Bad Day for the Yarn Bandit

Bunny has previously reported on Kirby's en fuego yeast infection and the torture we have had to inflict on him in order to treat it. Every application of medicine between his furry toes was followed by extra love and the really good wheat-free no-itch apple cookies. Yarn Bandit figured this out very quickly and started to recognize the tube of ointment even before Kirby did. Did Kirby's squirming and squealing bother the Yarn Bandit? No, because if Kirby gets a treat, then Tiki also gets a treat. He sees it as an unalienable right and, well, the best way to keep him out of our hair while we tend to Mr. Itchy Feets is to toss cookie bits across the room so Yarn Bandit has to go get them, thereby creating the critical distance and personal space we need to carry on our terrible business with Kirbs. In fact, if you asked him, he'd probably tell you that he likes it when we torture Kirby because he always gets a treat.


Unfortunately for the Yarn Bandit, Kirby had his final yeast follow up appointment with Doctor Ginger and she declared him yeast-free, completely healed, and no longer in need of any torturous applications of medication between the toes. So no more guaranteed twice-daily really good wheat-free no-itch apple cookies as rewards. No torture for Kirby means a reduction in treats for Tiki.

Speaking of Kirby, now that his suture line has healed and his hair is growing back and his feet are no longer en feugo, he is very much back to his wonderful little self. We've been taking him to the vet for one reason or another about once a week for the last seven weeks or so and no one is in any particular hurry to start going again for radiation treatments. Since there is no urgent medical reason to be in a big hurry, we are going to take a vet break for a while (assuming The Boys let us by not getting into any new trouble) and start the fun cancer stuff again in a little while.

Dirtbunny is not a professional pastry chef

Oooooh my aching back. KP duty is done and I'm too tired to take a shower, so while my body unkinks itself, here's a bit of what Dirtbunny does on Christmas Eve.



Kirby is clean already, so no beagle bath today, thank God. Here he is enjoying himself (not) earlier in the week.





Yarn Bandit is in the Christmas spirit just fine. He's got his holiday toys all stacked up where they belong:

He's got his Big Santa and his Little Santa and his Hanukkah Harry. He is a rescue dog after all, and he stubbornly refuses to speak English, so we really don't know what his religious beliefs are. Clayton is of the tribe, so Yarn Bandit could be too for all we know.

We got him an elf suit that didn't fit too well, and he immediately took the hat off and tried to eat it, but here's your picture:

It's cute, but it also shows him rebelling against the exploitation of his cuteness, so I declare it a win/win. Kirby also has a holiday suit that neither fits him nor impresses him:

Wait. I was going to tell how I spent my Christmas Eve. OK. Well. I got up and knitted a repeat on the July Sock Club sock and started to worry about the buche de noel. Then I read the paper and worried some more. Then I sent The Man downstairs to put the kitchen towels and aprons in the dryer so I could make the buche. And then they came out of the dryer so I had some toast and some tomato juice and I commenced with the buche, which I both dread and look forward to every year. It's a big fucking deal and it feeds nicely into my martyr complex, but nothing compares and it gives me quite a sense of accomplishment. So I made the cake base and, because it's a sponge cake, I made the meringue.

And I folded the base and the meringue together and put it in the patented pan and made The Man leave the house so his elephantine stomping around--I mean, his manly and purposeful stride--would not collapse the goddamn thing. Then it came out of the oven and I removed it from the pan and dusted it with confectioner's sugar and rolled it up in waxed paper and a damp towel.

Then I put together a Union Square Casserole for tomorrow's breakfast. USQ, as it is known Chez Nous (don't ask me where I got the Q from) is an old Washington Post recipe and it combines some of The Man's favorite foods--sausage and cheese--and he is allowed to squirt ketchup all over it, which he is not supposed to do with certain of Dirtbunny's creations. Anyway, USQ is pretty much layers of bread, grated cheese, and an onion-sausage-mushroom mixture, soaked in a savory custard overnight, and then baked the next morning. It is an excellent do-ahead sort of thing.

So we got that in the oven. And then I made a sweetened Cointreau reduction. And then I was tired and cranky so I went on the web to see if I had any readers. And apparently I have a new boyfriend who talks futbol with me. Which is cool. So I played with my new friend for a while, and then I sliced up and baked some Candied Fruit Slices:

While I did that, The Man started making penuche icing under my supervision. He is starting to learn that cooking is a lot of standing around stirring stuff and following instructions. When the CFS were done and the penuche icing base was done, I set the penuche aside to cool and commenced with the buche filling/frosting.

About this time I start thinking that I want a drink, but I don't have one. I have to make an Italian meringue and I need my wits about me. What is an Italian meringue? It's an unsweetened regular meringue to which one carefully whips in a simple syrup boiled to the soft-ball stage. How do you know when your simple syrup has reached the soft ball stage? Well, the old-fashioned way is to put a few drops in water and pull them out and see if they make the requisite soft ball, but that always seemed to me like a good way to permanently remove my fingerprints, so I just use a thermometer to heat it to the correct temperature and I don't remember what that is because I have to look it up every goddamn time because I am not a professional pastry chef. Once the simple syrup is added to the meringue, you beat it until it has cooled off.

This takes a while, so I hope you like the sound of Mr. Kitchen Aid Mixer running on high speed. While that is going, you need to make two cups of whipped cream, which I can do by hand with my big whisk when I'm feeling green, but I'm already tired today so I use the little portable mixer for that. And meanwhile, I break the 3/4 lb of chocolate into chunks, brew a pot of espresso, and melt the chocolate with the espresso. You can break the chocolate into bits by hand, or you can chop it, but the fun way to do it is to leave it in its wrapper, stack the bars nicely, and whack them repeatedly with a rolling pin.

God, that's fun. I wish I had to melt chocolate every day.

Are you keeping track? You are triple-tasking at this point: monitoring the big mixer with the cooling-off Italian meringue, whipping cream in the little mixer, and making sure the chocolate melts smoothly without turning grainy or burning. Did you know that if you burn the chocolate, no amount of sugar will make burned chocolate taste okay? Go on, ask me how I know.

