Widespread Frost Likely, stiff breezes, gusty winds

Liam in a lazy sit trying to get warm on a blustery May day
Last week's blog spoke of April 2010, which seems to be the hottest April on record at an average of 57.9 degrees. In May we have had frosts, swirling breezes, wintry rain, sudden surprising wind gusts, cold, I mean cold. It was 42 on Monday, May 10 here in NY. And out on the edges of Long Island 24 degrees. We are chilling in an April-like dreary rawness now.
Did April and May change places?
Isn't April the" cruellest month?"
Overheard at Starbucks today from one of the regulars, "Why aren't you decorated for Halloween? That is sure what it feels like out there."

After my Mom Ruth passed away this March, I received a few condolence rose plants. Just babies right now, I have been caring for them indoors and the instructions promise if treated nicely, fed and watered properly they would be okay indoors until the weather warmed a bit. When the threat of frost had passed, I could transfer them outside. They have not exactly thrived but were hanging on for their chance at the outdoors. We had the hottest April ever, The roses would be out in the heat, flourishing soon.

Mother's day is the day when all gardeners in zone 7, where we reside, are assured that planting annuals, and bringing indoor plants out is okay. I believed this to be true. Since Sunday May 2, had a high temp of 88, I figured we were over any problems of winter weather. The mini roses were planted outside, right before the howling month of May startled us with its ferocity.

I had an idea borrowed from a friend whose family had commemorated their mother by planting a garden in her honor. My rose plant gifts presented me with this same option. My planting would be in an already existing garden space with some patio stones, my Mom's dog statue named Yorkie, a weeping angel (she knew something), a short bird bath-it was an already busy enclave. I would be dedicating the area as Ruth's Rose Garden, Ruth's mother was Rose, I had these roses, so there it is.

As I have mentioned, I found only one framed picture on Ruth's desk and it was of Liam. She said "He looked independent, brave, and his own person." She loved to look at that pic- it made her smile. So I googled and found a company that makes plaques and imprints photos onto the plaques.
http://www.plaquemaker.com/
I had it inscribed Ruth's Rose garden with Liam's pic-they did such a loving creative job.
Here is a pic of it finished so you have a visual of what I am describing as the story continues below

I needed to screw the plaque into a piece of wood in order to set it up above ground, found none around the house, yard or street. Again googling brought me to a local local lumber yard. http://www.stixnstones.com/Their site was very inviting and the deciding factor was that one of their trucks was painted pink to encourage awareness in the fight against breast cancer-a fight my mother was in before her death. A pink truck! This seemed prescient of a good relationship as well as good Karma for Ruth's Rose garden. I emailed, received a return email from Dawn, emailed back that I would come in. Good. A woman was working there-it might not be just a sacred male bastion of building materials. I was invited to come by any time. Last Thursday, I drove up and only saw huge trucks with skids of lumber, planks, rough looking men. As I entered, I felt a testosterone camaraderie in the air. I almost bolted as all I had was my 4x8 stainless steel plaque. I feared that my project might be too insignificant for them. I had no truck, no routine standard order, as many did, could offer no frequent buyer handshake.
But I forced myself to wait with all the guys. Where was Dawn? In the back? Maybe she worked off site at home watching Oprah. She was the person I had emailed with several times about what I needed. I SO wanted to see a woman.

My turn came and I proudly announced I had a unique order. I did not want to predispose anyone into thinking mine was not as worthy as the big ones. I also added that I had been emailing with Dawn, hoping to show I was not just a walk-in. My guy was very interested-I think he was relieved to have to solve something different, a change from 5000 planks of wood, and 20 tubs of cement blocks. Anyway, I was led from the office to the open-air warehouse where I luxuriated in the intoxicating smell of all kinds of fresh lumber. Together we strolled up and down aisles bordered by stacks of different types of wood. We were soon joined by another employee who seemed to be higher ranking because only he had the authority to use the giant electric saw to slice my chosen plank. I picked, he did the sawing. Job done. I had my materials. The boss yelled out "don't charge her?" Free! I thanked all profusely and explained the reason for the plaque. Everyone seemed reluctant to return to his/her traditional big orders. Now I had some wood and the plaque. My lumberman added "I am sure your husband can help you screw the plaque to the wood and the stand" I smiled a goodbye. Paul is the Chef in our house-the indoor guy; I do the outside work, outdoor girl, no need to explain to my new friends.

