mere inklings

And here it is, your moment of AWWWW

We are proud to announce our new addition.

 

                                                   

It's a weiner dog!

 

His name is Uncle Bob. If this is true (and I sincerely hope it is, but I’m taking it with a grain of wiki…) wouldn’t it be cool to actually have an Uncle Bob? Things would just work out.

 

Slightly ill-tempered DIGRESSION: If you dislike the name Uncle Bob, or find it cumbersome to say, you are certainly welcome to dis me comment your feelings. But if you are simply worried that it has not been reported to me that the name is either A.) wrong for a puppy, as the term Uncle is obviously only appropriate for OLDER DOGS or B.) just plain silly, FEAR NOT. I have been enlightened heartily and often. The name stays. If you do not find it a personally pleasant moniker to utter, feel free to modify it to your liking…suggestions: Bobby, Bobbikins, Hot Bob (weiner dog reference,) or similar. And Bob’s Your Uncle. (SO THERE.) **shakes it off**

 

UB had lived with us for about 14 hours when Hubs and I found ourselves discussing what we were going to do with him when we, his loving protectors, had to actually leave the house. We had previously had several crate/no crate discussions, but true to form, we had not actually made any decision. So there we were with 1 ½ pounds of curious, ambulatory puppy on one hand and a NO DOGS ALLOWED destination on the other.

 

Since we have a doggie door and a plan to give Uncle Bob free reign in a few weeks when he is both out of parvo danger and large enough not to be carried away by a finch, Mr. Husband suggested forgoing the expense of an actual crate. He suggested one of those big plastic toughy bins you use to store stuff in. We were walking through the bathroom when he was making his pitch. He stretched out his hands to indicate the size, then looked around and pointed to the bathtub. “You know, about that size…”

 

He looked at me.

 

I looked at him.

 

We blinked.

 

“I’ll get a blanket,” I said.

 

So that is how Uncle Bob came to live in the bathtub.

 

I have decided that Hubby is a genius. The bathtub makes a perfect puppy containment unit. Before you get all PETA on me, it is a deep molded plastic garden deal- it’s not cold, it’s not dangerous, and it is located right under the biggest window in the house. UB gets plenty of security with a gorgeous sky vista.

 

Also, if when he has an accident of the #2 variety, all we have to do is wash the blankets and stuff and turn on the faucet. Virtually self cleaning. If I could find a way to make money marketing this idea, we could retire. However, it seems that most new puppy owners already have bathtubs of some sort, and do not need to purchase one as an accessory. So I am giving it to you, Lovely Internets, for free. You’re welcome.

 

 

The grand tour- Living room done in a lovely shag. Coordinating pillow in the bedroom. Modern stainless kitchen. Plenty of storage space for toys. Nicely appointed bathroom, complete with drain. And notice the comfy personal touch of daddy’s t-shirt in the den.

 

And Bob's...well, you know.

 

 

 

Something funny and something stupid. You decide in what order they appear.

1.WARNING- absolutely ridiculous and unnecessary earworm. Hey, I warned ya.

2.How tired am I today? STUPID TIRED. A little while ago, I looked at my hand and noticed that my wedding/engagement rings were missing. As in, NOT THERE. I experienced a few seconds of hearty denial, complete with cartoon-character blinking to clear my eyes of the trick my brain was obviously playing on me, then I panicked. I looked at the floor around my chair. I scrambled to remember when I last took them off, which was NEVER. I ran upstairs to the bathroom and stared with disbelief at the gaping hole that is the sink drain, trying to convince myself “NO, NO, NO- they couldn’t have!” On the way down to the garage to pretend I knew something about sink wrenches (or whatever), I suddenly remembered something of importance. In AMERICA, which is the country WHERE I LIVE, women wear their engagement rings on their LEFT hands. So, that is where I looked next. And there they sparkled.

I’m going to bed now.

 

Far Above Rubies

OK, as promised, the reason my new pendant has to settle for bracelet and won’t likely make it to necklace anytime soon. The reason is this:

 

 

This is the necklace I wear just about every day. My wonderful husband gave it to me last year when we got married. It is one of my most prized possessions. FOR SO MANY REASONS.

