Getting Older

Here's my handsome Indy boy. Isn't he a sweetheart? When I walk from room to room, he gets up (slowly, thanks to his arthritis) and pads patiently along behind me. If I sit down, he's in my lap. If I work at the computer he positions himself beneath the desk. Indy has always been my little shadow.

As you can see, he's long overdue for a haircut. I planned to take him on Saturday, but he wasn't feeling well. Now that he's achieved the vast age of 14, I don't like to stress him out. If his fur is long and he smells a little "doggie", oh well. We can live with it.

Indy has slowed down a lot in recent months. He's lost even more of his ability to see and hear. He's thinner than he used to be and sleeps most of the time. It's becoming clear we're approaching our final journey, though I try not to dwell on it. As long as he's happy, eats and drinks, and doesn't appear to be in pain, we're good. And I hope we'll be good for a long while yet to come.

It's tough watching our four-leggers get old, isn't it?

Grooving with Dylan

Wednesday night we ventured to the Peabody Opera House to see none other than Bob Dylan in concert. Anticipating the event, my mind was filled with images of the 60's, peace signs, and plenty of groovy tunes. But when Dylan took the stage I realized one thing right away. Just like me, he's getting older. This brought my mind straight back to the present. It's 2013, and baby things have changed.

His voice has become quite gritty, probably through years of hard use and more than a few cigarettes. But when he sang, he owned each and every vocal. Dylan didn't play guitar, but blew on his faithful harmonica and plunked out a few melodies on the keyboard. I must admit that I didn't recognize most songs. He's transformed even his well known pieces through new rhythms and timing.

The concert may not have been the blast from the past that I expected, but that's okay. If Dylan can put aside the decades to keep doing what he loves, maybe the rest of us can, too.

The man is an icon and it's pretty darn groovy that I got the chance to see him.

Marking Time

It's wonderful to have great friends...especially when those friends have more than a few special talents.

Don Wiegand is one of those people. I've blogged before about Don. His studio is more museum than workplace. Outside his geese, ducks, exotic chickens, and peacocks roam the yard. I received my first goose egg (no, not a knock on the head) from Don. It sat in the refrigerator making all the regular chicken eggs look the size of a robin's.

And then there are his bronze sculptures. They're best described as "scary good". It looks as though they could come to life any moment.

When he's not working on a myriad of other projects, Don is kind enough to do hand casts. Last year, on our wedding anniversary, he did ours.

First, oil up hands and arms. Sort of like greasing the frying pan for that "no stick" effect.

Next, get hands in proper position.

Then in comes the gooey pink stuff. If you've ever had a dental impression before, you know what I'm talking about. Hold perfectly still and wait about 5 minutes. Slowly and carefully pull out hands. Then plaster is poured into the impression which sits for a few hours. Finally the bucket is dumped and a giant pink rubbery mound is revealed.

The next task is to carve away the pink stuff. Careful! You could lop off a finger!

Finally! My ring tore a little groove in the cast which makes my hand look like the aftermath of a knife attack.  But not to worry. Don can fix it. About one month later...

Voila! The finished product. Interestingly, the cast captures every line, bump, crease, and wrinkle. In other words, you may not want to biggify this picture.

Though we did the cast last year, a few days ago, on August 21, 2010 we celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary. It got me to thinking just how much our old hands have been through over the years...

Palms together on our wedding day, signing papers on our first home, digging in the garden, scrubbing, painting, pounding a nail, writing endless checks, cradling a baby, applauding accomplishments, wagging a finger of admonishment, carrying a load that sometimes felt far too heavy, wiping away tears, surrounding a loved one with a gentle hug. I guess we really have earned every single mark that's detailed on our cast.

And I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Book Review

Every Last Cuckoo available from Amazon

I just finished reading "Every Last Cuckoo" by Kate Maloy. Although not technically a critter story, the main character's dogs are woven throughout the book, while other scenes involve wild animals, and several cats. Therefore I feel the book contains enough animal activity to qualify as a Critter Alley book review candidate. (What can I say? I get to call the shots here!)

First, this isn't a new title, having been published in 2008. It won the ALA Reading List Award for Women's Fiction and has been chosen as a book club selection. The back cover and introductory pages are filled with praise from multiple reviewers. In other words, the book has been generally well received.

I'm on board with those who are impressed. I enjoyed the fact that the main character, Sarah, is a 75 year old woman instead of a young or middle aged person. That's unusual in novels these days.

The story paints a picture of a long and primarily happy marriage. Then Sarah's husband dies in a freak accident. She grieves deeply, but must come to terms with realizations about herself, her family, and friends.

Sarah ponders the question...do we become a different person after we lose a loved one? Do we invent a new life purpose after loss?

Her observations about aging and what she does to change her life creates an entertaining and insightful story. Although some parts of the tale were predictable, and so many characters were introduced that at times I lost track of who was who, in all I found the story to contain some true gems that really hit home for me.

If you're looking for a quick and enjoyable read that may have you thinking about your own life purpose, give "Every Last Cuckoo" a try.