Yes, I could have been angry that Dixie snuffled a hole in what was once a good sheet, but…the sheet can be replaced, and the the sheet never made me laugh out loud at its antics. The sheet will be downgraded to a dog blanket and we’ll employ the F.I.D.O. Principle, which is good practice for most areas of life:

The F.I.D.O. Principle =

Forget It & Drive On

F.I.D.O. is especially helpful when you live with dogs, and though *some people* advocate the use of a different F word, that suggests something entirely different that changes the meaning of the principle to one of selfish disdain rather than the freeing experience of forgetting something and moving on.

I’d much rather forget it and drive on!

We got in a shipment that included toad houses (a small shelter that provides a dark, cool, moist spot for toads during the day so they’ll be encouraged to stay in your yard or garden and eat yucky bugs all night) and the one pictured here was so cute and odd that I snapped it up immediately.

Since then (nearly 20 years), the toad house has been inside my house, amusing me, but not doing much to encourage toads. Realizing that life is short–and wondering if I’d gone through a Dominique Francon period of buying things simply so that no one else could have them–I put the toad house outside this week. (That seemed more reasonable than pushing it down the elevator shaft, as Ms. Francon might have done!)

If you know a toad who’s looking for a home, send it my way…

There’s a certain time of year when all the excitement of the holidays has faded, the New Year’s resolutions are dead or dying, the weather is generally wretched, and the bills for your Christmas presents are just beginning to arrive.

This time of year is known as January*.

I was born in January.

Summer Birthdays–ha!

For all you summer birthday-types who celebrate with pool parties and barbecues and cookouts and ice cream, I laugh in the face of your festivities. You have it so easy–you can wear flip-flops on your birthday instead of socks and boots. People give you beach towels and floppy linen hats as gifts. The Januarians peer out from under itchy wool caps, trying not to let their mufflers catch fire from dangling over the birthday candles.

Reasons to celebrate

I’ve had enough of watching the bright butterfly birthdays of summer float past. I’m here to eat cake, to open presents, and to make chilly, depressed, listless January thaw out a bit and perk up a little:

1. Holidays are over? Good–less stress and more time to plan a decent birthday celebration.
2. New Year’s resolutions failed? That’s okay–just resolve not to make any next year.
3. Weather is wretched? Ha! Banish sleet and snow and drizzle and howling winds with the cheerful glow of birthday candles. Make a wish and then make like the big-bad-wolf and huff and puff the daylights out of them. Bonus: if you splutter while blowing out the candles, you’ll probably get ALL the cake!
4. Bills arriving in the mail? No worries–lots of good stuff is on sale in January, and you can buy yourself whatever you didn’t get for Christmas.

Are you with me, Januarians? I say, let’s take back this grim, gray month in which we arrived in the world and make it worthy of our celebrations. There are 31 days to work with–if you’re a Baskin-Robbins fan, that’s a different ice cream flavor for EVERY day of the month. January also has enough days to lose a bad habit or develop a good one.

Wrapping it up…

The point of all this? January is a month that gets a lot of people down. It contains “the most depressing week of the year,” according to some studies (although the studies were more of a marketing ploy for a travel agency, according to other studies about the initial studies). Whatever. If you have a January birthday, make the most of it. Consider candle-blowing an aerobic event and wrapping-paper-ripping a workout for hand-eye coordination. If you receive flip-flops as a gift, wear ‘em with socks until the snow melts.

They’ll be perfectly broken in by the time those summer party invitations began to arrive.

*Forget January–I celebrate “Jeanuary” all month long!

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 2,900 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 5 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

Much love,

 Jean : )

 (with hairy little holiday greetings from Teddy & Dixie, too)

(And many thanks to photographer Cami Calnan for such great pics!)

Well, not all of it brings great memories. Like everyone else, I have my favorites…and I have my unfavorites–the ones that get on my last nerve, the ones that I switch stations to avoid.

Rather than just creating another list of “Worst Christmas Songs Ever” (there are plenty of those already), I established more specific categories. Of course, my winners won’t be exactly like yours–you may love some of the ones I despise and vice versa. That’s okay. We don’t have to have the same tastes–that’s why there’s so much variety in Christmas songs, Christmas celebrations, and Christmas presents. And why they still make fruitcakes.