So my Italian meringue is cool and shiny and firm and my cream is whipped adequately and my chocolate is melted, but sort of grainy, because Dirtbunny is not a professional pastry chef.

Beat the chocolate into the meringue--oops, I mean Italian meringue-- and then fold the whipped cream into that, and then scoop about two-thirds of what you have into a clean bowl and put it in the fridge to use as frosting later.

It is time to fill the buche, so get it out and unroll it.

FUCK FUCK TRIPLE FUCKETY FUCK!

Too soggy. It broke. Dirtbunny, it appears, is not a professional pastry chef. Deep breath. [Later, as I write this, it occurs to me that I could have had a drink at this point, but that did not occur to me in the moment, so I faced it sober.]

I am pretty sure this has happened before and that it all comes together in the end if I'm careful, so I forge on ahead. I have eaten unfrosted birthday cake chunks from a bowl. I can do the same with a buche if I have to. Shit happens, especially to me.

So, Dirtbunny brushes the broken fucking cake with the sweetened Cointreau reduction. The Dirtbunny spreads the now even more soggy sweetened Cointreau reduction soaked broken fucking cake with the chocolate and cream enriched Italian meringue.

Then I carefully, carefully roll it up.

Then I carefully, carefully put it on the plate with the broken side down. And then I put the whole thing in the fridge on the theory that, if the filling gets cold and therefore firmer, it will help seal the cracks and hold the broken fucking cake together.

And then Bunny has a sandwich.

And then Bunny puts confectioner's sugar in the penuche icing base and frosts the spice cake. The frosting does not want to stick to the cake so by the end, Dirtbunny is throwing wads of frosting at the sides of the cake like wads of wet toilet paper hurled at the bathroom ceiling and patting it down with her hands. It is done. Dirtbunny smooths it down as much as she can, but it is yoogly. Dirtbunny is not a professional pastry chef and cares a lot more about how it tastes than the presentation, but this is a little much. Sigh. It can't be helped, so it goes in the fridge and we return to the buche.

Retrieved from the fridge, the buche has not collapsed, which tells me that the cold-filling-as-glue science experiment has worked sufficiently. Furthermore, the filling I set aside in the fridge to use as frosting is firm enough that I don't need to stiffen it up with cocoa. So we are ready to go. Carefully, carefully spread the frosting on in long strokes. Looking good, looking good. Hey! It's holding together! Excellent! Trowel on the rest of it and use the spatula to make bark-looking marks in it because a buche is a log after all.

There you go! Not bad for someone who isn't a professional pastry chef. And it all goes in the fridge until tomorrow when it will be EATEN. Arrrrr!

That, my friends is the face of deprivation and injustice. So sad. No chocolate taste-tests for beagles. He liked the cake batter, though. No chocolate in there.

One last thing: sauteed apples. I am not going to want to make these tomorrow morning, so I do them now while The Man starts cleaning up my mess. Granny Smith apples cooked in butter until they are soft but before they disintegrate into applesauce, then add some brown sugar, some cinnamon, and a generous glug-glug-glug of Calvados and cook that quickly until the sauce is kinda syrupy and then you're done. At last.

And so The Man and Dirtbunny put the last of the food into the fridge and we clean up the kitchen and he does the dishes, and I wash my hands really well and put some hand cream on and it's time to turn on the Christmas lights.

And when I'm done here, I am going to get myself clean and spend the rest of the evening on the sofa with a glass of spirits and some seasonally-appropriate music and some beagles and yarn. And I'll make oyster stew, but that's just heating stuff up on the stove. And then back to the sofa.

I leave you with a gift from the Old Man, who sent me this a while ago:

This photo, circa 1920, shows three generations of my family in the feed store my family had back then in the town in upstate New York where I was born, my parents were born, and my grandfather was born. The little gentleman in short pants is my grandfather, who has been gone for a while now. The handsome fellow with his feet up on the counter is my grandfather's father, who died before I was born. My grandfather grew up to resemble his father quite closely. The older fellow in the work coveralls on the left is my grandfather's grandfather, Garrison Gillespie, born in 1852, who came to the United States with my great-great grandmother Kate sometime in the late 19th century. We all come from somewhere. This is where I come from.

Merry Christmas.

Random Friday

1. Today we got a form letter from our mortgage-holder informing us that they are solvent and secure and everything is hunky-dory yessireebob. Which is an odd letter to get, if you ask me. Didn't Enron send out similar rosy notices to somebody right before it collapsed? We had no reason to think our mortgage holder was in trouble. Hmmmmm.
2. Kirby got his stitches out this week and saw the oncologist today. Happily, his form of cancer is only rarely fatal, although it can cause problems and it would be much better if he didn't have it. It's possible that the surgery did the trick and it won't come back, buts odds are that it will comeback eventually. So we will be doing radiation treatment after the holidays. But we can all breathe a little more freely now.
3. By the way, just because you went in to the vet for sore paws and the vet saw cancer unrelated to the sore paws doesn't mean that he sore paws will automatically go away. In fact, if the reason for the sore paws is an untreated yeast infection in between the pads, then the paws will probably get worse while you're off being distracted by cancer and amputations and whatnot. So now poor Kirby has a RAGING EN FUEGO yeast infection. The treatment is frequent cleaning between the pads with medicated wipes. It hurts. Kirby squirms and shrieks and gives me warning bites when I'm doing it. I feel like shit over this, which is only fair and just because if I weren't neglectful in the first place, I would have noticed the problem before it got to this point. He's suffering because of me, and my punishment is that the only way he gets better is if I torture him by cleaning his feet.
4. We bought a fake Christmas tree this year. It is still in its box, sitting there, taunting me. You're lazy and behind schedule! You're lazy and behind schedule!
5. Q: If Dirtbunny has a virus that won't go away, how many days will it take for The Man to catch it? A: 61 days
6. Q: Say three nice things about President Bush. A: one--I know you are trying to be all tough in public and pretend that you have no doubts, questions, or regrets about anything you did while in office, but I believe that in your heart of hearts, you know you have made mistakes. two--Thank you for closing the government on December 26. three--Sorry. I only got two.
7. Did you know that even if you give Yarn Bandit an extra evening potty break about half an hour before bedtime, you still have to give him his regular potty break immediately before bedtime or he will wee in the house during the night?
8. If Yarn Bandit is going to go in the house in the middle of the night, whether he goes #1 or #2, he invariably does it in the bathroom. This is not ideal, but at least we can toss the bathroom rug in the wash. Isn't there something interesting about that? It's as if he knows that this is the place where we go when we have to go in the middle of the night.
9. Big knittings-on happening here, but you will have to wait. Typing time takes away from knitting time.

