When The Boy and I left for our vacation a little over a week ago, leaves were only just starting to unfurl, hesitantly peeking pale green slivers out from tight, suspicious buds. When we landed on Sunday, it was a wonderful surprise to see that lush, green leaves had exploded everywhere, and that a solid week of rain had made for a street of emerald lawns. (Umm, and in our case, a small emerald forest. The Boy dispensed with that pretty much as soon as he’d gotten some sleep.)
It wasn’t so pleasant to come back to the heavy, muggy air (which thankfully has since cleared up) but as consolation, I got to re-discover on my walks with the Smelly that many of my neighbours (and nearby parks) have purple lilacs, and that most of them seem to be in bloom right now. (Note to self: take a walk sans dog with some snips.)
In my childhood (yes, lo these many moons ago), I always associated spring with a parade of magnolia flowers. The neighbourhood around my school seemed to have a magnolia tree on every other lawn, and these were old, tall, glorious trees; elegant and stately. I knew it was spring when the steely grey branches sudden softened into white-pink blossoms, like skeletons putting on pouffy dresses.
It’s a little weird now for me to re-cast that with lilacs instead (although I’ll admit freely that it’s nice being able to smell the spring). Maybe I’ll have to remedy the situation and plant a magnolia myself.
Okay, so Rachel has been chastising me for not posting a picture of my much-squee’d kitty napkin rings. Having now had a chance to unpack, here they are:
Yup, that’s right. Not only did I buy kitten-shaped napkin rings, I bought them all snuggling in a basket. I didn’t take any good pictures of their paws, but they’re pretty cute. I am thoroughly chuffed with my purchase. Irony?
That’s right folks: all that way to go thrifting to find… napkin rings from my native land. Ha!
This weekend, in fact, the day after The Boy and I landed, we felt the need to make up to our dog our week-long absence. (This despite the fact that he’d spent the week spoiled by The Boy’s parents and two visiting dogs. I tell you, our pets lead hard lives.) Thus decided, we headed for the dog park.
It was all going splendidly really, until we decided to let him off-leash in the trail area. That’s when it happened. An unseen portal to the abyss, popularly believed to be a mud puddle, but in reality bearing more resemblance to a primordial tar pit. There was running, and splashing and merriment. Then more splashing. Then this:
You would be correct if you’re wondering if that is a complete lack of repentance you’re seeing on his face. The impudent pup showed not a twinge of remorse. Not until he realized he was unwelcome inside the truck cab, anyway. Of course, thirty seconds after getting on the road in the bed of the truck, that twinge was long gone. (What? I get to stick my whole body in the wind? This is awesome!)
We tried to hose the mud off, then shampooed and scrubbed and rinsed and toweled. He is still not returned to his former glory, but is at least somewhat respectable now.
Still no sign of repentance though.