Leap Day Leap Year

My Leap Day started with me being unable to get out of the shower room. Frodo the Faller, my Velcro dog, had lain down with his back to the door and I couldn’t move him. Obviously, I managed eventually or I would still be in the shower room and not writing this. I mean, I like my laptop but it doesn’t go everywhere with me.

February 29^th doesn’t come around very often, not even every year. No, it has to wait four years before it makes an appearance but it is important. It’s more to be noted and feted than common or garden April 18^th or November 27^th or any other day of the normal or ‘common’ year. February 29^th only shows up in out-of-the-ordinary years, those whose last two digits are divisible by four, but even that formula doesn’t always work. It’s really much more complicated, all to do with solar years and Gregorian calendars. It’s a rough rule of thumb, though. Whoever said there were not enough hours in the day was on to something.

This is the day when confirmed bachelors hide for fear they should receive a marriage proposal. There are fines for refusals – a kiss, £1 or a silk gown. These seem quite arbitrary or are they graded according to the class and expectations of the girl concerned?

Tomorrow is March 1^st, St David’s Day and our daffodils have just come out – they must be WelshJ

Support for the Woman Behind the Cancer Campaign

My middle daughter, Susannah, is a freelance TV producer and has been working for several weeks on Breast Cancer Care's first major advertisement. It’s about to be released and will be seen on cinema screens and on billboards from March.

It’s a very different, startling approach to breast cancer. I hope it will encourage people to see the woman behind the cancer, not just the cancer treatment. Illness doesn’t change the intrinsic needs and wishes and interests of a person.

You can see the advertisement here and read more about it here.

Mag 106 I was Andy's assistant

Warhol at the Grocery Store

photo credit Bob Adelman 1965

I was Andy’s assistant in the early 1960s when he was in his thirties, just around the time his name became the buzz on everyone’s lips. Yeah, I was his gofer. He was always sending me out on errands – that’s when I wasn’t washing brushes or mixing paint or preparing canvases.  Mostly, though, I ran his errands.

He liked soup, Andy did. His favourite was tomato and he’d eat that while he watched television. One day he asked me – told me – to go out and buy one of each of the different flavours of Campbell’s soups. I said, ‘Gonna try a different soup tonight, Andy?’ but he just told me to get a move on. So I went down to the local convenience store and picked out the soup cans. I’m telling you, thirty-two cans of soup are heavy, man, and not in a good way.

You could have knocked me sideways when I saw what he did with those cans. Who would ever have thought it? We parted company after that. I liked working for him but it was time to move on.

Yeah, it was fun working for Andy, a lot of laughs. I’d have done anything for him – well, almost anything.  I was never one of his pissers, though. I drew the line at that.

 Tess hosts The Mag here. Thank you Tess.

Limerick-Off Monday

It's Limerick-Off Monday at Mad Kane's Humor Blog. The first line is given as 'A fellow/woman who looked like a hick.'

A fellow who looked like a hick

Tried to master the three-card trick

He got in a mess

And had to confess

‘I’m clearly as thick as a brick.’

A woman who looked like a hick

Got cross when folk took the mick;

She hired a life coach

Now there’s no reproach

Because she’s a beautiful chick.

Blogging from A-Z April challenge - again!

It seems that I was mistaken in thinking I had signed up for this challenge nearly four weeks ago. I know Blogger was bloggering about but I’m convinced I saw my name on the list. Today it is  . . . G O N E . . . cast into the outer darkness . . . so I’ve signed up again which means that I can show the nifty badge again (okay, I know it’s on my side bar!) and post the bloghop list once more. There were 75 the first time I signed up (of which I was one, I thought) – now there are 727 – and I’m 727^th!

The Adventures of Frodo the Faller (2) reworked

This is a reworked post in response to interest shown by some of my commenters.

Deciding that the dog show world was not for our beautiful naughty boy was a blessing in disguise. Frodo had not started his Falling career at that point so we, or rather I (for my husband is patient with my wild dreams and ambitions but does not commit himself as readily and foolishly as I) was regretting his foreshortened profession as a Top Stud Dog since to achieve any success or even desirability (in the eyes of breeders/owners, that is; I don’t think the brood bitches care one way or the other what their mates look like) he would have to be paraded, sorry, exhibited, at many a Championship Show in order to gain his ‘tickets.’



Now to the general public tickets mean travel but in the rarefied atmosphere of the Dog Show World they mean kudos for the breeder/owner and the chance for the male dog to get his leg over. The bitches stand to be ‘served’ and it doesn’t seem like a very enjoyable experience for them. Unfortunately, they cannot lie back and think of England. In addition they have to suffer the indignity of being ‘tied’ for anything up to an hour, twenty minutes being the average.

