Ice Fishing -- on a Finnish blog

If one of our intentions is to see more of the world and let the world see more of our day-to-day life, then you must join me in visiting my newest colleague.   Teuvd Venkalahti lives in Finland, collects cameras, and has some fabulous photos on his blog of "lada niva ice fishing sleds on roof" of his car, flies preparing to give their lives for fishermen, and one ENORMOUS fish.

Pop over for a look, while I pop over and see if he'll let me post one of his photos here.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

My friends here suggest you lay off the green beer.

Road Trip!

 I'm off to Ohio to see my mother, after surviving a knock-out punch from the flu over the weekend.  You know how you're in the cold and flu section aisle at the drug store reading boxes that say the enclosed medicine addresses the aches flu causes?  Those aches had me awake most of Sunday night.  I even went so far as to bathe in Epsom salts at two and at three desert the bed thinking the red chair in the living room would sleep better.  I was wrong.  Everything hurt, in huge neon letters, especially the bones in my feet, my hip sockets, my shoulders, and my hands.

I flew home from the hospital in this plane, the first one my parents bought, when I was two days old.

On Monday I had The Cough that in my compadre verged on pneumonia.  On Tuesday I was just achey enough to think some germs might ride my coat tails into the care center where Mother lives.

I"m leaving today, in an hour, or maybe two, depending on whether Laramie gets a bath.  She got a new winter coat, bright pink with huge white polka dots, for the viewing pleasure of Mother and her colleagues, so a bath seems appropriate.  Maybe a dab of Chanel No. 5 while I'm at it.

 Middle Bass Island (please note the vineyards). Daddy, Mother, me, Amy, circa 1960. Daddy had most likely driven the grape truck to the vineyard where the three of us were picking grapes; and our friend Tom Lee, a photographer in Cleveland, happened by.  I don't know why I'm the only one who looks ready to jump out of her skin, but it's probably because I didn't have anything with me to read.


I spent hours last night at Mother's request writing notes to people who've been in touch with her since my father died. On my last visit, she gave me the precise wording of appreciation. More notes need to be written, but I can't put my hands on the sympathy cards and notes I received on her behalf.  I did find the envelope containing all of the Christmas cards they received in 1999 and the list of all of the relatives I phoned in February 2000.

This photo was taken in 1979 or 1980.  Mother had come to visit us in Spartanburg, South Carolina, and we were on our way to Biltmore House.  Mother had taken the curlers out of her hair but not yet brushed it.  The skinny girl on the left?  That's me.

Going to see Mother is more complicated than simply walking out the door, even when correspondence isn't the issue.  I always have a car full of treasure to take along. Last trip, I took along photos of baby Amy and a pink and green and glitter banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY).  I stretched it across the top of her curtains, hoping people would notice and ask, "Oh, is it your birthday?" thus jumpstarting her memory and a reply of "No, I have a new great-grandchild.  Would you like to see her picture?"

What else did I take for her to see?
--Two of four small claw feet holding crystal balls that I bought at a yard sale.  Mother said she recognized them but couldn't recall what they ordinarily attached to.
--A bottle of wine with which to toast the baby's arrival.  (We forgot to drink it.)
--A plastic box in which Mother kept a chatelaine given to her in 2000 (I found the note about it this morning in the box where the sympathy cards weren't). Inside the lid of the box, Mother had taped one of her first granddaughter's portraits.
--A covered milk glass box with interesting designs painted on.
--A coal stove pencil sharpener (how cool is that?).  Mother's vision is pretty much gone, but she recognized the coal stove immediately.
--A milk glass shoe. I saw it in an antique shop and called Mom to ask what she thought of the price. I'd never seen one before with a lid, nor had she.

Driving back last time, I thought I need to find a dollhouse for Mother.  Two reasons:  she'd wanted one since she was a girl and never had one; and a dollhouse would give me a goal when popping into flea markets (doll house furniture) and also create concrete conversational material not only between me and Mother but between Mother and anybody else passing by.

When I went to Spartanburg the following week, I was telling my friend Terry about my need. She had a dollhouse in its original packaging that she'd have been happy to donate, except we both knew I'd never get the thing put together. Then her daughter Amy called, and the two of them talked things over, and Terry handed me the phone to explain to Amy why I was looking for a dollhouse.

"Oh, yes, you can take ours," she bubbled, so happy at the thought of the beautiful farmhouse with gingerbread trim Terry had made years before Amy was born.  I well remember the X-acto knife and little tiny trim she cut out and thinking I'd go bananas with that particular project. And so I've had a green dollhouse in the back of the Jeep for a month.

