Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Where's the PB Been?


We finally made it home to my family in Pennsylvania for "Christmas" last weekend. Sadly, we lost my beloved uncle (and godfather) earlier in the week, at age 93. We arrived in time for the viewing and funeral. I miss him, and I always will. He was one of the kindest, warmest, funniest people I've ever known. At least he had a brilliant, if rather surreal, send-off: full military honors, and all the events were packed with a motorcycle gang of 60 denim-clad Vietnam vets and their wives, since my uncle, a WW2 Navy veteran, had been adopted by them as their "mascot." They filled the church around his dwindling family, old neighbors, and older friends.

Now I'm home, coughing like a Victorian consumptive in a Masterpiece period drama — quietly, but emphatically and regularly enough so that you know It's Serious. As soon as anyone coughs on Masterpiece, that's it — you can be sure they're a goner.

But I just have a cold. I thought it was the flu at first since it came on with fever and chills, but I felt better the next day. I must get some cough syrup because I need to speak at a hearing at City Hall tomorrow night. I represent the neighborhood Garden Club's position on reviews of architectural project proposals when trees are in jeopardy. (My victory record stinks but I persist, and I have faith.)

I've been in no mood to post here recently, so I took a little break, but I expect I'll be back more regularly soon.

In other news, the cats are all fine and dandy. Toffee is a model cat. That doesn't sell papers (or give me good stories) but it is awfully nice for those who with him. Wendy likes our (female!) cat sitter more than me; Wendy always investigates her coat and bag with interest, and lets her come closer than I ever can.

I miss gardening and so I bought a few little herb plants: basil, thyme, and mint. Lion sneaks over to them at night and is eating all of my thyme. Harris shocked me by having strong, minty-fresh breath one day, too — instead of his usual old-fish breath (and we don't feed fish except for the occasional sardine). He is learning how to grab hard treats and carry off items that don't belong to him (including a whole, gift-wrapped bag of treats intended for another household) with three fangs instead of four. And now poor Possum needs to have a tooth extracted, too, but it's a little one on the side, so it won't affect his lovely smile. We keep brushing, but tooth resorption can't be controlled that way, or any way.

Cough, cough. More later.

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