Dirtbunny's Fifty Things You Maybe Didn't Know (or Want to Know) About Christmas Chez Nous

1. It's not Christmas without Candied Fruit Slices!
2. The Man and Dirtbunny always get stressed out and argue when putting up decorations. She is a bossy nitpicker who should just do it her own damn self if she's going to be that way, and he is incompetent, do it the same way we did it last year, how can you not remember?
3. Dirtbunny wants to buy The Boys lots of toys, but they don't care about toys, so she doesn't bother.
4. The Man always wants the same thing for Christmas: Books, CDs, and ties.
5. Dirtbunny does not go to Tysons Corner Center in December unless she is trying to trigger an anxiety attack severe enough to kill her, which she isn't trying to do, thanks for asking.
6. Dirtbunny is tired of taking her knives to be sharpened. (Hey! Free Shipping!)
7. On Christmas morning Chez Nous, we have homemade cocoa and a special breakfast casserole with sausage, cheese, and mushrooms. Some years, Bunny makes cinnamon rolls, too.
8. Dirtbunny is not very good at wrapping presents.
9. Yarn Harlot has a new book.
10. A few years ago, Bunny took a nap instead of making Christmas dinner. We had Christmas dinner on Boxing Day instead.
11. We have had one white Christmas since we moved into Chez Nous in 2000.
12. Kirby is afraid of the Christmas tree for the first few days.
13. Christmas presents are for opening Christmas Day, not Christmas Eve.
14. Dirtbunny loves Midnight Mass, except that it starts about 4 hours past her bedtime. The best Midnight Mass ever was the time Bunny and The Man and The Man's Mother and Bill went to Midnight Mass at the St. Thomas More Cathedral and when it was over and we came out, the sky was crystalline with stars and there was a full moon.
15. When it comes to Christmas music, the cheesier the better. This one is my favorite. When you listen, you can practically see the sweater-wearing backup singers in their groovy hairdos doing their little 60's variety show dance moves. Good times.
16. "The Little Drummer Boy" makes Dirtbunny cry, so we fast forward through that one.
17. Fruitcake does not suck unless you make it wrong. Even so, a little goes a long way.
18. The little pannetones they have for sale in the supermarkets are mostly packaging and not much cake, plus aren't very good any way. Save your money.
19. Knitters want yarn for Christmas, no mater how much yarn they already have. Dirtbunny very much wants to make this sweater for herself, in the largest size, in a nice pink, or icy blue, or bright red. Did you know Bunny always gets one extra ball of yarn because she is a loose knitter?
20. Did you know The pattern for the sweater that Dirtbunny wants actually contains a link to the U.K. source for the yarn to make the sweater?
21. Did you know that Dirtbunny's birthday is in January? Stuff that can't be shipped in time for Christmas makes a great birthday present.
22. What's for dinner on Christmas Eve? Oyster Stew.
23. When she unwraps a present, Dirtbunny wads up the wrapping paper and flings it wherever. It looks festive for a while and we can clean it up later. The Man likes to compulsively clean up the paper right away, because he's weird. This leads to arguments.
24. Dirtbunny has started to appreciate "It's a Wonderful Life" but she still hates fucking Zuzu and her fucking petals.
25. Did you know that if you go to a yarn store with a pattern for a sweater and say, "Dirtbunny wants enough yarn to make this sweater in this size plus one extra ball in pink or red or icy blue and the yarn should not be acrylic and should be softer than Cascade 220 and it should show off the cables nicely" the yarn store people will not only be thrilled to help you, but will tell stories for eons about that nice guy who came into the store to buy yarn for his wife and they will all wish they had someone to buy yarn for them?
26. Since you been away dear, no reindeer will play here, so HURRY HOME FOR CHRISTMAS, DON'T STOP UNTIL YOU GET HERE, YEAH! Can't you just see Steve and Eydie? Steve's newscaster hairdo and Eydie's bouffant?
27. Chez Nous, we like to start drinking as soon as the cocoa is gone, and we keep going all day.
28. There must be a fire in the fireplace on Christmas day, and it's best if it's a cloudy or rainy day so you can see the lights better.
29. Don't forget the stocking stuffers! Dirtbunny went to all the trouble to make beautiful Christmas stockings, so they should have stuff in them when she wakes up on Christmas morning.
30. Lighted plastic creche scenes on the front lawn are an abomination. Every time I see one, I'm tempted to stop the car, get out, and smash it with a baseball bat. I mean really. If you can think of anything that is more of an unintentionally ironic anti-Christmas statement than a life-sized Baby Jesus made of plastic with a light bulb up his ass, then I would like to know what it is so I can look at my crazy neighbors more charitably.
31. Ultimate Christmas dessert: homemade Buche de Noel
32. Tiki knows that there is chocolate in the advent calendar, but he can't get at it. As far as we know.
33. If you love The Man, you will make him airplane cookies in Air Superiority Blue and decorate them with patriotic sprinkles. But don't bother knitting him a cabled scarf in his favorite color. The Man has no need for a scarf.
34. Dirtbunny hangs onto slights and grudges for longer than is healthy.
35. Poor people need food, shelter, and warm clothing all year round, not just during the holidays, but they also need the small comforts that we take for granted, like hats and shampoo.
36. You DON'T NEED A TICKET, for Santa Claus's party.
37. There is lots of cool stuff at KnitPicks, like this, and this, and this, and they have gift cards so when I get around to those fair isle socks I've been thinking about, I can get the sock yarn I want. And they have Yarn Harlot's new book.
38. It kind of doesn't matter what's for dinner on Christmas Day, because Dirtbunny might be too tired to cook anyway. Sometimes we have a turkey, sometimes we get a ham, sometimes we have a fancy beef roast, and sometimes we roast a chicken. But we usually have potage les doo champonies. Even if she isn't too tired to cook, we might be too full of cookies and alcohol to enjoy dinner.
39. Candy canes are never as good as I think they are going to be.
40. Dirtbunny was going to say that anyone who goes shopping on the day after Thanksgiving or the day after Christmas deserves whatever happens to them, but then she remembered that people actually got stampeded to death by the horde this year. No one deserves that. Bunny worked retail. No way she is going shopping on those days. No fucking way.
41. Two words: Egg. Nog. It now comes in lowfat, and Silk makes a regular and a lowfat soymilk version that is quite tasty.
42. Dirtbunny very much would like her cold (it is now day 65) to be gone by Christmas, if not sooner.
43. We hate "Feliz Navidad." The song, not the expression. Sorry, but we do.
44. Dirtbunny likes to get her "shopping" done way early, and online if possible, because she hates crowds and wants to enjoy the holidays by spending them at home with loved ones, not in line with shoppers. The Man starts shopping as soon as it occurs to him that Christmas is, indeed, coming this year. We usually don't see very much of him from December 22-24, and when he comes home he yells "DON'T COME OUT HERE YET" and he's grumpy.
45. Bunny doesn't order yarn for herself in December any more, because when it arrives, The Man is likely to intercept it and wrap it up as if he bought it for her as a Christmas present.
46. One of our local channels shows "Ben Hur" with no commercials during the day on Christmas Eve. If you didn't know, "Ben Hur" is about 18 hours long and is full of homoerotic longings that one might not expect to see in a movie that's sort of about Jesus. Of course, I feel confident in saying that Jesus is gay-friendly, so I don't know why homoerotic themes would be particularly out of place in a Jesus movie. If you are going to watch and you don't have means to pause it, then take a bathroom break before it starts.
47. I wish that the "Kiss Saves Christmas" special that they "excerpt" in one of the Family Guy episodes was real. That's a show I'd like to see.
48. The best Christmas present little Dirtbunny ever got as a child was a plastic cement mixer. Her brothers got trucks and she wanted one too. You could put stuff in the drum and spin it around. Awesome!
49. The Old Folks have a photo of my nephews Peter and Henry from when they were still babies, and they are wearing striped pajamas on Christmas morning, green and white on one of them, and red and white on the other. Perhaps this isn't charitable of me, but I always thought they looked like inmates at the North Pole Federal Correctional Institute in those pajamas.
50. Bunny's favorite Christmas song (for fun) is the Andy Williams version of "Happy Holidays/The Holiday Season." Her favorite carol (for serious) is "O Holy Night."

