September 30, 2010 | My Jottings
Our daughter Sara came by a couple of days ago and I saw her strolling around in the front yard while talking on her cell phone. The next thing I knew she was standing at the kitchen sink filling a square vase with a little water. Then she began to quickly and deftly arrange a few leaves and bits of nature she had gathered from outside. It took her about five minutes, and when she was satisfied with her fall creation, she put it on a console table we have in our living room.
Isn’t it lovely? I wish I could think of things like that.
When I went grocery shopping yesterday I took my camera with me to take a few pictures of things around our house, and of the neon trees in our neighborhood. A couple of people saw me stop my car and photograph their trees and I could see the suspicion puzzlement in their eyes.
Got leaves? Got apples? Got flowers? Got weeds? Maybe you can make a gathering of autumn’s beauty from things you find outside too. If you do, please send a photo and I’ll post it on the blog!
How do you decorate for fall? What things do you bring into your home to highlight the season?
Edition 46-Wednesday’s Word
September 29, 2010 | My Jottings
“Kindness is in our power, even when fondness is not.”
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September 27, 2010 | My Jottings
This is the time of year I feel most like myself. The air is cool and crisp, the trees are flaming with color, the sunlight is low and slants into the windows making everything look golden. Thicker covers are needed at night, simmering soups are called for, and adding warm and cushy SmartWool socks to my Birkenstocks is just around the corner. Life is a harmonious and swelling symphony of the most breathtaking sights, delicious smells, invigorating tactile experiences, and familiar and soothing sounds.
In the winter, I know I’m me, but I don’t feel as much like me as I do when autumn arrives. Once the joys of the Christmas season are fading, when it’s twenty degrees below zero outside and I can almost see the icicle-y fingers of bitter cold scritching and scratching to gain access around our windows and doors, I feel like I’m the slightly anxious, on-guard me.
In the spring, I know I’m me, but I don’t feel as much like myself as I do in the fall. Spring in northeastern Minnesota doesn’t ever quite know what it’s doing. Some days spring just snows and spits ice pellets from the sky, other days spring warms and brings lime-green buds out from the trees, still other days spring just rains and makes mud and drear part of every morning. I’m always happy for winter’s passing, but spring feels like Minnesota’s limbo season to me, bringing us out of the long, dark frigid months, yet propelling us toward our short, therefore often frenetic summer.
In the summer I’m still me, but I don’t as much like the me I am in the summer if it’s hot and muggy. A muggy, sluggish me is not the best me I can be. When the air is so moist it’s a labor to draw a full breath, and when it’s so hot outside I’m checking the weather reports seven times a day for hopeful news of possibly cooling temps, and when the local world is wearing shorts and tank tops, I don’t feel fully like me. People this far north often try to fit in as much activity as they can in the summer, because there might only be three months of warmth. Barbecues, swimming, beach bonfires, fireworks, fishing, camping, gatherings at lake cabins, gardening, crowds, grad parties, sailing. The older I get the more contemplative I become, so the running to and fro and the head-spinning activities of summer don’t feel as nurturing and soothing as I would like things to be.
It’s silly, I know, to give all this mental effort to what I feel like, with the approach of each different season. Every day is a gift from God. Winter, spring, summer and fall are all His wondrous making, and they each bring their own kind of beauty and glimpses of His glory. I love living where a dramatic change of seasons happens each year. It’s not productive to give so much thought to how much I love fall and how I don’t feel as much myself in the other three seasons. But I am what I am and it is what it is. I love every part of fall and wish it lasted longer. It always seems like the trees glow, change, blaze, and then drop their leaves in almost no time at all.
It is time to remove the toile quilt from our bed and get out the thick toile comforter.
It’s time to take out my navy blue wool pea coat.
It’s time to take the screens off the windows and carry them down to store in the basement.
It’s time to make sure everyone’s mittens, hats and boots are at the ready.
It’s time to dig through my recipes and make a grocery list so soups and homemade breads once again give a heartening aroma to our home and warmth to our bodies.
It’s time to decide what my Winter Read will be. I keep a book or two at hand every day, but I like to have a long Summer Read and a long Winter Read each year. Don’t laugh when I tell you I’m considering The Brothers Karamozov by Dostoyevsky. Too many people have said it’s the best book they’ve ever read in their lives for me not to give it a try.
Yesterday Sharon and Chris and their three little ones, Sara and I went on The Timber Twister and whooped and hollered as we whipped around the curves and reveled in the exhilaration of speed and breathtaking surroundings combined together. What a delightful fall memory we made.