This is the time when free-mating dogs in public can find themselves doused with cold water as shocked humans who find the whole process disgusting and even more so when displayed by dogs and cats, attempt to separate them. A torrent of water merely panics the dog and bitch who cannot escape from each other even though, soaking wet and cold, that is probably their dearest wish. It’s Nature’s way of ensuring ejaculation and impregnation.



On one occasion many years ago we had a dog and bitch mating. In our innocence we thought we would be able to keep our recently acquired three-year-old ex-stud dog away from our six-year-old frothy bitch. (We now have our female dogs spayed when they’re young!) He was much wiser than us! The resultant tie was observed by our eldest daughter, then nine years old. It didn’t have a damaging effect on her though she did enquire whether it happened to humans!



In my imagination Frodo had achieved and excelled in all the necessary stages of his calling and had become Sovereign Top Dalmatian, indeed Supreme Super Stud of the Natural World, were there such a title (though there’s much that’s rather unnatural and ill-advised in the Canine Canon – consider that the tiny Chihuahua and the stately Great Dane are both descended from the wolf!) I had not considered how I was going to manage his active life as a Dog in Demand. Where were the matings to be performed? Should the trysts take place in the kitchen or maybe the conservatory? How was the bitch to be accommodated during her stay? Perhaps the spare bedroom would suffice.

Even more, I had not thought about the times – and there certainly would be some – when his services would not be required. Did we really want our boy humping everything in sight, including our other dogs, our cats, the furniture, my mother-in-law’s legs?


No, Frodo the Stud Dog was really a non-starter, particularly when he began his Falling career, of which more anon.

The Adventures of Frodo the Faller - repost

This is a republication of a post from my early days of blogging and is the first of a series about our remaining Dalmatian. He is ten years old now but it tells of him as a pup.

When Frodo was a little chap, before he became a Faller, we would occasionally take him to dog shows. He was always very excited to see all the different breeds of dog and could barely contain himself. Eventually it would be our turn to enter the ring – yes, Frodo is a dog. What did you think? Who would call a child Frodo? J.R.R. Tolkien did, for one, although now I come to think of it Frodo Baggins was a Hobbit, not a human. I digress – something I frequently do. I ascribe it to having had four children and spending my entire working life with young children. It’s almost impossible to hold one’s train of thought when interruptions are frequent, repetitive and insistent. Many are the profound ponderings, grand philosophies and life-enhancing schemes that have been half-developed and abandoned; rather like a lovely dream from which one is abruptly woken and to which one longs to return but cannot, or like the floaters in your eyes that you can never quite focus on. Maybe the fruition of such deliberations would have proved them to be half-baked so better they were left embryonic. The first time Frodo and I ventured into the ring – on which occasion, by the way, he qualified for Cruft’s, the supreme beauty show of the canine world, though for a puppy to qualify the requirement is a first, second or third place in a class, so it’s not very exacting. Why should it be? A puppy is full of promise. To resume, the first time we went into the ring, neither of us had much idea what we were supposed to be doing although we had attended Ringcraft classes – well, only one actually, as Frodo was five months old when he came to live with us and his breeder had already entered him for his first dog show just after his six-month birthday.

Not wanting to disappoint and convinced we had a puppy that was going to become an instant star we bravely went along. With hindsight we would have let the breeder down less if we had not fetched up at the show at all. Notwithstanding, we galloped around the ring, Frodo leaping and prancing like a circus horse and biting his lead, me trying to look as though I was in control. Finally, we were called to a halt so that the judge could ‘go over’ the puppies. I was now an unattractive shade of puce, which clashed with the purple jacket I was wearing, and panting heavily. In fact, I was panting more than the puppies. All the other handlers looked calm and collected. With good grace Frodo allowed himself to be handled. This could be the start of something big! During subsequent shows, however, it became apparent that Frodo was enjoying the whole shooting match rather less than I was (and I was not happy to be careering round in front of so many people – I’m not a shrinking violet, but I don’t like to be on public display) My handling abilities had not developed noticeably and added to the requirement to keep Frodo moving at a steady pace, showing off his superb conformation, gait and spotting (he’s a Dalmatian) was the necessity to prevent him taking lumps out of the other exhibits as we charged past. The final indication that the show world was not for Frodo was when the judge was gently examining him and he growled (Frodo that is, not the judge) – a soft, back-of-the-throat, please stop growl, a warning that he was not enjoying the whole experience. So our beautiful boy was to be for our eyes only, never to receive the highest accolade in the show dog world, Cruft’s Supreme Champion. As it was, it would never have happened anyway because shortly before his third birthday Frodo became a Faller, of which more anon.

Limerick-Off Monday

While reading Kay's blog I came across Mad Kane's Humor Blog and decided to have a go. The first line is given as 'A fellow who had a degree' or 'A woman who had a degree' - the rest is up to the writer;-)

A fellow who had a degree
Was stung on his lip by a bee;
He uttered a curse,
And then did much worse
By flattening the bee on a tree.

A woman who had a degree
Decided to work in TV;
She fronted the news,
But stated her views
And was told that wasn’t PC.

