When the wee beastie had a painful health crisis a couple years ago, the vet advised us not to let him jump up on the couch anymore, or down off it, due to his age and the damage that could be done to his joints and back. We’ve tried valiantly to keep him from leaping down, but have been successful only in teaching him to wait till one of us lifts him up.
This week we decided not to do that anymore because no matter how closely we watch, hoping to stop him before he jumps, he moves too quickly and the jarring as he hits the floor is nerve-racking. Sometimes he wobbles afterward, as if he’s hurt himself.
We’ve been putting soft things for him to lay on next to our feet on the floor. Duckie is having a hard time understanding why he’s not allowed to snuggle with us on the loveseat. Scott can’t take it — the dog’s beseeching eyes — and will join him there on the hard surface but it’s not good enough; Kathy is out of reach and honestly if a dog’s face can be expressive, and of course it can, it looks as if his heart is broken.
Last night Scott the Softhearted arranged two puffy cushions on the floor beneath a towel; oh what a lounger that would be for Mr Doodle! he thought. But no. Duckie uncovered them, stamped on and clawed at them in a desperate attempt to make a bed to his taste, rearranged them mercilessly, moved one to the space beneath the footrest my legs were stretched upon, lay there only a moment and then stood up, stepped out, turned around and gave us a long look of contempt as if to say (and according to Scott, he really was saying it) “Thanks for fucking nothing, you two sitting there in comfort. Screw you.” And trotted off to the bedroom.
I have to admit it made sense, but we couldn’t help laughing.
It is the great illusion of our culture that what we confess to is who we are.
-Vivian Gornick, The Odd Woman and the City
Fifty years ago you entered a closet marked ‘marriage.’ In the closet was a double set of clothes, so stiff they could stand up by themselves. A woman stepped into a dress called ‘wife’ and the man stepped into a suit called ‘husband.’ And that was it. They disappeared inside the clothes. Today, we don’t pass. We’re standing here naked. That’s all.
(Both excerpts from the memoir I started reading this morning.)
100 YEARS AGO
November 30, 1921
Toyland at Potts’ Drug Store will
be a place of delight for the children
of town and district for the next few
weeks. For a small investment the
children can have their ordinary
Xmas pleasures in spite of the bogy of