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 60

Another sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, but no fever, why God why day Chez Nous. Yesterday, my boss informed me that he could hear me coughing two doors down with the doors closed and maybe I should go home. So I did, but not before stopping to get some new over-the-counter cold stuff. Everyone says Try Mucinex, so I did. And I also looked for candied cherries for my holiday baking, since I was there anyway, and The Man would probably not cotton to looking for the special holiday display at an unfamiliar store for obscure seasonal baking products. But all they had were green. So I got my Mucinex and went home and worked on a sock for my Daddy and fell asleep then woke up and watched Juventus until the DVR ate the last 20 minutes of the match and then I went to sleep again, only Kirby did not stay in his dog bed and decided to sleep on my neck all night.




But today I woke up with less system-clogging snot and fewer phlegm globs in my throat, so I drank some coffee and ate some Cheerios and put in a full day at the home office, where I spent most of the day making little corrections to a memo, then erasing the corrections, then putting them back in, then fretting about them, then saying what the hell no one cares anyway, then deciding I want it to be good so going back to fretting. Long story short, I didn't make a lot of changes, but it took me all day to do what I did.




It has been an interesting few days. The Old Folks brought me Thanksgiving at my house so I didn't have to leave and I didn't have to cook and I could devote all my energy to worrying about GK and his tumor removal surgery. Special Sweetheart slept for about a day and then, once the turkey came out of the oven, he woke up and he's been pretty much his ole self ever since. His boo-boo is a little itchy and he isn't supposed to lick it. If I catch him at it, I say "No lick" and he nearly always stops. If he really, really can't help himself, I show him the e-collar that he has to wear if he can't stop licking, and that puts an end to it. He is such a good good boy.


Here is his leg after the biopsy but before the mass was removed. The growth was about the size of an egg and reportedly looked like a little brain.





And here he is post-tumor removal, before he got his little bandage off.







As soon as the Old Folks left, my head filled up with snot. This is not good. I have a holiday to plan, after all, and I never really got over the last cold. The Man doesn't register that it's Christmastime until about December 23, so it's up to me. Only I'm sick (again) and on unofficial House Arrest until The Man deems me healthy enough to face the world. Not really, but he secretly suspects that I'm doing something to make myself sick just to add to his stress and fuck with him. If he catches me at any Christmas stuff that is more effort than pointing and clicking, I'm in big trouble.




So I'm doing stealth holiday planning. Step one is to decide on what decorations we are going to have, get what we need that we don't have already, and put them up without involving The Man. That sounds hard. Let's come back to that later.



Step two is food. What holiday baking will I be doing this year? That sounds hard too. I need a nap. Maybe Warden The Man isn't completely out to lunch.


OK--step three. Step three is, given that I know that certain Christmas treats are non-negotiable, obtain ingredients for making same. To render that idea in as few words as possible, find and purchase candied cherries. And that's where I started with this post.


Candied fruit slices are the one, the only, the single, non-negotiable Christmas item, and candied cherries are required. [Proof: The Man just came home, saw the stack of candied cherries, and said "Oooh! Candied Fruit Slices!"] Since they are not organic, not all-natural, and in fact are probably contaminated with some sort of radioactive isotope (how else do you explain that color?) they are not to be had at the Fresh Fields. I can send The Man to the Fresh Fields with a grocery list, and he can get groceries as competently as anyone. I cannot send The Man out with instructions to find candied cherries, because I never know from year to year where I will find them because apparently no one bakes any more. He is not going on a Northern Virginia grocery store slog for something obscure that he may never find. It's not a job for volunteers. It's a job for Dirtbunny.




