Phantom Babies

Well, we did get rain yesterday, as you can see here on our banana tree. It wasn't much -- just enough to wet our whistle (4.4 millimeters, according to our local weather station). I heard one rumble of thunder in the afternoon but that's the only sign of the predicted "moderate to severe thunderstorms" that I encountered.

It was a day of surprises, and not just the rain.

First of all, Bailey's spaying was postponed. I took her in, and the veterinary nurse looked her over in the lobby and said, "Yeah, this isn't happening today." It turns out Bailey is having a "false pregnancy," a hormonal condition, and is even lactating as a result. (As I told the nurse, "No wonder she loves having her belly rubbed!") We have to wait for this false pregnancy to subside -- otherwise, if she's spayed now, her body might not know how to return to normality and her lactation could become more or less permanent. We're trying again on Sept. 10.

I asked the nurse, "There's no chance she could really be pregnant, is there?" We've had her for four and a half weeks, and the shelter had her for about two months before that. During at least part of that time she was supposedly in heat. (I assume she couldn't have become pregnant at the shelter, but you never know. ) A dog's gestation period is about nine weeks, and by four to six weeks the abdomen would be swelling -- so the nurse said she didn't think pregnancy was likely, because Bailey has "a nice waist."

But we'll keep an eye on her. That's all we need -- a litter of puppies.

Bailey got a new toy from the vet's office, which she promptly mangled.

A nicer surprise -- the insurance claim for my camera came through. They actually approved a payout of slightly more than I asked for! So that money should be in our account in five to seven days. I'm happy to put that whole episode to bed.

I also got a call from an unknown number, which always makes me wary. I answered it and got a rather garbled person checking up on my experiences with "transfers." I've been getting a lot of e-mails from car services that Dave and I used to provide airport transfers on our travels -- so I said they'd been fine but I hadn't needed them lately because I hadn't traveled much. The woman seemed a bit confused by that but said she'd e-mail me some information to get me better pricing. When I got the e-mail I realized she was talking about money transfers, which I hadn't done since I paid my last round of British taxes. She must have wondered why the heck I was talking about traveling in our phone call!

Otherwise I spent the day reading, cleaning, and archiving July's photos.

When I took Bailey for her afternoon walk, we passed the house with all the Chinese lanterns growing in the front garden. They look great, year after year. Dave and I have tried several times to grow them and we don't have much luck beyond a single season, so I would love to know this person's secret.

Finally, I compiled our recent wildlife cam footage into a video. Nothing earth-shattering here -- several itchy foxes (or maybe just one?), and fleeting glimpses of foxes and a brave neighborhood cat as they trot past the camera. At 1:22 we briefly see a fox doing that weird open-mouthed panting that I've seen in past videos; not sure what's going on there. At 1:27 you get a daytime shot of Bailey (those nipples!), followed by a nighttime shot in which she barks and Dave calls her inside. The cat is at 2:09 and again at 2:24, followed by more Bailey and more foxes.

As you can see, I moved the camera around a bit toward the end, trying to get a good vantage point to watch for Ratthew -- who did not appear at all, thank goodness.

Balloon Bailey and RAIN!

I awoke to rain this morning -- not hard rain, but not a mist either. A drizzle, I'd say. We have thunderstorm warnings for later this morning, with actual thunder, but I'll believe it when I see it. Of course this is also the morning I have to walk Bailey to the vet to be spayed. What are the odds that we'd have no rain for two months and then, on the morning I have to run an errand like this, a thunderstorm?!

Because she's going to be laid up for a while, recovering from her surgery, I took Bailey on a last outing to Hampstead Heath yesterday. We walked a long way and she even got a swim -- the beach that was closed last time was open again, so evidently the water testing didn't find anything nefarious. (And indeed she was fine afterwards.)

I was disturbed to see that old tree in the top photo with some dying branches. This heat wave and drought has been hard on trees, and indeed some historic specimens have perished as a result. I hope this one, a well-known hollow tree that looks (to me) something like an elephant, pulls through OK.

Here's Bailey in front of Kenwood House, in approximately the same location as The Kinks in my favorite photo of the band. Doesn't this photo look a little weird? There's something about the perspective that cracks me up. Bailey looks like a gigantic Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon about to take flight over Kenwood House. In fact she already looks like she's floating!

As you can see, we had lots of clouds yesterday too, but no rain. Today's forecast, though, is a 100 PERCENT CHANCE of precipitation! Woo hoo! We can't lose!

