RIP, Zoet

I've come to realize I don’t actually post much anymore. But I keep it because it seems like at the very least I need a place to eulogize current and future pets. And the time has come that I have had to say goodbye to Zoet.

And maybe some day I’ll be travelling again. God, I miss travelling. Then I can inundate you with pretty landscapes, too.

But to Zoet. I hope she had as much fun in her last decade (she actually only had 1.4 of them anyway) with me as I did with her. It was only in retrospect that I realized I was trying to fit a dog-shaped peg into the Tom-shaped hole in my heart, but she became my shadow, and never said no to a car ride, even if that car ride was five minutes down the road to the vet, of which there were many. I might have been gone all day at the Dana; or I might have gone into the cellar to get a can of tomatoes, but each reunion was met with happy barks and jumps and great relief that I hadn't left forever. That kind of enthusiasm is addictive.

Great Falls National Park

It was during routine bloodwork prior to dental surgery that we found out she had something wrong with her liver; we never fully identified it but were able to control it for the most part with medicine. And no this was not related to the little weed Thing That Happened. And it only now occurs to me that she never did have that dental surgery.

When I originally moved to Virginia she stayed behind in Medford with 96 until I was settled in and back from Croatia (October 2019) but she joined me for that drive home from Boston. She very much loved our recent move to Springfield, VA, where she once again had a yard with plenty to smell, as by that point her vision and hearing were both failing, but her snoot remained astute.

Another very odd mystery I never solved is that, once she 

everyone's got a hobby

moved to Virginia, she never barked. Never, not ever, not even once. And for people familiar with Zoet's ... enthusiasm (and I'm looking at you and you know who you are, you) ... will be surprised to hear this. The only theory I've come up with is that once she moved to the Alexandria apartment she didn't feel territorial like she did when she lived next door to the Fells. She'd see a dog on a leash walk in front of the house, and begin barking at it there, and continue barking all the while running through the living room to the back of the house, up onto the back of the couch, to continue the coversation, on the off chance the dog walked into the woods through the easement adjacent to the house. And then repeat when her sniffer would sniff out dogs exiting after their walks. Okay, it was loud.

Of course most of this last year has been spent in isolation, which in the early days was a struggle for both of us. But once national and state parks reopened for visitors we devised a schedule to visit as many as often as we could. She even, at 14 years of age, learned that she loved swimming. My car still has that wet, old dog smell.

As these last months and weeks dragged on, though, I could see her decline almost daily. She eventually went into diapers (which, I’m sorry but she’s cute!) and even walks around the complex became too much for her.  I’m glad I had a little carriage to bring her outside, so she could ride in comfort to wherever looked like it had a worthwhile step-to-sniff ratio.

It became obvious late on her last day that she needed to let go; while I’m pretty sure she was in no discomfort I wanted to make things as easy as I could for her. I like to think I’m the last thing she saw before she crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. I think Tom's beloved Maxwell will provide her a warm welcome, even if Ada is curled up in a corner hissing at her and Scruffy runs upstairs. Assuming heaven has an upstairs.

RIP Zoet. You will be missed. You already are.

Come in and Laugh at Me

So. I had a little adventure the other day. Zoet and I are doing a pretty good job staying isolated, but we take the occasional day trip. enmasked and socially distanced, of course. All I wanted was a damned scenic drive home. Then this happened, as told to my family's group text. Notwithstanding Jack's Samsung that makes us all green, he's worth a follow if you're a Twitter user.

And then, as you're pulling the U-turn as instructed, you'll wonder if you're supposed to use your blinker because there's no one else around except a passel of policemen, and drive the next 1000 feet looking for another blue light in the rearview mirror.

In case you're wondering what's so special about Great Falls National Park, here's part of it: 

The Mother of Invention

Everyone thinks they know that a "pocketful of posies" is a reference to the plague. 

Anyone who didn't know has by now learned that Sir Isaac Newton developed his theory of gravity during his isolation from Cambridge University, having fled home to avoid the plague.

And Shakespeare wrote King Lear during another such period of social distancing.

Not to be outdone, the Gillis siblings invented, and present to you, the Selfie Mask, printed onto cloth on your own home printer.

It all started with my brother Jack. About a month into isolation, and after seeing a hospitalful of masked faces, he had a bright idea, and texted all of us, "I can't believe no one's thought of this already!" He held us in suspense but a few minutes later texted us this:

Prototype

It was very realistic, except that cheeks appeared narrow because the flat image was wrapped around his 3D face. I wondered aloud (but of course over text)  if he could edit the image to pull the cheeks out at the edges, making them wider.

