Notes Of Assumption

I was happily listening to Pachelbel’s Cannon in D when a dear friend stopped by. Her face immediately lit up which I naturally attributed to the beautiful music. With her eyes wide she asked, “did you finally say yes?” in an almost breathless voice.

Ah yes, I forgot. The music that was meant for small gatherings has become something that people, brides to be exact, now insist on walking to. So naturally my friend assumed I was listening to the music due to upcoming nuptials. She was sorely disappointed when I smiled and said “nope” followed with an ever so cheerful, “I happen to enjoy this piece, but am disappointed that to you would think I’d only listen to it for wedding ideas/feelings”.

Of course a great number of musical pieces have been usurped from their original purpose or intent. Imitation is the best form of flattery as well so perhaps that is why these classics continual find themselves being brought to the forefront of more modern times.

If I ever were to say yes (which is about as likely as I am to live on Mars without life support means) I’d probably want to have some beautiful classical music to accompany the guests. And knowing Beloved, he’d pick an aria to start off with as well. (It’s probably for the best that I say no when he asks and when he asks he is not looking for an affirmative answer.)

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Food, Torture And New Diets

A friend of Beloved’s was recently told to scale back on his dairy intake, reduce his sugar and avoid all things gluten.  Or as Beloved put it, he’s been told to starve.  Okay so that’s a bit drastic, but if you eat like Beloved and enjoy the food that Beloved enjoys, it could see, as though you’d starve.

You would think, based on Beloved’s response, that he was the one who was told to cut back.  You see if he could, Beloved would live off of potatoes and scones slathered in butter.  He would make a meal out of cake and buttercream.  Oh sure he’d have some meat and veggies, provided he could have cheese with that, however butter would be a common theme.  If he could, Beloved would have butter for all his meals and snacks.

And there is no denying that Beloved can have a sweet tooth that rivals the largest of sweet tooth around the world.

And now Beloved is trying to find a way to create a reduced dairy and sugar meal with no gluten.  So he can have his friend over for a meal.  Beloved is struggling with finding the recipes that will work and ones he still finds tasty too.  The two meals he made so far have been, well, less than stellar.  And let’s not even go near the desserts because not even the garbage was happy with his renditions.

Precious Places

The four-footed one has found new hiding places for her treasures. These hiding places are scattered throughout the house, just to ensure they aren’t all found or raided at the same time.  And she’s made certain these hiding places are not human friendly.

And by not human friendly I mean places that I do not fit into easily.  Such as under the chairs or behind the bed.  In all fairness she doesn’t fully fit into these spots either which is why we came to learn about them.  You see she “lost” her precious far beneath one of the chairs and out of sheer desperation she sought help.  From her human.

She took me to the chair, and anxiously started dancing around.  Now I know there are some folks out there who can read their dogs and know what the dancing means.  I am not one of those people.  It took me a few moments.

Okay so I got down on the floor to see thing so room her level.  And made the discovery of a life time.  Or so you’d think by how she was behaving.  There it was.  Her precious far under the chair.  Beyond the reach of her paw.  Not, however, beyond the reach of her human’s arm.

After rescuing her precious, I started watching her in various rooms in the house.  Sure enough, just about every room has a special hiding place.   Some will prove challenging if she pushes her precious items too far in these spaces.  But a dog has to do what a dog has to do when a precious could be “lost”.  And if that means letting a human know where the place is, so be it.  She will probably find a new place anyway.

Survival Boxing

Beloved’s sister has decided that we are once again dying for food, or at least he is dying for food from back home. Two large boxes were dropped off in the post today. Boxes that the mailman carried into my house, one at a time. Boxes that the mailman said were heavy. Boxes that said things like “fragile”, “this side up” and a long listing on the declaration from customs.

I’m pretty certain his family believes that if he doesn’t get food “smuggled” from home he will simply die. As if there is no other country that has food to sustain his health. Judging from the looks of Beloved, not to mention the way his buttons are on some of his shirts, I’d say he is amply sustained these days. (He went on a binge of trying new restaurants and insisted on tasting all their baked items at the same time. He has assured me the next binge he will go on is one called walking.)

I left the two boxes where the mailman had placed the, it was after all, as good a spot as any in the house. Beloved would no doubt open them up, remove the contents and then deal with the boxes once he got home, except the four-footed one was having none of this.

