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What do you mean the power is out? I haven’t had my coffee yet.

Oct 11

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     I hate it when coffee sits on a warmer all day.  It tastes burned after the first fifteen minutes.  I have my coffee maker set to turn off immediately after the pot fills.  I heat each cup in the microwave and I never get that all-day-on-the-burner flavor.  They do have coffee pots that have thermal carafes, but then the coffee tastes like eau de old thermos coffee after the first hour.  Yes, I’m prickly about my coffee. 

     I don’t spend a fortune going to places like Starbucks ordering lattes or cappuccinos.  When I ask for coffee, I want coffee.  No, I don’t want raspberry, caramel, macadamia nut, chocolate flavored syrup in it.  Can you say coffee?  I don’t mean that brown dishwater that some people try to pass off as coffee.  I mean a rich, full bodied, robust cup of coffee.  A one swallow and your eyes pop open coffee.  I want heart pounding, pulse racing, and brain stirring hot coffee. 

     In view of that, a few days ago, when I awoke and found our power was out my first thought was of coffee.  Oh, my God!  Did I make a pot before bed?  Hell, I’ll drink it cold or go heat it on the grill if there is coffee.  Oh, please let there be coffee I can’t wait for a pot to brew on the gas grill.  I need it now. 

     I trudged downstairs dreading a lack of coffee and a day of crankiness on my part.  Entering the kitchen and spotting a full pot of coffee brought a grin, touching the pot and finding it cold lost the grin.  My first defensive line during a power outage in our neighborhood is to go to my best friend’s house she lives a half a block away and she’s on a different power line. 

     I filled my cup and DH never uttered a word as I walked out the front door, he knew where I was heading.  I figured if she had power I’d have a quick heat up on my cup, if she didn’t, then I’d go back home and light up the grill. 

     I knocked on her door, noticed her TV was working, and when I saw her through the screen I held up my cup, gave her my most pitiful look and said, “Must-have-coffee-heated….”  Joy of joys, she snatched my cup from hands and popped it into her microwave.  One minute later, I had my hot coffee and everyone around me could breathe again.

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Malcolm’s Mayhem 2

Oct 10

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Visit our home and you’ll see numerous beware of dog signs about.  They are surplus from when we owned a German shepherd, though I feel that they still apply in Malcolm’s case.  He’s not the type of dog to be aggressive with people.  That is, not to those that we welcome and who enter by the front door.  They are the ones he’d probably lick to death or lead to the icebox.

However, in the last few months we’ve noticed that he has become a hazard for anyone who drops in on us.  The dog has developed a fascination for shoelaces.

After our guest or guests enter our home and sit down, Malcolm crouches at his chosen victim’s feet.  When he figures that no one is paying attention, he noses over closer.  Then, ever so proficiently, he takes a hold of his target’s shoelace, and little by little, tugs until it is untied.  They never feel it unless he wants them to.  Once he’s untied the shoelaces on both shoes, he waits (rather pleased with himself) for them to notice his scheme.  I’m waiting for the day that he learns to tie them together and really trips someone up.  Believe me; I think if he had thumbs, he would’ve succeeded at that endeavor a long time ago.

If a dog could laugh, Malcolm does.  He has a weird sense of humor.  Most of his jokes are on me.  There’s a certain sense of relief to see that he’s found another outlet for his wit.  And, a lack of sympathy for the new targets of his hilarity.

For my safety, I’ve taken to wearing sneakers that close with Velcro.  Unfortunately, he’s discovering how much fun Velcro is, and what a neat sound it makes when you tug on it.  But, at least, unlike shoelaces that dangle and delight his hilarity, Velcro isn’t something he can open without you knowing it.

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How to paint the interior of a house by yourself while two dogs run amok

Oct 6

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     The first thing you do is load your husband’s pockets up with dog treats so he can keep the lovable A.D.D. beasts busy while you work.  The second thing is you cover everything but the TV and the husband’s chair with drop cloths. 

 

     You then decide what section of wall you wish to start working on, and you don’t do any painting at dog level until they are safely in bed for the night.  Of course, this means that all the work you are doing while they are awake is done on a ladder—not exactly the smartest place to be. 

 

      All paint should be kept above dog level so that when it is spilled it can splash more, go higher, and spatter you, the dogs, and the husband, not to mention leaving all sorts of pretty patterns on the two pieces of furniture you didn’t cover with drop cloths. 

 

     In case you think that I have a brute of a husband, or a lazy one, let me explain—he is disabled, and can’t help do the work.  Therefore, the job of dog sitter keeps both him and the dogs busy.  Well, that is until the treats run out and they decide to check out what I’m doing on a ladder—see above.

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