A fellow who had a degree
Decided to set out to sea,
He donned sailing boots
And severed his roots
Leaving home with prodigious glee.

A woman who had a degree
Worked hard to update her CV;
She wanted a post
To give her the most
Enjoyment and autonomy.

Speedy J - Drill

Speedy J – Drill
I’m listening to this as I type and can feel the vibrations through my laptop. It’s quite extraordinary – mesmeric and numbing. It’s also quite long (8.01 minutes) and I would advise you not to listen if you have even a shadow of a headache or are attempting to do something that requires careful concentration

Clinging

Tomorrow marks the third anniversary of my step into the Blog world. I shall probably forget it on the day so I'm reminding myself of it now with a repost of one of my earlier, unread posts. Enjoy!

Cling – to hold tightly, be emotionally over-dependent, refuse to let go

I'm a reasonably independent woman, not often prone to temperamental outbursts. I love the members of my family and I think they love me. We embrace affectionately, support each other emotionally and respect each other's privacy. Why then, given these parameters, can I not cope with clingfilm?

Other people efficiently manage to encase widely differing objects; jugs of stock are staunchly refused permission to spill, cakes are neatly parcelled and hermetically sealed, the onions of winter salads resolutely try but fail to send their fumes beyond the plastic. Portions of fruit and slices of vegetables, roast chicken carcasses and too-generous casseroles all consign themselves to the constraints of this thin clear self-adhering plastic material.

They do all this until I try to marshal them. To be more precise it is not the contents that prove problematic but the clingfilm. Does it recognise in me a person who secretly longs to be enfolded in strong arms and held close till, breathless with passion, I beg for release? Well, of course not, but I have to distract myself with idle thoughts as I wrestle with the wretched wrapping that clings to itself and to me as if scared to let go. I mutter and curse as the film tightens and thickens and eventually manage to reduce it to a sulky pellet which I would love to hurl into the rubbish bin but cannot as it still seems loath to leave me.

Thus, the contents of my fridge are left unwrapped, tainted with onion and curry, the chicken carcasses dry out to firewood consistency, the lemon halves shrink to husks, the cabbages wilt and everything that was once fresh and crisp limps into unappetising decrepitude.

Ah me, such is life!

Last night I had the strangest dream

Altogether now, sing – ‘Last night I had the strangest dream I’d ever dreamed before.’ Having established that firmly in your brains so that you will be humming it for the rest of the day I will continue.

Image courtesy Louisville Zoo
Copyright L T Shears

I often have very vivid dreams but usually forget them soon after waking. Last night’s dream puzzled and amused me. I dreamt I had been given a camel. It’s not clear whether I was simply looking after it for a while or whether it was to be a permanent member of the household.

Regardless, it was in my house which had suddenly developed a fifteen-foot high door into the conservatory. At this point my camel was sharing characteristics with a giraffe, at least in my mind. My husband and son-in-law were not in the least surprised to see me riding towards them on this beast which had now acquired a wonderful woven harness of red and gold cord.

After a while I realised the camel was probably hungry but had no idea what it could eat. I found some slightly mouldy corn cobs in the fridge which it munched with enthusiasm and then looked pleadingly for more food. I gave it some bananas and then a few potatoes. After that it seemed rather restless and said in a deep voice, ‘Mooloo.’ (If you want an approximation of the voice think of Brad Garrett as Robert Barone in ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’) Although I don’t speak camel I asked, ‘Do you want to go to the loo?’ and the camel replied that it did.

I led it out into the garden, warning it to be careful where it stepped and wondering what sort of dung it would produce and in what quantity. I thought it would probably be good for the compost. My next-door neighbour was in his garden and I told him, ‘I’ve got a camel now.’ He wasn’t interested, barely looked, and carried on with what he was doing.

By this point I was rather tired and went to bed. I left the camel downstairs but it followed me and lay down at the side of my bed. It was just lifting its front leg prior to climbing on the bed when I woke up.

It was a dromedary, by the way

Word verification continued - Anonymous!

Since disabling word verification and moderation I have had a flurry of comments from Anonymous in its various guises and languages so I have now banned it and am allowing Registered Users only. I refer to Anonymous as ‘it’ since it cannot or will not acknowledge itself.

I sent the following link, which I found on Raindrops and Daisies, to Amanda at Amanda's Musings, as she was getting very frustrated too.
http://run-a-roundranch.blogspot.com/2012/02/word-verification-woes.html
Why not read it – it argues the case very clearly.

Something very odd!

Something very odd is happening in my Hotmail account. Many emails, some from our old friend Anonymous, and others from bona fide bloggers, are apparently coming through one particular blogger. I know they’re not but I cannot fathom why they should appear to be.

However, the good news is that Blogger is quite good at catching spam. The bad news is that sometimes it catches non-spam so please check your spam folders – there may be golden comments caught up in them