I found last week, for $2.00, a baby in a porcelain bathtub as well as the matching sink and toilet with wooden seat.  I also lucked up on a Peggy Nisbet doll ($6.00) -- especially a treasure because I'd found a Peggy Nisbet queen ($5.00) in Ohio and gave it to Mom on my last visit.  The newer find is a Court Guard, complete with fancy duds and spear. .

And now I'm off!

Off to Join the Circus

Back in March Michael, Laramie, and Koko decided to run away and join the circus. Here they are,practicing their act.

Don't quit your day jobs, kids.

Pomp and Circumstance

I'm off to North Carolina for my grandson's graduation.  For any of you who read Grace, Devin was the cause of my remark that "a baby in a nightgown is a fine thing."  Now he's about six feet tall and the recipient of his high school's outstanding math student award on Honors Day last week.

The little dog is going with me. She loves road trips.  They're more difficult for Koko because his hip problems cause trouble getting in and out of the car, and I can't lift him out.  So he's staying home to take care of things around the house.

And away we go!

Two Sick Puppies - Fibonacci 78

Two Sick Puppies

1     The  /
1     Chihuahua /
2     and Michael /
3     are both under/
5     the weather.  The former turned/
8     a backflip when she reached the end of/
13   her leash in hot pursuit of a squirrel.  Her kneecap popped out of /
21    joint and does so now each time she jumps, leaps, pivots, or otherwise re-traumatizes herself.  She's on anti-inflammatory drugs from the /
34    vet's office and strong pain meds from an actual drugstore, which required my social security number and labeled the pill container Laramie-Dog Smith. (Neither dog took my last name when we expanded the family.)/
55   She's been stoned for two days.
             Her handmaiden, I carry her outside, set her in the grass, sit beside her, wait while she does or does not remember why she's there, pick her up, and deliver her back to my bed or to her cage. She's a jumping, leaping, dancing-on-her-hind-feet dog; thus the containment devices.


1    Last /
1    night /
2    Michael was /
3    virulently unwell. I /
5    fell asleep to the sound /
8    of his retching and was awakened at 2:30 /
13   when he asked me to fetch Pepto-Bismol and ginger ale. Off to Thornton's, /
21   the all-night gas station, where all of the ginger ale was chilled and a miniature bottle of the pink stuff cost
34   an arm and a leg. I bought two bottles of each and rolled home. Michael barely slept the rest of the night, but I reached dreamland by 3:30.  Today he is pale /
55   and weak. Hungry, he's afraid to eat. Bored, he's too ill to read. Loud sounds -- Laramie barking, cell phone peeping -- echo into his very bones.  I trust his malady is food poisoning because, if it's flu, only our yellow Lab will be left to take care of us.

        When I was sick, Michael was tormented /
89    by ancient dreams and fear. He couldn't sleep, except in a corner chair in the radiologist's office, where other caregivers watched over him with love. When I rested, Laramie lay beside me hour after hour, her ten pounds of pressure an unexpected comfort.
          Family is an excursion in unplanned-ness.  I never imagined Michael, Koko, or Laramie;  happenstance brought us together. What unites us?  Koko upbraiding Laramie when she oversteps. Laramie hiding Koko's toys under the bed. Michael and I walking the dogs at night, in moonlight, snow, rain, heat.
                                                                by Mary Cartledgehayes

Kokomo and Laramie

Koko (a yellow Lab mix, now 8 years old) asked me to scratch his ears, and his twin Laramie (a yellow Chihuahua mix, also 8 years old) took advantage of my position to leap into my lap.

Since then, Laramie has had a sports injury.  Excited to see a squirrel, she gave chase, forgetting in her zeal that she was on a leash.  (She's always on a leash.)  When she reached the end point, she got yanked backwards and turned a flip.  It looked cool enough to put on youtube, but she's hobbling off and on since then.  A visit to the vet today revealed she knocked her kneecap out of place, and it keeps moving from in-place to our-of-place, depending on how she moves. They gave me anti-inflammatories (Ahem.  "Gave" is $77 short of accurate); instructions to keep her penned up for a week or two so she can't jump down from the couch or step down from a curb to the street or leap over a puddle, each of which actions has set her hobbling after seeming to be improved; and a prescription for pain meds.

The clerk at Walgreen's asked for my social security number.  Why?  Because the pain medication Laramie's taking is a controlled substance. To satisfy your curiosity, Laramie takes one-fourth of a 2 mg tablet every twelve hours.

