hi

Back from Mexico a few days now. The trip was heaven. I am so not meant for cold and dark. When I used to grow all of my garden plants from seed, I'd occasionally end up leaving a flat of tomatoes or poppies or whatever in a dark place for a few days. Once the poor things were returned to the light, they were invariably stretched out and soft and weak and yellowing. Some filtered sun would make them strong again, but they were never quite the same.

I feel like a little pepper plant left too long in the dark. When did winter get to be so miserable? Cold, with winds gusting to 50 mph and dark, dark, dark. There's a reason bears hibernate and I'm feeling like one. As grouchy as a bear, too.

But speaking of gusting winds, we loaded up in Houston about 7:15 Wednesday night, then sat on the runway for 90 minutes. Big thunderstorms were approaching the (ack! ack!) George Bush International Airport from the north, and we were redirected to fly west, thus more fuel for the detour.

At last we were airborn. We didn't crash on takeoff ~ always a fear ~ and seemed to be gaining altitude well. Smooth sailing until . . . until the wings were perpendicular to the ground and the plane swung wildly back the other way and dropped several feet and bucked a few times in a get-this-cowboy-the-fuck-off-my-back kind of bronco bull way. The lights flickered and we bounced around some more and I bit my tongue and then there were lights flashing outside the windows. Lightning?

I don't know. I just know that the first time I quit flying was the result of a trip on a 12 seater Conoco jet (out of fucking Houston again). Flew around, over and under massive thunderstorms for 500 miles. The only thing that saved my sanity was being able to sit with the pilots after we crossed the Red River.

Commercial pilots don't encourage that, but I was thinking of knocking on the cabin door when we rolled again. Rolled. It felt like we were going all the way over. Can commercial jets do tricks? Whatever, it was hideous for a recovering hysterical flier. More drops and jumps and then the back end swung around so we were sort of sideways to the way we'd been going. Lots of loud and unfamiliar noises convinced me the wings were going to come off.

All I could think of after that was that I need to set up a trust or something for the animals. Mo is a sweet cat and anyone would take him, but Bill and Betty, the terriers, are wholly unadoptable and would end up in a shelter or used as bait for fighting dogs.

After that, wouldn't you think the pilot would say something? Anything? Just a "hey folks, mean little cloud there, eh?" or some fucking thing? Not a peep out of these two. Just continued flapping on as if nothing had happened.

So there it is. Nice vacation, big scare, worry about the dogs, too fucking cold, why won't my stepdaughter quit hassling me about NuSkin, I need to get new prescription sunglasses for my old bifocal-needing eyes, little Boo licked a hot spot onto her hip while we were gone, my boyfriend's grumpy too, there's not enough sleep in the world to get me through winter.

And you? How are you? Tell, please.

monster pit

Mike and my babies out for a late night walk. Rounding the corner a few blocks away from the house, they're confronted with a growling, advancing monster of a pit bull. I know this dog; it killed a cat a month or so ago on this same street. It's constantly out in the front yard while its owner dicks around in his garage. He is a monstrous animal, muscular beyond any pit I've seen, and obviously aggressive.

My sweet Betty immediately cowered behind Mike. Even Bill, who just this week backed off a huge and surprisingly aggressive St. Bernard, tucked behind Mike without so much as a snarl. Bill, the wee short-legged Jack Russell, is pretty certain he's a Doberman or Rottweiler, but the viciousness of this pit bull scared even my stout-hearted boy.

Mike was not afraid, likely because he was rising to the defense of his kids. He had a piece of Bill's very heavy and very long leash with which he kept striking the pit in the face. The dog kept trying to get around him. Mike said he came within about a foot of Betty who, being deaf, could not hear this beast's threatening growl.

I am so grateful it wasn't one of those fast dog attacks, else my dogs would be dead and my husband surely injured. Two neighbors heard Mike yelling at the dog to get back, came out into the street to join in backing this monster back to his yard. Finally, his owner strolled out onto the porch to ask what was going on. My ex-hippie, live and let live husband said "get your dog or I'll call the law."

"The law," just like in those westerns he loves so well. Mike is not a law-calling kind of person. That's me. But he loves his puppies and can see the danger for everyone in an immense, threatening dog like this one roaming the streets.

I'm not opposed to pits as a breed, but I'm opposed to the current pit culture which indoctrinates irresponsible kids with the idea that they're big men if they have a vicious dog. Viciousness is created in all sorts of inhumane ways, and the result is a serious threat to life.

My family escaped. Hope the next one does. Mike hasn't called "the law" but I'm going to. Don't know what kind of action I'll get, but the neighbors say this dog's out all the time, it has killed other animals in the neighborhood (that sweet kitty!), and now my people ~ all three of them ~ have been endangered.

squeamish

Are you? I'm soaking and rebandaging my toes every morning and I can hardly bear to do it. I don't know how nurses can stand dealing with wounds. Not sure why I thought those toenails would just lift off to expose smooth, sleek skin beneath.

I'm squeamish about other things, too. Worms writhing on the concrete in the sun. I can't touch them, but I can run get Mike to throw them onto the grass so they don't burn up. Dead animals by the side of the road. Just. Can't. Look. Any effluent from just about any orifice (just about) gives me the willies. The sound of particularly wet and virulent coughing wherein something might be rising up out of the lungs. Heebie jeebies.

I will never forget a kid I sat next to in first grade. He was always sniffling and hacking. I could see up into his nose when he stood to read and there was a horrid green solid block that split open with each breath to expose a red interior, like a slit opening into hell. I couldn't take my eyes off it, though it made me sick.

You? Are you squeamish about things or can you simply view blood and gore as if it's nothing?

better not to know

I'm all about being informed, but some things may be better unknown while my puppy love is confined to hospital and I'm fretting about him. Had I read the description of small Bill's affliction ~ hemorrhagic gastroenteritis ~ while he was hospitalized, I wouldn't have slept a wink.

Billy is home and looking lively. Is there anything as sweet as a puppy practically turning himself inside out with joy? I. Love. Dogs.

Hemorrhagic Gastroenteritis (HGE) starts as sudden onset vomiting and diarrhoea with blood in both the vomit (called haematemesis and in the diarrhoea (see dysentery) described as looking like raspberry jam. Some dogs are already in shock because of blood loss into the lumen of the bowel when they are presented to a veterinary practice. Swollen fluid-filled intestines can sometimes be palpated in the abdomen. This disease can result in rapid death due to shock even if treatment is commenced immediately signs are noticed.

Disseminated intravascular coagulopathy can develop in advanced cases, also leading to death.

pacemaker

My father's heart has suddenly stopped beating normally. Pacemaker installation at the crack of dawn Tuesday. Prayers, positive thoughts, much appreciated. Not ready for him to go anywhere.