Odd Days: Colorado Dogs

I've heard that 60% of Colorado households have dogs. Although the number might sound high to you, it sounds low to me. I'm quite certain the dog population rivals the cockroach population.

I, myself, have never wanted a dog, and the reasons are simple: 1) I don't like cleaning up poop; 2) I don't like cleaning up dog hair; 3) I don't like the designs that dog toenails carve into hardwood floors.

Nonetheless, I occasionally yearn for an enthusiastic running and hiking companion. I rarely see another hiker or runner without her trusty friend padding along beside her. So I started to think...maybe I could hire someone to pick up poop. I could get a dog that doesn't shed, and I could insist that Rover wear booties in the house -- like all self-respecting NYC dogs do (remember?). At least I would have my running partner.

But then I met Trike.

Trike lives on a horse property just across the county road. We met when I was running by one day and Trike decided to join me for my run. I made half-hearted attempts to send him home, but in my heart of hearts, I was hoping he would come along. And he did.

Then, about two miles into our run, I saw a car coming down the road toward us and much to my horror, Trike trotted to the middle of the road to greet the car. He just stood there as the car barreled down the road straight at him. I start screaming at Trike to "come" but apparently he didn't speak English. I didn't know whether to run out and rescue Trike or cover my eyes and hope for the best.

Trike never budged and the car careened around him. My heart rate gradually returned to normal and we continued. I'd like to say that was Trike's last near-death experience, but it wasn't. By the end of the run, I had been flipped off, cursed at, and glared at. One fellow stopped his pickup and said in a quiet but menacing voice, "You really should keep your dog out of the street."

By the time we finished the run, I was a wreck, but Trike wanted to come live with me. He wouldn't leave, so I called the phone number on his tags and told the owner to come get him. Then I said sternly, "Trike's not afraid of cars. He almost got himself killed! 15 times!" And the owner said, "Yep. He's just a puppy. Hasn't learned that bit yet."

I'm obviously not ready for a dog. No siree.

Photos from Round Mountain.

Odd Days: Even Days?

I think I'm entitled to dispensation when I travel. I have no idea why my posts showed up on even days. I have some theories, but unless any of you are going to obsess about it, I'm going to forgo the research and pretend that I posted timely. I confess to forgetting to post on Saturday. Jet lag, house guests and a nine mile hike all conspired against me.

On we go to more important matters.

After leaving the Olympic Peninsula, Tanya and I spent three very civilized days in Victoria BC. I'm planning to move there as soon as I see evidence that my Colorado doctor is using the new health care laws as an excuse to kill grannies (of which I would be one, if age is the measure). Gorgeous gardens are another enticement. Everyone in Victoria has a beautiful garden and I'm quite sure I could green up my black thumb if I simply moved into the province. Oh, and the food is good. (Colorado: -1)

Heading home, our first flight--from Victoria to Seattle--was on a puddle jumper. We had a very noticeable close encounter with another aircraft as we attempted to land, and yet not one person on the plane let out a peep. In fact, I didn't even see anyone look up from his/her ipad. That gives me pause. Why don't Canadians react to near death experiences? I don't think it's a statement about their health care system. Really, I don't.

Days off.

Before starting my post, I want to mention that Twila is chagrined at having missed her recent scheduled Odd Days post. The reasons for her failure to write will appear soon. Meanwhile, I just noticed that all of her Odd Days posts in August were posted on even days, except for the August 1 post. Even I think that's odd.


For almost all of my life I beat myself up regularly for "not getting enough done". Even when I was working full time, I was upset with myself for not cleaning the garage, writing a letter to an editor, keeping my budget up to date, or whatever else was on my list. I gave myself more leeway after I retired, but I thought I was living a lazy and useless life. When I started working for NuSTAR, I decided that 6 days a week in the lab, even though they were only half days, would suffice to satisfy my accomplishment needs, so I'd arrive home at 8:30 AM and was perfectly happy to take the rest of the day off doing non-productive but enjoyable things. There were some necessary chores, of course, and I learned that by focusing on what needed to be done I could finish those jobs quickly and effectively. That was a huge improvement in my life, and I've been refining it. I recently read a great article about lists and mental lint that I think will also be very useful.