Today I will have lunch with a dear friend. And tonight I will meet with my SAGgy buddies, as we have done once a month for the past eight years.
This is the time of year I feel most like me. I don’t know very well how to explain what that means, I just know it’s true. Fall makes me feel more alive, more able, more hopeful, more aware, more content, more settled.
What does fall mean to you? Or when do you most feel like you?
I would love to read your thoughts.
Considering His Heavens
September 23, 2010 | My Jottings
One of our pastors showed this youtube piece at church not long ago and I came home to find it for myself and watch again.
I love anything that helps me regain perspective on God’s majesty, hugeness and power.
1 O LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory
above the heavens.
2 From the lips of children and infants
you have ordained praise
because of your enemies,
to silence the foe and the avenger.
3 When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
4 what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
5 You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.
6 You made him ruler over the works of your hands;
you put everything under his feet:
7 all flocks and herds,
and the beasts of the field,
8 the birds of the air,
and the fish of the sea,
all that swim the paths of the seas.
9 O LORD, our Lord,
how majestic is your name in all the earth!
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Lunch with Carey
September 20, 2010 | My Jottings
All three of my daughters love the new Japanese restaurant in our city. I’d heard them and others talk about it for a long time before I finally ventured in to try it, and now it’s one of my favorite lunch spots. So, a few weeks ago Carey and I had lunch together at Hanabi.
Hanabi is edgy, youngish and hip, so I’m not sure why I like it so much. Because I am not edgy, youngish or hip. Well, edgy maybe, but certainly at 53 I’m not youngish and I most definitely am not hip. Hippy? Perhaps. Hip? No.
Carey and I went to Hanabi to eat fantastic food, to celebrate my birthday, and to decide on the first book we’re going to read in our newly established Two Person Book Club.
I am not one who eats shellfish very often, but I ordered their shrimp tempura lunch special and it was beyond delicious. I tried not to roll my eyes and moan when I tasted the first cloud-like bite of sweet potato tempura. I didn’t want to embarrass Carey. She might never go to lunch with me again if I roll my eyes and moan at the table.
This was my plate. I did not take a picture of the miso soup that came as the first course. Clockwise from the top left: White rice with little seeds on it (what are those little seeds I wonder?), three little steamed shrimp dumplings called Shumai, four California rolls (avocado, cucumber, crab, seaweed and rice) with pickled ginger and green wasabi, shrimp and vegetable tempura. Once again, at Hanabi you take a bite of food you never thought you would eat and you say Oh. My. Gosh. In a good way.
Here’s my talented and loving friend of twenty-five years:
Carey’s meal was similar to mine, but her main item was called Beef Negimaki, which is basically broiled strips of beef marinated in teriyaki and rolled around scallions. It was delicious, but a little scalliony.
Anyway, for our first book to read together in our newly formed Two Person Book Club, we decided on Ben Hur. I’m on chapter eight and am loving it so far. The language is rich and it’s quite the transporting read.
For my birthday Carey gave me an authentic Irish Tin Whistle. Carey’s sister Gen plays the instrument beautifully and Carey has been learning through tutorials on youtube. I hope to be playing the music from The Lord of the Rings and/or Titanic by next week and I’ll be sure to alert you here on the blog.
Carey is one of the most gifted people I know. You can read what I originally wrote about her here. She has her own business, and makes absolutely gorgeous jewelry that she offers online. She’s detailed, precise, wonderfully artistic, and I’m always amazed at how reasonable her creations are priced.
Years ago Carey used to make dried floral arrangements and once in a while I would go to help her when she was doing a show. Dozens of people would line up at her booth before it even opened, and while other vendors were there at the show all day, Carey invariably sold out of everything before noon. I used to tell her that I thought she could sell her florals for more, but she was quite content making them so reasonably priced. Everything she makes is unique and eye-catching. If you’d like to see some of Carey’s amazing handiwork, click right here.
So if you live in my city, try Hanabi. If you’re not opposed to shellfish, have the shrimp tempura lunch special. If you’ve read Ben Hur, why don’t you leave a comment and share your opinion about the book? If you would like to schedule me for an exhilarating tin whistle concert, please contact my agent here.
And be sure to visit Carey’s site and tell her Julie sent you.
Thank you for reading my little blog, and have a blessed week.
