Here’s Looking At You, Kid

Well, hello there, December! It’s absurd to say that a date snuck up on me, what with the availability of calendars and all, but the date snuck up on me. This morning the boys cracked open their Advent calendars, and here we are. December. I have so much to chat about!

First: Sexiest Man Not Alive. It turns out there is an entire tumblr account dedicated to this exact thing, called “My Daguerreotype Boyfriend” and I do not recommend visiting it unless you want to be sucked down the rabbit hole of captivating men of yesteryear. There are some very attractive not-alive men on that account but this fellow is my favourite:

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That is one sexy criminal. A bad boy in need of reform and possibly temperance? He went to jail for “stealing a fur necklet”. What does that mean. I do not know. Anyway, go look at http://mydaguerreotypeboyfriend.tumblr.com for more fun.

 

The only problem with looking at sexy dead guys is that I know with 100% certainty they would have smelled bad, and although I’m happily married and just looking at men that died a century or two ago, it still affects my feelings for them. I mean really, how often would these guys bathe? And their dental hygiene would be abhorrent.

Speaking of sexy dead guys, I’ve been re-reading an autobiography of Lauren Bacall. I read it years ago and I’m finding it different now, from my almost-forty vantage point. For one thing, they started their affair when she was 19 and he was 44, which requires no further comment, I think. But the big issue I’ve had from reading this book is that I’ve had Key Largo stuck in my head for a week now. I had mentioned this book to my friend, who said “Wasn’t there a song about Bogie and Bacall?” ONE WEEK LATER I’m still randomly singing lyrics: I was your hero. You were my LEADING LAAYYY-DEEEE. I’ve tried to replace the song with all sorts of music from Uptown Funk to Mele Kalikimaka, and it only works for a while. Moments later: We had it all, just like Bogie and Bacall. Starring in our own late late show. Sail away to Key Largo. And repeat.

The other day Might As Well Go For A Soda came on the radio, so I quickly switched the station, denouncing the song along with the much-loathed Patio Lanterns. My older son took umbrage at my labelling of those two songs as the “worst ever”, saying that the B52’s Rock Lobster was “way worse”. We got into quite an involved discussion about it; the upshot was that once Mark had that song stuck in his head for two days. MY BOY. “I couldn’t even concentrate on SCHOOL,” he said, “Because I just kept thinking of that song.” Well, I can certainly empathize. I once had “Getting Jiggy With It” stuck in my head while writing my microeconomics final in grad school, so I know pain. Who’s the kid in the back? Who else – Will Smith! Living that life some consider a myth.

And speaking of getting jiggy with it, this past Friday was our school’s Costume Carnival, and I was in charge of the bake sale.

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Pre-Festivities

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So much baking.

People had brought the most interesting and creative baked goods, and it made me think I need to up my cupcake game a little – perhaps I need to FINALLY buy a pastry bag and some of those decorating tips, or at least add some gummy candies to my frosting because DAMN those candy-covered cupcakes are hot items at a bake sale.

I was a little worried that I would end up with this entire table of baked goods, because Friday was minus 30 with blizzard conditions. I drove through white-out conditions to set up at 3:00, and I only live a few minutes away from the school. I was a bit nervous that we would host this carnival and the only people there would be me and the other two organizers, but happily we did have a reasonable turnout, mostly from people in the neighbourhood. A good time was had by all, and the DJ even played a few songs at the end to get the parents up and dancing: I Like To Move It (Move It), Cotton Eye Joe, and, of course, the YMCA. You could almost see his thought process: If I play songs from the parents’ clubbing years, they will get up and dance. Hilariously, the DJ was the same DJ that played at my husband’s office Christmas party the very next night. I wondered if it was kind of weird for him to go from playing Shake It Off and Let It Go to playing music appropriate for a largely middle-aged crowd, i.e., Billie Jean. We left before Cotton Eye Joe could make it’s appearance.

The Return of the Book Fair Lady – now a made-for-TV movie!

This weekend my husband and I went to a fundraiser for a great charity that supports mothers and children in crisis situations; there was a silent auction, a raffle, and alcohol, which is the best kind of fundraiser, in my opinion. I made off with a great Matt and Nat bag, and my husband got some Snap-on tools, which are evidently a superior brand of tools. Whenever I say the word “tools” I think of Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. My dad has an awesome set of tools. Anyone else?