Anyway, on August 3 Twila went to Washington for 9 days and I was a bachelor. I had a list of things I wanted to do while she was away, and most days I worked on them. There were a few days I took off, though, because I had all that time to myself. I suppose I should include the couple of days I was too hung over to get out of my chair.


As the time neared for Twila to arrive home, there were some things that I really wanted or needed to finish before she arrived, so I got really busy. Before leaving for NY I'd torn our boat apart to install a new depth finder - running the wires was the hard part, and I was a bit queasy about drilling holes in the transom below the water line. I also replaced one of the batteries. When I put the windshield back on, I realized that the previous owner had stripped the screw holes in the fiberglass that held the windshield, so I had to devise a temporary fix, while obtaining a fiberglass repair kit for a permanent fix later. That all worked out well, though it took longer than expected. (Everything always does, it seems.)


Something else I wanted to get done was the installation of a garage door opener in our detached garage. It wasn't really necessary to finish that before Twila came home (I had to finish the boat because we'd have guests who wanted to go for a boat ride), but the thought of a solar-powered garage door opener was too cool to resist. Because of the construction and installation of our garage door I had to modify the opener installation, but it worked out well.


By spending a few days with very little time off, I managed to finish those and other necessary jobs. I was tired, but it was satisfying.


Friday evening Twila arrived home with two of our friends who would be staying with us for a couple of days. I'd gotten things together for dinner, and we had an enjoyable evening. The next day, Saturday, they wanted to climb Round Mountain. I was actually looking forward to it. I was thinking, "Hey, I climbed Pikes Peak. Round Mountain is going to be easy this time."


We started climbing Saturday morning and for the first mile I did think it was easier than my previous climbs. But the temperature was in the 80s and that took a toll. We reached the summit in 3 hours and it had been a struggle. I gratefully flopped down on the ground to rest.


After lingering for a half hour, we started back down. It was a lot easier than going up, of course, but it was still 4 1/2 miles of often rugged trail, and it was hot. Everyone ran out of water with two miles to go, and I couldn't help but long desperately to get back to the trailhead and head home for a beer. It seemed like forever, but finally we made it.


I know I'm repeating part of an earlier post, but after we all were in the car, two people said, "Wow, that was fun." My brain could not compute that. Yes, we'd successfully completed a difficult hike, which no doubt had both physical and mental benefits. But fun? I'm not a damn masochist. At least 3/4 of the hike I was laboring in near-misery. I asked how anyone could say the hike was "fun". One of our guests offered that it felt great to be done and that we soon could sit down and enjoy a cold beer. I responded that it would be just as satisfying to get up in the morning and sit down with a cold beer, leaving out all the agony. I don't think anyone was convinced. They actually seem to like torturing themselves.


Our guests are still here, and Twila took them to the annual Loveland Sculpture Fair, an event that attracts sculptors from all over the world. I decided to stay home - I'd suffered enough yesterday. I thought I might have a day off.


Alas, that was not to be. All the work with the boat, etc., had left me behind in some essential areas, like paying bills and answering important email. So I'm doing that, but at least it's quiet.


Postscript: Twila and I bought a lawn tractor in Spring 2010, before we knew we'd be moving to Tarrytown. It's really useful, since we have a 1 acre lot. Mowing it wasn't particularly difficult, but it took a very long time, whereas the tractor finishes the job in a couple of hours. My next garage project is to attach a snowplow to the tractor, since winter happens really quickly here. One week it's hot, the next week it's cold, and then it stays cold. I think it will be fun attaching the plow, especially since I can now get in the garage by using the opener.