September 16, 2010 | My Jottings
Earlier this week it rained and the temperatures dropped. The wind blew and a hint of winter was in the air. Michael had been outside and he came in to tell me that there was a critter in the front yard, over by the neighbor’s fence. I asked him what kind of animal it was and he said a muskrat. A muskrat? I thought. In our front yard? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a muskrat before and wouldn’t know one even from a photo.
I followed Michael outside into the cold drizzle and this is what he showed me:
Do you see the round furriness and the long, hairless tail? (You can click on the photos to enlarge them.) As we approached I thought it looked like a beaver, but once I saw the tail I knew it wasn’t. At this point we thought this little beast was just resting near the fence and we didn’t want to get near her because we figured she could viciously attack us at the speed of light and permanently disfigure our faces. So we backed off. She was calmly sniffing the air and sitting in the rain and I wondered where she had come from, and what she was. Michael left to run his errand and I went back inside to check online to see what I could learn. Sure enough, not a woodchuck (which was another thought we had), but a Minnesota Muskrat. They swim in lakes and ponds, and they dig and they make messes of people’s yards. They are also known to be carriers of rabies and leptospirosis.
Michael returned a little while later and came in to tell me she was still there. So back out we went into the rain, and it was then we saw her wriggling, and we could now tell she wasn’t resting near the fence, she was stuck in the fence. Apparently she had tried to squeeze herself through, gotten the front half of her thick-furred body through one of the square holes of the chain link fence, but couldn’t get the back half through. We bent over and talked to her and clapped our hands and said in high-pitched voices, “Come on, you can do it!” to give her a bit of friendly encouragement to try again, but she wasn’t having it. She began to look tired and she closed her eyes.
I did not like this one bit. A large rodent was painfully stuck in a fence bordering our yard, and if we didn’t do something, she would die there. In the cold and rain. And away from her family and the soothing warmth of her cheerily blazing hearth.
“She’s going to die here!” I said to Michael. “What can we do?”
Please forgive my husband for what he said next. He grew up in Minnesota where he has hunted and fished since he was a little boy. It’s the culture here.
Michael responded helpfully, “We could kill her.”
I cringed. “How?” I asked timidly.
“Hit her over the head.”
Oh, no, we don’t, I thought. Not on my watch. I’m not a fan of anything that ruins yards and spreads diseases, but seeing her stuck so tightly in that tiny square of wire made me feel strange twinges of compassion for this little animal, and we were not going to kill her. Moths? Smash ’em. Mosquitoes? Whack! Flies? Swat them dead! But Minnesota Muskrats? No killing.
What were we going to do with her, then? Well, if you are Michael and Julie, you spend thirty minutes in the rain, going back and forth with various unlikely implements, trying to help the poor muskrat get free.
First, I took a shiny yellow gardening boot that belongs to our daughter Sara. I grabbed it because I was looking for something to prod the muskrat’s rear end with, something not too sharp to cause more pain than she was already in. So I let myself in the neighbor’s back yard through their gate, and cautiously proceeded (in my slippers, in the rain) to the trapped muskrat. I inserted my hand into the boot and used the toe to gently prod and push her rump, to help her squeeze through the fence. She turned in a flash of fur and tried to bite me, but of course she couldn’t because she was stuck, and I was on one side of the fence and her little yellow beaver-like teeth were on the other. The other defensive thing she kept doing was swatting both her front paws quickly down on the ground in front of her. I kept gently prodding with the yellow boot, but I could feel that this little muskrat was really, really wedged in tight. And her hind quarters had begun to swell. Oh dear! I thought. What are we going to do?
Back into the garage. This time Michael found a large pronged garden hoe. He carefully placed the prongs under the upper part of the wire square she was stuck in, hoping to pull upward to bend it slightly enough to release her. This was a strong fence. He pulled, I pulled, she wriggled, to no avail.
“Do you have any thick gloves?” I asked Michael. He had begun to shiver a bit and our muskrat was looking feeble, closing her eyes. Back into the garage. We looked for gardening gloves and couldn’t find any. So I went into the house and found a pair of my winter leather gloves, and a large pair of Thinsulate mittens. I put them both on my hands and tromped back out into the rain. I went into the neighbor’s yard and bent down to push, but she was so swollen it didn’t work.