CATEGORY: WORST LINE IN A CHRISTMAS SONG

Winner: Do They Know It’s Christmas (Bob Geldof/BandAid; 1982)

Not the worst Christmas song in the world, but one particular line makes me cringe:

“And the Christmas bells that ring there / Are the clanging chimes of doom / Well, tonight, thank God, it’s them / Instead of  you.

“Aren’t you glad it’s them instead of you?’ Well, no; I’m not glad. It shouldn’t be anybody.

And hey–even Bob Geldof himself says it’s the worst song in the world! Read his take on it here.

RUNNER-UP: Too many to list them all, but “curly-haired dolls that toodle and coo” from the Jackson 5′s 1975 version of Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town is a contender. Not unless they’re all British dolls, Michael–otherwise they “toddle.”

CATEGORY: CHRISTMAS SONG THAT’S NOT REALLY A CHRISTMAS SONG

Winner: A Christmas to Remember (Dolly Parton/Kenny Rogers; 1984)

This isn’t a Christmas song at all–it’s a song describing a fling between two people who just happened to hook-up at Christmas. Honestly, Dolly, you can do better than this. Just stick to Hard Candy Christmas and Ding-A-Ling The Christmas Bell. Those, at least, are worthy to be called Christmas songs. Here’s the video, complete with creepy mannequins and *tight* ski pants.

RUNNER-UP: Mistletoe (Colbie Caillat). Perhaps Misanthrope would be a better title?

CATEGORY: MOST IRRITATING CHRISTMAS ANIMAL

Winner: Dominick The Italian Christmas Donkey (Lou Monte; 1960)

Supposedly there are Italian families…somewhere…to whom this song is a charming Christmas tradition. I’ve never even heard it all the way through–the local DJs always turn it off after the first few horrid chingedy-ching-hee-haw-hee-haws.

• It’s Dominick the donkey. / Chingedy ching / (hee-haw, hee-haw) / The Italian Christmas donkey. / (la la la-la la-la la la la la) / (la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da). Hear it for yourself here. Or part of it, anyway, before you have to turn it off, too!

MY PICK: Carrying The Lord To Jerusalem/Little White Donkey (Ed Ames). Here’s a clip from the album Christmas Is The Warmest Time of The Year. Or maybe The Ballad of The Christmas Donkey, also by Mr. Ames. Listen here.

CATEGORY: MOST BLAH CHRISTMAS SONG

Winner: Where Are You Christmas? (Faith Hill; 2000)

This is not a horrible song, but it’s all over the place–where are you, Christmas? Why can’t I find you? Whoops–there you are, you little rascal! You get right back there in my heart!

The worst thing about this song is the fact that it came from the movie The Grinch. What a horrid idea, to make a live-action version of the classic book/animated special. Dr. Seuss, Boris Karloff, and Thurl Ravenscroft (that’s right, the deep voice of ‘Tony The Tiger’) are all spinning in their graves over THAT travesty.

MY PICK: For least blah Christmas song? Probably Mr. Grinch, performed by Thurl Ravenscroft. Nothing blah about THOSE lyrics! Listen to it here.

CATEGORY: WORST COVER OF A CHRISTMAS CLASSIC

Winner: Santa Baby (Madonna; 1987)

If you’re going to cover a classic, you have to do it as well as the original, or so differently that they’re not really comparable. In her tawdry version of Eartha Kitt’s sultry-but-savvy pleas to Santa, Madonna fails utterly to do anything but embarrass herself. Taylor Swift’s version is also awful, but in a much more bland and banal way…pretty much like Ms. Swift herself.

MY PICK: White Christmas (The Drifters). So different than Bing Crosby’s iconic version that they can be friends. And though it’s heretical to some people, I actually prefer The Drifters’ version!

CATEGORY: WORST CHRISTMAS SONG OF ALL TIME

Winner: The Christmas Shoes (NewSong; 2000)

Undeniably the worst Christmas song ever. “Cloying and manipulative” are two of the kinder words used to describe it on many sites; I’d add maudlin and misbegotten, just to round out the alliterative ‘m’ sounds.