The fundraiser also featured a colouring contest. For adults. Have you ever been around a bunch of alcohol-fueled adults attempting to win a colouring contest? I highly recommend it for entertainment purposes. The judge was also the MC, and everyone kept trying to figure out how to tip the scales of colouring judgement in their favour. The judge – quite randomly – announced that he was homosexual, and the first winning picture featured a number of rainbows. He was also, apparently, a Dallas Cowboys fan, and a fellow at our table won another round of colouring by drawing the Cowboys logo all over his picture. Sadly, I lack any talent in the crayon department, so I didn’t win any of the enormous gift baskets.

Speaking of enormous things (that’s what she said), I went to Costco on Friday. On Friday! What was I thinking? I employed my friend Alice’s rule of Costco Karma, which is instead of fuming about the idiots who leave their giant carts helter-skelter in the parking lot, rather than walk ten steps to return them to the cart corral, one needs to take one of those carts and return it after shopping. Returning a cart, Alice says, is a positive step to cleaning up the horror that is the Costco parking lot, and will ensure good karma on your shopping trip. It was only somewhat true, since they didn’t have the premade gingerbread houses I like to use at Christmastime to reduce tears of frustration, but I guess that isn’t really the fault of the Costco Karma rule. I did manage to obtain a roll of wrapping paper that weighs more than my yoga mat – and I have a Manduka – so that’s something, I think. Every few years I buy wrapping paper at Costco because it’s such good quality, forgetting that I have several rolls that are not quite finished. The result is an immense amount of wrapping paper. This is Stage Four in the Stages of Costco, I believe. My coffin could be wrapped in the paper I amass through my lifetime, hopefully not any time soon.

The biggest story of the week, though, is that it is Book Fair week! The Return of the Book Fair Lady – this will be the title of the (made-for-TV) movie of my life. What? There are worse made-for-TV movies. In any case, it appears that my week will be taken up by fielding questions about the cupcake shaped erasers – no, you can’t eat them – and the price of posters – five dollars for each poster, yes, that one is also five dollars, they are all five dollars. I sound like I’m complaining but I’m not, really. I do like the general festive feeling of the Book Fair, and I like the glamourous fame that being the Book Fair Lady brings. For example, I am the one who wields the “reorder” forms. I am the one who can tell you where the newest Diary of a Wimpy Kid resides. It’s all glamour, all the time.

There are a few inches of snow on the ground, and the weather has turned from mild to agonizingly cold overnight. Some people say that November is the dreariest month, but to be honest, I kind of love it. It’s got a cozy, pre-festive feeling to it. The sudden onset of winter means that I can put away my ankle booties and just concentrate on the five-pound Sorels and snow boots. Like a toddler overwhelmed by the sight of cereal, toast, AND a sippy cup on his tray, the choice of what to wear is taken out of my hands. I will wear my coat that requires its own postal code; no messing around with the lighter options. There’s something comforting about this; I’m certainly not a winter girl, and I don’t like the cold, but for now it’s all about being grateful for a warm house, warm food, and gigantic layers of warm clothing.

Achievement Unlocked

Over the last few weeks I’ve been doing a nice mix of online shopping and blast-through-the-mall shopping, and I can proudly announce that I am all done Christmas shopping, including teacher’s gifts and stocking stuffers. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED. I think this is a new record for me, but I don’t think I’ll be breaking this record any time soon. November 4th is probably as early as I’m going to get.

One reason I wanted to get my shopping out of the way is that next week is the Scholastic Book Fair, and I am running it for the sixth year in a row, making this my thirteenth book fair. Thirteenth! I wonder if it’s unlucky. Maybe they’ll forget to send us the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid, or extra supplies of cake pop erasers. That would be unlucky indeed. In any case, next week is spoken for, and so this morning I had a little bit of time so I hit the mall with a vengeance. I only got distracted once, by the Sorel boot display at Town Shoes. If there had been a saleslady around to answer my question as to the cold-rating of some very cute and non-clunky boots, I would have been poorer in money but richer in boots. Alas, it was not to be.

