Ruby Tuesday

It occurs to me that I've never written about Ruby Tuesday. Probably because there is just so much material there that it's hard to pick out the funniest and/or least horrifying stories.

Sweetest face.

Ruby was a gift from Santa. Sometimes Santa makes decisions after a glass or three of wine. She technically belongs to the boy. And by 'belong to' I mean he throws the ball for her once or twice a week, scratches her belly on occasion and I buy all the food and pay for all the vet bills. So, that seems good.

I had a vision of a boy growing up with a Golden Retriever. They would be best pals. She'd be like Lassie but a Golden. She'd wait at the bus stop, sleep on his bed and listen to him when he had girl trouble. So far, exactly none of that has happened.

A) random dogs at the bus stop get hauled off by animal control.
B) he would love to sleep with her and has a few times but she wants to play with him - no matter what time it is - co-sleeping had to be stopped.
C) she's not a good listener.

Here's the thing. I love her. I love her stupid idiotic doggie things. She's more entertaining than TV. But, she's also a total disaster on four legs. A bull in a China shop. That sheds. And steals. Socks. Shoes. Toys. Food.

One thing no one tells you - if you've ever had a Border Collie - or probably any herding dog, do not get a retriever. You will want to shake it until it sleeps. Forever. And I would too except she weighs a metric ton and I can't pick her up.

For years I thought she was really, truly dumb. But over time, I've mostly changed my opinion. She's not dumb. She's smart-ish. She just finds certain things worth it. She knows she's in trouble if she eats food off the kitchen table. But that pizza is worth it.

Need some Tums?

Or the ginger bread house.
Or two dozen cupcakes.
Or four pounds of candy melts.
Or a couple pounds of uncooked frozen chicken.

The gingerbread house eating has happened more than once. And, now we just don't make them at Christmas. We may be slow learners but we've finally figured that one out.

The cupcakes happened at my moms. The night before a big family party. Two dozen chocolate cupcakes on the cooling rack in the kitchen - cooling before I put frosting and sprinkles on. They essentially disappeared - not a crumb or paper left. The cooling rack undisturbed, not a sound made. The look on my mothers face when I asked, "Hey mom, where'd you put the cupcakes?' Classic.

The candy melts... I don't even have the strength to relive it enough to write it. Suffice it to say, pounds of candy melts don't stay down. Pink candy melts. All over.

Chicken. Frozen chicken. Now, the recipe was for pulled chicken sandwiches. You put the frozen chicken into the crockpot, dump in a bottle of barbecue sauce. TA-DA! - six hours later, delicious sandwiches. But, my mom is a mom of the 70s. Thus the idea of frozen chicken into the crockpot is foreign. You gotta let that thaw on the counter first. And so she did. On a plate. Then went to pick the kids up from school. Returned home to disappeared chicken. Plate undisturbed.

Ruby lives the good life. Gourmet food. Sleeps in a big cushy bed. Trips to the beach where she body surfs like a pro. Couch naps. Plays in the sprinkler. All the things.

Aleve for me, thyroid pill for her. One day there's going to be a mix up...

She's in the double digits. She's slowing down. No more running. Constant panting and shortness of breath, medication. Some follow up blood work later this week. She's a senior citizen now. And yet, even with the health challenges of being a senior dog, she can still stand on two legs long enough to steal a meal from a seven year old -  right off the table.

Silently.

Natural Beauty - There's no Such Thing...

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, the girl doesn't look anything like me. At. All.

But, as I've been told, she acts exactly like me. She's funny. She's an extrovert. I don't know that I really see it though... Or didn't see it until recently.

Most folks know that I grew up in a hair salon, but if you didn't know, you know now. After school. Summer days. Saturdays.

A tip from me - pull a tooth in the salon on a Friday. When all the old ladies are getting their Friday 'dos. Each one of them will give you 50 cents. At least. It's the equivalent of winning the lottery for a seven year old.

Just getting my frost on.

