Monthly Archives: March 2009

Oh, Portia!

Portia. She just can’t help herself. I always tell her she’s lucky she’s so good looking because she’s bad. Super bad. Bad squared.
Yesterday she counter surfed and got grapes and whole wheat wraps. Jenge and I thought nothing of it, but then this morning, here’s what happened.

[scene- Gita’s bedroom. It’s dark. Early morning. Before 6. Lola is already harumphing and sighing in her crate. Gita rolls over]
Gita: Quiet. It’s bedtime.
[this does not deter the puppy who harumphs and baby-growls]
Gita: Lola! Quiet!
[down the hall, there is a thump. A bump. Mummy Jennifer has awoken. Gita listens. Perhaps she will come get Lola and Gita can pretend to still be asleep. Then, a door flies open! The hall light flares to life!]
Jenge: That’s it! Portia! No more sleeping in my room! EVER!
[Dogs come flying out of Jenge’s room. Jenge comes and gets Lola, Gita sits up]
Gita: what happened?
Jenge: She puked. and not just a little, a lot. Right on my bedskirt.
Gita [thinking that she should get up]: Oh…….
[Jenge storms downstairs, tosses the girls out to potty, dispenses food. Gita comes downstairs. Portia is not eating! Jenge and Gita stare at her]
J: I don’t feel bad for her. I don’t. She did it to herself. Yeah, I bet you feel sick Portia.
[Portia picks at her food and forces it down. She drinks two bowls of water until Gita steps in]
G: Too much water, Portia.
[Portia looks up, guiltily]

[Flash forward to early morning, Gita and Jenge on phone]
J: so it turns out, grapes are toxic to dogs.
G: oh, great.
J: I called the vet, and I’m gonna go home at lunch and check in on her.
G: Call me if she is sick, I can come home from work.
J: Kay.

[afterschool, on the phone]
J: so the vet said she’d probably be fine, but the house smells funny. I can take her in. They have an opening at 6.
G: Oh, Portia.
J: I guess that grapes can cause renal failure in dogs. how much would you say we had?
G: I dunno. 1, maybe 2 pounds?
J: 2 pounds is the toxic amount for portia’s weight class.
G: Maybe I should come home.
J: Go to bootcamp, I’ll take her to the vet and let you know.

[after bootcamp, on the phone]
J: So she’s dehydrated, and they wanted to admit her but I said no. We’re waiting for blood work.
G: How’s she look?
J: I mean, she looks okay, but she’s depressed.
G: She’s been depressed for a while.
J: Yeah, I’ll call you back.

[later, Jenge comes home with Portia]
J: so they watned to keep her over night, but that’s 500 bux a night. I said, listen, you don’t know how much this dog has eaten. You don’t know what we’ve pulled out of poop and 99 times out of 100, she’s fine. We’ve had moles checked for cancer on her face, we’ve had an entire work up done on her bladder. We’ve gone for tests, etc. And she’s always fine. I’ll take her home.
G: I agree, I’m pretty sure she’ll be okay.
J: Her kidneys looked good, although her liver had some high numbers. [shrug] we’ll see.
[they both eye Portia who clearly does not want to talk about her trip to the vet
J: I mean, she was so nervous at the vet, I couldn’t leave her there.
G: No, you did the right thing.
[Portia jumps up on counter. Jenge and Gita stare at each other incredulously]
J and G: She’s fine!

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Dog Update


The big dogs got their groomies on today. Rocky looks particularly dashing. I swear, it looks like they flat ironed his hair. He looks sharp.

Portia is mad and has been standoff-ish since her return. The groomer said Portia had so much hair that the groomer had to put a mask on. On the groomer herself, not on Portiacakes.

Lola has discovered there is a WHOLE WORLD beyond the patio. She took her first journey down the patio steps today and into the yard. she was VERY upset when the big dogs left for their hair appointments and actually screamed and cried. And then she realized that she still had a lap to sit in and she was okay. She is currently going puppy crazy with Jennifer.

Tonight Jenge and I go out to see Deborah DiGiovani at the Laugh Shop. I’m really looking forward to it!

So what?

