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Monthly Archives: December 2008

Trix RIP

27 Saturday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in My Life

≈ 4 Comments

Momobit 052 On Christmas eve my beloved Trix took a nap in her chair and never woke up. It was the perfect death.

She liked to read my blog, and other writing; she was always a favorite subject; she'd laugh and say, "My GOD, you make me look like an idiot, Judy!"
Our family was big on showing affection through teasing and humor. 

Despite the fact that most of my subject matter tends to be completely unsuitable for children and nursing or pregnant mothers, she always thought I should be a children's writer, "like Dr. Suess." I have no idea why she thought this.  I stopped rhyming shit in 7th grade after my epic Poetry Tome entitled, "Ireland- A Savage Beauty" completely ripping off not only Leon Uris but Ireland in general. I'm Scottish/Hillbilly and it was probably the worst collection of poetry ever written.  I was an IRA supporter and a complete social outcast, but Trix claimed that I didn't have friends because the other girls were jealous of my beauty.  Yes.  I had zits the size of dinner plates and teeth that could open cans.

She was, and is, one of my role models. She lived a hard, rough, wild life as a young woman, and a varied and interesting life later, but she never lost her optimism or love of people.  She judged NO ONE.  She was one of the only Christians I've ever known who truly lived up to the term.

I'm just sort of stream of consciousness writing this, so I apologize, I have half an hour at a closing downtown coffee shop. I'll end with a favorite story of mine:

Trix left home at 17 to marry my sister's father, Roscoe.  He was a violent mean drunk and abused her for a few years before she finally left him.  One night towards the end of their marriage he came home drunk and mean; he railed insults and injury upon her, and my sister, a toddler,  for a period of time before passing out, at which time Trix took a hair brush and beat him until he had millions of tiny little bleeding red holes all over his face.  She said she didn't know what came over her and she just sort of did it until she stopped doing it and then was horrified at what she'd done.  She worried the next day about what would happen when he saw his face, but he never figured it out. So then she was glad she did it.   

Trix was not a violent person. I can't remember her losing her temper. She was a loving kind woman.  But she was NOT to be messed with; worse still was messing with her loved ones. You always knew she was tough AND good. It's a rare combination.

I love her and I miss her and I hope I can be more like her every day.

Momobit 048

Scoutrage

24 Wednesday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in My Life

≈ 1 Comment

Scoutrage …And Zeke greets the moose

122208cda 099

Tis the Sea’s Son

24 Wednesday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in My Life

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I miss Cienna. Carlos and I are too much alike to be productive. We're a sinister combination, Auld Lang Syne-speaking.

We have all our Christmas shopping to do and instead yesterday Carlos and I drove around, eating candy and joking about what we could buy The Relatives.

“I'm know what I'm going to get Aunt Judy….”

“What?”

“A cornsnake.”

“Why a cornsnake?”

“She can't regift it.”

Every year we see someone else in the family receive what we got the previous year for Judy or her husband, Spence. Last year I got them a calendar. I can hardly wait to see who gets it this year.

Judy and Spence are wealthy beyond common sense, but usually mad at some or all of the rest of the family for some odd infraction.

A couple years ago, they each came to me, separately and apologized for being mad at me, apparently for years.

“I'm sorry I've been so mean to you,” Spence said, trapping me in the kitchen where I was mixing lemon drops for everyone. “I'm not mad at you anymore.”

I do make a mean lemon drop.

“I didn't even notice…” I said, laughing. I truly hadn't. I had no idea what he was talking about. I assumed he was drunk.

“Yes. You did. I was awful to you and now I see how good you are, to your Mom and Chris…how you took care of your Dad…..and I'm sorry.”

“Okay,” I shrugged, “Sure. All is forgiven.”

A little while later, in comes Judy, again, while I'm mixing drinks.

“Katy, I want to put the past behind us. I'm sorry. I've forgiven you and I want you to forgive me.”

“Why are you sorry? I HAVE NO IDEA what you are talking about!”

“Yes you do. I know you do. I don't want to get into it, let's just move on.”