"Is it going to make her sleepy?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Good, because this isn't a dog who knows how to be still."

If she were a comedian, she'd be Robin Williams in "Good Morning, Viet Nam."

The vet explained that if we can't keep her contained and she damages the leg further, she can always have the kneecap replaced by an orthopedic veterinary surgeon.  Goodie, goodie.  I've been looking for things at which I can throw exorbitant sums of money.

Speaking of that photograph, I'm not really as pale as I appear; it's the lighting.  My hair, however, really does look that ghastly. Can't tell you what's happened.  Either the last person who trimmed it didn't pay attention the day they taught curls in beauty school or the radiation last year took a toll.  It's dull and sticks out straight when I get up in the morning and is, in general, almost as annoying as a dog on a controlled substance.  Except the dog sleeps, and lately my hair has been staying awake all night tying itself in knots

And now day is done, and the good dogs and I are headed down the hall.  I'll be carrying Laramie, because she's too stoned to walk.

Fibonacci 70. Dog-Walking Apparel

Dog-walking Apparel

1     Do/
1     not/
2    walk dogs/
3    while wearing clogs./
5     Do not step upon a/
8     knoll of tangled tree roots just when your/
13   yellow Lab is spotting a squirrel five inches away.  As he leaps, you/
21   will tumble.
            Lying full length on the ground, you first must establish whether you're dead, and then whether the chihuahua is/
34    squashed underneath you, and then where the hell the Lab has gone.
          Everyone is alive. The Lab is on the far side of the tree up which the squirrel fled. He's looking toward/
55    you in  "what are you doing now?" puzzlement. Recognize that you hit neither your head nor chin. Slowly arise.  Consider your bones and joints. Brush off the dirt down your leg. Limp home. Take off the clogs and put them in the closet. Notice the headache. It's arrived because you rattled your own brain./

P. S.  I repeat:  do not walk dogs while wearing clogs.
                                                                       Mary Cartledgehayes

Fibonacci 51, February 20

1     New
1     morning.
2     Sun shining.
3     Dogs napping already,
5     dreaming of chipmunks and squirrels.
                                          by Mary Cartledgehayes

365.38 February 7, 2011. Fibonacci

 Always Thinking of You

1    When
1     the
2     small dog
3     and I noticed
5     an empty dumpster this morning,
8     we left an echo inside it for you.
                          Made with love by Mary Cartledgehayes

How to Make a Collage, Part One

1.  Gather the bits and pieces you've been cutting from cereal boxes for three years.

2.  Bring in the upcycled canvas from Goodwill and also your assistant, who has never worked with cereal box bits before.

3.  Begin gluing cereal box pieces to canvas in places that feel coherent and pleasing.

4.  Get your assistant to pose for a photo.

How to Make a Sketchbook, Part One

1.  Spread materials on kitchen counter and ironing board.  Open sketchbook to the middle and do the double spread first.  Be so excited at beginning that you can't hold the camera still.

2.  Drag out more materials and read that book about The Simpsons off and on while working to keep your mind engaged and disengaged simultaneously.

3.  Spread out the all of the mail art postcards you've made but not yet sent in case you decide to include some of them in the sketchbook.

4.  Pull out some of your vintage raggedy embroidered pieces for the same reason.

5.  Have no idea what fixatives will be appropriate, so strew several different kinds among the elements already brought forth.

6.  Pile half of what's collected on the ironing board and counter so they're near the sketchbook.

 7.  Glue and stitch things into the sketchbook.  Take a photo when you're about half done.  Also take a break now and then.

8.  Check in with the supervisor from time to time to ensure he approves.

Fibonacci Poetry 365 . 17 and 365. 18

365.17  
They're All Like That

1)  Two
1)  blonde
2)  dogs.  What
3)  were we thinking?


365.18  Writing at the Bottom of the Well

1)   If
1)   you
2)  write a
3)  blogpost a day,
5)  eventually you'll reach the bottom
8)  of the well and run dry.  That means
13) you've used up every dusty idea and shiny cliche' in your head. Now
21)  you can begin to write for real. I'm reading a book about the Simpsons, Homer and family. It says the writers
34) throw away the first ten or twelve jokes because they're too easy; anybody could think of them. At fifteen or twenty (the bottom of the well), they begin documenting.  We stop where they begin.