So, a few days ago, when I went for some unauthorized yarn therapy, I checked at the grocery store in the same strip mall. No dice, although they did have plenty of cheap plastic cookie cutters.


Then yesterday, I found some green ones when I got the Mucinex. But no red. Green without red would not be right. I need both. This is Christmas goddamn it! (That probably made the Baby Jesus cry, but I think that grown-up Jesus would find it funny. Jesus is cool, not uptight. But I digress.)


Today, after work, I tried the Glutton Place. They have come through for me before. Not this time, although they had lots and lots of gourmet pancake mix. Are pancakes really so hard that people need a mix? I don't get it.



So then I tried one of the Safeways. After losing a parking space and nearly getting killed by an oblivious Mercury Sable-driving cell-phone yakking creep, I went in and found........many, many disposable foil baking pans, and mint sauce in a jar (yuck) but no candied cherries. And so I headed home.


On the way home, I thought, by the time I get there, it will be too dark to work on project Hermes because I don't have a decent lamp at my desk for close-up no-glasses work. So what the hell, I'll try the Other Safeway. They have a new section with supposedly organic house brand food (I'm dubious) but no candied cherries. I think about getting a Starbucks at the in-store kiosk, but I'm too depressed. I leave.



As I'm pulling out of the parking lot, I decide that this is ridiculous. Exactly what is wrong with all-green candied fruit slices anyway? What kind of citizen puts fifty miles on the car looking for red candied cherries when there are plenty of green ones to be had? Am I a liberal earth-loving person or a hypocrite? OK, I'm a hypocrite, I don't do nearly enough to be green, but am I OK with the Hunt for Red Candied Cherries? No. I am not. I will settle for green and I will embrace the imperfection of life. So I go across the street to the HT, where I bought the Mucinex and saw the green cherries. OK, trouble getting a space. Why is everyone at the store today? It's only December 3 for crying out loud! I get a space in the garage. I ride the elevator up to the store, and I stomp down the aisle towards the green cherries not exactly settled on the idea that green-only is acceptable. Maybe I'll get green while I can and keep looking for the red. No! Bad Bunny! What is wrong with you! Get the goddamned green cherries and move on to something important!




Sniff. I'll come around. It'll be OK. I can deal with green cherries. I'm a big girl and I have lots of yarn and beagles waiting for me at home.



Green cherries it is. And there they are.




But wait!




Could it be?



It IS!




THEY HAVE RED CHERRIES TODAY! YESTERDAY GREEN ONLY BUT TODAY RED AND GREEN! JESUS LOVES ME! THERE WILL BE A REAL CHRISTMAS AFTER ALL!






I got extra just in case.

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 57

I was doing soooooooooo much better earlier this week. The cough had not entirely gone away, but I felt almost normal.

No longer. Now we are back to full-on clogged sinuses, sore throat, raw nose, coughing all the time.

What did I do to deserve this?

Breaking Beagle News

Kirby's pathology results are back and he does not have the awful bone-invading cancer. He has the simpler bone-surrounding nerve sheath cancer. The tumor can be removed without taking his leg after all. He will be getting his surgery on Wednesday and will come home the same day.

Needless to say, the mood here at Chez Nous is much improved.


Isn't Kirby a good boy, getting the "right" kind of cancer instead of the "bad" kind of cancer?

Look Fast!

Too late. You missed it.

We had some snow flurries.

Bad News for Mister Kirby

My special sweetheart has a highly invasive malignant tumor and has to have his right rear leg amputated all the way to the top of the femur. We will probably have that done on Monday so he can be home from the hospital by Thanksgiving (not that he cares it's Thanksgiving, but the hospital won't be completely staffed that day). He is doped up on painkillers right now, his belly is full, and he just wants to sleep. I keep looking at his little leg and thinking about how it isn't going to be there next week.

I will deal with this, and he is going to adapt quickly and be just fine, but I'm pretty sad and raw right now. Fred went blind and he is still the same dog as he was before. Kirby will recover and the pain from the tumor will be gone and he will be back to himself and all will be for the best. But I think I have some crying to do before I settle into this.

Random Saturday

1. It is Day 42 of Dirtbunny's Cold. The plan for the weekend is to stay in, keep warm and dry, rest a lot, and see if we can knock this thing out once and for all. Because I have a little more energy, I am all do-y. You know, be not do , and I'm having a hard time being still and peaceful. Twitch, twitch. I suddenly have a zillion non-postponeable errands to run, not least of which is a trip to the yarn store to replace the Knitter's Almanac that Yarn Bandit ate because it has a pattern I want and a cast-on I want to try. And the Baby Surprise Jacket.



2. Dirtbunny has a follower. She doesn't appear to be related to me and I haven't met her as far as I know. She cooks, she's creative, she has an off-kilter sense of humor, and we have a lot in common, except that she works hard and I gave that up for Lent.



3. Kirby has an E Coli infection. Also, the cytology on his leg mass was inconclusive, so he's getting a mass-ectomy and biopsy on Wednesday. He is not walking very well at all and seems generally miserable. It's breaking our hearts.


4. My wedding anniversary was Wednesday. The Man got me a book of one-skein knitting projects. It was a simple thing, but really thoughtful. I'm getting startitis again.


5. It is at least possible that Kirby's E Coli is giving my stressed-out immune system too much to do and making it harder to recover from my six-week bout of bronchitis. The doc sez I have to kick him out of bed, which I should have done a while ago. This is not easy. Kirby cannot get up on the bed by himself, but he has his ways of being persuasive in the middle of the night. The trick is to comfort him, let him know that you understand what he wants (or else he just thinks he isn't trying hard enough), and then don't give in. We made it through last night (The Man slept on the sofa) and we'll keep working it until he accepts his dog bed again.