Next I came back into our yard and decided to gently pull her out. But that meant dealing with her little yellow teeth. So I crooned to her as I carefully placed the leg of the vinyl yellow gardening boot over her head to keep her from seeing me. She did not appreciate having a yellow gardening boot put on her face. Do you want to know how I knew this? Let’s just say I could tell. She did settle down and once she did, I grasped her front sides and tried to pull her out. I believe she moved forward an inch or two, but she made the most pitiful little muskrat whimpers and I stopped. I tried again, but couldn’t move her any further. She was truly stuck fast.
Michael and I were praying out loud now. “Lord, please help us get her out!” Michael hadn’t really wanted to kill her to be unkind — he was wanting to put her out of her misery. As we worked together to see what we could do for this helpless creature, he kept praying and we kept brainstorming.
“Do you have wire cutters?” I asked. He did. Back into the garage, and he came out and handed me this heavy, long-handled, mammoth tool that I knew I would be unable to use. I tried. I went back into the neighbor’s yard, and from behind I placed the wire cutters on one of the wires that made up the little square she was caught in. I exerted all my strength and could not snap that wire. I was starting to feel very sad. We kept praying.
I came back into our yard and was almost on the verge of tears. It was getting dark and we were expecting company for dinner. I had Chicken Parmesan to finish and Panzanella to toss. I thought I’d try the wire cutters one more time.
As the muskrat sat there looking exhausted, I bent down and placed the cutters on a wire right above her back. “Lord, give me strength!” I said as I squinched my eyes shut and brought those handles together with all my might, and snap! the wire was severed. Wow! Now we brought out the pronged garden hoe again, placed it under the newly cut wire and pulled upward, hoping to bend it enough to enlarge the hole a bit. No good.
I then took the wire cutters and placed them on the other connecting wire above the muskrat’s back. Once again, click! — that wonderful sound, and I had cut right through. Michael gently placed the prongs of the garden hoe under the area where these upper wires of the square had been cut, and pulled upwards, grunting with the effort. The hole was getting bigger! He pulled again — now it was a little larger. I went back to the neighbor’s yard, my slippers completely muddy by now, and used my double-gloved hands to push her rump through the hole.
It worked! She was free. Free to spread rabies, leptospirosis, to make tunneled messes of people’s yards, free to trundle back to Birdinal Creek at the back of our property and do whatever it is muskrats do.
She didn’t run at first. She sat still for a minute, breathing heavily, and we wondered if she had been permanently injured from her ordeal. But soon she started waddling away, toward our back yard and down toward the creek.
“Thank you Lord,” I said with relief, and as we put away our wire cutters, pronged garden hoe and Sara’s shiny yellow boot, we were both smiling and feeling so happy. The dinner got finished and we had an enjoyable evening of nice visiting with our old friends Bob and Linda.
I am a little worried that I’ll have to explain to the neighbor why his fence was cut, but I’ll deal with that when I must.
And to end this little adventure, I leave you with the song that came to mind as Michael and I were working hard to free this little muskrat from her fence trap. I remembered the words from The Captain and Tennille’s song as the rain was soaking us, and I said to myself if this story has a good ending, I’ll find the song online so I can share it on my blog.
Those of you born in the seventies or later may not remember this song, but I have vivid memories of it.
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I’ve been asking God to increase my capacity to love. I want to love Him above all, and I want to love people better than I do. I know He answers prayers like that.
And maybe while He’s at it, He’s giving me some muskrat love too.
Edition 45-Wednesday’s Word
September 15, 2010 | My Jottings
If you want to get warm you move near the fire. If you want joy, peace, eternal life, you must get close to what has them.
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Hopefully drawing closer,
I’m sure glad I don’t have a fish on my car
September 13, 2010 | My Jottings
Well, well, well.
Isn’t it interesting that after a wonderful four days away with friends and family, at a beautiful and peaceful resort on a clear and sandy lake, that something would happen to remind me that human nature is still corrupt and sinful, and in dire need of rescue. To clarify, that would be my human nature I’m talking about today.
I will write later (and post photos) about our fantastic getaway into Paul Bunyan country, and the lavish gift it was to me. I had my family around me, there was laughter and games and kayaking, there were children’s giggles and s’mores and a night sky so clear we could see the milkiness of the Milky Way. There was sleeping in until 7:30 a.m. There was good food and memorable sharing, and I was happy and grateful.
Then today when we returned to real life, which is also a very blessed and wonderful real life, I was glad I didn’t have a fish on my car.
You know the little chrome-like emblems that some Christians put on their cars to quietly say to those who would understand: “I believe. I am a follower of Jesus.”