I screwed the plaque to the wood with a small degree of pain and difficulty since toolgirl had no electric screwdriver that worked, nor any proper sized screws with tops wide enough for my Phillips screwdriver. Got it done.
I emailed the invisible virtual Dawn my thanks. She replied "I am glad you are pleased, we have been in business 54 years."

Here is Ruth's Rose Garden from afar, See her dog statue at left, and those leaves in the pot and to the left are future rose bushes, thanks friends!
You think they will survive this rough May start? The cherub is weeping.

Ruth's Rose garden also has a rabbit visitor and Liam spends a lot of time trying to catch him and sniff him out of his rabbit hole as well as digging in Ruth's garden. Maybe Ruth's rabbit and dog garden would be a more apt title.
I wonder if this rose garden has a chance. Somehow, I think Ruth would be okay with whatever happens. I know she would say in her charmingly Ruthless way
"Let Liam have his fun, where are the roses anyway?"

Woof, woof

Hottest April, whose pants are these?

April is the cruellest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.......
T.S. Eliot The Wasteland 1922

I do not know if this April was the cruelest, but it seems that April 2010 was the hottest month ever on record. I did not notice its hotness. We had some very hot days but the impression of oppressive heat did not register on my internal thermometer. I checked with Kevin Grogan, our weather barista, and he confirms it was indeed the hottest ever recorded in Central Park.
http://forecast.weather.gov/product.php?site=NWS&issuedby=OKX&product=RER

A clue to the higher temps was that Liam was out a lot. He loves the outdoors and he began chasing, sniffing and resting on the lawn early and often this April.
The last week in April might have proved to be just too hot for some. Early in the week I discovered a pair of shorts draped over a chair in our back yard. Now I thought the shorts might belong to "The Ultimate Chimney Company"who had cleaned our gutters on Monday, April 26. Or maybe to our Lawn service. I mulled over my course of action. Should I ask who left their shorts in my yard? Was this opening me up to uncomfortable suspicion? Would the question reflect negatively on one of the service people? I decided to send an email to the gutter cleaning folks since they would not be returning. The lawn team comes by on Tuesdays and would see the shorts again, and pick them up, had they left them. So I sent a note.

Thanks for your wonderful service on Monday April 26, 2010. We found a pair of blue shorts on the chair in the back yard -was wondering if they were left that day.
We were thinking it was either your team or our gardener's-we noticed on Wednesday.

Carol McNiff

No reply yet, I hope I have not been crossed off their client list for shorts stealing or that their service guy has been fired for leaving his shorts (in the hottest month of April ever).

Then on Friday April 30, last day of the hottest April ever, we drove out to Bayville for lunch. Bayville is located on the Long Island Sound and is the site of our wedding reception, which was in April, 1982. While we sat outside on the deck on Wall's Wharf http://www.wallsbeach.com/ We noticed another abandoned pair of pants. What is going on with folks leaving their pants/shorts? These had boots attached. Seems the owner was inside the restaurant having anchored his boat just offshore. He had taken off his boot/pants to enter the restaurant. So his lost pants would have a reunion later.
As we enjoyed the view of Long Island Sound, a woman and her dog strolled by, a Liam look alike. Paul and I both agree that Liam is not a beach dog and the north shore rocks and shells would bother his feet so we felt okay that we had left him home alone. Liam loves grass. He would not have gone near the water. We assume the ship's captain reclaimed his pants after he finished his lunch.
We still have an unclaimed pair of shorts.

Liam outside enjoying the hot April, no shorts, no boots, no bodies of water just a hot lawn and warm sun

Woof, woof

,

Starbux Stories

Liam licks a latte

It seems I have a twin who goes to the same Starbucks as I do. I found this out when I entered My Starbucks, arrived at the ordering spot and heard my barrister mutter, "whoops, now we have two grande non-fat lattes. "He gestured to the woman in front of me and explained, "I thought she was you so I already put up your latte, thinking you were here." My twin turned around to face me. No, she does not look like me. Yes, there are similarities. We are the same build, have longish blond hair, same eyes, but no we are not twins by any means. I am sure she is thinking the same. I find myself saying "Oh , I am flattered." The childhood taunt echoes in my head "Liar Liar pants on fire." However, the taunt is from my own conscience because I do not wholeheartedly mean what I have just said.
My twin replies, "I am flattered also." Hmmmm. Really?

