Steve slipped into Chicago to partake of our Superdahl Sunday, and a good time was had by all. He may regret his impetuous move when we are blanketed by snow, but in the meantime, the festivities were far more engaging when shared with our patriarch. It was a rare demonstration of spontaneity by a man who lives very deliberately.
I was sitting in the Father Chair Saturday night, which I have taken over since he migrated South, when I heard the front door open. I saw a man in the front hall, and I knew him to be familiar, since the dogs were not wailing and chewing upon him. What a fun suprise! I cannot say that my fine cooking for the football game brought him back- he knows better. I think he was lonely.
Steve in the Father Chair, with Walter coveting his snacks
I did not vote for Scott Lee Cohen for lieutenant governor. I received some nice multicolor mailings, and saw his commercial spots, and he seemed a congenial enough fellow. I knew that Illinois gutted the position of L/G years ago. This was made abundantly clear when the movers and shakers in the Democratic party slotted the very earnest and ineffective Pat Quinn there, in Blago's armpit. They figured they could control his gadfly tendencies a bit, and he would stop harping at them- tilting at windmills, so to speak. I am only involved in local government, and I can attest that it is far easier to be the complainer or the person with the one sentence solution than it is to get inside the circle and apply good law, good financial logic, and good sense to a problem. Governor Quinn is a fine observer, but not much of a doer. With Scotty Lee as his side car, I doubt the voters of this fine state will give him a chance to evolve into action mode.
A TCF bank inside the local Jewel was held up Monday morning. It is purported to be this TCF bandit's 10th- 12th foray into grocery bank robberies. The dude has been captured on surveillance tapes in other branches as well.
He bears a striking resemblance to my husband. In the article describing the event, the robber fled on foot, and was described as
stocky. (sorry, honey) We live within jogging distance of this branch, and there has been a cluster of such events out here in the Western suburbs. I declare Steve to be innocent!
He has an alibi due to his relocation to a sunnier climate. Also, he was podcasting during the hour in question. If he slipped back into town, I doubt his first stop would be to rob da Jool's bank. Of course, there is the matter of Rip Torn....so, who knows?
The person who uses my closet to store her clothes is a stranger to me. She is smaller, has a bigger life, and cannot bear to part with any outfit that has an event attached to it. She buys many things at TJ Maxx, but these items do not match any other items. Many still have tags. We both like purses and shoes, (they always fit) and never toss them. Real world Janet has had an intervention with the fanciful Janet who filled up this space. The result was my promise to take the closet to the walls, try on and evaluate everything, and purge. I hate making such promises, but for once, I followed through. I can call this the Lost Weekend, because the job expanded to cover 36 hours. My wardrobe has narrowed significantly. It is aligned with my narrow life. A Martha would say, it's a good thing.
Typical "vintage" clothing from Janet's closet- I kept it
I have been trying some behavior modification today to try to get the beasts to bond with their sumptuous
new bed. Mabel, especially, seems to enjoy nesting in the dog sofa- but there is a static electricity problem that I will need to deal with. If they get shocks clambering in and out, I think they will head back to the couch. They are still ruling the roost. Last night Mabel barked me to bed- I thought she wanted to go out, but she wanted to go UP. While I was in the bathroom showering and putting my PJs on, she dug a nice little spot for herself. She actually tossed my decorative pillows onto the floor and yanked down the covers. This is new.
Here at the suburban abode, the dogs rebel against authority on a daily basis. They can poach a pot roast off of the kitchen counter in a nano second, and they have the sense to drag their booty to a shadowy corner so that they are not apprehended until the pan is clean. Last week they chomped through a half bag of conversation hearts- you know- Valentine candy- before they realized it was not meat. I would like to go closed circuit on them to assign primary guilt: they are clearly co-conspirators. When I wave an empty potato chip bag, or bread wrapper in their snouts, they both go belly down, eyes averted and slither to a corner. The guiltometer cannot tell who incites and who follows- but they are both BAD DOGS. And carb addicts. Who wears the alpha crown of demonic leadership is the mystery.
Who in the world thinks to highlight this stuff? FOX and MSNBC win the Haiti ratings war. God help us for this ridiculous perspective! Tragedy makes for the ultimate reality programming, I guess.
If the Huff Post wishes to highlight media
accomplishments, they might want to take more note of the many
broadcasters who were brave and moral enough to blend their roles, reporting the story while proffering logistical and medical help: Aston, Besser, Gupta, Snyderman, Cooper. This was an exceptional event: there simply were not enough Doctors to handle the crisis. To move into medical care was a giant leap of faith. Non-medical personnel have assisted, too. Camera men have functioned as security. Correspondents have conveyed vital information to families. It is not about the ogling.
Huff might also wish to dig a little deeper into what supplies and economy the Royal Caribbean cruise ships brought to the island rather than puffing up indignation to get clicks on their poll regarding "rich tourists on Haiti beaches". Sometimes appearances are deceiving. H
aiti asked the ships to keep coming. The clicks are counted and used as marketing tools. Stop.
Steve is settling in to a hiatus in South Florida, and I am staying back in the Chicago area to attend to the dogs, the house, and life in general. I am a Village trustee, and I have some obligations that preclude me from ditching for the winter. We could not pull up stakes, anyhow: our little abode in Pompano Beach is NOT dog friendly. Much as I like our condo, it is not the same for me now that Dad is not there. I do not mind waiting Up North until I miss Steve so much that my heart will not break when I first return to Florida. That is scheduled to occur in February. He will pop in for the March of Dimes telecast on February 11th, and we will travel back together. Until then, I am reorganizing my routines.
The images from Haiti are heartbreaking; it looks like Hell on Earth. It was not exactly Paradise before. I have seen Haiti only once, in a fleeting afternoon excursion from a cruise ship. Royal Caribbean borrowed/commandeered a tiny beach, named Labadee, and ferried cruisers for a picnic, music and beach time. The actual population of the island was held back by fencing, while a select few islanders hustled to serve their visitors. I am sure that this enterprise fed many Haitians, but there was not enough cheery music and hammock time in the tropics to disguise the desperate poverty there. The coastline we saw was lovely. Beauty is a distraction to misery, but not a cure. I am sure these excursions evaporated in the aftermath of the earthquake.
Whimsey takes its toll. An artist I am very fond of, Stephen Huneck, who captured the steadfast devotion of dogs in his
woodcuts and prints, has killed himself in Vermont. He built a
Dog Chapel in East St. Johnsbury, Vermont, at the top of a hill called Dog Mountain. Though some may view this as folly, or sacrilege, he was honoring the value of loyalty and connectivity with nature after a near fatal respiratory illness. I have never been to Vermont, but Huneck's hill top chapel speaks of his appreciation for his canine companions.
