Little Spanky was here for a visit. He has completely recovered from his bout with Parvo, and is growing like a weed. He still lands in my lap like a little rocket. He’s beginning to understand that a Border collie’s natural habitat . . .
. . . is the back of a truck. Of course, it has to be stationary, and he has to use the hitch as a ladder, but he’s in there trying.
Another daylily has bloomed. Apparently it’s quite difficult to breed a true white daylily, but this one is as close as they have come. Its name is Gentle Shepherd (how nice), and it has a reputation as a shy bloomer.
But maybe it’s worth it.
I got a request! A request for pictures of Cider as a youngster. I wish I had gotten pictures of her as a round cuddly puppy, but the earliest I have are these at three or four months. I used these captions in my scrapbook . . .
Won’t you play with me?
See, here’s my toy.
It’s a lot of fun, see?
Well, at least we made it outside.
How could you make a little dog work so hard?
In some ways, she hasn’t changed much!
It looked like we were going to get through June without any hundred degree days, but no such luck. It’s ninety at ten o’clock, headed for 105. It was 101 yesteday, with the same predicted for tomorrow. That would make it our first official Heat Wave.
The swamp cooler doesn’t cope well with temperatures much over 102, so it’s going to be nasty even in the house. I’ll shut down the computer at noon, as I usually do on the hottest summer days.
Everyone stay cool out there!
There was one more picture from the series yesterday I wanted to post. It shows Andrew, his father David, and me. David and I are swimming our dogs. I had a shaggy little sheepdog mix called Poppy at the time, and she was very reluctant to try swimming. Finally I hauled her out to the middle of the river on a lead, and she discovered that a) she could swim after all, and b) it was fun! But that’s not the point.
Andrew is twenty, so this was eighteen or nineteen years ago. It was full summer, obviously, but the trees in the background are bare because the big island had just burned. There have been a lot of fires there over the years.
Now, here’s the exact same spot today. I’ve used this picture (with circled duck) before, but it’s a good perspective.
You wouldn’t have guessed it, would you? For years, the city graded the river bottom to allow free flow. Then there were a couple of high water years, and the trees got started. After a while, the river bed became an Official Wetland, and not to be disturbed.
The good thing, of course, is that it allows a lot more wildlife to thrive. The bad part? The flow is impeded, so there are a lot more still places for mosquito larvae to thrive. And a real flood would be a disaster.
I’ve written about this change before, but these pictures sure point it up. Time will tell if the change is a good thing, or a bad one.
In the same drawer with the picture from yesterday, I found some old shots of grandson Andrew as a toddler.
At my age, you live to embarrass your descendants.
Isn’t he adorable, with his chubby arms and little potbelly?
Or how about this one.
I’m sure that’s just mud on his bottom.
Oh, well — what goes around comes around. Here’s a recent picture of Andrew and me. Somehow, the potbelly seems to have transferred over to me . . . which accounts for my pained expression.
I guess that’s justice.
I was going through my old (pre-digital) photos and came across this picture. My sister sent it some time ago. It’s our parents, who’ve been gone a long time now; and they are very young.
This would have been taken sometime in the forties. I remember the dress Mom is wearing well. It hung at the back of her closet for many years. It was a soft greyed aqua, spangled with little silver metal stars. It must have looked lovely with her fair Irish skin, deep brown eyes, and curly, dark auburn hair. (Which none of us inherited — darn it!) Only my brother Bruce had brown eyes and hair. The rest of us had versions of our father’s ash-blonde hair, darkening with age, and blue to gray eyes.
I’m sure we’ve all had that odd feeling that comes of looking at our parents’ pictures, when they are frozen in time so much younger than we are now. Did people come up with the old saying, “Time flies,” because it escapes us like a bird in flight, never to return?
My friend Ferrabie is here today to clean up and keep us in line. No time for blogging!