Like this one. I used to have one of these on our vehicle. I am not ashamed of identifying myself as one who has given my life to Jesus Christ. But I am chagrined at how I sometimes represent Him. Oh, to be that serene, optimistic, loving woman of fervent, effective prayer and unwavering faith! Ha.
Yes, today I am saying ha. It’s not a sarcastic ha. It’s a don’t-forget-what-can-happen-when-the-dragon-of-selfishness-rears-her-ugly-head kind of ha.
After we returned from our fall vacation, Michael and I had to pick up prescriptions for several folks, replenish our groceries, and pick our dogs up from the dog hotel. I sat in the car while he went into the drug store to get the meds. “Be sure to get all four — Smith, Jones, McGillicutty and Johnson,” I reminded him as he walked into the busy place we frequent at least once a week.
As if he didn’t know the names. Of course he knows the names. I knew there was really no need to tell him the four last names of the people we were picking up prescriptions for, but since Parkinson’s hasn’t been very kind to Michael, sometimes reminders or reiteration is helpful to him. I sat waiting for him and people-watched. I had the windows down in the car and said a thank you for the invigorating fall weather we’re having — a brilliant blue sky, crisp air, light breezes, golden sunshine. And we are blessed enough (although I have no idea why) to be able to take a little trip with our family and friends!
After a much longer wait than would usually be expected, I saw Michael come out of the building and walk toward the car. With only one bag in his hand. A bag not large enough for four people’s prescriptions. When he got in the car I asked him where the other three bags were and he wasn’t really able to tell me. Parkinson’s sometimes causes speech difficulties. He did answer me, but I wasn’t able to glean from him why he only had McGillicutty’s meds and he didn’t get anything for Smith, Jones and Johnson. I knew the meds were ready; we had gotten confirming e-mails and recorded telephone messages from the pharmacy. I looked through the bag and again asked him why he didn’t get Smith’s, Jones’s and Johnson’s prescriptions when he knew we needed them all, and minutes before I had reminded him that we needed them all. He said something about the meds not being ready and that the gal behind the counter was new.
By this time I was getting frustrated. We needed meds for Smith, Jones, McGillicutty and Johnson and all we had was McGillicutty’s. So I sighed loudly to make sure Michael knew I was tired and so put out. I knew what had probably happened — he hadn’t been able to make himself understood to the clerk. I asked if he thought that’s what happened and he wasn’t sure. Then I said a couple of things that I wish I had not said. And I said them loudly enough so that the older man sitting in the car next to ours with his window open, could certainly hear. Then I got out of the car, walked quickly into the drug store, obtained the prescriptions for Smith, Jones and Johnson with no trouble at all, and returned to the car. The man in the car next to us was still sitting there. He probably watched me go into the drug store and come out still miffed, and felt sorry for Michael.
As we drove away, both of us not saying much, I was glad I didn’t have a fish on my car. Not because I’m ashamed of letting others know I’m a Christian. No! Never!
But because I’m ashamed that when people all around me need a clearer picture of Jesus, sometimes all they get is me.
If you only read one thing today…
September 10, 2010 | My Jottings
Michael and I have sponsored some children through Compassion International for a long time now. We have often wondered if we would ever be able to take one of the Compassion sponsored trips to Uganda or Nicaragua or India to meet the children we help….or I should say Michael has wondered if we would ever travel to any of those countries. I haven’t been as anxious to go as he is, but I believe in the mission and the integrity of the organization and am open to God changing my mind about this someday.
We do so very little to help — we send less money per month to each child than it would take to have pizzas delivered to our door. Yet the letters we’ve received from our children and their families have always made us cry.
One year with the birthday money we sent to beautiful Najemba Violet in Uganda, her mother was able to buy a goat. The goat enabled them to sell a little milk, make some cheese, and that small difference helped Najemba go to school for a longer period of time, something she had wanted very much.
With the small amount of birthday money we sent to lovely Sanjana Ajitha in India, her family was able to put a new corrugated metal roof on their house, which is really a shack. They were so grateful and wrote back right away to tell us so. And they always ask us to pray that Sanjana’s daddy will return to the family someday.
The birthday money we sent to little Bayardo in Nicaragua bought a new (used) bed for him, and his mother sent us a photograph of her boy sitting on his new bed with a shy smile on his face.
