I've Been Liberated! Thanks Strudel!!!

Ugh, I am so stumped for anything to write that it's almost scary.  Me?  Speechless?  Can't be!  But oh, it is. I can't seem to string two thoughts together and it's starting to piss me off.

I'm going to blame it on stress. Or maybe I'll blame it on Strudel. She just poked a few new holes in various parts of my body so I'm feeling spiteful toward her. This past weekend I mentioned to Jimmy my fear that Strudel is somehow mentally challenged.

Soft in the head.

A tad demented.

Possibly in need of psychotropic drugs.

She's eating potting soil at this very moment. But Jimmy says it's our fault she is the way she is.

Don't know if you can tell from this picture, but that's Strudel with her head inside a mostly empty planter.  Yum yum.

See?  Demented.

So like I said, Jimmy says she's not a bad dog, but we're bad owners.

I beg to differ. I have never so much as played tug of war with her, to give her the idea that biting onto and holding onto any part of my person is an acceptable means of entertainment. She doesn't only jump up and chomp down, but does it over and over again and the more you reprimand her the more excited she gets. The more excited she gets, the harder she chomps down. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's aggressive biting, but it for sure isn't play biting either.

She was just at it again and I started videoing her so you'd believe me.




I need Cesar Milan in the worst way. If anyone has any connections, please let me know.

My kinda dog trainer.  Errr... whisperer.








Hell, at this point I'll even take that irritating English chick from It's Me or the Dog.

Just look at her. She's gone all canine doginatrix and shit.

So you know how in the past I've told you that golden retrievers are known to have a soft mouth?  Well I'm here to tell you, there ain't nothing soft about Strudel's mouth.

She loves licking out the remains of tuna from the can.  Sometimes I make her extra happy by smearing peanut butter in it for her.  She then proceeds to skitter and chase that can all over the kitchen.

A couple of days ago I gave her a tuna can to lick and this is what her bear teeth soft mouth has done to it.

Who needs a can crusher when I've got Stru?

Hey, at least she released me from what seemed like a never-ending blog fart, right?  Thanks Stru.


Pssst! If you love me, you might love my stupid sister more. Go visit her at Jill's Believe it or Not, and tell her I sent you!

Writer's Workshop: I Picked Up The Phone...

This week, for the first time ever, I am participating in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  Each week she gives bloggers several different prompts to choose from and from there it's up to the writer.

The prompt I chose was,  

4.) I picked up the phone and I could not believe what I was hearing...


It was May of 1988 and my paternal grandmother had been suffering terribly with ovarian cancer for years. I had watched her erode from a robust, heavyset, spirited woman to a frail, shriveled, emaciated parody of herself. She was nothing but skin and bones except for her terribly bloated stomach.

I cannot describe the pain of being a 17-year-old girl, watching the sparkle of life actually dim from her eyes. Each time I saw her I knew I'd already lost another part of her spirit. She was unable to fight anymore, she didn't even want to.

I believe it was a Wednesday, May 26th, when Jimmy and I drove to the house to visit with her. She was not looking at all well and I had that gut feeling you sometimes get around a terminally ill person, when you know it's the last time you're going to see them alive.

When Grandma turned to Jimmy and told him to always take care of Justine, I knew it was the end. This was how she would say her goodbye.

Jimmy and I talked about it on the drive home. We both agreed that she would be gone within a few days. Part of me wanted to deny the knowledge, keep her with me as long as I could. Another part of me was urging her to let go, because she wasn't truly living anymore.

Two nights later, on the dawn of May 28th, the phone rang at 4:30 a.m. I picked up the phone and could not believe what I was hearing. But I could believe it. I did believe it, because I knew it was going to happen. I had been expecting it. But when I heard my aunt's voice sobbing, telling me Grandma had fallen in the bathroom and never woke up again, a piece of my soul withered and died, never to return again.

It was I, at 17 years old, that had to wake thee family to deliver the news. My aunt Barbara raced to our house and then her and I raced to the hospital to be with my other aunt, Grandma's daughter. Upon our arrival her and I asked to say our goodbyes to Grandma in private. To this day I'm still glad that I had the opportunity to say my final farewell before her body turned cold and stiff. She still looked like herself, just sleeping.  She was slightly cool to my gentle touch, her skin not as pliant as usual, but not yet chilled from death.

Twenty-one years later I still ache with missing her. She was one of the most influential people in my life. So many of my childhood memories are wrapped up in thoughts of Grandma.

Watching her stir sauce on the stove.

Eating grapefruit with sugar with her in the morning after I'd slept over.

Sleeping snuggled up with her, while Grandpa retired to the guest room for me.

Having musical fart extravaganzas before falling asleep.

Her reminders to wash my parsley very well each day.

Her admonition to never park next to a van, or else be snatched away.

Her making me sing You Light Up My Life over and over again.

Her 7 fishes Christmas Eve dinner.

Her scent; always lily of the valley

Holding on to her thumbs in the pool while she twirled in circles, singing, "D d d d d d d diet..."  (I never did find out why she sang about a diet.)


I went searching today and found a picture that is forever burned into my brain.  I hate this picture and I love this picture.

I love it because it's my old kitchen in NY and looking around the room brings back so many joyous memories.  (Hey Elizabeth, did you notice the plastic "popcorn" Santa on the wall?  I told you we had those!)  I love looking at the tins of Italian cookies and the demitasse cups; I love seeing that ugly old calendar hanging on the pantry door;  the disgusting wallpaper and formica cabinets and countertop; I love the fact that I look so much better than Jill in this picture.  In her defense, she was only 11.

I hate this picture because that is the look I mentioned earlier.  The look of anguish and despair in my grandmother's eyes.

This was our last Christmas with her, December of 1987.







I picked up the phone that day and didn't want to believe what I heard...






Pssst! If you love me, you might love my stupid sister more. Go visit her at Jill's Believe it or Not, and tell her I sent you!

And I Quote:

Madison, a couple of weeks ago said, "I made poopy and it smelled like pumpkin seeds!"

God, I love this kid. 



Pssst! If you love me, you might love my stupid sister more. Go visit her at Jill's Believe it or Not, and tell her I sent you!