My usual reason for getting my shopping done in November is that Christmas shopping in December is completely depressing and soul-destroying. It all starts with the parking. The mall parking lot is always full, with cars creeping behind pedestrians to see where they are parked and parking-lot-rage-infused people who wait with their signal lights flickering only to have someone else sneak in to the desired spot. There is always a lot of honking, and people wandering in front of cars, and a general feeling of “this must be what hell is like”. Actually inside the mall is terrible too: it’s freezing outside and so you have your winter coat and boots on, but the thermostat is set to “Hades” inside. There are insane lineups, crying children, and extraordinarily tense adults. It’s like all the bad parts of Disneyland without the fun of Dole Whip and the Jungle Cruise. It’s all the exhausted princess-gowned and mouse-eared children, sobbing in limp, over-stimulated piles, being dragged along by the arm by parents with grim, let’s-just-get-through-this expressions, and hour-long lineups and relentless heat, and tinny music on repeat, without the joy of churros and corny jokes about rhinoceroses.

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Disneyland Joy!

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Jungle Cruise Joy!

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Pluto Joy!

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Goddammit, why don’t they sell booze at Disneyland?

That’s what Christmas shopping in December makes me feel like.

Speaking of which, I was looking for blind bags for the kids’ stockings. Do you know what blind bags are? They are the plastic bags that have a toy – like Lego – inside and it’s a surprise as to what it is. Jake had wanted some for his birthday but I was unable to find them at Toys R Us, so I searched for some online. Online shopping – greatest invention ever, except for when looking for blind bags on the internet. For lo, what did my search results yield? A “Deluxe Grade Deer Carcass Bag”, complete with illustrated picture of a deer with x’s for eyes. “Holds one deer carcass OR one elk quarter!” the description added cheerily, and while I’m sure these are very useful items for people who hunt, it was not the kind of blind bag I was looking for. These are not the blind bags you are looking for. So, yesterday when I hit the mall I looked again for these apparently elusive items and found quite a number of them, so I’m guessing blind bags are a popular stocking stuffer, but less popular for those September babies. I also found this:

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Bow chicka wow wow.

I did not buy it, but I did stare at it admiringly for a few minutes. Is it weird to have a crush on an inanimate object?

Last night the boys had a hip-hop performance at the school. Part of the funds raised by the Parent Association go towards artists-in-residency, and this year the school hired a fellow to teach hip-hop. The first time I saw this dance teacher, when I was doing some volunteer work at the school, I did a double-take. I wondered if he was a parent, and if so, for what class?

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In addition to being an enthusiastic and engaging dance teacher, this guy has fashion sense.

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Seriously, it takes a certain something-something to really pull this off!

Then I remembered about the residency and asked the boys their thoughts about this dance teacher. They were very enthusiastic, which isn’t something I normally say about their reactions to dance. The performance was unbelievably great, and involved a very cleaned-up version of Thrift Shop. (This smells like my…soccer cleats. What? It was 99 cents!) If you’re a Parent Association person in the area, and are looking for artists-in-residency options, have I got a recommendation for you! It’s not every day I get to see my kids throw down the moves like stars. It’s also not every day I get to see acid-washed jean overalls paired with a leopard-print shirt, and it WORKS. For some, it works.

Maintaining cardiovascular health, one asana at a time.

Apparently all one has to do is write about the possible return of Hammerpants in order to witness for oneself the return of Hammerpants. This morning as I was leaving the yoga studio, a young man popped in, holding a skateboard, and wearing wildly-patterned Hammerpants. There you have it, people, proof that truly, everything old is new again. And also that we never learn from our mistakes. For the record, he seemed like a very nice young man, Hammerpants notwithstanding. Don’t judge a book by its cover, etcetera.

But who am I to talk fashion! Look what I bought:

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So pink!

To you, they might just be bright pink running shoes, but to me, they are a symbol of a new era. I last bought running shoes approximately fifteen years ago, and my last cardiovascular workout was approximately ten years ago. I used to be quite devoted to aerobics and spin classes – remember step aerobics? – but then when I was pregnant with Mark I was too worried to continue with them. We bought an elliptical trainer for the basement, and I did use it post-partum to help lose some weight. I got pregnant with Jake when Mark wasn’t quite nine months old, and the workouts stopped soon after. Once Jake was born and I had a colicky baby and a one year old, exercise was pretty much the last thing on my mind. I was lucky to remember to eat anything at all, and pushing a double stroller on snowy sidewalks was enough of a workout, thank you very much.

Fast-forward a couple of years, and I started practicing yoga. Eventually I did a closet purge and my running shoes that had been gathering dust for years went into the donation bin. My husband, however, has been telling me for the past SEVERAL YEARS that he is concerned I do not get enough cardiovascular workouts. The conversations go like this:

Mr: I’m worried you don’t get enough cardio.