How do I hate this song? Let me list the ways: the lead vocalist sort of groans out the lyrics as if he’s in pain; the music sounds like a poor quality karaoke track; the premise of the song is ridiculous–and worst of all, the rhyme scheme is askew and none of the words match up quite right. As Mike Myers said in View From The Top, they “put the wrong emPHAsis on the wrong syLLAble.”

RUNNER-UP: there is no runner-up. No Christmas song is worse than this one. Here it is, along with scenes from the movie (yes, they made a movie) with Rob Lowe.

BONUS SECTION

CATEGORY: CHRISTMAS SONG MOST LIKELY TO MAKE ME CRY

Winner: Christmas In Dixie (Alabama). Hands-down, this is it. Doesn’t matter where I am when I hear it, it makes me a little teary-eyed. And if I happen to be away from home when I hear it, go ahead and hand me the Kleenex…*sniff*

Check out Randy Owen and the boys singing it live here.

RUNNER-UP: We’re On the Island of Misfit Toys (Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer; 1964). I always thought the “misfit” toys were way more interesting than regular ones…*sniff.* See for yourself in this video clip.

CATEGORY: CHRISTMAS SONG MOST LIKELY TO MAKE ME LAUGH

WINNER: The Twelve Gifts of Christmas (Allan Sherman; 1963 ). If you didn’t grow up laughing over this version, I hope you’ll catch up with it here and now!

RUNNER-UP: Blue Christmas (Porky Pig; circa 1999). ’Nuff said. See it for yourself here.

CATEGORY: CHRISTMAS SONG MOST LIKELY TO MAKE ME SING OUT LOUD

WINNER: Feliz Navidad (Jose Feliciano; 1970). Love it or hate it; everyone seems to take sides on this one. I like to croon Feliz Navidad along with Senor Feliciano during the Christmas season for this reason: I remember watching him do the song on a holiday episode of American Bandstand when I was about six and my sisters and I sang it–with great gusto and without stopping–until we drove everyone mad. Ah, the memories! Belt it out for yourself here.

RUNNER-UP: Snoopy’s Christmas (The Royal Guardsmen; 1967). I still have the 45 of this record, I know all the words…why not sing along with it? Check out TRG’s performance from “The Michael Douglas Show.”

NOTE: Possible spoilers ahead in this post, although I can’t imagine not being able to figure out the entire plot within the first couple of chapters.

1. Product Placement: Really, does every aspect of one’s life need to be associated with a specific brand? Did Volvo, Saab, and Twining’s Tea pay author E.L. James to mention them over…and over…and over again? [Sidebar: Nothing wrong with Twining's, but it can hardly be classified as a "fine" tea and reading Ana's smug comments about "inferior teas" made her seem even younger and more stupid than usual.]
2. The Title: actually strangely apropos for another reason, besides a play on words about the hero’s name/eyes*/personality issues: ANYTHING–even erotica–described in such endless detail, becomes pretty gray after a while. Who can even distinguish between pages and episodes when it’s all exactly the same except for a few titillating descriptions of products and positioning. The old maxim that “all cats are gray at night” is never more true than here! [Sidebar: for a slightly more interesting take on the topic, check out The Sleeping Beauty Trilogy, written by author Anne Rice under the pseudonym A.N. Roquelaure.]
3. Character Development: Slim, at best, and everyone in the entire series is a caricature of HERO/DISNEY PRINCESS/VILLAIN/SIDEKICK/EVIL QUEEN. Really, Ms. James, can’t we have some reason to care about these folks?
4. Skim Factor: I read each of the three books with increasing speed. By the end of the third, I was speed-skimming to see how it came out, which was almost exactly as I expected.
5. Gazillionaire Factor: Christian Grey is painted as a driven, almost-workaholic type who’s good at reading trends, etc. If he’d been a truck driver or a teacher or software programmer–with a more normal paycheck and a supervisor at work and a more mundane wardrobe–would he have been as interesting? Of course not! Since this is escapist fiction, it’s okay to have him be a gazillionaire, but a more average man who indulged in such “activities” is usually branded a freak, not an erotic entrepreneur…
6. Inner Goddess: Ana’s IG has to be the most irritating version ever. Almost as irritating as Ana herself–hey, wait! They’re a perfect match. They deserve each other!
7. Lame Writing: Aside from the erotic aspects of the story, the author indulges in way too many adverbs (a freshman-level writing problem) and relies on telling things in excruciating detail rather than allowing the reader to understand the situation through skillful writing that leaves *something* to the imagination.
8. The Relationship: Several reviews indicate that while erotica is the hook for the book, what many readers love is the intimate emotional relationship between Ana and Christian. Are you kidding me? How can a troubled control freak and a whiny baby have any sort of meaningful emotional relationship? They’re about as interesting as a light switch: On, off. On, off. On, off. On.
9. The Big Switcheroo: Christian’s been practicing his little games for a number of years without incident. All of a sudden, after meeting the incredibly irritating Ana, he changes his entire M.O. and never really looks back? Again, this is escapist fiction, but when it wobbles so far off the tracks of reality, it loses what little credibility it might have had.
10. Wasted Days/Wasted Nights: I resisted reading these books for quite some time, then finally borrowed them from a friend. I’m grateful I didn’t spend $$ on them, but I sometimes wish I could redeem the time I spent reading them…