I love to shop. So what? So sue me! [Actually, that would cut into my shopping money, so forget I said anything].

I would have no problem spending money if I won the lottery. Here’s what’s currently on the lottery list.

1. The new ipod shuffle SO CUTE
2. Sony e-Reader
3. iPod alarm clock for my room.
4. New running shoes. I love new shoe smell!
5. Thermal vest – for bootcamp
6. Puma shoes for every day of the week. No seriously, I saw a whole wall today and I liked at least 7 of them.
7. PVR
8. Hello Kitty Diamond watch. Sigh. So cute.

Remembering Carmie

Uncle Carmie died the same year as my dad. Carmie died in June, after Mary in May, but before Dad, in August. And sometimes I feel like Carmie’s death was eclipsed by Dad’s. Carmie lived in Cape Breton, and the photo above is a picture of his bungalow. I remember trips there as a kid, and we would go swimming in the lake. I was terrified of Jelly Fish. There are train tracks close by and we would put pennies on them and then hunt them down after the train had squished them.

The last time I went there, before I went for the funeral in 2006, I was 13. And surly. And in a bad mood. All summer. I was away from my friends for the summer, and not happy about it. I would glower at people when they tried to be nice to me. And Carmie would try hard not to laugh and say “Ah, the look.” And I was mad, so mad that he wasn’t affected by my obviously surly gaze! In fact, he seemed to find it really funny!

Looking back now, I laugh at my younger self. And I think that I’m pretty lucky my Uncle was amused by it instead of being hurt, or annoyed.

Mum and I had been planning a trip to Cape Breton for the fall of 2006. I was finally going to see the fall colors of east. And then Carmie died, so we went in June. And I was really, really mad at myself for not having gone back sooner. A classic case of waiting too long, thinking you have more time, etc etc. You know? I was really sad I didn’t get to see Carmie. Sit on his enclosed porch and just hang out.

The Book and Writing

For years, I have been working on The Book. The Book has no title – at least, not one I want to share. And that’s the problem with my writing. I don’t like to share it. I like to hoard it. It takes me a LONG LONG time to be comfortable enough to share my writing. Donna had to wait YEARS before I showed her anything and Ashleigh only got to read stuff because she was coughing up her own writing. And every time I would exchange stuff with Ash, I would nervously check my inbox for feedback.

I’ve been writing short stories, novels, extended plots, soap operas etc since I was 17. I used to write what I wanted when I wanted how I wanted. And somewhere, sometime I got caught up in GETTING PUBLISHED. and suddenly writing wasn’t fun anymore. It was stressful, and a chore, and it was painful, and I watched the clock while I did it and every word that got typed got scrutinized painfully. And counted. Would a publisher like this? what would a reader say/think? who would my readers be? Was it childish? Cliched? Was I following the ‘rules’ I’d learned in Grade 7 – Introduction, Rising Action, Climax, Denouement. Was there enough character growth? Too much? would people care about my characters? Too much dialogue?

Ashleigh and I set deadlines for ourselves, for each other, made promises to deliver pages, paragraphs – on time [and under budget!].

And it was HORRIBLE. I had never disliked writing before. I had never dreaded it. I used to sit in my bedroom on the floor with a pitcher of koolaid and a fine selection of CDs/cassette tapes and just have at ‘er with my Special Pens and my Special Notebooks.

I had to think long and hard about what I was doing and why. and I decided to Frak it. Did I care about getting published? Sure I did, but not as much as i wanted to get the ‘happy’ that had been SUCKED out of my writing hobby.

So, I’ve dropped The Book. At least Book 1. There was too much emotional baggage wrapped up in it. And now I write what I want when I want and how I want. and the Happy is still there! It was waiting for me to get my head out of my ass!

I still consider myself a writer. Even if I never get published, even if I never even try to get published. I like my stuff. I never think, Jeez, I wish that hadn’t have happened, or why did so and so go do THAT, – the way I do when I read books. Because when I write, I am god. Stuff only happens because I want it to happen and people only do stuff because of reasons I’ve given them. It’s narcissistic and self-centered and MINE ALL MINE.

And you’ll probably never get to read it. And I’m okay with that.