Me: I exercise a lot! I do yoga every day!

Mr: That’s not cardio.

*Digression: this isn’t really true, as anyone who has practiced Ashtanga yoga knows. One word: vinyasa. Also, one cannot go into kapotasana without getting the old heart thumping, am I right, fellow Ashtangis? And yet, we’ve had this same exact conversation so many times that I have given up trying to convince my husband that yoga is good for the heart and cardiovascular system.*

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It’s impossible to do this without getting all sweaty and increasing your heart rate: therefore, it is a cardiovascular workout. Will someone please convince my husband?

 

Me: Well, I walk the dog every day. For at least half an hour. That is cardio.

Mr: Maybe it’s cardio if you’re seventy. I don’t think that’s enough for you. You wear heels when you walk! That’s not a workout.

Me: I only wear one inch heels.

Lather, rinse, repeat this same exact conversation for at least the past five years. Maybe more, I’ve blocked it out. Anyway, last week I realized that my husband worries about me and my heart health, and really, would it be so bad to squeeze one or two turns on the elliptical trainer per week? It certainly wouldn’t hurt. In any case, I needed shoes, and so I bought the above-shown hot pink runners. Then, I got so excited about my pretty new shoes that I briefly entertained the notion of going to spin classes. Those were fun, way back in the late nineties/ early 2000’s. Loud music, group energy – sounds great to me!

I started looking into nearby classes and became immediately discouraged for the following reasons: a) all the classes seem to require special cycling shoes, so I wouldn’t get to wear my pretty pink shoes anyway, b) special cycle shoes are available for rental but wearing shoes that have had someone else’s sweaty feet in them seems gross to me – there’s a reason I don’t like bowling, c) a 45-minute class would take ninety minutes once I factor in travel and sign-in time, d) we have a home gym in our basement for that exact reason – extreme convenience. What is more convenient than one’s own basement?

I did realize something strange when I was looking at one website. It was for a Spin and Hot Yoga Studio, and putting aside my general distaste for hot yoga, I read the “New Student Etiquette” for both spin and yoga classes. It was fairly straightforward – no heavy perfumes, no smelling of alcohol or cigarettes, which is completely reasonable given the sweaty gross atmosphere of a hot yoga class. I would imagine being next to someone stinking of White Diamonds or smoke would be pretty gross in a hot-as-hell room. Then I came across the following rule:

Practicing in your underwear will not be permitted.

I thought about this for a long time. Is this a problem in hot yoga classes? Is this an actual issue that needs to be addressed? I have been practicing yoga at my beloved studio for seven and a half years, and not once have I seen a person practicing in their underwear. Not once. I had visions of very sweaty people in giant granny panties, or maybe a thong. Does this happen? I don’t know. Perhaps they mean sports-bra-like tops? A lot of sweet young things wear those with cute little booty shorts, but I wouldn’t classify that as underwear. It’s a mystery.

Anyway, I concluded that for my little workouts I would be content with our home gym, and Saturday I did actually exercise. I did some interval training that I remembered from lo, so many years ago, and it felt pretty good. I blasted some great 80s music and sang along breathlessly, which made Mark quit his Skylanders game and creep upstairs quietly. Call me! On the line, call me any, any time. Call me!

I told my husband the RPM’s I maintained and the levels I kept with, and he was actually impressed, which just goes to show that Ashtanga yoga and dog walking are actually great at keeping one in cardiovascular shape. I guess I’ll still do a workout once or twice a week, though, because I can’t let such cute shoes go to waste!

We Are Groot

So one week ago today we were in the thick of a snow-related apocalypse, the power off and trees down, streets treacherous and temperatures dipping below freezing. Today it’s sunny and 25 degrees Celsius, which really indicates how average temperatures are calculated in this city.

On a related note, this weekend we cleaned up the tree carnage in our front yard, and for those of you who have small children who need to be corralled and distracted and given “jobs” like “put this little stick in the bin, that’s right, just like that, good boy! Okay, now another stick.” every time you need to do yard work, take heart. My kids are actually helpful now, and the cleanup was faster by about 200%, if it was just my husband and I doing it. The giant branches needed to be taken to the back alley, where ostensibly at some point they will be picked up and chipped by the city, and the boys were eager to see who could drag the larger branch and/or the most branches through the back yard to the alley. This competition was punctuated by constant loud declarations of “I AM GROOT” each and very time they picked up a branch. Each and every time. But I am not complaining, because their competition to get all the heavy branches to showcase their immense strength meant that I could gather all the light ones, and I’m all about not lifting heavy things.