I don’t share this because I’m so proud we send a small amount of money to some children in need. I actually feel rather ashamed, because we live in such abundance and what little we send each month makes me feel a tad less guilty about the plenty we have. That’s a little sick, I guess, but I’m just being honest. I actually think we should be doing more than we are. But we all know about that infamous road paved with good intentions…
Anyway, I have often looked forward to reading what various bloggers write about regarding their trips to meet the child/ren they sponsor through Compassion International, and today I was moved to tears by one woman’s account of meeting the little girl she has helped support.
If you only read one more thing today, please read this blog post by Ann Voskamp……..
I hope you sit back and read all of it.
I am going to read it again.
Taking a poll on Edith
September 7, 2010 | My Jottings
Please cast your vote and help us decide on something of profound importance! First, here are the details that may aid you in voting:
Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows that Michael and I have two Miniature German Schnauzers named Edith and Mildred. If you are interested in knowing how different they are from one another, click here for the details.
Our oldest Schnauzer, Edith, is pretty intelligent and a bit quirky. She can see herself in the mirror, and always thinks it’s another dog. She barks, whines and paws, and tries to get to the other dog so they can play together. She’s perplexed why the other dog doesn’t come into the room to join her, but instead just mimics everything Edith does. She gets frustrated with this.
Edith can also see herself in our oven door, and thinks another dog that looks just like her lives in the oven. No matter how hard she tries to make contact with the other Schnauzer, it never works. Poor Edith.
Edith thinks the other dog in the mirror/oven door/fireplace glass/French door is named Piggeth, and even if we barely whisper that name…”Piiiigetttthhhh?”…Edith springs up from her nap or whatever else she was doing and frantically looks in any mirror or the oven door to see if Piggeth is there. Piggeth (Edith’s evil twin) is always there, but Piggeth is not always accessible. Poor Edith.
Edith also loves to watch television. She has an attention span longer than a fifth-grader. If a show is interesting to her, Edith will sit alertly and quietly in front of the television in our den, watching intently for sometimes thirty minutes, slightly tilting her head as the scenes change, and waiting. Waiting for any sign of animal life.
If any animal appears on the TV, Edith immediately jumps to the screen and puts her nose against it so she can inspect the animal at close range. Consequently, we have to clean dog snot off our television screen more often than the average American family.
If Edith spots an animal of the four-legged variety on TV, she jumps as high as her two little hind Schnauzer legs will propel her, up and down, up and down, like a canine pogo stick, while snorting and trying to get at the four-legged animal she sees on the screen.
Did I mention Edith has a deviated septum? She makes loud noises when she breathes and she snores when she sleeps. When she thinks Piggeth has come to the oven door to say hello, or especially when she sees four-legged animals on TV, Edith jumps and snorts and gets so worked up we have to pull her away from the screen and 1) hold her on our laps to prevent her from engaging in this behavior for close to an hour, or 2) change the channel so no animals can be seen, and only then Edith will reluctantly go to the couch and lay back down. But she keeps her beady little brown eyes on the screen, and those silver schnauzery eyebrows twitch as she waits for the next beast to appear.
Edith also loves The Traveling Wilburys. Have you ever heard of them? They were a short-lived group composed of George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty and Roy Orbison. Long ago Edith heard their song “End of the Line” and started reacting to it, running around the house and acting very excited. We showed her the online music video on the computer, and she did the same thing at the computer desk that she does to the TV: jumped up and down and tried to connect with what she saw. Only this time it wasn’t with an animal – it was with the Traveling Wilburys. To this day if she hears that song she runs for the office and tries to see George and Bob and Tom up close. Not until the song is over does Edith return to her normal self and go lay down.
I took a few photos of Edith in action last night.
Here’s where the poll comes in. Edith is eight years old and has been doing this her whole canine life. We think it’s amusing and are used to it. Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we get annoyed and scold, “Edith! Go lay down! It’s just a hyena!”
But whenever we’ve had company and they happen to see Edith’s antics, everyone always says, “You should send a video of Edith doing this to America’s Funniest Home Videos!” We always smile and agree, knowing we never will. For one thing we don’t have a video camera, for another thing it’s just our little Edith watching television. Or watching Piggeth in the oven door. Or in the mirror. Or in the fireplace. This is just normal Edith behavior to us.
What do you think? Is it goofy enough to ask a friend to take a few minutes of video of Edith trying to make contact with Piggeth or a giraffe or The Traveling Wilburys, and then send it off to AFV? Or is it just something we should endure enjoy by ourselves and let it go at that?
Please help us decide! You can say yes or no by leaving a comment to this post. We will take the advice of my wise blog readers and let you know what the results are.
Thank you, my friends!