Here's the thing. I was often a test case for various activities in the salon. I vividly remember the 'girls' practicing bowl cuts on my head in the '90s. Or the time they all got trained in eyebrow waxing. On my face.

Or the failed experiment of some kind that turned my hair fire engine red. Two weeks before senior pictures. Half of downtown Salem was standing over my head with various theories on how to fix it. They did fix it, by the way.

My point is, I'm pro keeping yourself 'up'. I keep the brows in check. The hair is colored. Often. I believe in foils, chemicals, good shampoo and conditioner, hot oil treatments, waxing, moisturizer and manicures.

As we've gotten more into dance with the girl, it's become abundantly clear that I'm not much of a dance mom. I chafe at the makeup and all the doing up. I mean, come on, they're small children. I get it. It's the lights and all but it's hard for me to put mascara on my first grader. So, last week when it was picture day, I didn't. I put some lip gloss on her and called it good.

Now, I've staged these mini protests before. I've dropped her off sans makeup only to pick her back up made up.

So, last Saturday as she was sitting on the stool while I made lunch and I was looking down at my cute little girl with her overly dark eye lashes...

"Baby, did they put mascara on you today for pictures?"

"No. I don't have any mascara on!"

"Hmm... I guess it must just be your natural beauty."

"Mom! There's no such thing as natural beauty!"


Annnnnnnnddddd.... Done.


There you have it.


The apple might have brown eyes and straight hair. But, that apple didn't fall far from the tree.

My Future in Hoarding...

I'm starting to get a little worried about myself. Over the last couple years I've taken pride in my ability to comb through a thrift store and find a gem buried amongst the junk. To upcycle something beat up into something cool. But now, well, now I'm starting to worry that I am on a slippery slope.

Where's the line between cool upcyle and hoarder combing the neighborhood lookin' fer stuff to use later?

My latest project has me the most worried as it was literally junk turned into something cool - and on the cheap - relatively speaking. But, in reality this is a small number of projects. And thus, feeds the addiction. Always looking for the next fix. I watch TLC - I see those hoarder shows - all those people are going 'to do something' with all that stuff.

How far is the fall from driving the SUV to shuffling around with a shopping cart?

The Before.

The before. I'm not quite sure what I saw here. I think it spoke to me though. Which has to be some kind of mental illness. Right?

 Now, I can do paint. I can do stain. I can even build a cushion. It's wood and staples... But, I can't sew. At all. I got an A in woodshop and a C in sewing. And, I think that C in sewing was just Mrs. O'Neil being nice. No one is surprised by that stat. This bench will require sewing. If it does, there's a good chance I'm screwed on this one.

I started by taking it apart. Figuring I could use the pieces to make a pattern to recreate the back. What I thought was leather was just crispy nasty fabric - that came off in chunks, not usable pieces. Not cool. Dust and funk was flying through the air.


All I could think was that I was inhaling dead people AND cancer.


This thing better be worth it.

A miracle. A minor one. But miracle none the less.

And then. And then I got so lucky. The thing wasn't originally upholstered on the back. It was 'redone' at some point over the years. It's wooden! It's a miracle! It's Mission style!

Started the work of pulling out brass tacks, burlap and weird straw filler. All cancer causing, I'm sure.

Then sanding. I strongly dislike sanding. Sanded for hours. Then stained. Then stretched fabric and stapled.

Then, the absolute worst part. The part that's the hardest for me. I waited. And waited. And waited. For the stain to dry.



Oh, I didn't mention... I had no plans or place to put this piece of furniture.

Off to rearrange the dining room. 

The After.

So, there it is. In the corner of the dining room. Which is now in need of a floor lamp. Oh, and I have to paint that little table next to it. Scored it at Goodwill for 4.99! See. Addiction.

Final Stats:

Bench - $25

Cushion - $28 - with a coupon

Fabric - $19 - on clearance

Plywood for cushion base - $0 - from my friend Ryan

Total - $72

Not too bad - I even sat on it. It didn't even fall apart!

I've never had a bad day with a pencil behind my ear.