What though does this mean for the drinks we ordered? It means she has a non-fat latte because she is thought to be me. This would be fine if indeed that was "her" drink also, but it is not. She is a tall soy coffee no whip; I always want the whip, so I know we are very different. The young man responsible for the mix up says, " I am sorry, you are both blond and.......
twin and I recite in unison "all blonds look alike." No, we could not permit him to say this, better we blond twins say it and spare him the embarrassment.
We are now a team, allies, blond-haired women against blanket blond statements. Poor boy barrister -he has encountered the two wrong blond twins today.

He gets her drink, we part. I spy an empty table, unusual for this tiny, seat challenged Starbucks, claim it, with my labeled latte I spread out my Times, and realize although it is 45 degrees outside, the AC is on and I need my shawl. I leave my latte and paper and jacket to mark my place and run to my Sassy Saturn parked a few cars away in the parking lot. Well right next to my Saturn, is my blond twin in her car, yes, her car is also a Saturn, and she is talking about me on her cell to someone. I hear "yes, they made her drink for me" I stop her and say "Guess what? I have a Saturn also, we really are twins." I point to the car next to hers. OMG. Amazing.

Next day I return, no twin. My drink is made before I even get to the counter. I get it, pay, don't stay, no seats available today.

But I return within 15 minutes. I had sat in my back yard, put my latte on the flat arm of the Adirondack chair, leaping Liam got my latte and slurped it up.

Back at Starbucks, I get my Liam-licked replacement latte for free. Nice barrister. Making up for the blond remarks?

Liam pre latte looking at birds leans into my latte whips around to enjoy a different latte drinking position

yummy, now for the chewing of the cup itself

woof woof

A very very fine House

Our house is a very, very fine house
With many dogs in the yard
Life used to be so hard
Now everything is easy
'Cause of you

-with a nod to CSN and a minor change in feline to canine lyrics line 2


We attended Old Westbury Gardens Dog Days on Sunday, April 18, 2010. Two weekends a year, the grounds are open to leashed dogs and their owners unleashed or leashed. Since Saturday was chilly, raw at times, with grass still wet from morning showers, Sunday brought the big turnout. Dogs of all breeds, and temperaments, lazed, leaped, marched, rolled, sniffed all through the house grounds., some held close, some running ahead, creating a temporary elite dog park.

Some history-
The construction of Westbury house was started in 1904 and was ready for its family, the Phipps, in March 1907. http://www.oldwestburygardens.org/
Old Westbury Gardens, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, is the former home of John S. Phipps, his wife, Margarita Grace Phipps and their four children. Completed in 1906 by the English designer, George A. Crawley, the magnificent Charles II-style mansion is nestled amid 200 acres of formal gardens, landscaped grounds, woodlands, ponds and lakes. Westbury House is furnished with fine English antiques and decorative arts from the more than fifty years of the family's residence.

Liam loved the thatched cottage, the view of the main house the reflective West Pond. He was mistaken for a lab puppy several times by other dog owners, which caused us to puff with pride announcing that he is 4 dogs in one. Liam lived up to this blog's name by licking and leaping on all who appeared interested in him. He met Maggie and Sadie; he seems to go for the big girls, but also was cordial and sniffy to his smaller dog strollers. He pawed his respects at the Phipps doggie family graveyard, wagging by each headstone, noting from the headstone inscriptions that many had lived long cherished lives

One of our LiamLicks blog members and fellow SSA retiree has an online collection of photos that are vivid, professional, and indicative of all the Old Westbury Gardens has to offer and shows its best qualities as well as his incomparable talents. See link following.
http://www.pbase.com/jimrob/oldwest
a very very fine exhibit.

Another house on our minds this week is Arlington. That would be the little house built to honor George Washington, inhabited by Robert E. Lee and then dedicated as a National Cemetery.
All this took many years.