 

---It is opal, my birthstone, which I don’t think Hubbikins knew when he bought it. This is the kind of thing he just does SO VERY RIGHT, without even realizing he is trying. Seems spirituality does that for a person. The universe just loves on you and you do amazing things without even really participating.

 

---It has inscribed in the actual stone the most beautiful bible verse re: wives. Many daughters are virtuous, but you have exceeded them all. -Proverbs 31. Are you familiar with Prov. 31? It is the beautiful and dreadfully impossible outline of what a wife should be. (She gets up while it is still dark?!? Eep.) Much like everything else God wants, I try with all my heart every day to conform to it, and live with the lovely humility that I WILL FAIL.)

 

---It will not be ignored. When I first saw it, I thought “Oh, I can’t wear that. Too big. Too flashy.” Hub actually presented me with two versions, this one and a smaller one. I wasn’t writing a safe-road chapter in my life, so I said a little WHAT THE HECK and, at his encouragement, chose this one. He was right, course. Since then, I’m more likely to take his suggestions, which are usually about me becoming a bit bigger, a tad flashier, and refusing to be ignored. 

 

Lots of people notice it. They ask me what’s special about it, what is in it. I love telling them. I’m proud that this is how my husband feels about me. The wistful sighs of the young girls and the quiet, approving nods of the saints confirm for me, once again, that Hubbikins and I got it just right. Finally.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where there is a Will, there is a Yay (sorry)

So, Hollywood said, “Let there be Hancock.” And there was Hancock. And the people saw that it was good.

Movie night. I thought I was going to see a funny, feel-good summer flick, but this movie is quite a bit more. It has all the good stuff.

 

First, it has Will Smith, for whom I swoon. I love everything he has ever sung, starred in, said, and married. If my eyes suddenly fell out and my eardrums burst, I would still pay $9.50 to go sit in a dark theatre and soak up the Will Smithiness of any movie in which he chose to act, if for no other reason that it would help him afford one more pair of cool shoes for these guys.

 

Hancock also stars Jason Bateman. Hello. This guy is back with an adorable vengeance and I, for one, am thrilled to have him. I saw him in Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, Juno, and now this. He has range and presence and a real live cuddliness. And he stands up to the power of the Will just fine. I can’t wait for the next thing from him.

 

(EVER SO SLIGHT SPOILER WARNING)

Now, let’s talk Charlize Theron. Never been a huge fan, always been a little lukewarm on her, but she managed to go from cutie-sweet housewife to complete badass with just a black catsuit and a half inch of eyeliner. I liked her. And I want her wardrobes, both pre- and post-transformation.

 

The absolute best element of this movie is something that has been conspicuously absent from the movie industry lately- real, honest-to-goodness originality. Hubbikins and I have seen lots of movies and even more trailers lately and we have gone so far as to predict the Second Coming based on the all-the-good-ideas-are-used-up feeling of all the remakes and sequels (not to mention “environmental” agendas disguised as children’s romps (*ahem*)) It was a thrill to watch a movie that was actually unpredictable. (OK, so I leaned over and whispered C. Theron’s best line to Hubby right before she said it, but it was so necessary and so right that it worked anyway.)

 

One more thing- it took a little work to love the ending. But I’ve grown to accept that endings may not do exactly what I want them to do and yet still be good.

 

**INKLING ALERT** (Here is where I get all Let’s Bring It All Back to WHAT IS IMPORTANT ON A CELLULAR LEVEL ABOUT ALL THIS.)

 

I’m finally writing (and by “writing” I mean putting actual words together into actual sentences that can be seen by actual people who ARE NOT ME.) I’m learning that the dern characters just WILL NOT DO what I think they ought to, even when they spring forth from my very own fingers. If I truly want to be surprised, and Lordy, I DO, I guess I’m just going to have to let them be themselves. I’ve spent lots of years trying to find the TRUTH in stuff, and I am finally realizing that, if I’m going to learn anything, I may have to let the TRUTH come from somewhere other than my own invention. Otherwise, it’s just WHAT I ALREADY KNOW. And where’s the fun in that?