6. We'll probably upgrade the dog bed to make it more enticing. That means a trip to the Petsmart, and it's Saturday (when the lost dogs are there) so I'm not allowed to go until the lost dogs have gone home or we might end up with an extra beagle and The Man will just have to leave me for good.


7. I have noticed that my assessment of the douchebaggery quotient of European futbollers is directly related to the insolence of their hairstyle. Schweinsteiger and Podolski cut off the offensive highlights, Sergio Ramos and Fernando Torres cut their hair, and Ronaldinho got rid of the wide stretchy headband that made him look like a low-rent transsexual show girl saving up for the operation and now, suddenly, they all seem a little less like douchebags to me.


8. I need a haircut. I washed it last night and slept on it wet so, well, you know. Good thing the European futbollers aren't making half-cocked judgments about me based on my hair (although my highlights are WAY better than Schweinsteiger's were).


9. The new sliding glass door is great. Too bad that caulk has to smell so bad for so long.


10. I made the worst-ever batch of chili this week. I do not recommend aduki beans as a substitute for kidney beans. Bleck. We ate some of it, but I think we're going to throw the last few quarts away and start over.

How Dirtbunny lost the battle of the door

So Chez Nous is a fairly typical ranch-style house built around 1950. It has two major additions, an expansion to the master bedroom, and a family room, known around here as the Sun Room, both built by morons in around 1980. We love the Sun Room and spend a lot of time in there. It has windows on all four sides. Yarn Bandit takes his morning sun on one side of the room and his afternoon sun in front of the sliding glass door.

We had an energy assessment done a few years ago and one of this house's many energy-related faults is a leaky sliding glass door. Also, the screen is ripped and the handle of the screen door has long since disappeared. We had other fish to fry. We knew the sliding glass door had to be replaced, but we were on the Economy Plan and it could wait.

Sometime around the middle of August, Dirtbunny noticed that the sliding glass door was not properly latched. Naturally, it was presumed to be The Man's fault. Naturally, it was because he was too lazy to close it. Of course, because he never does anything right. So Dirtbunny dragged him over to the door to show him how he had fucked up and to provide him with instruction on The Correct Way We Do Things Around Here (he's so lucky I'm here to teach him). Whaddaya know? It wasn't his fault. The latch had gone all wonky and, well, up and croaked on us. Dirtbunny had a hard time with this at first. How could it not be The Man's fault? But it wasn't. It was the door.

Well we are not going to replace the door this year. We'll just use a dowel or broomstick handle to wedge it shut until we replace it next year. No problem.




Problem: The door is installed backwards. The screen is on the inside. The inside panel is on the outside. To wedge the door shut with a dowel, we'll have to do it from the outside, which kind of misses the point. Dirtbunny announces this to The Man. We'll have to replace it this year or else the house will remain essentially unlocked all winter, which is not acceptable. The Man agrees.

And this is where the Battle of the Door begins. Who is going to take care of it? Bunny sez that The Man is. The Man sez "?" We agree that we are happy with our doors and windows guy and we'll use him again. All The Man needs to do is make the call.

So Bunny waits for The Man to make the call.

He doesn't.

Bunny goes On Strike.

Amazingly, the call is still not made. The Strike is not working.

Bunny re-evaluates her strategy. If the Iraqi people are not going to greet the American soldiers with cheers and flowers, then victory is impossible, unless the Americans redefine victory. Dirtbunny redefines victory.

Here is her battle plan:

• Make the call herself, on the QT.
• Get the guy in for a look-see, choose door style, and sign contract, on the QT.
• Arrange for installation in secret.

Won't The Man's face be red when, six months from now, he notices that we have a new door? How did that happen? Wow, Bunny, you sure got me! It would be a masterpiece of passive-aggression that would make Dirtbunny a legend at the Funny Farm.

I almost did it. The installation was today. The whole thing was a secret until Friday. They called and left a confirmation message on the answering machine. The Man heard the message. Not only heard it, but noticed it and processed the information.

It was almost a masterpiece of passive-aggression. Now it's just Dirtbunny doing all the work around here like usual. Sigh.

I like the new door. And now I'm going to turn the heat back on.

Beagle Paradise, or, Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 36

This morning, Dirtbunny took her seventeen pills and settled in for another quiet day of recovering from the virus that wouldn't leave. I am not exaggerating about the 17 either. It really was 17, and I'm not elderly or anything. Sigh. A good thing about being sick is it means lots and lots of quiet time at home with the beagles. They love it, especially Kirby, who is training hard for the Snuggle Olympics.



Sadly, all is not exactly well with Kirbamente. He had a bladder infection a few weeks ago and we cleared that up, even had the test results to prove it. But it is now back, along with a new rod-shaped bacteria that the vet doesn't recognize, so we are waiting for test results from the big lab. He also has a big growth on his right knee (cytology results pending) and last night, his left foot hurt badly enough that he walked really funny and wouldn't let us look between his toes. Between Patient Dirtbunny (hahahahaha "patient" hahahahahaha) and Patient Kirby, The Man is about to go under from all the stress. Good thing it's a bye week for the Redskins. I don't think The Man could handle the drama from a Redskins game.



This morning, Kirby's foot is a lot better. We have decided not to go to the vet again for now unless it gets markedly worse. He has to go back in a few days when his test results come back, and the vet is traumatizing for Our Little Scaredy Guy. Besides, look at him frolicking this morning:













He isn't suffering, believe me, or we'd be at the vet right now. He even said hello to neighbor Lucy next door. Lucy always says hello to Kirby but Kirby usually ignores her.









The leaves are peaking this weekend. One of our maple trees (the stressed out one near the street) has already dropped his leaves, but the big one in the yard is bright yellow:








Mostly green last weekend, barely green at all now. Falling leaves are pretty and create lots of excellent sniffing opportunities. Is that the face of a happy boy or what?









Here it looks like the ivy goes right up to the street, doesn't it? Actually you can only see the top edge of the ivy. There is about a 10-foot steep sloping drop from there to the top of the retaining wall, and then about four feet of wall, and then the sidewalk, and then the street. He looks safe in the photo, but every time he goes there, I get a little queasy.








Doesn't he have the cutest dog butt ever? And where is Tiki? He's inside, sleeping. Don't bother him. And that's enough dog schmoop for now.