She is not the most patient of individuals in this house. But she lacks things called thumbs, which are crucial to opening boxes effectively. She settled for using something called teeth because she has a fair number of them. I figured the boxes would be safe because of how large they were.

I figured wrong though. Within a few minutes the four-footed one was spitting chewed up cardboard onto my carpet and she was proudly protecting the hole she had made in the first box. It wasn’t a large hole, but enough of one for her nose to wiggle into which allowed her to inhale all the different scents of food. Have you ever tried to keep a determined dog away from the source of delicious food scents? It isn’t easy!

That’s why the second box also ended up getting bitten before Beloved came home. I told him that the four-footed one was helping him by creating starter holes he could rip from. (He was not impressed with my logic.)

Thankfully the boxes have been dealt with, now if next time she could send some more storage space, like a whole other room…

Say Cheese

Someone ate my cheese. They didn’t just move it, they ate it. All of it. And I’m not impressed. Because the thing is, I enjoy cheese. I like cheese. I could almost marry cheese. And someone ate the cheese I had set aside for myself. It wasn’t left out in the open. It wasn’t in an area where a free fall would occur. And yet, today when I went to get a piece of cheese, it was gone and in it’s place a typed note telling me my cheese was delicious.

Stuff like this can ruin a girl’s day. Or make an already less than awesome day even less than awesome. Especially if the girl has been reminding herself that no matter how horrible the day has been, there is a nice piece of cheese waiting for her at home. A piece of cheese waiting to be savored and worshipped.

And someone ate it. Not a portion of it. This person did not even leave me a sample, a small taste of what was consumed. Instead I was left with a note and a broken heart. And I don’t care if it is a sign that I’m not as flexible as I should be. I also don’t care what it means in terms of psychology that I’m upset over someone consuming my cheese. Nothing is going to fix this, expect to see the perpetrator caught and justice served. I’d settle for revenge though, nice and cold. With a piece of good cheese.

Signs ‘Tis The Season

All things pumpkin spice has officially given way to all things eggnog, gingerbread and peppermint. Or so the coffee shop has told me. In large letters, glow in the dark like colors. Announcing the “seasonal” drinks. To help get me into the holiday spirit I guess.

But here’s the thing, holiday drinks don’t get me in the holiday spirit. I have yet to want to consume an eggnog latte, but I’m pretty sure that when/if I do, I will not suddenly feel all Christmas joy and everything. I will have no desire to rush out and trim the tree. I cannot see myself suddenly rushing out and getting the Christmas shopping all done.

And do not get me started on Christmas music. I did recently read an article which indicated playing the same holiday music over and over again is a form of torture for the staff of various stores. I believe it.

You see friends, while the holiday drinks may harken the coming of Christmas, they also serve as a warning to me. To turn off the radio least I get over exposed far too early to Christmas music. They serve as a warning to plan my shopping strategically and once more give thanks to whoever made gift bags the thing to do rather than fighting with a roll of wrapping paper and ribbons. (I’m sure it’s all because of my lupus that I’m horrible at gift wrapping.) And while you all sip your eggnog drinks, have a festive candy cane, I plan on getting my bah humbug on.

On Fire And All Wet

“By the end of this session you should be able to:” and I stopped listening. I had already managed to read the entire PowerPoint slide and was frankly getting ready to shift my attention elsewhere when the facilitator caught on fire. Okay she didn’t really catch completely on fire. There was a small spark from the podium and it caught the belled sleeve of her top. Apparently, her top was somewhat flammable.

It should be noted that had she stopped, dropped and rolled she may have been able to put her sleeve out without too much fuss. Granted by this point she had already lost everyone’s attention and I doubt even the most skilled of facilitators would be able to save the presentation. But she didn’t stop or drop, and she didn’t roll either. She fanned her arms and started shrieking at this very painful decibel.

Some helpful people up front tried to smother the flames and the sprinkles came on rendering the session a lost cause at this point. And while I will probably forget what the demo was supposed to be about, I will remember that once upon a time I watched a facilitator catch fire and start to smoke. I will also remember how the water coming from the sprinkles was not nearly as powerful as I had expected, but it was still cold. And from this day forward I will always look up to see where the overhead sprinklers are and ensure that I am seated a safe distance from them, so I do not end up like my boss, completely drenched from sitting right in the downward path of the sprinkler.

It gives a whole new meaning to being on fire as a facilitator.