Then I went down for a nap, and the next thing I know, Andy's developed an app to do just that, and a website to boot; and Jeanne's invented the bandana version for a simpler face covering. After about 10 days of back and forth the Selfie Mask debuted on the web and in real life, with Jack premiering it at Lahey and my nephew Isaac sporting his at his Walmart. It was a hit.

Literally, a hit-on, as according to Jeanne, when she wore it to shop at HEB she got hit on! 

We're all doing what we can to flatten the curve, and that includes staying home whenever possible, and covering your mouth and nose when you have to go out. The best thing about all the masks people are wearing is that it saves our lives. The worst thing is that we can't see smiles anymore.  The Selfie Mask solves this problem by taking your smile from in back of the mask to the fore. You can upload your own photo and print a mask at this website. Use of the site is free, but a link is there to provide support to the World Health Organization's COVID-19 Solidarity Response Fund. 

We'd love to see your results! If you make one, show Jack on Twitter  @jfxgillis with the hashtag #Smiles2the4.

Here are ours ...

#Smiles2the4

Click here to upload and render your selfie

Click here for instructions and recommendations

Stay Safe. Stay Home.

Breathing in the Time of Coronavirus

I know I haven't been blogging much lately, but I love this pattern for no-sew face masks and thought I'd share. You need to scroll to the end to find the no-sew version, and if you don't like this link from the CDC, just google and you'll find a ton to choose from. The only change I made was that I found the multiple layers formed by folding towards the center several times was a little hard to breathe through, so I accordion-folded pleats, and tacked them in place. When you wash the accordion folded one you can pull it out of the drier a few minutes early and pull it taut, and you'll get your pleats back. It's important to wear with the pleat openings facing down so that detritus doesn't collect in there. Also please remember wear a mask IN ADDITION TO, not as a replacement for, social distancing.

Let's be careful out there. I love you all.

If you live in the greater DC area, can I encourage you, once restaurants have reopened for business, to patronize Medium Rare (locations in Arlington, Bethesda, and Cleveland Park.) Since they didn't have the eat-in traffic to sustain the business they decided to open the kitchen up to prepare free meals for seniors 70+, as well as offering takeout and delivery for everyone. They have an awesome Sunday Brunch too, sparkly stuff included. They put out a call on Twitter for volunteers to deliver meals, and since I stopped working at Wegman's in early March I had an excess of free time on my hands, and an itch to help however I could. If you know me you probably know that food is my love language and I was thrilled when they contacted me to help out. Here's a little thing that happened during my first evening delivering meals. Why, oh why, didn't I wash my hair that day?

We're all in this together.

So now for storytime. I feel like I haven't told a story in a while.

98 is an adult now so let's be clear this story happened a long time ago. But when he was a kid he used to love to eat lemons, and by "eat lemons" I mean pulp, rind, and all. I think he liked freaking people out but he still really does like super sour, super tangy food. He’d grab the lemon slices from our drinks so often that we didn’t even notice most times.

He and I were home alone one day while we were visiting Auntie Jeanne in Texas (this was probably preschool days) and he sneezed.  I calmly looked on the floor and discerned  a grey, mottled thing, about 1/2" square. It was probably much smaller than that but that's honestly what my brain remembers.) A grey, mottled thing that had shot out of his nose. Then I calmly looked at him (as mommas do), sitting in his high chair. And then I COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT. I wrung my hands. I paced. I consulted the medical books. I consulted him, the 3-year-old (as freaked out mommas do). Then I wrapped it in a Kleenex (for when the ER doc asked me exactly what piece of brain I thought my son had sneezed out, I guess?) In my defense this this was definitely grey, and they don’t call it “grey matter” for no reason and I was sure this was some piece of brain despite the fact that he was acting just fine. Jeanne and the boys eventually came home and she also didn't have the slightest idea what body part this was. So we both wrung our hands together.  Then my nephew, I89 for the purposes of this story, who, if 98 was 3, he must have been 11) looked at it. And looked at me. And looked back at this piece of brain matter that his cousin had sneezed out his nose, and said, in that way that preteens, who are always right even when you're sure they're not ... "Auntie Linda, it kind of looks like a ... lemon."

It was only days later that I realized he must have snatched a lemon slice, and choked on it, before it settled in his nasal passages, to be sneezed out at the most freakworthy moment. The experience didn't teach him not to steal lemons, and it certainly didn't teach me to pay better attention. But somehow he's made it to 22.

Kids. Right? People wonder why I have pink hair.