Our best trees are the three Japanese Maples in front. They are a brilliant crimson, which you can't tell at all from this crappy photo:







Next weekend, all that will be left is the dull brown of the oak trees. Being sick means being home to see it. I wish I weren't coughing, but life's not all bad.

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 34

That's right. Still coughing. I've been to the doctor again and got to use a nebulizer for a while and The Man is picking up some new meds for me right now. He took me to the doctor and said he could hear me coughing all the way from the waiting room. Yikes.

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 32

We have turned a corner. It's a subtle thing, but my cough has changed. I've had this particular kind of cough before--it's the one that all my colds end with.

knock on wood

So I may actually be getting towards the end of this goddamn thing.

knock on wood

Who's Your Dirtbunny?

To the dismay of certain someones, we have been out of greenies for quite some time. The Amazing Dirtbunny has made a trip to the dog bakery which, despite its name, is not a place where they bake dogs, and has stocked up on some faves:




We have your greenies, your little chicken thingies, and your wheat-free non-itchy cookies in the cheese flavor and the apple flavor.

Some of us are ever hopeful:






Others of us say, if you ain't giving me one now,

Then leave me alone, Dirt-bitch.

That Yarn Bandit has quite a mouth on him.

P.S. I'm still sick. Day 25. My doctor says I need to be patient and give the antibiotics a chance to work. Fuck that. I want my lungs back. Did I quit smoking for nothing?

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 21

The Man is going off to visit his people this weekend, so it's just me and The Boys and my bronchitis. I have asked Yarn Bandit very nicely to let me know when he has to go so I can take him outside. I'm not going to try to do very much. Maybe a little laundry if I can manage the stairs without coughing until my lungs turn inside out. Maybe I'll make soup (five minutes of chopping followed by occasional stirring). Maybe I'll finish The Man's red sweater, or his self-striping socks, or maybe I'll work on the secret project. Maybe I'll just go back to bed. I haven't decided yet. The heat is set at 72 degrees in here, so I know I have to reprogram the thermostat but, aside from that and taking the dogs into the yard from time to time, I don't HAVE to do anything.

We all know I'm not good with leisure time and I'm not good at taking care of myself when I'm sick, and I'm especially not good at these things when stuff is piling up (lots of laundry, balance the checkbook, lots of cooking and baking I could do but don't have to do). We'll just have to see how things work out.

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 18

In Bunny's family, you aren't really sick unless you have a fever of more than 103 or some sort of major organ failure. I guess that means I'm not really sick. Bunny's doctor disagrees. My cold has now settled into the bronchial tubes and turned into a full-blown bronchial infection. I have new cough syrup that is especially helpful for sleeping about 17 hours a day, and I have an inhaler, and I have stopped pretending that everything is just fine.

This weekend, Bunny's brother Aaron the super genius was in town and in order to trick him into thinking that Bunny is not the wuss that she is, we went for a nice hike with The Boys. I had a wonderful time until I forgot how to walk, at which point I fell down, and the delightful outing came to an abrupt end. I thought I was well enough to spend a little time exerting myself. I was wrong.

The scrapes and bruises from the fall are healing nicely and don't even hurt very much any more. But the cold was not helped by the fresh air and exercise. I shoulda stood in bed.

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 11

Around here, colds go to eleven. Coughcoughcough.

Dirtbunny's Cold, Day 8

I am still sick. I'm a lot better than I was, but I'm not exactly well yet. I was going to sit outside to enjoy the outdoors for a little while, but something happened and now I can't.

1. It's a little chilly right now.
2. Kirby found a dead bird in the yard and tried to eat it.

Dead creatures in the yard are always, ALWAYS upsetting. I usually shriek for The Man to come handle it and try really hard not to throw up. The Man, of course, always disposes of the corpse with dispatch and aplomb and without making any remarks about gender roles or feminism, because he is a good guy.

This time, however, my BFF Kirby had the vile thing in his mouth. IN HIS MOUTH. I am disgusted and appalled. He is unclean, and I am not sure what sort of ritual cleansing he needs for me to get over this, because a bath would only take care of the outside. Can I wash his mouth out with soap? That doesn't seem humane. And yet I am thoroughly and completely grossed out.

Whine

Dirtbunny is sick. I have a cold. Last night we were at the throat-is-so-sore-can't-fall-asleep-so-it-really-doesn't-matter-that-Kirby-is-hogging-the-bed-and-kicking-me-in-the-boobs-constantly stage. Now I am at the nose-is-raw-from-all-the-blowing stage. I have taken to my bed. Fortunately for me, our cable reception was bad enough to interfere with football, so we moved the TV into the bedroom (where the reception is better) last week until the cable company can be bothered to get out here and re-run the cable (that they installed badly about four years ago). That means I have about three hundred channels and a stack of DVR recordings to watch. Guess what? There's nothing on, which really isn't much of a surprise. The Boys are competing for Most Snuggly Beagle. Kirby won by determinedly muscling Tiki out of position. Nobody comes between Kirby and his Dirtbunny. Tiki growled for a while, and now has stalked off to sulk in his dog bed. There's enough room and love for two beagles, but Tiki doesn't see things that way. The wireless connection works back here, so I think I'm going to watch some Netflix on Demand if I can find something that meets the following criteria: entertaining, decent sound (because they don't offer captions and I rely heavily on captions), not very challenging, and not likely to interfere with my secret project knitting (i.e., can watch and count at the same time). That last one might be tough. I'm not sure about counting in any fashion today. If it turns out I can't count (oooooh. THAT was an interesting typo!) then I'll switch to a non-counting something.

By the way. The Bean is here as of Sunday morning. I can't wait to get over my leetle virus so I can go meet her.

More from the belly of the beast

Remember this?

This morning, Mister Itchy produced this on the Sunday Style section:

Two more one-inch chunks of plastic football and one half-inch chunk of rubbery whoknowswhat. Also a big wad of grass tangled up in two circular stitch markers which decency prevents me from showing you. You're welcome.