“Judy, seriously, what are you talking about?”

“Katy, let's not rehash it. I know you know, how could you not, only a monster could be so callous…” she stopped to shudder visably, while I studied my reflection in the window behind her. My eyebrows, which I'd attempted to tweeze, were horribly uneven. I'd only finished part of one before getting bored. Maybe I should wax, I considered.

“Anyway,” she continued. “Clean slate! Are we good? Can we move on from the terrible past?”

“Absolutely. Finally I can drink with a clear conscious.”

I still have no idea what either of them was talking about. Neither does my Mother or anyone else in the family. I don't know what I did or what I was forgiven for. I never noticed anyone being unkind to me.

That year I got martini glasses and the little polish pottery dish I'd given them two years previous. To forgive is divine, alright.

 

Occasionally Carlos and I would pull into a parking lot, leave the engine running, and sigh.

“Too crowded,” I'd pronounce. “I don't want to go here.”

“Me either. Let's go down town. Let's drive to Kellogg or something. Stop and get me another Mountain Dew….”

This is the sort of behavior Cienna would never allow. She would insist that we go into shops and make purchases. We'd get the shopping done and have plenty of time for other holiday-themed things. Cienna would also know why someone had forgiven her. This is our first Christmas without her. We'll end up doing something wildly inappropriate at the last minute.

“I'm getting everyone nametags.” I decide. I pull in to Office Depot. There are pictures of red and green Hello! My Name is:  tags.  Santa and Rudolph are written in gold script. 

“That say 'Judy'?” Carlos asks. “You should! I'd wear one!”

I buy one of those gold pens, too.

At least next year I'll know who I pissed off and why. I like the clarity of this decision.

“What about you?" I ask Carlos, "What will you give everyone?”

“Forgiveness….and a baby shark for Aunt Judy.”

We laugh and laugh. All the way to Kellogg.

But My Dogs Love Me

21 Sunday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in My Life

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I told the Trix that Eric was getting me a boob job for Christmas. I didn't actually MEAN to, but that's what she heard and I decided to go with it. My mother loves Eric. In her eyes he can do no wrong. His job is the most dangerous, he is the nicest and the hardest working….He's a walking superlative. At the moment, he was out shoveling paths in her yard for the dogs. I was eating my 5th cookie, which she'd made for Eric. She often thinks I should cook more. She brings up the time, over 20 years ago, when she visited my house and had to rake the carpet, because I didn't own a vacuum cleaner. Or a broom. (I was poor. Too poor to afford beer AND clean floors).

When she asked what I was getting Eric for Christmas, I said I didn't know yet. Which is true. I haven't done ANY SHOPPING. I'm a lazy bad wife procrastinator.

She then wondered aloud what he was getting me, I told her,

“Ooohhhh, a new mop…”

“What? A BOOB job? He wouldn't….”

We could both see Eric out the front window, shoveling her sidewalk, and the neighbors. Nine degrees and snowing, he had been out there for over an hour. When he came in the house, eventually, he would tell her he enjoyed hard work. Fucker.

“Yup. A boob job. I don't really want a boob job, but he said my boobs aren't just about me, they reflect on him, too, and his success. My flat wilty chest makes him look like a proletariat. He said he might as well be driving a Kia or some sort of Dodge sedan.”

“ERIC SAID THAT?”

“Oh yes. You'd be surprised,” I said, watching Eric gently dust the snow off my mother's bird houses.

“Well, I'm shocked. I guess you never know…” Trix said, “Don't get a boob job. To hell with that. Do you want another cookie, dear?”

“It's the last one, Mom,” I said sadly, taking it anyway. I'll tell her I was kidding later.


A little while ago I took Zeke and Scout for a walk down the street to Tubb's Hill. Dogs are so easy to make happy. Scout didn't like the moose statue at the trail head, and she disapproved of all the activity downtown, but then so did I…. She loved the snow. She enjoyed waylaying Zeke.

Scoutmoose2

Zeke loved every minute of our walk. Zeke is a joy-filled dog. He woo-woo'd all the way to the hill, and he and Scout chased each other and played. He circled and twirled and bowed at my feet all the way home.

