Charlywalker's Blog

{May 10, 2010}   Like Blogs Breath

There is a God. He showed up in the form of my husband. I knew  there was a reason I married him after being single for 36 years. He fixed my Espresso machine.  I have always owned an espresso machine at one time or another in my life, it is as common to me as putting on a pair of shoes in the morning before you venture out for the day. Even if they are flip-flops.

 I’ve owned more cappuccino machines than I have dogs. I haven’t own a dog for the majority of my life, as a child growing up my family had dogs, but my brother took on most the responsibility with the family pet. I recall we had the large breed of dog, like a German Shepherd.  I didn’t spend a lot of time with this dog, because he had an affinity for my older brother. They were inseparable. I admired this Hatchi relationship and wondered why I could never tap into it and develop my own friendship with the dog.

 I was in elementary school at the time and much too busy with my new Evening in Paris Barbie. I was very wrapped up in my Barbie dream world as a kid, I spent more hours walking Barbie’s plastic poodle than my own dog. Maybe I just wasn’t ready for the commitment and work of caring for a pet . I liked my ideal make shift world of a Dream house that collapses and travels with you. When I set up Barbie’s world she was not bogged down with domestics, she would just fancy off to her inflexible chifforobe and don a glitter gown for her evening in the spotlight at Studio 54. Barbie’s Amana fridge was stocked with miniature green plastic soda bottles with home made labels displaying Dom Perignon scripted from a fine tip sharpie.  Barbie was always busy, she traveled and socialized with other Mattel friends, she did not have time to learn to cook, get married, or raise children. She did ,however ,always make time for her pink plastic poodle.

Eventually as I grew into an adult, Barbie and I did have one thing in common; we both made great reservations. I am not the best domestic nor the worst. I would rather be trekking in the Amazon then to have to make dinner for four at six p.m. I would rather be shooting a 22 at a rifle range at three in the afternoon than fight the grocery store lines for the two for one specials on Doritos for my kids lunches. I’d rather have the beds made, laundry complete, and the food cooked by someone other than me, and so would my family for that matter. Their clothes would be less wrinkled and the food would be tastier. My puppy even notices when my husband prepares his doggie dinner.  He transforms his daily Science kibbles into Gourmet  Giblets with Gravy.

Some people are blessed with a  green thumb for home-made behavior. My mind has always wandered like a piece of driftwood on the sea every time I spray a can of furniture polish over the coffee table. I start to Envision myself at a book signing at Barnes & Noble  and conversing with the public about my best seller and then the reality hits when I  get spritzed with the Endust in the face because the nozzle is reversed..again.

Domestic chores are a form of prison for me and the only escape is hiring a housekeeper. I would do that if my Dog liked strangers, but he doesn’t. He also hates vacuums. So a stranger toting a vacuum in my house is a lethal combination. I wonder what Barbie would do? Just fold up her dream house and retire to her Black patten leather carrying case wearing her  pink silk jammies with her plastic poodle by her side? Both laying there in a coma like trance until their next days play. I wonder when Barbie turned 50  if Matel had her estrogen levels checked.

Women in menopause need a life size Barbie case. A giant suitcase containing all their private possessions surrounding them as they  lie next to their dog, neither of them blinking,and to be carried off to unknown territories only to be emptied all over the living room carpet to set up residence.  Again.

spread the humor

It’s raining over our little corner of the state and it hasn’t stopped for three days. If this continues I may have to build an ark. It won’t be a large one, mind you because the only animals being loaded in two by two are me and Charly-dog. So maybe I’ll just build a nice cozy two seater Cigarette boat like the one  Detective Crocket had when rounding up criminals in Key West.

 I think Charly-dog will like that cruiser it has an extended bow that cuts the waves just so to make his floppy ears hyperextend in the wind. This boat travels at 80 knots in calm water which means Charly and I will get a head start when the great flood hits. Problem  lies with neither one of us knowing how to operate one of these and would no doubt wreak havoc in pari delicto.