I take responsibility for the stitch markers. Those happened on my watch. But the football was there when we adopted him 2 1/2 years ago. How much more of it can there possibly be in there?

Culprits

This is not what I was going to do when I took a half-day off to handle some bidness and play in the sunshine, and this is not what I was going to write about, but I am obviously not in control of my own life anymore. Here goes.



Bunny gets home early from work and goes back to her room to change into play clothes and finds this:

That's not the best photo, but if it were in focus, you would see that it is smears of someone's crusty eye boogers and dried-up drool puddles on Bunny's pillowcase. Bunny did not do this herself.

Also on the bed was this:

Do you see, knitters, which book it is? Do you see? (Note to non-knitters: this is a special book. Correction. This was a special book) How bad is it?

It's bad. I don't know for sure who is responsible for what, but I have my theories:

Don't you dare say he's cute! He's not cute. He's the devil. El Diablo!

You may now return to the top and take the poll.

Plus, this just in:

Hello out there! Bunny quit smoking! Does anyone besides The Bean's mom care?

This is not an April Fool's Joke

Today Dirtbunny has six months smoke-free. For reals.

Smoking is fun and at least used to be cool, but it was probably going to catch up with me eventually. It doesn't always kill you, but I'm not a lucky person.

The Prosecution Rests

Hey The Man!

Yes, Dirtbunny.

Did you go to work today?

Yes, Dirtbunny.

Did you stay at work today?

Yes, Dirtbunny.

Did you sneak home in the middle of the day?

No, Dirtbunny.

Did you sneak home in the middle of the day to take a nap on the big bed?

No, Dirtbunny.

Did you sneak home in the middle of the day to take a nap on the big bed with your good friend Crocodile?

No, Dirtbunny.

Then how do you explain.......THIS!

J'accuse!

Did you know

Kirby has just finished his Saturday-afternoon bath (I know, I know, it's Tuesday night and we made him wait and he was extra super itchy because of our laziness) and he is enjoying his post-bath rawhide, which means he's tearing around high on dog crack. And that made me think of this:


Did you know that each closet and cabinet door in your house makes a unique sound? The closet where we keep the dog food and the dog treats and the cartons of soy milk and the bottles of seltzer water and the vacuum cleaner bags sounds exactly like the closet where The Man keeps his shirts. But The Boys know the difference.



They never come running for a nice clean, crisp dress shirt.

Bunny makes a grilled cheese sandwich

.....from some of those little orange plastic individually-wrapped squares of cheese. I know it's not really cheese, and I know I could do better, but it's a guilty pleasure.

Great Grandmother's Spatula, woman! Do you realize you have cheese up there? Where's our cheese?

More about dogs and weather

We are in the middle of Tropical Storm Hanna here, or whatever. Chez Nous is west of the fall line so we don't really have hurricanes all that much, not even close to what the coastal areas get. When a hurricane comes through, we get a lot of rain and a lot of wind and some tree branches go down, and some people lose power, but we don't flood on this side of the fall line and people's houses don't have their roofs blown off unless a tree falls on it. I looked out the window a few minutes ago in the middle of a brief wind gust and got to see water flowing uphill, which was pretty cool, but then the wind changed direction and the show was over. I like a good rain and we're pretty low-risk, so I'm happy. But not everyone around here is happy:

Pobrecito! There will be no outdoor doggy fun time today. This is what happened when Bunny went outside ALONE yesterday to take a picture of knitting:

"Step aside, Young Grasshopper. I'll handle this."

Look at Tiki's little ears! Hee hee

No, he's not going to give up. He escaped from his crate once by not giving up until the crate was destroyed, and that taught him to never, ever...... ever ..... (blah blah blah) ever

[Bunny goes away for a little coffee]

ever

ever

[Bunny does the bills]

ever

ever

[you get the idea]

...ever give up. Given enough time, he probably can come through that door.

Bone Wars

If you have a dog, you know this already:

rawhide = crack

My Boys love them some rawhide. Kirby has a bizarre ritual he likes to perform with his. We couldn't figure out what the hell he was doing until Tiki came to live here. Once we saw Tiki successfully bury a rawhide in the yard, we realized that Kirby had been trying to bury his in the floor in his usual incompetent way.

Bunny to the old man: "I think Kirby may be retarded."

The old man to Bunny: "What do you mean, 'you think?'"

The introduction of the Yarn Bandit into the household has changed the whole rawhide thing. It used to be that Kirby would just carry his around the house in his mouth and he pranced around all "look what I got!" and he'd chew it and then just leave it when he got tired and come back to it later. No can do any more. Tiki would steal it. So now what happens is Tiki immediately take his and hides it somewhere. Kirby prances for a while, then he chews it and tries to finish it before Tiki can take it, with Tiki staring him down at close range the whole time. Poor Kirbs. Sometimes I can tell he's getting tired but doesn't dare stop because he doesn't understand that there will always be another rawhide. When I can see that we've gotten to that point, I take it from him. He pouts, but soon he forgets about it, and I give it back later when he's had some rest.

If The Man tries to take Kirby's rawhide, Kirby growls. GROWLS! and sometimes BARKS!

So here is Kirby trying unsuccessfully to bury his rawhide in a dog bed:

Look at those hind legs all tensed up for leverage!

Here he is trying to poke it down with his nose.

That didn't work too well, so he tried to use his nose to scrape some "dirt" over it.

That didn't work either. Unfortunately, the dog bed is all one piece.

Plan B: Let's dig a hole!

Hmmm. no.

Plan C: I'm high! I'm high on dog crack! I'm going to tear around the house! The aftermath of that is here:

He has relocated Tiki's wubbie from the bedroom to the living room.

Tiki, on the other hand, knows that if you're going to hide something, you need to put it under something else. He likes to put his down between the sofa cushions, but here he is putting it under the crate pad:

I have to, I mean get to, look at his butthole all day, so I don't know why you should be spared.

Just so you know, it's not that Kirby can't hide things. He hid his chew toy in the crate, as you can see here, along with more Tiki hiding the rawhide:

Not great, but not so bad, either. He's just not very good at it. And sometimes he forgets how.

Retarded or not, he's perfect exactly the way he is.