Zekescoutthill


 

 

Minus One

20 Saturday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in My Life

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Tomorrow we will drive 400 miles through snow and ice to spend Christmas with my family.  We're bringing probably only 3 of our 4 dogs, which is ALMOST more traumatic for me than the prospect of hearing more stories about my mother's sexuality. (I shit you not.  The Trix somehow feels the need to unload, so to speak. It's positively gruesome.)  I was sure this morning and this afternoon and part of this evening that I would without a doubt be leaving Scout with Dianne, for the good of All.  Now, I'm not so certain.  I'm stressing.
What if I get trapped up there? SNOWED IN??? My dogs calm me.  They get me out of my mother's house to run. Alone.  Scout barks at my brother. Or will if I click and treat her into it.

My brother, Cienna and I are training for a 30K run that happens in Oregon in March.  My brother, Chris, has been training, anyway.  Every time he calls me, he asks, "So, you're running, right?" and usually I have to finish chewing something before I can take a swig of beer and clear my mouth enough to answer unconvincingly,

"Uh-huh….Yup….  Hey, so what else is new? Have you ever tried cheese on poptarts? It's gross at first, but after a few chews the cheese and the frosting sort of compliment each other…"

I got Chris into running two years ago, as an alternative to divorce and living in his car. LIke most everything my brother has ever done, he is good at it. He's fast and he's piling up the miles.  The last time I ran with him, a few months ago, I had to lie to get him to stop occasionally so that I could breathe. 

"My shoes untied."

"What sort of PLANT is this?"

"My uterus fell out."

He's lost 20 pounds. I have food stains on all my running stuff.  I used to be the healthy one. 

A few years ago Chris decided to quit drinking, which was a good thing.  The last time we'd seen him he'd taken me and our older brother, Matt, to a skanky north Idaho shithole called something clever like "The Shack" because that's what it was, and nearly got us all beat up when we had to physically peel him off an aged lot lizard. (It's not a judgment, that's what her stained t-shirt said.) 

Chris was hitting on this woman, who was old enough to be our mother, not probably QUITE chronologically, but certainly mileage-wise.  (Her crusty old odometer was stuck on 9999999)  She had a tattoo of a snake with dice for eyes.  She spoke thru a perpetually clenched cigarette, her lips moving like a muppet's.  Chris was entranced; wouldn't leave her alone.  She was sitting at the bar on an end stool, and he just kept orbiting her and whispering in her ear, buying her drinks….She laughed periodically, low and guttural, ending in a long coughing fit. 

At home, Mary, Chris' wife, was decorating for flag day. Ironing table clothes and setting the children's clothes out for school. She is perfect.  She would never have imagined this scene.

I'd sort of seen it before, Chris wasn't happy, a new phase of unhappiness; over-40-and-I'm-not-what-I-thought-I'd-be-unhappy.  I have always thought of him as successful. He's the funniest person I know. The quickest.  There isn't anything he can't do; he'd almost got a democrat elected to office in North Idaho.  I think we looked at that 'almost' differently.

I'd gone to bars with him on a number of occasions.  That last year, instead of just joking and/or bitching about our lives, having a *few* drinks, Chris would reach an intoxication level where he'd just become someone else. Someone mean, or crazy.  It was clear that he had a problem.  He was not the rotary club catholic family man who did everything right that some of the rest of the family was used to. 

Our oldest brother, Matt, sitting on a broken stool near the unisex "shitter" at The Shack just wasn't processing the New Chris. 

"What is he doing?" he kept asking me. "This can't be happening…Not Chris…I don't get this…"

Matt just kept sipping his one Bud Lite and sadly watching his younger brother, the Family Hopeful, nibble the wattle of his boozy beloved.

If one would have taken bets on which one of us kids would grow up to frequent beer shantys on "the old highway" and get sloppy drunk and make out with the mother figure from someone else's bad childhood…I think I can say all the smart money would have been on me.  

