It's Baaack!

Snow, that is.

April in Colorado can be erratic. Today it's snowing huge, wet flakes that are threatening to bury my just-planted violas.

But last Sunday was sunny and in the 60s, a perfect day for the Denver Botanic Gardens. Bordered on one side by a neighborhood of old, European-style homes, the Gardens are hosting "the first major open-air Henry Moore exhibition in the Western United States." The contrast between the massive statues and the fragile spring flowers and budding trees was delicious.

And looking at the pictures again almost makes me believe that spring is here. Or was here.

A former private residence near the Gardens,
now an administrative building.

The Gardens' Japanese Tea House,
where tea is served during the summer.

"Justices Reject Ban on Videos of Animal Cruelty"

When I saw yesterday's New York Times headline, above, my heart sank. I understand--intellectually--the legal basis for the ruling, particularly after Patrick Gillette, JD and dog lover, explained it to me. But emotionally, I can't seem to get past the message it sends to people who promote dog fighting. These scum aren't concerned with the First Amendment nuances of the ruling and probably view it as a judicial blessing to keep throwing dogs into a pit to tear each other apart while they film the carnage.

Over the nearly two years that I've volunteered at the animal shelter, I've handled a lot of pit bulls and pit bull mixes. (Much of the time, they represent the majority of the dog population at our shelter, since many shelters in the area won't accept pit bulls or, if they do, they euthanize them immediately.) Some of them have been my favorite dogs to come through the shelter; one of the most battered, whose snout was criss-crossed by scars from dog fights, had a disposition as sweet as that of Buzz, our little Papillon. The idea that the Supreme Court would do something that, for practical purposes, may add to the maiming and killing of these dogs sickens me.

Who would ever think that I could agree with Justice Alito?

Below: Jenkins, one of my favorite pit bull mixes from the shelter, and me at an animal adoption event last fall where I handled him for the afternoon. The big guy was adopted two months later; his new owner reported that Jenkins is "like a big puppy" who "loves to snuggle." But I already knew that . . .

Corporate Theater of the Absurd

Letter received yesterday from Allstate, which provided landlord's insurance on our Northville house during its years as a rental. (That would be the house we sold six months ago, incidentally.)

Dear Former Customer:

We're writing because, due to a processing error, we did not send you a policyholder disclosure document entitled "Notice of Terrorism Insurance Coverage" (AP3337-2) while your Landlord's Package Policy was active. The endorsement contains important details regarding Terrorism Coverage.

We apologize for this error. To correct this, we have enclosed the endorsement document in this mailing for your reference. Also, this issue did not affect your insurance premium at any time your policy was in force.

Thank God, now I'll be able to sleep at night.

---

At least once a week, sometimes twice, for the past couple of months, Comerica Bank (home to my late father-in-law's trust fund) calls the house during the day, when everyone except unemployed losers (e.g., me) is at work. The conversation is always the same:

CB: "I'm calling from Comerica Bank. May I speak to James Gillette?"

ME: "James Gillette was my father-in-law. He passed away in 2009."

CB: "Okay then, may I speak to Jack-quezz Gillette?" (Jim is a trustee on the account.)

ME: "JACQUES is not here at the moment. May I take a message?"

CB: "No, no message."

Is it just me, or is it a little odd that not a single Comerica rep has apparently ever reported to a manager that James Gillette is deceased? Or that word of his death, for which Jim provided documentation to the bank, hasn't filtered down from above?

Not to mention that none of the reps responded to the news of Jim, Sr.'s death with even the automatic "I'm sorry" that good manners suggest when one individual tells another--even a stranger--that a family member has died. Apparently it's more important to stick to the script in corporate America . . .

What about Hana?