Other than our walk, I did some minor work in the garden and around the house. It's funny how there are always things to do. I guess when I was working they just didn't get done. This is why retired people often have immaculate lawns and gardens -- not that ours is anything approaching immaculate.

I was sorry to hear about Tim Curry's death, coming so soon after Dolly Parton. It's been a tough week for the LGBTQ+ crowd, given that both of them are gay icons. I found it amusing that even on the right-wing news site I read -- it's good to understand the opposition -- people were lamenting Curry's death and waxing nostalgic about "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." You'd think self-professed conservatives, many of them religious, would all have hated it -- but no. Like Parton, Curry was a performer able to unite the masses.

Remember when Dave and I took Olga to the Rocky Horror castle for a stay? Hard to believe that was three years ago.

I forgot to embed this little video yesterday, which I took when I was sitting in the garden after washing the sheets. I strung up a clothesline by the back bench so I could hang them to dry. I sat behind the top sheet to read, and I liked watching it blow in the wind, dappled with shadows. It's a good thing I did that on Tuesday because outdoor drying is not happening today.

And here's Bailey snoozing in the sun, taken with the good camera.

Oh, some of you asked about her spaying and why the dog rescuers didn't take care of it before putting her up for adoption. The charity does pay for it -- though we pay an adoption fee that probably more than offsets the cost. They told us that Bailey's spaying was delayed because she was in heat and they had to wait for that to pass, but we also took Olga to be spayed when we adopted her years ago. I suspect the rescuers find it easier to have prospective adopters handle spaying and recovery, if possible.

A Weird Rose

This is my favorite view of The Alliance, a pub not too far from us, seen across Mill Lane from Gondar Gardens. You'll notice that the windows are covered with sheet metal. That's because once again, The Alliance is under threat from developers. This seems to happen every few years to a pub that has been officially branded an Asset of Community Value (ACV). It closed in June and was briefly occupied by squatters before being secured against further intrusion.

Who knows what will happen next. I don't think the building is under threat -- it already contains several flats -- just the pub itself. I've only been there a handful of times, but I enjoyed it when I went and I hope it can be saved.

Here's an odd garden anomaly. This rose grew up from the base of the plant, on a thick stem about ten inches high, and promptly bloomed! (The bush above it still seems healthy.) I was surprised to see a flower form on a stalk so low to the ground. I wonder if this is some kind of drought response. Maybe if there'd been water that new stalk would have been much taller.

I took Bailey out for a walk to the cemetery yesterday. While we were walking I got a call from the dog charity where we adopted her -- they've set up an appointment for Bailey to be spayed tomorrow. No time like the present! The poor girl has a rude awakening coming, but after that she may be even calmer. Fortunately the vet doing the procedure is right around the corner -- not far from The Alliance, actually -- so getting there won't be difficult. I'll be curious to see how she does at the vet's, given how reactive to other dogs she can be.

She is not going to be happy about this.

I was so sorry to read about Dolly Parton. She was truly a uniter and a good-hearted person, and we needed her to live forever.

The Dozing Bulldozer

Nicole Jr., the offspring of Nicole Nicotiana, is now blooming. This is the seedling that grew of its own accord in a pot with a teasel, and I put them both in the ground three or four weeks ago. I love those gossamer threads of spider web between the flowers. We're at the time of year when spiders hang their webs all over the garden, though I think I'm seeing fewer of them this year, maybe because of the drought.

I'm just glad Nicole Jr.'s flower stalk survived long enough to bloom. In our flower beds these days, with the bulldozer power of Bailey, that is not a given.

In fact, this was one of my garden projects yesterday. Bailey had absolutely trampled this bed between the walnut tree and the Philadelphus by the back shed. Squirrels tend to be found in both trees and running along the fence, so she is often back and forth there, barking wildly. Yesterday I installed bamboo canes to try to keep her off some of the plants, and I tied up the ferns so the fronds won't be so easily flattened. I have no idea whether this will have any impact at all, since a bamboo cane -- no matter how strong or how deeply planted -- is no match for 20 kilos of hurtling staffy. But we shall see.

These beds also look bedraggled from lack of water. Everything is dry as a bone. I cut down the rest of our Crocosmia, which had prematurely turned brown in this dry weather, as well as the Persicaria by the blackberries. It all looked like hell. Better luck next year, hopefully.