The night wore on and Matt finally insisted we were going.  Chris didn't want to leave. We're leaving, Matt said. I did a lot of nodding. No matter who was talking. I'm like that. Neutral in a pinch.

"Fine. Go. I'm staying here with Charlotte." Chris said, his sudden hand on her shoulder releasing a new coughing fit. We waited for her to finish.

"My name is Helen," the woman snapped.

"Whatever," Chris said. "Doesn't matter."

It went down hill from there. Helen, turned out, was a mean drunk.  That snake meant something. The other patrons sided with her.   In North Idaho, when push comes to shove, literally, you can't win wearing a rayon shirt and tasseled loafers, in any bar that features Hamm's art and has a dog turd under the pool table.   It was a low point for Chris having to face that turd up close.  Helen's orthopedic shoes marking up his tan dockers.  She didn't even spill her drink.

So bottom line is that now Chris doesn't drink and runs every day. He's back to being perfect and respectable. 

"Bring your shoes!" he called tonight to remind me. 

Yipe yipe yipe. All this to say I just don't think I can leave Scout.

Bright Sided

16 Tuesday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

This evening I've been in a pissy mood, which I "re-gifted" thru the magic of the internets and chat… and then found myself comforting the recipient. As a result, I have been forced to "look at the bright side" as my beloved Trix would say. Of course, Trix is usually referring to her aged Magnavox tv, whose green tinged picture has faded completely out on the left portion of its 19 inch screen.  The bright side is half the picture; the important half.  True in life as it is in an old ladies living room.

I had a good lesson at Dianne's today, which was cut short due to an appointment. After the appointment, I went to Jodi's house to practice with Scout a bit more. Solidify the good progress we had seemingly made, with Scout creeping up and moving the sheep slowly while I gruffly issued some fairly timely corrections.  Nice widdening flanks….
NOT. TO. BE.

It was like that scene from the Wizard of Oz, where the witch releases the flying monkeys and havok is wrought upon poor Dorothy and her friends.  I played the part of Dorothy, while Scout successfully tackled the role of all winged beasts.  The sheep were unconvincing as my friends, but….neither they nor this analogy will win any oscars. 

Trust me, it was a scary scene.  Scout flew at the sheep, I screamed and attempted to STOP her, STOP the madness, to no avail…she's too fast.  I'd finally get her, shake her, WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!! I'd decide that surely I had made my point through rhetoric and the laying on of hands….I'd down her, get into position in front of the sheep and send her and …(cue monkey music) in she'd come (at a fairly nice wide arc) and chase. Tail up.

We'd do it identically all over again.  I kept wanting to end on a good note, but no.  We ended when I finally caught her for the 5th and final time and drug her bony ass out of there.  I know, I should have done that after the first time.  I know this. I should have realized that I could NOT ENFORCE my commands in that situation with those sheep and this dog.  Was I smoking dope? DID I HIT MY HEAD and BELIEVE I WAS IN A FICTIONAL PLACE WHERE GOOD WOULD PREVAIL?  There is NO FECES in OZ.

Still…bright side: I have my health and I'm not doing this for any other reason than to have fun and someday soon fully define myself by my success at the biggest trials in the land.  JUST KIDDING! See? I also STILL HAVE MY SENSE OF HUMOR.  Thank our Vengeful God. 

One key thing that I like about herding is the complexity of figuring out how to communicate with your dog.  Timing, presence, posture, tone of voice, your frame of mind when you issue a command, little subtle things you do unawares; all these things can impact communication in varying degrees of hugeness.  I am a walking, scooping, screaming contradiction.  BUT I am working on it.

Anyway, we won't be working sheep, Scout and I, until after the Holidays (I'm playing an encore role as Second Judy in N. Idaho for a week).  Jodi thinks I should put Scout up for awhile until she matures.  I think that's what she said. Maybe it's until I mature.  So a week off might be good for both of us. 