Dogs possess an indomitable spirit for life
that teaches right up to their last day.
from Dogs & Devotion, the Monks of New Skete

After I posted pictures of Buzz and his pal, Jack, Sheila sent me an e-mail asking about Hana. So, as Oprah would say, here is what I know for sure:

Four months after her lung cancer diagnosis, Hana, who is approaching 14, is still with us. We came scarily close to putting her down in late December, after two days in which she didn't eat and barely moved, apparently from arthritis pain. In fact, the vet had already inserted the catheter to inject the euthanasia drugs. I was sitting on the floor next to Hana, sobbing, when she suddenly turned and licked my face: this from a dog who was never a kisser. At that point, I told the vet to remove the catheter because I just wasn't ready to let go.

The vet suggested trying yet another of the new canine arthritis drugs. Although the previous arthritis medication had caused nasty side effects, including cognitive problems, the new drug not only got our girl up and moving, it improved her diminishing appetite. After years of being a picky eater, she has become a chow hound.

Like most elderly dogs, Hana sleeps most of the time. She is quite deaf, although she hasn't yet lost her sight. She coughs more often, and we wonder whether the lung tumor is expanding. On the other hand, although her days as a trail dog are over, she still enjoys twice-daily walks, now usually a slow stroll around the pond in the park across the street. Sitting out in the sun while I'm working in the yard, she still lifts her nose appreciatively to catch the scent of who knows what (coyote? mule deer? mountain lion?) blowing down from the mountains.

About the presence of Buzz in her life, Hana seems bemused. I like to think that, after having lived with other dogs for the majority of her life, she is pleased to have another of her own species in the house, even if Buzz does sometimes act like a herding dog to get her moving from one spot to another. I also like to think that Hana has taught Buzz all she knows about being a Gillette dog, lessons that she learned from Merlin, my beloved first Bouvier.

We don't really know how much time Hana has left. Jim doesn't think she'll see another Christmas, but as long as she can still move and breathe without too much pain, enjoy sitting in the sun, and get a blissful look on her face when she gets peanut butter to cut the taste of her meds, we will keep her close.

Four-Eyed Once More

I started wearing glasses in the third grade. In college, when I thought that I might be walking down the aisle with John C., I got contact lenses. No way would I be a four-eyed bride.

Obviously, I didn't marry John, but I've been wearing contacts for the 35 years since that romance went bust. As I got older, I needed reading glasses on top of the contacts. Since I constantly misplace my reading glasses, I now own 10 pairs, ranging in style from Costco three-packs (a frugal fashion statement recommended by Mike M. and Steve K.) to Kate Spade.

Colorado's dry climate is tough on contact lens wearers, though; by the middle of many afternoons, my eyes are burning. So, while I'm keeping my contacts for the purposes of vanity, as of today, I am the somewhat ambivalent owner of my first pair of bifocals, er, progressive lenses.

At least in my current four-eyed incarnation, I'm sporting Vera Wang frames, a big improvement over the cat-eye glasses of my childhood.

1965: My glasses are awful, but note that
I am wearing a fashionable Madras shirt.

Dog Days

Buzz and his visiting friend, Jack, after a long walk,
followed by a half hour of chasing each other around the dining room table.

A scrap of history

We recently discovered a little piece of historical Paris in Denver's Cherry Creek neighborhood.

During World War I, the Union Française Comité de Prevoyance et d'Economies held a poster design competition for French schoolchildren. The posters' message was to encourage citizens to conserve resources. Each winning poster, which was then printed for distribution, focused on a specific resource, such as sugar, tobacco, or, quelle surprise, wine. Somehow, one of the printed posters turned up at Gallerie Rouge, a small Denver shop that specializes in vintage European posters. Appearing no heavier than a piece of tissue paper, it was in pristine condition on a linen backing.

Although the poster cost more than we have ever paid for a piece of art, we were completely smitten by the image and its back story. Our poster exhorts French citizens to save the gas used in early 20th century lamps. The young artist's name was Jeanne Fapaurnou.

I discovered a website that has images and descriptions of other posters in the series. I'm particularly taken with the poster below, and told the Gallerie Rouge owner that if she can find it for me, I'll buy it, too. ("I am a brave chicken of war. I eat little and produce much.")


Final note: The wine poster in the series is available in a modern reproduction.