On a more positive note, Kudos to E.L. James for having produced a series of self-published books that should keep her well-to-do for the rest of her days–and movie rights that should keep her entire clan well-to-do for generations! Gotta admire that–she found a way to tap into something that a huge number of people wanted and were willing to pay for, and for that she gets an A+. (Her writing, however, gets a C-, and that’s being generous because I admire her effort!)

*I’ve never met anyone with truly gray eyes. They are SUCH a device of fiction that it’s hard to believe anyone has them, but I’ll continue to be on the lookout…

It was true; Dixie’s feet were rough and cracked and had a permanent haze of red clay over them. (Her little dog forearms were shaved, too, where she’d had an IV in each of them because she’d been so sick when her original people finally took her to the vet.)

My sister said she’d be glad when Dixie’s feet looked better, like she was being cared for and had a better life.

Last weekend, Dixie and Teddy and I were outside, enjoying the late afternoon sun in early September. Dixie stretched out and put her belly in the cool grass, giving me an unobstructed view of her feet:

I remembered what my sister had said, so I took a quick pic and sent it for review. Her response? “Feet definitely look more prosperous.”

It’s not the end of the story–I could blog on and on about my dogs–but it does feel like we’ve reached a good place in which Dixie’s forearms are now properly shaggy again and she has happy, healed feet!

(Read Dixie’s rescue story here.)

Reblogged from Gomming & Yowing:

Not in quality so much as quantity, especially in terms of writing. I sometimes wish I were one of the driven, disciplined writers I read about who are compelled to write every day and who are further compelled to write a certain amount, whether it’s 2,000 words or 5 pages or whatever. Different strokes, I guess, since most of those writers complain about deadlines and feeling pressured, while I’m very good at deadlines–I actually appreciate them–because they provide structure and an accountability that remains largely uncultivated in my life.

Did I just write all around Robin Hood’s barn, as the saying goes, to admit I’m lazy and undisciplined when it comes to writing? Well…yes. I did.

Sometimes, though, I have an excuse. Actually, I don’t really believe in excuses, even though I offer them, as most people do. There’s no excuse for anything, but there’s usually an explanation, and mine is this: my mother had a stroke on June 11. Her second stroke in 10 years–a different stroke, so to speak.

Since that moment when I picked up my father’s message via voicemail at my office (I had been in a meeting when he called), everything has been about my mother’s situation. The drive to the hospital, waiting while decisions were made, waiting while a procedure was performed, waiting for my mom to wake up from sedation, waiting to see if she remembered us, waiting for her to get out of ICU, out of the hospital, out of rehab–we’re always waiting for the next step, which makes it extraordinarily hard to be fully present in the moment. What’s next? What do you mean? What will the result be? Can you predict the effect? Waiting for when and how and why and where and who.

My mother and her granddog Teddy just a day or two before her stroke.

So, despite my tendency to put off writing without a deadline or a paycheck attached to it, I wanted to write these words: my mother had a stroke on June 11, and that’s what our lives have been about since that moment. And as much as we wonder and speculate and confer, we don’t know what’s next. Maybe the only real deadline in life is “do it now before it’s too late.”