we demand them.

We all got there for class, and she made them line up and sit in little plastic chairs. They were so cute. They took turns introducing us and letting us show our stuff. They paraded around and smiled at us and pretended they were already trained. We knew better. That Kristen is amazing. She had them doing tricks in no time. I even had Kristen walk around in circles backwards, showing the humans how to do it. They have a week to practice.

We worked on teaching the humans to heel, then come, then sit. They can't learn but one of these at a time. For heel, they must not tug on our leash if we tug first. They must sit, then come, then we can get them to heel. We will accept treats only if they get these right. They have these little clickers that keep them happy if they don't earn treats. They are so cute.

Romeo

Romeo here. Just adopted a couple of humans yesterday. Carol and CJ will probably work out, but they need some training.

We beagles had a big adoption party in the park yesterday, so we could look over the prospects. Some of those humans were cuter, but this pair looked so needy. They were completely dogless. CJ has a red scooter that I will learn to drive.

My new house has many doors. The one I like best goes out front where the other dogs and people and birds are. I can only go out there with my human on her leash. Out back there are neighbor dogs, but no passage under the fence, yet. One door goes to a closet where the other beagle lives. He has to stay behind the mirror thing. I need someone with thumbs to help me with that door.

We will start training tomorrow. They push the good stuff way too far back on the kitchen counter and the dining room table. They shut the pantry door all the way. They put the toilet lid down. But the main thing they need to learn is that a dog belongs in their bed at night. I slept on the sofa last night, but they will learn soon.

No whining

Not exactly a New Year's Resolution, just a goal fot the sake of focus. Besides, I don't want to commit to more measurable goals like weight loss. For a week of non-whining, I can report only getting caught once.

I called the heater repair company because we were cold. The outside box (compressor?) was covered in thick ice and the system was sounding unhappy. The receptionist told me "Sugar, it's 38 degrees outside, and your heater is just doing the best as it can. Go put on a sweater." She sounded like she had had a few too many calls already. And too much coffee. I noted that she hadn't taken my name or phone number, so I was not on the list for a service call. But then I hadn't asked for one either. I had just called to whine.

I put on a sweater and made some coffee, and C. J. came in and complained that he was cold. So I said "Sugar, it's 38 degrees outside, and your heater is just doing the best as it can. Here's a sweater." June came by later to drop off her space heater, which are gone from the stores. She was flying off to Texas, which might be warmer. We will sit by the heater or drag it around by its cord like a dog on a leash and hope she doesn't come home until it warms up a little here.

Mr. Teapot Head

C. J. and I were eating lunch at the Shrimp Store today, when a man came in with friends and sat at the next table. He had the worst comb-over I've ever seen. A lock of hair, about one inch by twelve, had escaped and formed a graceful curve down the back of his head. He had a serious nose, and in profile he looked just like a teapot. He had violated the equator rule by parting his hair all the way around in the lower latitudes, and gravity had its way. It was hard to look away, like driving by a traffic accident. I really had the urge to stop by the table and stick it back on top with a damp finger. But I didn't.

We often see people that must not own a mirror. If you had a full length mirror by your door you would not go out with a roll of yourself hanging out between your shirt and your jeans, would you? How about the stretch knit stuff that hugs every pudge and crease? How about sandals with gnarly toes and long toenails hanging over the edge? Are these intentional but unfortunate choices? Do they stand in front of a mirror and get the look they want? I confess that I once wore pink fuzzy slippers around town for half a day before I noticed. And I'm reaching the age that such is expected. Am I old enough to confront these people and point out their flaws?

Hair?

When I got out of the shower and toweled my head, it didn't look so shiny. Can't see anything, but I'm hopeful. It's been a month since the last chemo treatment, so maybe, just maybe. . .I won't have to decorate my head every morning.

Last week I had my last weekly checkup (now comes the every three month checkup) and told the valet who parks my car that I wouldn't be seeing him much. He said "Well, let's make a clean break of it. Don't ask if we can just be friends, because that never works."

I'm already dreading the three-month checkups. I guess I want this to be all behind me, when I know it's not. As dear friend Mike wrote recently, lifelong watching is just one more aspect of this disease. He quotes from Coleridge "like one who on a lonesome road, doth walk in fear and dread, and having once turned round walks on and turns no more his head, because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread." That is no way to live. I plan to throw back my shoulders, put on a happy face, and get on with it!