Jake’s birthday was on Monday, and so we did a bunch of celebrating this weekend. Mark gave him some Lego and a keychain of the Lego Movie good cop/ bad cop which had the added benefit of a small LED light. Jake thanked his brother profusely for such a thoughtful gift.

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My husband and I gave Jake a camera, and he immediately tested it out by photographing things around the house, then making a video, which seemed to star the dog scratching his ear and then lying down. My friend Lyn suggested that with the right music, this could be an avant-garde film of sorts – crescendoing music with the PING of an xylophone. Maybe I have an artiste on my hands.

It’s been a bit of a busy week; tonight is the school’s Welcome Back Picnic, which was rescheduled from last week due to snow, followed by the first School Council/ Parent Association meeting of the year. Did I mention I’m chairing again? I am. I am chairing again. I probably need offer no further comment.

Yesterday I had some running around to do; namely a post office visit that turned epic when it became apparent that the woman helping me was brand new to the job. It took a long time, while I breathed and smiled and thought of my to-do list with increasing agitation. It’s like I have two little angels on my shoulders, one that says I am doing a civic duty by being patient so this woman can practice her skills on me, and the other that says OMFG how long have I BEEN here? In any case, it got sorted with me still smiling politely, and after that I stopped by the adjacent Walmart to pick up a few items that say a lot about me: lipgloss, cocoa butter hand cream, and wax strips.

And Walmart, usually so soul-destroying and spirit-breaking, Walmart served to lift me up where I belonged, where the eagles cry on a mountain high. Because as I entered the usually cringe-worthy store, I witnessed the cutest thing: the elderly greeter hardcore flirting with a cute elderly lady who was returning a cart from somewhere in the mall. I actually slowed my pace and pretended to look at the display of bathroom tissue and Oreos, just so I could eavesdrop. After a few minutes I went on my way, but they were still chatting. Maybe they were going to meet for a coffee and donut at the Tim Horton’s after his shift? I certainly hope so.

Snow-pocalypse

It has been such a strange week. It started out like this:

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Which morphed into this:

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We put on a happy face, after all, the kids were all building snow forts and having a blast. The snow was going to melt, so no big deal, right?

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Yesterday morning I drove to yoga at my usual early time. The snow was falling heavily and the streets were slushy. I felt a bit anxious about it, so I had an abbreviated practice and headed home a bit early, thinking I could get my husband to have a head start and beat the traffic. Soon, I realized that his car’s summer tires would never do for the conditions, so when I got home at 6:45 I told him that he should probably consider taking the train to work. He gave me the following information: giant branches were breaking off our Manitoba maple in the front yard, and there was a stabbing at the train station, so it was closed for investigation.

I turned on the news just in time to see that the stabbing investigation was over and the station was now open for the morning commute, and just as I was relaying that happy piece of news, the power went off. And stayed off. We had no power, no phone, and the route to school was full of giant trees, all of which were losing branches. My cell phone was only partially charged, and so I trudged off early with the boys, still dressed in my sweaty yoga clothes, with no makeup and dirty hair, hoping the power was on at the school so I could charge my phone, and avoiding any and all large trees on the way. We made it without being hit by falling branches, and the teachers immediately took pity on me, plugging in my phone, making me coffee, and offering to toast me a bagel. I was reminded how lucky I am to live in a neighbourhood where the kids can walk to school, and to be part of a school community that is truly kind.

I tried to be helpful in the school office for a while, and then decided I would walk back home and…read a book? I wasn’t sure what to do, exactly, when my phone rang. My two dear friends asked me to meet them at the neighbourhood Starbucks. Why not? My to-do list wasn’t exactly to-do-able. As I left the school I saw a tree fall down in the middle of the busy road, blocking traffic, and several large branches fall on the stopped cars up and down the boulevard. Once I got to Starbucks, my friends had bought me a giant vanilla soy latte, and informed me that I was NOT going home to my cold, dark house, but instead I was going to my friend’s, that had power and an extra computer in case I needed to do some work. She also insisted that the boys come to her place for a hot lunch. I was reminded how lucky I am to have friends who get me, who knew I would never ask.