Arlington House another very fine house

On a Virginia hillside rising above the Potomac River and overlooking Washington, D.C., stands Arlington House. The 19th-century mansion seems out of place amid the more than 250,000 military grave sites that stretch out around it. Yet, when construction began in 1802, the estate was not intended to be a national cemetery. It started as a memorial to George Washington and down the line ended up as the residence of Confederate general Robert.E. Lee. and his wife, a descendant of Martha Washington.

http://www.arlingtoncemetery.org/historical_information/arlington_house.html

Now Arlington has one of the larger Columbariums for cremated remains in the country. Any honorably discharged veteran is eligible for inurnment (meaning not in ground burial) if she or he served on active duty at some point in her/his career. So my father is the vet and my mother gets to join him. see Columbarium courtyard next

On Friday April 23, 2010, my mother, Ruth McNiff, will join Charles McNiff in their niche-together again.

Amanda from Arlington (that is how she announced herself in the message on our machine), informed us that Ruth arrived at Arlington, Thursday, April 15, 2010. and that her remains will be placed in the niche on Friday, April 23, 2010. So her name will join his on the plaque tomorrow

We invite you to join us in a toast this Friday for Ruth's journey's end, wherever you are, with whatever you drink, virtual or real, whatever time!

As my dad, would say, "Happy Hour is in session, what is your pleasure?"

"Death leaves a heartache, no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal"

-from a headstone in Ireland - (from a dear friend's sympathy card)

Granddogger Liam dedicates his first grass roll over of the season to his grandparents Ruth and Charlie at rest in Arlington.

here we go on back other side, where is my head? done, aah

Woof, Woof

Pharmacy Phrenzy

Liam has a wiffle ball that came over the fence into our yard

The night we arrived home from Tampa, we stopped at CVS to pick up my prescription. I had called in this prescription before I left confident that it would be waiting here for me. I have spoken about it in my prior blog story "Tested in Tampa." My drug is klonopin and is my miracle drug calming my restless leg, and inducing sleep eventually. I had some remaining but our Tampa visit had upped my klonopin ingestion and brought me down to a scary pill total. Facing no sleep, a restless leg after our life altering trip was not what I needed on my agenda. I had prepared for this eventuality. No last minute stuff for me. I approached the high countered pharmacy (soon they might be bullet proofed like banks) and asked for my prescription. By the fumbling going on, I soon realized that it was not under McNiff, or Carol or in the "in tray" pile. I have often observed or possibly imagined an elitist attitude in the pharmacy. Needless remarks like "Do you know you have no refills on this one?" when initially submitting a prescription. No, I didn't. Thanks, let me now worry for the month.
Or, "You have waited too long, this prescription form is too old, it must be submitted timely to be filled." Well, I did come in timely and you said it was too soon. A pharmaceutical smirk follows with an insincere "Sorry."
Or, "Are you sure you still want this?" Well, why would I be here?
Or "Sorry, we only have a few, can you come back?" Sure, I cannot wait to come back.

This night, March 24, night of the day of my mother's death, I am here in CVS, but my refilled prescription is not. Two persons behind the counter are explaining that my miracle drug needs an entirely new written prescription. They cannot call for me. "Okay, but I called," I say. "They should have told you the rule. This is a controlled substance and no phone call either way is acceptable.
Then I lose it. "What am I supposed to do? What if I cannot sleep? Why didn't the doctor's office call me?" (a question very unfair I know). I am building up with the steam of a lunatic sleep deprived person. I have seen folks fall to pieces at the pharmacist, cry, sob. try to climb over the counter and choke the pharmacist. I am fast on the way to being one of those demented individuals.
Paul pulls me away. He tells me firmly " Stop, there is nothing that can be done tonight."
We leave. I do not dare turn. I imagine victorious grins, drug supply in the pharmacy intact.

The next day, I resolve it, return with my written prescription, and thank goodness, the team from the night before is off duty. Whew. I hope by the time I see them again, they will have no memory of our encounter from the night before.
I continue to have all sorts of crazy minor maladies. My head never clears from the flight, my ears hurt for days, my impaired hearing is even more so.
I start to feel very anxious if I am not near a bathroom.
After 2 weeks of ignoring my symptoms and taking Advil I wake up last Wednesday and I know that no amount of cranberry juice cranberryjuice.com/ will fix me now. Gallons would be needed and I might drown. I know what is wrong and here is the link womenshealth.about.com/cs/bladderhealth/a/UTI.htm
I know it, I have self diagnosed. I must get the proper drugs for a cure.
The pain of sitting, walking, of just being, is suddenly so excruciating that I wonder how I will drive Sassy to StatMed (like a First Med).