Incidentally, remember my cautious excitement about our rainy forecast several days ago? Well, none of that rain has materialized so far. None of it. We had two brief spells of light rain, on Aug. 18th and 19th, and as far as I know that's been it so far. This week looks promising for more, but again, we shall see.

I did finish Derek Jarman yesterday. And I took the dog for a brief walk in the morning and afternoon, as usual. This twice-daily dog walking is getting old, though. I need to be able to get out of the house and go do my own thing, and I feel trapped by canine obligations. I'd hoped we could do without a dog walker but I think we may need one after all. Besides, when I'm away traveling, what's Dave going to do? He can't come home from work every afternoon just to walk the beast.

I'm talking to the same dog-walking company that used to take Olga. Apparently they also do solo walks, which would be perfect for Bailey. Hopefully we can work something out.

Bailey this morning, lying next to me and twitching in a dream state.

Pruning the Dude

It's funny that the very tropical Brugmansias have chosen now to bloom, because it's starting to feel downright autumnal out there. Something about the low humidity and lower temperatures, a subtle shift of the sun, is telling me that it's almost fall. It's 55º F this morning (about 13º C).

I just gave Bailey a Dentastix, which you will remember was one of Olga's favorite treats. Olga would eagerly snatch them from us and gnaw them apart immediately. Bailey, though, takes them uncertainly, and then carries them out into the garden or to a remote corner of the house and "buries" them. (Indoors this means shoving them under a radiator or houseplant.) I don't know if she doesn't like them or if she's saving them for later -- often if we retrieve the treat and give it to her again, she eats it right away. She only does this with Dentastix, not other treats. Mysterious.

Anyway, this morning she tried to bury her treat in the "wandering dude" plant, trailing across the floor and around the other plants in the living room. In the process she broke many of the stems, so the dude needed an emergency pruning job.

All this before I could even get coffee!

Yesterday we went to the cemetery, where she chased squirrels while on her extra-long lead. She gave my arm a workout.

Otherwise I mostly read. I'm almost done with Derek Jarman. We're in the last year of his life, and his medical struggles have intensified so that's become bleak. But his mind remains sharp and his social criticisms interesting. Yesterday, for example, I read this passage reflecting on people who are especially attached to the place of their birth or childhood:

"Peter worrying about his Welsh maiden. I told him to forget her. Who wants to be married to scenery? People who hail from these postcard childhoods, and won't let you forget it, seem so retarded, often the more ghastly these places are the more they are defended. People who come from 'somewhere' enter life old-fashioned and rather regressive. The cool thing is to come from nowhere and then the future can flourish...My criticism of being married to scenery comes right over into the film ["Wittgenstein"], which is set nowhere. It demonstrates that the historicizing attitude to biopic is totally irrelevant, questioning all of that in one black drape. It goes to show that Vienna is just a grand piano. Places are no longer of much interest to the sophisticated, after all they are all the same: you buy your Thai meal in Soho and your steak and chips in Bangkok."

Jarman was born in suburban London, so his own origins probably contribute to that perspective. He wasn't born anywhere unusual. I don't find places uninteresting, but I do agree that being too attached to the past, too anchored to self and identity, can hinder the future.

He is also endlessly critical of the royal family:

"We are taking off on this windy day for a holiday that has been cancelled endlessly by illness. The hovercraft is called Princess Margaret, it presumably runs on gin. A hovercraft is a lumbering sort of thing, rather like a large black beetle, which you can't quite believe flies. It seems to date from another technology, like Princess Margaret. I suspect she wears rubber skirts too."

Dave ordered some new clothes from Land's End (not rubber skirts) and they arrived yesterday. He's just been trying on a couple of the shirts and they are huge. "Is this too big?" he asked me, wearing something akin to a striped slipcover. Turns out he ordered everything XXL, which is way too big even for him. I don't know what he was thinking but I will probably wind up schlepping it all to the post office to send it back.

This is sitting in front of the house waiting for collection by the council -- our old disintegrating garden bench and the rusty wheelbarrow I used to transport Olga on her last trip to the vet. I'm glad to get rid of both items.

She's a Unit

I'm having some fun experimenting with the new camera in the garden, but I wish I could take it out on the streets. I can't really do that until my camera bag arrives, though! That should happen tomorrow. Meanwhile, lots of garden shots.

Even plain ol' houseflies look elegant sunning themselves on the flowers!