After lunch my other dear friend drove me back to my house so I could let the dog out for a while. We pulled up to see devastation – giant branches littering the front yard, the sidewalk, and the walkway. My tree! My friend went to the back yard, picked up a hoe, and started knocking as much snow as she could off of the other trees and shrubs. We did this for a while and it really helped; the other front tree, the Mayday, suffered minimal damage. I was reminded how lucky I am to have friends who just pitch in and help.

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All in all it was pretty depressing, although by the time the kids and I came home after school, the power was back on. The power was back on! Never have I been so thrilled to be able to switch on a light. I was reminded how lucky I am to be in a cozy, warm house, with hot water and a fridge full of food.

After dinner, my neighbours came by with a chainsaw and bandsaw, and they helped move the branches onto the lawn and off the walkways. I was reminded how lucky I am to be in a neighbourhood with heart.

This morning the sun came out. Everything looks better in the morning, don’t you think?

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The thing is, there are so many great people in my life. I’m just surrounded by them. I have very little patience for people who are selfish, people who are unkind, people who thrive on making other people feel bad. We need to spend our time celebrating the good people, and to spend zero time thinking about the toxic ones. I’m so lucky to have all of you in my life, and you know who you are. xoxoxo

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Happy fall with the Manitoba maple, 2008.

IMG_1707 IMG_1711 IMG_1714 (2) Jakeleaves

Royal Baby Watch Outweighs Snow In September

It isn’t every morning you wake up to find out that you are on Royal Baby Watch! I love happy news, and a new baby – especially a sibling for the Prince of Cuteness – is wonderfully happy. The only thing that makes me a little misty is that last time I was on Royal Baby Watch, I was on Royal Baby Watch with my grandma. Grandma and I would have very involved, serious chats about pregnancy, maternity clothing, boys versus girls and how one carries them, and, after the birth, the question of the Royal Baby Name. I was strongly on Team George but Grandma thought Charles might be the name, and when the name was revealed I practically broke my leg running to the phone to call her. “GUESS WHAT GRANDMA IT’S GEORGE IT’S GEORGE IT’S GEORGE.”

It also isn’t every morning that you wake up to see this:

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It begins…

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Does white go with purple?

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The plants are not happy.

 

September 8 is a wee bit early for snow, even for Calgary, so the entire city is ensconced in a mixture of gloom and also that special kind of martyrdom that comes with snow in September. Sure, things might be bad where you are, but WE HAVE SNOW ON THE GROUND ON SEPTEMBER 8. Well, at least it gives us something to talk about. Remember when you were a bratty teenager and you couldn’t imagine why people would spend their precious time talking about something as pedestrian as the weather? It’s so boring, GOD, MOTHER, why do people always TALK ABOUT THE WEATHER. Complete with eye-rolling, I did pose this question to my long-suffering mother, once upon a time, who gently informed me that people discuss such topics because they affect us all, and sometimes talking about dull and trivial things – without eye-rolling – shows that you can behave in a socially-acceptable manner. Not every conversation has to be ground-breaking and/or profound.

Yesterday I took Barkley for what should have been a fifteen minute walk, which turned into a forty-five minute one due to three separate non-ground-breaking-nor-profound conversations with my neighbours. In addition to the weather we also talked about different dog breeds, Barkley’s excellent behaviour around children and his ability to be a guard dog, the fleeting nature of time, the public parking situation on our street, tomato plants, and how Barkley and the neighbour’s cats really are friends, deep down inside. This latter topic was met with some opposition by me, and possibly by Barkley, who was rearing up on his hind legs and lunging at said cat, who was temptingly dangled over him in my neighbour’s arms. I need offer no further comment, I think, except that possibly some people spend too much time thinking that Barkley is actually a stuffed animal, rather than a bloodthirsty hound in a fluffy and cute disguise.

On that topic, the walk was also a bit longer than necessary because I had to scold and coax poor Barkley, who found a) a dead bird on our front sidewalk, who had possibly knocked himself dead on the front window and who looked, to Barkley, like the most appetizing of snacks, and b) a dead squirrel who appeared to be sleeping peacefully on the sidewalk, but was, in fact, dead. Barkley seemed to think that this squirrel would be a more substantial but still very appetizing snack, and since I was so mean about the bird, he thought he should have it. It took some leash-pulling and coaxing to make our way around it. The cause of death was not obvious, but it isn’t every day you see a non-squashed squirrel just lying in the middle of the sidewalk. See what happens when you leave the nut tree, Scaredy Squirrel? BAD THINGS. Snow in September!