Day: February 11, 2019

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Lint. And A Trip To The Neighborhood Vet.

Over the weekend, I saw Suzanne stretching out a cornucopia of clothing items on the kitchen island. With her sewing, crafting, and whatever-ing relentlessly happening around the house, I notice not-ordinary things like that all the time. I don’t always ask about them. Sometimes I treat whatever’s going on like a game– to see if I can figure out the activity’s result. Sometimes I want to know what’s going on, and sometimes I’m sure I don’t. I simply use my powers of observation most of the time.

And so I did, with Suzanne’s clothing on the kitchen island. I heard a buzzing noise, looked over, and saw Suzanne shaving her clothing with her battery-powered lint and hair remover gadget. I don’t recall ever owning clothes in need of an occasional shave, but apparently Suzanne has a few outfits whose goal is to attract globules o’ lint. Or she secretly works in a lint factory. I dunno. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to lather shaving cream on her clothing items before she shaves them.

I did, however, have to change my clothes– even my socks– after I returned home from taking Skitter to the vet this morning. I was more of a fur ball than Skitter by the time we were done with her exam and tests. She shook so ferociously during the appointment it was as if she was ejecting each hair on her body at me, one at a time– like a firing squad of arrows from Tie o’ the Day’s Cupids. Like it’s MY fault she’s got a bladder infection. (We think that’ll be her diagnosis. We expect her test results tomorrow.)

I was surprised to discover Skitter’s solo photo here isn’t a blur of fur. I guess I caught her in mid-quake. Even as she sat there on the exam table, her eyes begged me to get her out of there. I heard her thinking, “If you really loved me, you’d help me escape. Please, please, please. You rescued me once before.” I think I heard her soul howl at me telepathically.

I felt bad about things from the minute I woke up this morning, because I knew what was ahead for Skitter. She naively dressed up in her red flannel Bow Tie o’ the Day for an undisclosed outing with me. She had no clue the destination would be the Parrish Creek Veterinary Clinic. Some things you just shouldn’t tell your dog until you absolutely have to. As we exited the car at the clinic, I was already apologizing to The Skit for the inevitable rectal thermometer, and for whatever the dog urine extractor is called.

But as I type this post, Skitter is sitting beside me at the other end of the loveseat. She has already forgiven me. How do I know? Because she is completely buried under three Suzanne-made blankets– except she has stretched out one of her front legs in my direction, such that her paw is touching my leg. I’d love to snap a pic of Skitter’s precious paw on my thigh to show you, but if I move to pick up my phone, it will startle her. And then there goes the photo op. I’m just going to sit here and enjoy watching it until she moves it.

Blessings are sometimes no bigger than a dog’s paw on your leg. I hope you notice your tiny blessings. They surround you. Just look.

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Sunday Brunch Again

I threw together my BE MINE Bow Tie o’ the Day and my hearts Cape o’ the Day–with nicely clashing paisley, and Suzanne and I headed to Sunday brunch. It was our first time dining at TRADITION, a trendy restaurant near Liberty Park in SLC. It was a sort of pre-Valentine’s Day food outing.

Here I am, squinting into the sun, so I could do my traditional brunch selfie with the restaurant’s name in the photo.

Finding parking was a pain because the place was busy, and snow filled the gutters. It was fortunate we had reservations. In fact, Suzanne finally dropped me off at the door to hold our reservations while she searched hither and yon for a parking spot. She found one and promptly got stuck in the snow, whereupon two good samaritans (2 of the 3 Nephites?) descended to push her out of her dire straits. She finally got a not-so-snowy spot, and into the restaurant she breezed. And I say “breezed” because the wind literally blew her in through the doorway.

The restaurant’s decor was simple and modern, but it was clearly not a place you could have a conversation. Everyone seemed to be yacking, but I have no clue how they understood each other. Suzanne and I yelled our conversation and still had to repeat most of what we said. I am not exaggerating. The din reminded me of a full school lunchroom. It was worse than that, though, because school lunchrooms are larger, so people and their conversations are more spread out.

And how was the food at TRADITION? I had the maple and oatmeal crusted chicken, and sourdough pancakes. You know how I like to try new food at new places. I want to like whatever new dish is on the plate in front of me. At the very least, I want my meal to be edible. Thumbs up on the chicken. Thumbs down on the pancakes. And they sounded yummy. Not! Suzanne and I aren’t opposed to eating at the place again, if for some reason we find ourselves in the neighborhood, but we wouldn’t go out of our way to return. We won’t end up there because we get a craving for the food.

Maybe as I’m growing older, my taste buds are becoming less adventurous. Maybe they are harking back to my younghood. I’m beginning to want the same old familiar food, over and over. Of course, I can’t get any of Mom’s food anymore, so I mean the next lower level of the same old, simple food. I like my steak, pizza, tuna sandwiches, spaghetti. I mean– funeral potatoes never sound like a bad idea to me anymore.

My current pet peeve about most finer restaurant menu’s is that aioli is everywhere. Lemon-insfused aoili. Spice-infused aioli. Garlic-infused aioli. Pomegrante-infused aioli. Oh, please! “Infused” is basically a fancy word for “flavored.” And “aioli” is mayonnaise.

I hereby inform all dining establishment owners: Your whatever-infused aioli does not need to be on every food creation you offer. You also do not need to charge a buck more because you print this exotic-sounding item on your menu. If you see me coming, whatever I order, hold the aioli. I will be the one in the cape and bow tie. If you value my patronage, DO NOT DRIZZLE AIOLI ON, IN, OR AROUND MY FOOD! I can bring my own mini bottle of mayo with me to your establishment if that will help you out.