An Anemone and More Bureaucracy

When I was walking Bailey on Thursday we passed a house where someone had thrown away several pink anemone plants, or at least cuttings from them. Why anyone would do this I have no idea, but I broke off a stalk with some flower buds on it and brought it home, and stuck it in some water, and yesterday morning was rewarded with this flower.

Our own anemones are having an off year, partly because of the drought and partly because they've been relentlessly trampled by the dog. In fact, I'm not sure they're all going to survive. But at least we now have this one flower and maybe we'll get a few more. Maybe the stalk will even root, though I doubt it.

Yesterday morning as I walked Bailey we got caught in an absolute downpour, the likes of which I haven't seen around here in a while. It didn't go on long but it really came down -- we got 1.8 mm of rain yesterday and I think it all fell in the span of about ten minutes. Anyway, Bailey and I ran part of the way home and then ducked into a doorway on Finchley Road for shelter and watched passing traffic in the deluge.

Apparently I'm going to have to get back in the habit of carrying around an umbrella, or at least looking at the weather forecast. This is a good thing, though. Maybe our drought is gradually easing.

Then I got a terrible jolt when the mail came. My stepmother's bank sent me a letter outlining the documents I needed to re-submit to claim my portion of her estate, and in addition to everything I've already submitted, including the recent apostilles, they asked for a "US Transfer Certificate" from the IRS. Now, I'd never heard of this -- and when I looked online, it seemed obvious that this document does not apply to my stepmother. It's needed when a US citizen or non-citizen taxpayer dies while living overseas. My stepmother lived and died in Florida! In addition, the IRS clearly says the certificate is not needed if a decedent's estate is being administered in the USA -- as in this case, by my stepsister. So what the heck was this bank talking about?!

I was tied in knots about this all morning, because if I'm required to get this document, it will mean waiting up to 18 months (!) according to the IRS, not to mention notarizing and certifying a whole raft of additional paperwork. And it MAKES NO SENSE. Some idiot at the bank either just looked at my London address and assumed my stepmother died here, or doesn't understand what the Transfer Certificate is for.

Finally, the clock ticked around to afternoon when I could call the bank in the USA, and I did. I explained the situation and the helpful Miriam "put in an expedited ticket" to get the "business office" to re-examine their demand for the Transfer Certificate. I'm supposed to call again next week to get the verdict.

And then we had the whole Blogger commenting situation. Like many of you, I couldn't comment on my own blog and I couldn't comment on anyone else's. I spent a bunch of time clearing my cookies and trying different browsers and my phone and restarting my computer, all to no avail. Eventually it became clear that this problem was bigger than me, so I left a complaint with Blogger, as did a bunch of other people, and these were consolidated into a single thread in the help center which tracked the problem. Now it appears to be fixed, insha'allah.

But bloody hell -- it was one of those days. By the time Dave got home yesterday evening I was in dire need of a martini (or possibly two) and a couple of episodes of "Keeping Up Appearances."

Daily Minutiae and Gloria Steinem

I had a productive morning yesterday. I got my documents for my stepmother's estate sorted out and sent off (again), and I packaged up and returned Dave's oversized clothing from Land's End. It feels good to get those two tasks off my plate.

While out and about I took my new camera and experimented a bit, shooting urban scenes like the one above. That's the shop where the Croatian sausage poster used to hang. Now the windows are covered with gigantic vaping advertisements, which are much less interesting (and hidden when the often-graffitied security gate is down).

Remember the graffiti knight that I posted a couple of days ago? Here's the full piece, which reads ALIEN -- the graffiti writer's street name. I love that little knight, who seems very apropos because Dave and I are now watching "Game of Thrones" (we're on season five).

Later, I went through our bank statements with a fine-toothed comb, just to verify that there's been no funny business other than the Avori transaction I mentioned yesterday -- and there hasn't. There were a bunch of purchases I had to quiz Dave about, and we found one item he bought that never arrived, so he's got to chase that down today. I'm not going to contest the Avori thing. I'm convinced it's something Dave bought that he just doesn't remember.

I teased him that I'm going to take away his bank card. He's way too susceptible to seeing something on social media and ordering it on a whim. He's already famous (in our household) for buying political books that he sees touted on talk shows and then never reading them. Now that extends to t-shirts with quirky phrases, though I can't complain too much because I've been the happy beneficiary of some of those impulse buys ("Rat is Short for Ratthew")! And in his defense, some of what he was buying recently were new clothes for work, and he does need those.

I don't mind if he buys things he's going to use. I just want us to think twice about whether or not we need them, and then to make sure they arrive.

When I walked Bailey to the cemetery I found three of these ceramic florist pots -- the ones on the far right above -- in the rubbish bin, and against my better judgement I brought them home and cleaned them up. I need them like I need a hole in the head, but at the same time they seem too nice to throw away. My pet peeve about these decorative pots is that they don't have drainage holes, so you can't put a plant directly into them. It needs to be in a smaller pot, which then sits inside the planter. They proliferate like crazy. That's just a tiny sample of all the ones we have lying around the house.

I once took a bag of them to our local florist, and he said he couldn't re-use them for plants that he sells, but he agreed to take them for plants he gives to charity. I wonder if he was just reluctant to admit he'd sell them on, but whatever.