Six and the Nautical Nuticals

15 Monday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in Uncategorized

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My 6th Picture… (I was tagged by Full Tilt Border Collies to post the 6th picture from pictures archive along with story explaining it)
P7160160

This is Jodi Darling's Zip (right) and my own Zeke Finley enjoying the Cement Pond last summer.  You can't see Zip's mankini, but it was spectacular.  Zeke, a neuter, skinny-dipped; Lycra tends to sag disappointingly around his void.  Until his nuticals (I ordered him strap on Rottweiler-sized, in both sporty water-resistant and evening show-dog) arrive by FedEx, we just pretend he's a hippie.  For the bitches.

Holiday Social Rant

12 Friday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in Uncategorized

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I am not a party person.  I'm not a people person. 

I like people, and I *love* other people's business, especially the minding of it, but I'm not what you'd call a social butterfly.  I'd be happy to watch and listen to people invisibly from the sidelines.  I do not usually enjoy the interaction myself.  It's painful. Sometimes people are surprised by this, if they don't know me very well.  These are the people that, for whatever freakish reason I cannot explain, I instantly felt comfortable with and so they were spared the awkward getting-to-know-me-like- you-would-a-badger-phase.  I can be quite normal if I feel comfortable.  Most of the time, however, this comfort level can take weeks or months.  During this time I can better be described as 'odd' or 'furtive'….someone who laughs at the wrong times and can't complete a rapid fire sentence without switching topics on her own often inappropriate stories.  I've grown up like this and though I think I've improved with age, and not giving a shit, it's still there and worse in certain situations than others.  Parties. 

Last night I went to Jodi's office party. Colleen also went.  It was held in a big heated tent in the middle of the botanical gardens Winter Wonderwhatever Thousand Watt Nonblinking Light Extravaganza.  Jodi and Colleen and I spent most of our time outside, drinking and eating over a barrel fire.  We spoke to small groups of people who wandered by. We laughed, we walked around, we talked briefly to strangers in the dark….It was perfect. I had a great time. I didn't accidentally say anything clinically insane the entire time, except insisting at one point that the weather service had predicted 15-20 feet of snow in the mountains, when it really was inches, and so everyone figured I'm just phenominally bad at math.  I woke up this morning with little to cringe about.

Now my friend Cindy wants me to go to one of her many Xmas parties.  

Cindy knows and struggles with my hatred of cozy parties in fabulous homes where soft music plays over white carpeting and the guests comfortably use words like 'dollop' in everyday conversation, spoken in muted tones.  I tend to LURK at these events, like a sore in the corner of one's mouth.  I apply alcohol.  I don't know what to say to these people who love their imported Yak's head nightstand ("Isn't it ironic?" No, it's not; look up the word) and living Festivus Bush, their charitable holiday giving of live animals to impoverished third world countries,

"I gave a hive of bees to a village in Africa!" one woman chortled last year,

"I'll send a case of Benedryl then," I replied, to no one's amusement. 

I have known Cindy FOREVER and she is very social.  She has many friends, but the parties I usually get invited to are the ones she needs moral support to attend. Her Doctor Friend parties.  These are the ilk who drink wine worth more than my car and really consider anyone with our jobs and lifestyles to be more like clever farm animals than social equals.  They are patronizing as Fuck. Really.

"Sissy! Come here! You HAVE to hear this: Tell her, tell us that story about you taking your dog to the farm (AN ACTUAL FARM, SISSY!) to run around and nip at the creatures! What's that you called it? 'HERDING' … yes, Sissy, like the poor people we sent bees to last year…they were herders! Of course it's different…you have shoes, yes? Do you stay in your car?  Let ole shep slip out and do his dark business…It must be hideous!"

I hate these events.  What do you wear, when you know these people dress up for everyday things…like getting the mail. They have actual outfits.  Fall Postal and Spring UPS.  Sure, I also have two wardrobes: Clean and Dirty. 

I'll go. I always do.  I'll laugh like a hyena at all the wrong times and children will be sent to bed when I accidentally say something that will require counseling with an anatomically correct stuffed bear later. ..but I'll go.  I'll wear a bee keeper suit.

