Going To the Dogs

This morning I spent 15 minutes walking around the yard and under the trees, before my back started complaining. I'll try to increase the exercise time every day, in preparation for walking my dog, if I ever succeed in getting her from the Pet Finder agency.

I sent in the adoption application a week ago today, but haven't heard anything from it. J.J. is an 8-year-old beagle/corgi mix, being fostered somewhere in Bibb County, best I could gather from the Pet Finder. I was looking for a larger dog but just couldn't resist these photos of her.


I almost fell for the dog shown below, but a one-year-old dog with his tongue hanging out is bound to be hyperactive and sort of wild. They're calling him "Uncle John." If he were mine, I would call him "Spats."

Too Much Is Enough?

I've read a little more than half of A Prayer for Owen Meany. The spectre of 300 more pages is daunting to me. Maybe I'll save it for another burst of reading energy. Owen was captivating as a child, but the older he gets, the more predictable.

Something has messed up my "Pictures" album. I have to go halfway around the world to get to the actual pictures, and then they're just words until I retrieve them. Or something.

I'm just tired. I had such a terrible dream night-before-last that I haven't slept much since about four o'clock yesterday morning. And spending that time reading "Owen Meany" hasn't helped the weirdness much.

On Becoming One's Mother

I used to feel (but not express) a little annoyance at my mother for walking so slowly in her 80's. Hah! I hope she was up there watching yesterday when I went to Walmart for prescriptions that were delayed for medical approval.

I shuffled around, found an uncrowded aisle and stopped, slumped over my shopping cart, and tried to breathe and wipe my hair out of my eyes. I heard someone laughing behind me, turned, and saw a woman about my age slumped against a counter, looking at me and cackling with laughter.

"This must be the rest stop," she said. "Do you think we can make it any farther?"

I laughed too, and said, "Why, I can walk several steps at a time before I have to stop."

After we exchanged a few quips and further laughter, I said, "But really, do you need any help?"

At that, she laughed harder, and said, "What would you do if I said yes?"

"Well, maybe I could call somebody."

She said, "Do you need any help?"

"Naw," I said, "I'm cool," and continued on my snail-paced way.

Rough Weekend

Man, I've had one! From the middle of Friday night until sometime this morning, I was thinking maybe it was time to buy the farm. Severe abdominal pain, bad enough to make me moan and groan while stifling screams. I called the doctor's office yesterday, but both Onae and Dr. G. were off this week on vacation. The covering doctor said go to a treatment clinic over on the Southside for "further evaluation," but I decided to wait one more day.

So this afternoon I found I had enough energy to take a shower and wash my straggly hair.

Yesterday, Pat picked up my prescriptions for me from Walmart, and brought some cottage cheese and canned pears, plus a big bottle of Sprite and a bag of spearmint Lifesavers, which is what I've eaten ever since plus a can of chicken noodle soup. I think the mints did the most to settle my stomach. Seems like I might have had a touch of food poisoning--I blame some chicken legs of which I had made a sort of barbecue mess. I turned nauseated while trying to eat it Friday, and later poured the whole megilla down the disposer, except for the bones.

I just watched a good blood-and-guts movie starring John Travolta. 1999, I think it was made. "The General's Daughter."

Missed the book club meeting this morning, because I wasn't sure the nightmare was over. I still have a little pain, but not enough to make me holler.