I have operated a boat, well lets say a 50 foot Bay Liner, but my  talents remained only at the helm with my father standing behind me all the way. I enjoyed steering the ship when the sea was calm and no other boats were in sight. I hated sitting at the captains chair during opening day. I would get nervous with all the boats surrounding displaying ttheir colored pennants screaming the name of their yacht club.

There were times when my father would “go below” to the “galley” or  visit “the head”, and leave me  flying solo on the bridge. I hated it.  I would get scared and my hands would freeze onto the wheel and I would close my eyes when another boat was approaching along side.  I found out later that turning a wheel on a ship and  steering your old Volkswagon Beetle have  nothing in common.  Not to mention the nautical terms that go along with it. To this day I still have a rough time with the words Port and Starboard.

It became abundantly clear when my English neighbor who claims to be knowledgeable in everything, set me straight:  “Port is the left side, when you pass the Port around the table you always pass it to your left”.

Equate anything to alcohol and my brain just soaks it up..

It’s not only raining outside it’s raining inside as well. Lately I have been unable to pass any of my exams in this one subject relating to Micro science. I don’t know what’s blocking me other than the fact I haven’t a clue about the content of the course. I am not the only one failing, there are others that have dropped out early on and only a few stragglers are left. I often wondered what the cause could be if over half the class is not getting the concept of the course and failing. I can’t fathom that the majority of the students are incapable of learning.

Personally I have my own theory;  I think that it is all about the money. I think they set the kids up for failure so they are forced to take the courses over again which is more money for the colleges. I can’t believe that over half the class is absolutely ignorant and predestined to fail. I corrected my professor tonight with regards to his power point presentation. I realized his PPT’s were different than the outlines he gave to us to utilize for his lectures. He made note of the importance of one topic to be highlighted for an exam yet we had no reference in a book or outline for this subject matter. I requested he surrender the PPt’s that he harbors in his private collection and he said he was not authorized to do so. That these PPt’s were not his to give out.

I said:”what’s the difference if I delay class time to transpose these via my handwritten transcript or possibly take a photo with my I Phone.”. He was not obliging which led me to believe that these notes were congruent with tests questions that we were not privy to. I hit the nail on the head. If the college makes the standard so high and unattainable and align their teaching techniques to set the student up to fail and retake the course; well, they stand to make a bundle.

I met kids that are taking a course three times over that was funded by the Government. Who cares where the money comes from as long as it’s coming in. Keep setting the bar too high and keep collecting as the dominos fall. No one should be taking a course over if they 1) show up 2) honestly do the work 3) hand in homework 4) and are giving it the old college try and are genuinely trying to learn.  I still could not get a valid reason as to why my professor would not forfeit his superiors lecture PPt’s. The only conclusion I could ascertain is that they probably catered to the Exams. And just maybe if  we were privy to these notes we might all get “A’s”.

 OMG. Then the students might take the reins and actually pass the course. Then who will reign.

I’ll be at that educational wheel maneuvering the waves of circumvention until the rain stops…..Ahoy Matey , gang way to cast off dead – ahead…..

spread the humor.

My husband has been in Italy for the last month traveling about to various cities and waking up with a mint on his pillow and a do not disturb sign dangling from his hotel room door. He asked me if there was anything that I would like for him to bring back to me. I told him to bring the do not disturb sign.

While he has been working in the fields  under the Tuscan Sun soaking up the Chianti that was meant for me, I have been knee deep  trekking through a winter blizzard catering to children and a dog and shoveling a 20 yard drive way. I have come to the conclusion that I absolutely hate snow. I think snow should stay atop the mountains where it feels most at home and at peace instead of my street where eventually it ends a mixture of slush and gravel on the side of the road.

My dog is starting to hate the snow. It is no longer a novice for him where he romps and chases snowflakes. Now it is a chore and he will fight to the end to Not go out in the cold. Charly and I are having wrestling matches and he waits until I pin him to get his leash on. He actually retreats to his doggie bed and curls up in fetal position in rebellion. I don’t blame him, I don’t want to go out  into the white chasm that chills every hair on our heads.