Odd Days: Bear obsession

What is it with humans' obsession with bears? Those of us who wander into the wilderness in search of wildlife come out happy only if we've seen a bear. There doesn't seem to be anything rational about it. People are terrified that they will run into a bear. They sing songs and bang Sierra cups to keep bears away. At the same time they fantasize about meeting Mrs. Bear (and her cubs), making friends, following her back to her bear cave and curling up with her for the winter.

To be honest, I've been part of a bear jam or two myself. And Tanya, never having seen a bear in the wild, declared that she hoped we might run into a bear while we were on the Olympic Peninsula. Sadly for her, we failed to score even after Tanya ordered me to quit singing.

And then...and then...we were in the car heading back to Seattle at about 60 mph when this beautiful black bear burst from the forest on the left side of the road and galloped across the road in front of us with a stride that would have put Secretariat to shame. I screamed, "iT'S A BEAR!" Tanya screamed "IT'S A BEAR!" Then we both screamed...for about three continuous minutes.

Then I stopped the car, and Tanya and I threw the carcass in the trunk and drove to the nearest taxidermy shop.

Ok, that last sentence wasn't true.

Odd Days: Forks?

Some years ago, Durf, Tanya and I attempted to ride our bikes from Bellingham to San Francisco. The apple cart was upset in Aberdeen Washington when Durf misjudged a curb and broke his olecranon. Since then Tanya has been on a mission to return me to the Olympic Peninsula to revisit the good times and erase the bad.

Getting here was more challenging than we expected. Our ferry was delayed by fog first and then security dogs that sniffed every car. I was so excited to finally get on the ferry that I forgot to ask what the dogs were looking for, but I'm guessing Carl can help us out with that. In any case, here we are and --hold onto your hat-- the sun is shining! A truly rare occurrence.

On our first hike of the first day, we managed to take a wrong turn within a quarter mile of our oh-so-rustic lodge. In no time we were lost, but it didn't bother us a bit. The real challenge was trying to locate a valium for Tanya when she found a spider in the bathtub. She doesn't really do rustic, so I was beginning to wonder why we were here.

About then she tells me we will be stopping in Forks. Forks is a remarkable place for two reasons that I can cite. It is the rainiest place in the continental U.S. And it is the city that features most prominently in the wildly popular Twilight series. Let me just say that neither the rain nor the fame seems to have done much for the local economy. With apologies to teens the world around, we did not dwell in Forks.

Also I did not see Tanya purchase any caskets, fangs, garlic, or Edward and Bella t-shirts. So I'm thinking she came to Forks for the rain -- and was disappointed.

Odd Days: 85 Might Be Fun

Most people think they would like to be 85 one day, but they don't expect it to be much fun. Well I'm not so sure. We came up here to celebrate my dad's 85th birthday and we let him plan the celebration. That in and of itself was almost enough to make it the best damn birthday ever. He was so excited he couldn't sleep the night before. Bear in mind, this man has been on dialysis for four years. He is not ambulatory and he cannot sit upright for any length of time without getting a headache.

So what did he want to do? He wanted to go to a casino south of here and stay overnight. While there, he planned to gamble, dine, and go for a swim. He was so pumped, he forgot that swimming in a pool with an open dialysis port is something he shouldn't do.

So we get to the casino and Dad proves he was born to the penny slots. Soon he was ready for lunch. Never much of a drinker, he nonetheless decided to order a martini. His birthday, don't you know. Two gin soaked olives later, he was ready for a nap. Two hours later, he was ready for round two. The second round of slots was followed by a steak dinner--sans martini.

Eight hours into this adventure, Dad is more voluble than he's been in ten years. He wants to discuss winning combinations, cuts of steak and plans for the future.

He talks us into buying him a cigar. When was the last time he had a cigar we wonder out loud. He wags his eyebrows like Groucho Marx but he doesn't answer the question.