Fibonacci Poetry365 . 14 Laramie and the Ice

Laramie and the Ice

1   Buying
1   booties
2   for a
3  dog was never
5  on  my errands list. What
8  fresh insanity struck that day? I'd already lost
13  my sense of self when I bought her the purple coat and, later,
21 the pink sweater with three knitted flowers pearls in their centers, at the right shoulder.  But booties?  Booties cost $16.95 and
34  are a wonder of Velcro and black, water-resistant fiber. If only they'd stay on her feet. We usually leave with four and return with one on a paw and three in my pocket. Yet
55 she is a small dog in a winter of record cold and constant ice. She leaves the house with head held high and tail awhirl, but some days her clothes are not enough.When she shivers, I lift her, hold her tightly. She has her own legs and coat but she's small, the world frigid.

Fibonacci Poetry365. 13 Kokomo

Kokomo and the Snow

1.  The
1   big
2   dog fell
3   this morning.  Excited
5   by a squirrel, he leaped
8   and came down hard on his right hip.
13 I'll build him a fire, let the heat radiate, watch his luxurious stretch.
                                               by Mary Cartledgehayes

The after Christmas rush

We went to  Ohio for Christmas, taking both Laramie and Koko along.  Laramie sat on my lap  the whole way.  We let down a part of the back seat and spread a blanket across the back of the Jeep, and Koko alternately slept and peered over Michael's shoulder to help him drive.

We stopped on the way to my brother's on Christmas Eve to see Mother. 

The dogs investigated everything, and Mother gave Koko a headband she made in one of her craft groups.  I love the top she has on with the pretty birds; she hates it and fussed all evening that it didn't fit right.  I was going to haul it off the next day, but it had already gone to  the laundry before we got back to see her.

Mother wearing her new feather boa on Christmas Day.

My brothers (Charlie on the left, Douglas in the red sweater) looking for a volunteer to take photos of us.  (Michael was taking a nap and keeping Kitty from taking Laramie apart piece by piece in case he took a notion. Laramie was crazy interested in Kitty. Kitty turned into a real live caricature of the back-arched, fur-straight-up, wide-mouthed Halloween black cat; my, how that cat can hiss.  Laramie decided to admire her from afar.)

What a darling family!

And we're all smiling!  I'd just looped the boa over the top of Mom's head, and she was tickled.  I meant to have bangs that day but my glasses were on top of my head.  As some of my daughter's friends say about her, we don't have foreheads; we have fiveheads.

Merry Christmas Eve day

 My daughter Jennifer, Christmas Day, 1988, in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania.

 Me holding Jennifer circa 1978.  I don't know why this photo scanned small, but enlarging it hasn't worked out so far.

A quick post because I'm off to bed (at almost two a. m.) so we can be up bright and early in the morning to pack the card and walk the dogs and pack the suitcases and the dogfood and gifts before heading north to see my mother and brothers for Christmas.

The trip is 300 miles, plus or minus one percent, but naturally will take longer traveling with dogs.  We're building a nest in the back of the Jeep so Koko can stretch out; and Laramie will sit on my lap, because that's just the kind of little dog she is.  I'm so excited I've had trouble getting to sleep for two days -- but that may also be because I've had numerous places to be and numerous interactions; and so when I get home late in the afternoon I'm dead tired and have a nap -- usually four or five hours.

Jennifer's box to me and mine to her are surely going to arrive tomorrow.  I paid for Priority Mail without even gritting my teeth to be sure Jenn's would arrive on time.  Something's wonky about the mail deliver in and around Greenville, North Carolina; it takes days longer than mail delivery anywhere else.

Monday I spent an hour in the post office and made many new best friends.  I had four huge boxes with me, and one of my new friends recommended I go to Big Lots, where she'd just bought a dolly for loading boxes.  Not industrial strength, but hefty enough for serious work.  So off I went and there spent two hours looking at everything in the store.  I did get my dolly; and then I got Michael's Christmas present:  a rug cleaner.  Steam heat, and the rug dries in half an hour.  Amazing, don't you think?  I'm pretty pumped about it and may ask if I can use it first.  : )

He's been in six weeks of classes in his transfer to the technical department at work.  Yesterday was the final exam, and he got a perfect score.  Today was graduation, which included statements by several people in leadership positions regarding the strengths of the new techs.  Michael's worked really hard; and he very much loves the work he's doing now and is looking forward to the next step (and has the policy and procedures manual on the ironing board even as we speak).

