Yeah — and Another Thing!

Looking for some way to leave lymphoma out of this week’s note my editor (the one in the back of my head) did what all editors do, he sent the photographer out for pictures of cute dogs and pretty girls.

I found myself walking the dark streets of downtown Des Moines on a Thursday night talking to a dog in French. “Frimas” is a Blue Picardy Spaniel or as he would say, if he could speak rather than simply listen to French, “un Epagneul Bleu de Picardie.” Linguists will point out that Frimas should probably have been taught to speak Picard, one of the unofficial but persistent languages of France, and to be walking the streets of Des Moines speaking French to this dog is actually even sillier than it looks. In my defense, to quote another icon of the region, Inspector Jacques Clouseau, “Thees ees not my dawg.”

And Frimas knows this. In fact, he is Jeffrey’s dog, but in practice, at least while he stays with us, he is Karen’s dog. Because Karen has the Dog Voice.

Bella, the downstairs dog is less obedient, but smaller — so it doesn’t seem to matter. She’s my dog most days while her owner is at work. I’m teaching her how to debug XSLT, so far without much success. And it’s not her fault.

Several friends showed up this week and persuaded me to turn on the comments. I had them off because I couldn’t deal with the spam, but I’ve clued in now and have turned them on after installing a filter. Thanks Bruce and Ruth for prodding me.

Martin from Dublin pointed out that there was nothing here to show my domestic side, that I wash the dishes. In fact, I’m less energetic about dishes than I should be, though I try to keep up. It’s easier when I have company in the kitchen. Sasha, on the right, drove all the way from Lawrence, Kansas, to help out. Karen, on the left, has been wielding the big spoon. We drank too much coffee and got all sentimental about Vancouver and Dublin.

Update

Penny asked, in a comment, about that odd thing I’m holding. Penny is the best editor I never deserved and despite her early experience with me, persisted in her magazine publishing career. It’s a colander that I’ve photographed in such a way that you can’t see the holes. Then it occurred to me that it’s a metal colander — something we don’t see much anymore. So here’s a better picture, along with my other favorite metal implements.

These have been around Karen’s kitchen, in Vancouver, Harrisburg and now Des Moines, for a few years, and she let’s me use them, as Mark Twain might have remarked, “As long as you use them in my kitchen.” In fact, she junked my Teflon-coated skillet — which gives me an excuse to include a shot that I just like.

This is romaine lettuce, olive oiled, garliced, and ready for a suntan under the broiler. Like any good religion, mine comes with dietary restrictions. “Don’t eat your greens!” is what the doctor says. They’re very risky business because they grow in dirt, and that you don’t know where that dirt has been. One defense is triple washing, which may be effective. The other is broiling, which may be effective and is certainly tasty.