Thanks for all your concern about my ears. Let me just clarify -- although there's mild itchiness, there's no redness, heat, swelling or other sign of infection, and if it's an allergic reaction it's not a very severe one. It shouldn't be an allergy, because the earrings are titanium, which is hypoallergenic. (That's why it's used in medical implants.) If it persists or becomes worse I'll follow up with the piercing studio, but I really think it's just my ears' initial reaction to the mild injury of the piercing. In fact I'm less and less aware of it over time.

I spent yesterday morning reading on the garden bench, and Bailey stationed herself in the sun near the birdbath, just like Olga used to do. Bailey looks like a walrus or elephant seal, hauled up from the ocean with her gray-brown coloring and somewhat bulky (but muscular!) body.

I was walking her yesterday afternoon when a neighbor stopped me and asked about her. I told him her name and she enthusiastically welcomed his scratches. "She's a unit, though, isn't she?" he said.

Perplexed, I replied: "A what?"

He made a sort of He-Man muscle pose, and then I understood. "Yeah, she's strong," I said. I laughed about this later with Dave, who said the kids at school use the word "unit" this way. We both agreed that we should have named her Unit. It's likely to become one of her nicknames.

(From Google: "In slang, a unit (often used in the phrase 'absolute unit') describes a person or animal that is physically large, muscular, heavy, or impressively imposing.") Here's a Reddit thread about the age and origins of the term, which are apparently disputed.

I spotted this street sign on our dog walk, and laughed at the appended note. Yes, there is another way, via Fortune Green Road.

Last night we went out with our friend Gordon and his wife Donna, who we haven't seen in several months. We ate at Chez Rose near Bond Street, which was very good. (I had Dover sole meunière.) We traded stories of our summer adventures, their travels around Ireland in a camper van and our excursions through Italy and Croatia, including my tale of woe with my camera and my excavation of the garbage dumpster in Rome. Now that I've replaced the camera I can laugh about it -- sort of.

Itchy

Yesterday was pretty quiet. I spent much of the day hanging around in the garden, reading Derek Jarman and walking the dog. Normal stuff.

My earlobes are itchy after their piercing. The aftercare instructions said not to touch them, so I'm avoiding that, and I irrigate them with saline solution twice a day. I'm not supposed to use alcohol or hydrogen peroxide -- not sure why -- and I'm not supposed to turn the earrings the way we were all told to do years ago. Apparently that's not really necessary. The rule nowadays is hands-off.

I just want to scratch them in the worst way. (I take itchiness as a sign of healing, but who knows?)

The dog went berserk in the afternoon when she saw something in the garden, leapt off the couch and barreled out the back door at top speed. She nearly knocked over my table and somehow smashed a potted plant on the patio -- an Astrantia -- while rounding a corner. So then I had to dig a hole and plant the plant, because I didn't have another pot to put it in. That made me grumpy, and that was the state I was in when Dave came home from work -- grumbling and cursing about the dog.

I sometimes forget that people can hear me when I'm in the garden, and I do curse when I get snagged by roses or blackberries or when there are other mishaps. Sometimes it's just under my breath so I sound like Yosemite Sam, and sometimes it's an out-loud "For f--k's sake!" I told Dave yesterday that I probably need to be more careful about that, given that there's now a 10-year-old living upstairs.

I just read a few days ago that actress Phyllida Law died at the end of July. She's one of our neighbors! In fact, she's the one whose front garden features the bathing beauty I mentioned just a few days ago. I've never met her but when we first moved here I would occasionally see her in her front garden --- not so much in recent years. I had no idea she'd died and her house seems unchanged. I wonder what the plans are there? Since her famous daughter (one of them) lives right across the street it seems possible there will be no change at all. Emma may just keep everything as is. I hope so. Every time someone sells a house on this street the new buyer guts it and does a massive renovation that takes a year, and there's noise and scaffolding and skips and concrete mixers, and it would be nice to avoid all that. Besides, her garden with its statuary and figurines is a wonderful island of quirky individuality.

I also read an article about a right-wing provocateur who has visited Dearborn, Mich. several times to stir up trouble. Nothing special about that, except for this wonderful detail included by the reporter: the provocateur "declined to comment, chewing up a reporter’s business card." What a great way to show readers that he's basically a lunatic.

Found this in Kilburn. I thought it might be Latin but according to Google it doesn't really translate into anything -- "how much as how much" in Italian. Maybe how much is enough, or how much is too much? Or maybe it's gibberish. Who knows.