I'm going to get to see my mother for Christmas.  This will mark the first time I've seen her on Christmas Day since 1966.  After that, I was grown and gone; and the island is not a place to which you can easily return for a holiday -- especially when you live, as I did, in South Carolina.  One year my brothers went home for Thanksgiving and were two days late to work because the weather changed, and they couldn't get off Middle Bass.  That took care of that.

After an hour in line at the post office on Monday, I was back there today with three more boxes -- small ones this time.  The line was shorter, too -- maybe 15 people ahead of me.  And then I went to the drugstore and then to get my hair trimmed and then came home and lay down with Laramie for a nap. I woke up nine-ish and buckled down to clean the kitchen and wash four loads of clothes.

So we're virtually ready to go.  The gifts are all wrapped, and I vaguely know what I'm going to wear.  It's far too cold for me to worry about elegance, so I'm going with red, which looks great on me and which my mother loves.  I'll be wearing my University of Louisville sweatshirt if it turns up before morning.

I'm leaving a number of things half done that I'd like to have completed  before heading out; but that's always the case.  They'll be waiting when I come home.  And I've packed the crystal paperweight I got from the local chapter of the Society for Professional Journalists for Best Essay of the Year so that Mother can see it -- or at least hold it.  Her vision's deteriorated; and I'm not sure how much she'll see of it but I can read the inscription to her.  She's always been very happy when her children get awards.

Six hours up tomorrow and six hours back on Sunday; and lots of happy faces in between.  I just love Christmas.

Ready for winter

 The first day of very cold weather, I wrapped Laramie in a fleece scarf, rather like you bundle an infant into a blanket. She wasn't sure it was a good idea.

 But once she realized she could walk in it, all was well.

 Koko, meanwhile, was stretching it out, wondering if we were EVER going to make it outside.

Then it got colder, so I went to Feeder's Supply in search of a coat. I'd suggested to Jennifer that I could perhaps make her a coat, but she said, "Yes, you can make her one. But today go buy one." Sensible, what with it being below freezing and Laramie shivering.

(Koko discussed our slow moving with his best baby.)

Yesterday was even colder, so we bought Laramie a set of booties. If I ever get all four of them on her at once, and they stay on long enough to point the camera at her, I'll take another photo.

Koko Is Barking at the Dinner Rolls

Our Thanksgiving dinner was fabulous, even though I forgot to buy the cranberries not to eat.  Now is the best moment of all, though.  Koko is barking at the leftover dinner rolls, trying to convince one (or more) to leap from the plate into his mouth.  He'd be barking at the turkey, but he can't see it; that plate is in the center of the table.  He keeps accidentally batting Laramie with his tail, too engrossed to notice she's nearby.

When he began barking, though, she took up residence on Michael's lap on the couch.

And now it's quiet again, with Koko stretched out on the rug staring at the table, dreaming of the turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes and everything else he can't reach.  Michael and Laramie are getting heavy-eyed.  I, myself, hear the bed calling my name.

We're grateful on this, our sixth Thanksgiving together, for Michael's niece and nephew, whose baby William Landon was born strong and healthy two days ago; and for the health we have; and for Kokomo and Laramie and Larry and Hoddie and Pebbles, my daughter's three-legged dog.  And all of the friends we know and love, north, south, and around the world:  we're grateful for you, too.

And art.  I'm grateful for art.  And large creations.  And the determined way in which Michael and I are using low-grade problem-solving techniques to get some control over our ADHD.  And I'm grateful that my mother sounds joyous every time I talk to her.

Koko has found a new approach.  He's now approaching the dinner rolls from UNDER the table, poking the tablecloth up with his nose. In truth, he could reach them; but he's uncertain about whether his body will be trapped if he takes that one final step that would give him a treat.  So he's given up on that approach and is now sitting in front of the table staring at them.  I'll let you know if we have the only dog in the world who can make food levitate from table to mouth.

Mine! And you can't have it!

 A few days ago, someone dropped an apple core and a whole apple about twenty feet away from our apartment.  That night, Michael took Koko for a late walk. On the way out, they passed the apples and then did a wide loop and circled back to the house.  They'd been inside a minute or two when Michael said, "Look at that!" (to me) and "You little sneak!" to Koko.

Koko snatched up the apple as they passed it by. I assume he'd spent the afternoon deliberating on how best to do so. He's had to leave enough possums and squirrels outside that he knew a different strategy was required.

Not only did he get the entire apple inside his mouth, but he curled his lips around it so Michael wouldn't know he was carrying it...

 until he got inside the house and began feasting.

 "Can dogs eat apples?" I inquired.

"Apparently this one can," said Michael.