Get Back or Get Snack, that is the Question

10 Wednesday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in Uncategorized

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Today Scout and I went out to Dianne's with Ann and Levi.   We worked in the big alfalfa field. 

Ann has had Levi for just a few weeks, I think, but he wants to be whatever she wants him to be, including but not limited to freshly washed and blow dried.   They looked really good working together.  He is very responsive to her correction and she seems to only have to tell him one time.  They should coordinate an outfit, like her jacket and his collar or something, they are such a good team. I'll suggest it.

Meanwhile,  each of us wearing a tiara, Scout and I practiced trying to understand one another's needs and wants.  Negotiation?
Dianne has talked about the difficulties in raising a teenage female, be it girl or dog.  There are comparisons. I know, I have raised a teenage girl to full blown adulthood and yet, sadly, she is still right most of the time:  I do feel better with 2 distinct eyebrows, chartreuse is a color and not breed of cat, and it didn't kill me to eat a fried shrimp head. It was….not bad.  (Weekend in Seattle recap: Much eating of strange food. Tweezing.)

Still, I don't think Scout is there, yet. Adolescence.  I think Scout is just really working with wanting the sheep only slightly more than she wants to please me.  Add too much adrenalin and stir.  She listens really well when she understands what I want from her, MOST of the time.   I don't feel like she's blowing me off.  I've seen the value in whacking her gently with the stock stick. It slows her down and makes her think; appreciate and factor me into the equation.  My big frustration today was in trying to communicate the idea of her 'getting back' and 'staying back' off the sheep.   I've inadvertently trained her that 'get back' means that she can move back and take a 45 degree angle and immediately have the sheep.   I want her to know that she needs to be back and moving in a straight line behind the sheep.  So far its me yelling 'get back' and running thru the sheep to try and enforce it while she races around and around and around looking for that perfect 45 degree angle that will let her have the sheep.  She's faster than me.  She might be smarter.   We were both warn out after our 2 sessions today. All that nonproductive circling.  I forgot to eat breakfast.
Sometimes I wish I could ride around in a little cart while posturing with Scout for leadership.  Or rollerblades.  And eat a cookie or something.  I was tired on the way home and I still had a run ahead of me.

This evening on my shorter run than intended, while I dreamed of cheese and maybe Christmas cookies, that would bake themselves because I was too tired,  I thought about the problem some more and wondered if I try to walk Scout/the sheep along a fence line might I be able to enforce the get back better.  She couldn't circle. It would build on the whole backing up against the wall and making Scout get back before giving her the sheep thing, which works but doesn't include a lengthy forward movement.  Or maybe I just need to carry snacks and get a longer stick.  Either way, I'm excited to try something new.  

Ewe F O

04 Thursday Dec 2008

Posted by Katy in Uncategorized

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Yesterday Cienna and I took the sisters Rio and Scout out to Dianne's.  We worked in the indoor arena, since Dianne's pasture is leased out to several hundred Other People's sheep for the next few days. 
Shephut

Rio hadn't been on sheep, or anything more prone to natural grouping than Cienna's impressive handbag and shoe collection, since leaving Boise for her new home in Seattle a few months ago.  Rio is calmer and less neurotic than Scout.  She is definately more suited to downtown Seattle living.  Still, she is a border collie and she was excited to see sheep.

It was fun for me to watch genetics at work.  My genetics. Cienna pointed with her stock wand, bent down when commanding her dog, and tripped over the sheep with nearly every step….but only for the first half of the lesson. Then things flowed pretty well.  Rio doesn't seem to have a lot of eye, but she does have a solid down.  This may or may not ever come in handy for Cienna again; perhaps if our planet is invaded by aliens from a ruminant world and they land in Seattle.  Then…I think Cienna and Rio could lead them around Qwest Field for a few hours until the National Guard can be mobilized with a few panels and some grain. 
Anyway, Rio is a great dog for Cienna.  

Scout and I continued to work on her distance off the sheep and my timing.  She and I are working pretty consistantly better together each time.  That's how I feel anyway, and I don't think that's just the Chilada's talking.
Today I will go out to Jodi's and practice some more.

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