Bye Bye Buggy

Lucy's oldest dog friend, Lady, passed away today. She was around 16 years old and was so helpful when Lucy was a puppy that we called her Nanny. She never hesitated to let Lucy know when she was out of line, and she even nose-boosted her up some stairs when Lucy was too little to make it herself. Their bond continued until yesterday, when we took Lucy over to see her friend one last time.

Lady only had one eye because her other one had been shot out; she carried some of the pellets from that shotgun blast under her skin for her whole life. They reckoned she was a little older than a year when she was rescued as a stray living on her own in the woods in West Virginia. She was malnourished and had a serious case of heartworm, the treatment for which required her movement to be restricted for several months when she first moved into the neighborhood with her owner, Lauren. 

Not surprisingly, she was a bit of a timid creature back then, despite her fierce visage and coal-black fireplug body. Our first dog, Isabel, helped her out of her shell enough to venture first up the stairs and out of the complex, and finally even into the dog park. Within a year or so, she was willing to go anywhere, without hesitation, although she was always happy to get home.

Lady was always a very practical dog, though, eating whatever was put in front of her whenever she could and avoiding any uncomfortable situation; whether it was hot weather, rain, crazy dogs, or crazy people, she was sensible enough to give such things a wide berth. She was a faithful companion to her person, Lauren, seeing her through a master's program, a Ph.D., a first job, dating, engagement, a wedding (which Lady was in), a new home, and pregnancy. She even converted Lauren's husband, AJ, to a dog person; before Lady, he was 100% Team Cat.

We called her Lady Bug, which was eventually shortened to Bug or Buggy, which seemed to suit her just fine. Fourteen years is a long time to know a dog, and she was a great one. She will be missed.

Taking a Swipe at It

 "We've been talking about names," our friend who's expecting told us this afternoon.

"You mean Pebbles might not stick?" I joked. "What could possibly be better?"

"Actually," her husband said, "we downloaded an app."

"That's smart," Heidi said.

"It gives you a list of names," our friend said, "and you swipe right if you like one."

"We do it separately," her husband continued, "and then it tells you which ones you matched."

"Yeah, but we went through, like, 500 names," his wife said, "and we only agreed on maybe five."

"What were they?" I asked.

They shrugged. "I think one was Zoe," he told us.

"I honestly can't remember any others," she agreed. "And we need a middle name, too."

"You still have plenty of time," Heidi assured them.

"Or? Pebbles it is!" I added. "We all agree on that one!"

Second Language

It was around dinner time when I ran out to Staples do one last birthday errand. Customarily, places are not very busy between 5:30 and 6:30, and I was expecting a quick turn around. My plan seemed to be working when I whooshed theough the sliding glass doors and saw 3 employees, all finishing up with customers, and no one waiting. 

But. 

It turned out that only the manager could help me with my purchase, and he was embroiled in a conversation with a couple about 15 years older than I am. They had a file folder with them, which is never a good sign if you're hoping for a speedy check out. I gleaned from their discussion that they had just purchased a new lap top, and were making arrangements for somebody to set it up for them and transfer all their applications and files to the new machine. 

As I waited, I had plenty of time to analyze the situation. First, I was reminded of my mother-in-law, and how mystifying she often found new technology. Next, I wondered if I could be in a similar position a decade or so in the future. Finally, I considered the generation gap that seemed to be at play. 

I decided that although I might not be as fluent with the latest devices as some younger people who were born into this digital world, it's probably unlikely I'll need that level of support. I'm not a native speaker, but I'm still pretty proficient. 

Plus? I'll never bring a file folder shopping.

Way Ahead of the Game

I met up with a friend and former colleague today because he asked me to look over the paperwork for his license renewal before submitting it. "I need 270 points," he said. "Right?"

"I think it's still 180," I answered.

"For 10 years?" he asked.

"You get grandfathered in the first time you renew for ten," I told him.

"I already renewed for ten," he said.

"When does your license expire?" I asked.

"2030," he reported. "I want to get a head start because I have all my points." He paused, and his eyes widened. "Unless they would take away the four years I have left?"

"I don't think there's any upside to turning this in now," I replied. "Do you have a file folder? Just put all this away until 2030."

"2029," he corrected me. "I want to get this in early!"

It's a Handful

We spent our afternoon at a baby shower for a good friend. It turned out to be a fun reunion of the original neighborhood "Pack," complete with 2 Laurens, 2 Heidis, and 2 Traceys (or Tracis), folks who all bonded over their dogs Lady, Cooper, Ben, Lucy, and Theo. Over the last nine years, partners and kids have been added, people have moved, and sadly, a couple of dogs have been lost, but having the whole group together again was a joy. 

Of course, there were other guests as well, some expectant parents and others, new parents themselves. Everyone was full of wisdom and advice, but my favorite tip for the new mom and dad was this: "Enjoy leaving your house with just your phone and your car keys! That won't happen for a long while," a young mother laughed, hefting her giant baby bag to her shoulder. "You're going to have to carry a lot of crap."

Foul Weather Fans

Before I booked parking for the baseball game last night, I checked and double-checked the weather forecast. There was no chance of rain, not even a pop-up thunderstorm. And so, as we crawled along 395 on our way to cross the 14th St bridge, the foreboding skies meant nothing to me. 

"Check the app," I said to Heidi when she expressed her concern, and sure enough? At Nats Park, there was no rain forecast. 

Even so, the trip, short in distance but long in time because of Friday evening traffic, was only beginning. And when fat raindrops began to sploosh against our windshield as we took the Capitol Hill exit to wind our way to our parking spot, I was still not alarmed. And then I got the text: weather delay. But it wasn't actually raining at the ballpark, so optimistically, I parked the car, and we walked the three blocks to the stadium, confident that the game would begin shortly. 

But the minute we walked through the gate, the skies opened. Still undeterred, we dashed to the merch store and spent half an hour perusing the gear. Lots of other fans had staked out floor space, though, as if settling in for the long haul. We hadn't eaten, and decided that a circuit of the concessions on the main level would be a good way to kill some time. 

As soon as we made it to cover, though, we recognized our error. The wide hall was packed shoulder to shoulder, and it seemed like most of the other patrons were college-aged kids in red, white, or blue t-shirts emblazoned with the slogan His Legacy, Your Voice. They were all from the Turning Point USA leadership conference. 

It took 40 minutes to weave our way around the perimeter from section 143 to 108, and there was literally no place to stop and stand, let alone eat. It was 8:15 by the time we made it back to the main gate plaza, and we stood in a light drizzle surveying the sky and the grounds crew trying to squeegee off the infield tarp. The game was still delayed. 

The setting sun was trying to break out from the storm clouds to our west, and I scanned the sky for a rainbow. There was none. The stands were still closed, every seat empty and wet, and the majority of the 38,000 people in attendance were still crammed into the sheltered concourse. 

"Let's go home," I sighed.

What a Stitch

The phone was ringing as I stepped into the tailor's shop. "Hello?" she answered, nodding to me that she would be a moment.

As I waited, I could hear the voice on the other end of the line. "I have a dress," she said, "and I need it fitted and altered, but I have a tight turn around." 

She paused, and the three of us in the shop waited expectantly.

"I need it in 24 hours," she continued with a frantic sigh. "Is that something you can do?"

The tailor was measured as she answered. "I'd have to see it first. Can you come in now?"

"I can come in about an hour," the woman replied with a thread of relief in her voice.

"See you then," said the tailor as she hung up and turned to me.

"I need this altered, too," I told her, gesturing to the hanger in my hand. "But I don't need it in 24 hours!"

"Good!" she laughed, gesturing toward the changing room. "Let's see it!"