 I have found one saving grace though, something that helps with the winter nights and warms the cockles. Whatever cockles are. I think Charly is losing his cockles soon. I have turned to brandishing wine. Wasn’t this the survival mechanism of the early explorers. Didn’t that trusty St. Bernard carry that lovely Keg of    Laphroaig Scotch twenty miles into the Rockies around his thick neck? I wonder if I could train Charly-dog to carry a stash for me when I’m out doing his nightly poo-poo walk. The walk that takes hours because he is so busy sniffing atop three feet of snow in order to locate his last leakage. The last potty stand that got buried under a glacier a week ago and is untraceable even to the most sensitive snoz.

If he could carry a flask of Grey goose around his puny neck accompanied by a saddle of green olives  I could walk him all night in a snow storm.  Work a plate of  appetizers on his back and I have a traveling bar at my disposal. Maybe I could train him to retrieve an Andes Creme de Menthe and place it on my pillow with the dent in the middle.

My dog is no bigger than a bottle of scotch so maybe I’ll have to attach a few airline miniatures behind his ears.  I have a few left over from when I grabbed a flight or two. Those days when I was free floating and had absolutely no responsibility , well, those were the days.  I was a flight attendant at one time. A time when flying was fun and you actually got a meal.  A time when you were thirty thousand feet above everyone else and  miniatures came in a caseload and not in a Bichon Frise packed in some ones Louis Vitton.

I see nothing wrong with a nip or two especially during the chilly nights or when your hormones are bouncing higher than Michael Jordan’s slam dunks. It can get lonely when your husband is away for a long time, but the company of a dog toting a flask of Martini’s could sublimate any longing that may  have entered your heart. There are a few things that can replace the warmth missing from the other side of the bed: A dry martini and a warm puppy. I believe that sums it up in a Dog shell.

Now, If he could accomplish the art of Shiatsu my husband need not return…………………

I just received notice of an acceptance package into a nursing program I had applied to over a year ago. I should be elated and bouncing off walls much like my puppy’s tennis ball when in play. Except I am not.

I am having mixed emotions about continuing this venture. I am an older student reinventing another career after playing stay-at-home-mom for the past fifteen years and sacrificing my worldly goods for the betterment of raising children. I am sitting on the white picket fence now about attending this program for many reasons;

One major issue is the cost of the program. This is an expenditure that has a healthy bite to it and I am at a time in my life where I should be mimicking menopause in the Mediterranean and petting my pup while we lap up the Chianti and gnaw on biscotti;  Instead of pawing at textbooks containing fonts that even my +250 reading glasses can’t pick up. Come to think of it the only glass worth picking up should be half full of red wine.

I am an older student and am competing with young bloods. So far I have been superseding  this nouveau wild bunch, but they still act like I’m the token geriatric for the course. Sometimes I feel as though I don’t have a dog’s chance in getting through this, much like the hits I have been getting lately on this blog, and all time low.  Someone suggested I turn this blog into a book, she actually called me a “good writer”. I have been tauted as being funny, clever, and witty, but never referenced as a good writer. To me that was an ultimate compliment. I started to give this writing a chance but I didn’t know how to transform my blogging into an actual book.

I was out with a friend the other day driving to a bar and grill to discuss,… well, to discuss,….. um, anything.   As she drove through the maze of rural blacktop now covered in dirty snow, I mentioned to her the prospectus of making this “Bloggie with Doggie” into a manuscript. She likened the idea but pondered on the meat of the book. I mentioned my thoughts to her about” aligning my puppy perils with the coping mechanisms of menopause…… without the prescribed meds”.

She turned the green chevy sedan through filthy snowbanks and muttered something about…. “making it more dirty..”.

I reiterated that that was a possibility and; “I guess I could add some porn to perk up the readers libido, after all doesn’t sex and filth sell well? Much  like my over priced puppy products at Pet Smartie?”.

My friend slowed down to a speed where I could recognize and read the street signs and she turned to me laughing:

“You Moron, I was referring to the snow, I can’t believe how dirty it is”.

 So I guess trying to add “Charly-dog Does Dallas” or “Deep doggie Throat” a dog’s fun with a Cautionary Tail, is not on the menu?

Fine then, just order me a martini that matches the melting snow…..Dirty….. stirred not plowed.

et cetera
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