I do drive; I can scream out aloud in the car. I park in King Kullen parking lot across the street from StatMed not noticing there are spots right in front. This causes a 5-minute delay getting across Jericho; zooming cars, no chance of running between them, pain increasing exponentially. I open the StatMed door, no one is waiting. Questions. I answer- "yes, I have been here, yes, I have the same coverage," yes, yes, let me in!!!

I am deposited in a waiting room, give my sample in the bathroom, confirms my illness, doctor comes in. I am reading USA Today standing. I explain, I cannot sit and reading is a distraction. Do not want her to think, this is casual or bearable at all. She sends me out with a sympathetic touch on the shoulder, writes the prescription. Then the two receptionists, a trainee and mentor, explore my record to see what my co pay is. As a retired manager, I recognize a mentoring situation and as a promoter of teamwork, I admire their shared mission, except not now when I need to get pain pills in me. Minutes are going by, and I am minutes away from screaming in pain in the waiting room, not good for business. Mentor/trainee say in unison "We are trying to find your co pay." I say "Take my credit card, my car, my ring, I will leave all with you as collateral, I need to go to CVS now. "No, we almost have it-their thrill in the hunt has totally obscured me as a client/patient/. "Almost," trainee says. "Almost," mentor chimes in, they get it-I throw the money, rush out, cross Jericho as if I am a contestant on the "Amazing Race" get in Sassy and go. Arrive at CVS, run down the aisle. Oh no, my team from March 24 is on duty! Will they exact revenge? I announce, "I need this now, please." I add, I am sorry for my behavior two weeks ago, my Mother had died that day and I was ragged. Now I have this ailment and I might soon act much worse than I did then." The two women are silent, they confer, check the prescription-cipro antibiotic and pheno for pain, they know what these drugs are for and that I am desperate in my need of relief. They work as a team, get it done. Two bottles. They tell me "Your reaction 2 weeks ago was mild. People scale the counter. We get death threats."

I race back down the aisle, jump into Sassy, I take the required pills. Then read. Oh no, the pain ones MUST be taken with food. I know this instruction to be serious and not observing it results in a hole in one's stomach. Been there. I reenter CVS, grab a bag of chips, only one person on line, No, no. It is a coupon lady. I have seen such folks in the supermarket, rarely in CVS. The drugstore cart is bulging with her items many tumbling out; drugstore carts are tiny-not compatible with coupons. Her pile of coupons is high and she has 8x10 Internet ones also. I could rip open the bag of chips and eat them. Her coupons do not scan, manager is called. I run out, dropping the chips on the way. How much time do I have before the pheno pills eat away my stomach lining. Is it doing it now? I am in a pheno phrenzy. Back in Sassy, drive back to King Kullen, get rice chips, 10 items or less line, today honest people there- no 20 itemers. Start eating. I know that the pain pills kick in within 25 minutes. I drive to the gym. Gym? you ask. I cannot go home, our housekeeper is there, I do not want her to see me in this weakened condition. At the gym, people grunt, most are plugged into IPods singing off key, weights are crashing, bikes whirring, feet pounding treadmills, sports fans cheering with the 6 TVs- all noises are deemed to be exercise related therefore appropriate.
I am in the best place in which to recover under cover.
Within half hour, I am back to my game face.
The course of treatment is one week. I am done.

How did I get this? Most folks might have some ideas, but I actually know exactly without a doubt what has happened. Liam. He sleeps in the den at my feet, curled up on his pillow. I will never disturb him once he is there. Any time I feel the need to go to the bathroom during the night and believe me there are many, I just ignore it. I got sick because I adhered strictly to the idiomatic proverb
"Let sleeping dogs lie"

I should have followed another popular statement"When you gotta go, you gotta go"

woof, woof

Liam liking it outside "come in, Liam" okay, here I come