Oh please let me be like this when I am 85 and 4 years into dialysis!

Odd Days: Bellingham Doesn't Suck in August

I'm in Bellingham now, visiting my dad who, unfortunately, lives with the evil stepmother. Cinderella only had to scrub floors. My dad has to watch his wife throw a temper tantrum when he won't eat her microwaved hotdog. I know, I know, I sound like some version of Drizella, myself.

My beloved sister Tanya encourages me to rise above the fray, but being a down and dirty kind of girl, I find such rising difficult. Her solution, when she sees the steam coming out of my ears is to cry out joyfully, "Oh wow, what could be more beautiful than Bellingham in August? Let's go for a walk!" Six and a half miles later, I'm feeling better and ready for the next round.

I never did like Bellingham when I lived here in the 60s. No sun for one thing. And nothing for a 13-year-old to do. I couldn't go downtown for two reasons. First, it smelled like vomit (paper mill). And second, it was such a small town, if I ventured to the shopping district, I was bound to run into someone I knew. A horrifying prospect.

But now the paper mill is gone. And when I wander the downtown and peer into the faces of the locals, I wonder if I went to school with any of them. Most surprising of all, I have discovered there are plenty of fun things to do in Bellingham, not least of which is making faces at the stepmother behind her back. I'm all grown up now, I guess.

Odd Days: Nora Ephron, where are you?

I'm on my way to Bellingham. More travel. That's a good thing. I still love to travel in spite of the fact that I have to arrive at the Denver airport earlier than ever. As you know, I am an "opt-out." So I have to allow time for my own personal hands-on body search. Furthermore, Denver hardly ever puts a shortcut through the security line, even when there are only 10 people in the entire airport. That means you have to traverse about .5 miles of switchbacks to get to the guy who shines a flashlight on your driver's license. But I digress.

Travel is more relaxed for me now that I'm old(er). Because I frequently traveled by myself when I was young, I occasionally had to deal with unwanted boorish behavior on the part of men in airports. Sometimes they were drunk-ish, sometimes not. Many were persistent in pressing their attentions on me and would be mystified and sometimes outraged by a dismissal of those attentions.

But now I am not approached by young(ish) men at airports anymore. In fact young men don't flirt with me at all -- unless they are angling for a tip. I'm not sure when I first noticed this, but probably later than I should have.

If anyone flirts with me these days, he is most likely a half generation or more older than I. Lots of my clients flirt with me. Of course they might be angling for tips, too. In any case, a fellow who flirts with me is likely to be sitting in a wheelchair, so I feel confident I can escape if the old coot gets too crazy.

So there I was, a relaxed traveler, minding my own business when this (sort of) old guy sits next to me and starts chatting me up. He looked harmless so I chatted back. After a while, there was a pause in his chatter. He was looking at me intently and I could see him screwing up his courage. He says, "So...." And I'm thinking, oh great, now he's going to ask me if I'm married or something. Finally he spits it out, "So, are you still working or are you retired?" Wow, isn't that flattering!

Odd Days: Oops

I love blogging. But I decided to blog on odd days (that's every other day...usually), because then I would have an entire day (more actually) to think about a blog. You know, come up with something really interesting.

So here it is, 8:30 p.m. Almost my bedtime. (I am *not* exaggerating.) Durf and I are sitting on the porch, drinking wine, listening to Fresh Air. I'm feeling a little sleepy. Durf says (casually), "You didn't blog today." I say, equally casually, "I blog on odd days." He says, "Yep." I think about that for a second.

ACK! It's AUGUST 1. Wait, didn't I blog yesterday? Durf says, "Yep." Hmmmmm. I have to think about this. Yesterday was July 31. An odd day. Two odd days in a row. Hmmmm. Something wrong with the system.

Ok, here's the interesting part: Durf told me I failed to blog *before* he told me the House passed the debt ceiling bill. I am so glad Durf has his priorities straight.