I was sorry to see that Gloria Steinem died -- a hero for our age. I'm sure I've mentioned the time I went to Feinstein's, a supper club in New York, with my co-worker Ann and we found ourselves sitting at a table next to Steinem's. Here's the original entry from my journal in March 2004:

An amazing evening! Not only did Ann and I see a great show by Rita Moreno, in which she sang "I'll Be Seeing You" and other great jazz standards, but we were seated at a table next to Marlo Thomas, Elaine May, Gloria Steinem and a fourth woman who looked familiar to both of us but who neither of us could identify. Amazing! A New York moment! Rita looked great, too, in a slinky black and white sleeveless dress -- and she's 72! I had arugula and golden beet salad, red snapper and a rum bread pudding for dessert. Altogether $163 -- but worth every penny!

We later realized the fourth woman was Letty Cottin Pogrebin, another co-founder of Ms. magazine. I think they were all friends with Moreno. There was a blizzard that evening and the club was practically empty, so it seemed like a very intimate celebrity encounter, even though we never spoke to them. Moreno, though, came to our table and chatted with us. She's 94 now!

Addendum: It appears my blog (and possibly all blogs) may not be accepting comments at the moment. This is a widespread problem, based on what I see on Blogger's help forums. I've reported it, as have others. Sorry everyone, and stay tuned!

Legalese

Is it possible to have too many pictures of sunflowers? I say no.

I just woke from the weirdest dream. Somehow Dave and I were going to get married -- and of course we already are, so maybe this was taking place in the past. But I suddenly realized in the dream that I was already married, to a friend from college, and then realized I was also married to a former boyfriend. So I had not one but two husbands already! This was not a good feeling. I felt literally sick at the thought of all the paperwork and legalese I would have to endure to get me out of this fix before I could marry the person I really wanted. And then, thank goodness, I woke up married to the right person after all.

Dreams are so strange. I have noticed that on nights when I don't have a glass of wine or two with dinner, my dreams are more vivid. Or maybe I just remember them better. I didn't drink at all yesterday (given the pub outing the day before), and I think that contributed to my weird dream state. Maybe my REM sleep is better when I'm completely sober.

My dread of legalese may stem from the fact that I'm still wrestling with my stepmother's estate. Remember how I had to get some bank documents notarized a few weeks ago in order to get the bank to release the money I'm entitled to as a beneficiary of her accounts? Well, I submitted the forms and waited, and waited, and waited. I finally called the bank on Tuesday and asked what's up, and they said the notary stamp by itself was not sufficient -- I also needed an apostille (basically a certificate verifying the identity of the notary, as I understand it). So I'm getting that now, but I felt like saying (sarcastically), "Well, thanks for contacting me and telling me that!" My siblings and I have a theory that the bank is making this as difficult as possible so they can hold onto her money as long as possible.

I also called our own bank over a £45 transaction on our account from June that neither Dave nor I recognize. I got them to tell me a little more about it and we still don't recognize it, so I think I'm going to dispute it. It's on Dave's card, which may get cancelled but c'est la vie. I'm surprised it took me this long to notice it but with all our traveling and other excitement this summer I plead distraction. It's from a company called Avori, and there appear to be three such firms -- one focusing on foot and skin care, one on bedding, and one on hair care devices -- and neither of us have any memory or evidence of purchasing anything there. Dave even e-mailed the most likely Avori and they said they have no record of a transaction from him. So that's weird.

It's also weird that there's been no suspicious activity since on our accounts. You would think a scammer, having gotten away with one transaction, would pull more. But that doesn't appear to have happened. I do think it's possible that Dave ordered something online, possibly from a retailer who trades under a different name, and then forgot about it. There's just no way to know for sure.

In the afternoon I took the dog to the cemetery, where we found this mysterious backbone lying in the grass. Finding bones in a cemetery is always disconcerting, but this is clearly from an animal of some type. Of course Bailey promptly tried to roll on top of it and I pulled her back at the last minute, which is why she's rolling off to the side in the photo above. Google tells me the bones are from an ungulate like a sheep or deer. What either would be doing in Hampstead Cemetery is anybody's guess.

We passed this truck on our walk home. Someone didn't plan their lettering very well, did they?

And on Tuesday night, when I was at the concert, Dave sent me this hilarious picture of Bailey crashed out on our couch. She clearly wasn't anxious about my absence!

Lanterns and Pumpkins

Here's a very autumnal sight, spotted in our ivy beds yesterday. I'm astonished the dog hasn't mangled it yet, as much as she runs through there while chasing squirrels, but for the time being it's intact. It's a pretty big mushroom and Google tells me it may be something called a Freckled Dapperling. (British mushrooms, like British towns, often seem to have entertaining names.)

I'm getting a late start today because I was out last night at a concert with a friend. Yesterday was a whirlwind of a day.

Of course I walked the dog a couple of times, in the morning and after lunch. I also took care of some gardening, emptying a flower pot containing a couple of dormant hyacinth bulbs and filling it with this:

Yes! After showing off the neighbor's Chinese lanterns the other day, I decided we needed one of our own. So once again I'm trying my hand at growing this plant. We'll see if it prospers this time. The florist in the shop where I bought it said to give it morning sun but not to let it bake, and good drainage. We shall see.

In the afternoon I went to a pub in St. Johns Wood to see my former boss from the library, Karen, who lives in the states now but is back visiting. It was great to see her again, as well as her husband Rod who also used to work at the school. I was there for a couple of hours before meeting up with my friend Colin and heading down to Southbank for a concert.

Colin bought these tickets last spring and when I agreed to go it seemed so far in the future -- and then BOOM, here we were. The show was an orchestral and choral presentation of The Smashing Pumpkins' album "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness," featuring Billy Corgan, the leader of the Pumpkins himself. Anyone who was listening to the radio in the mid-'90s will remember The Smashing Pumpkins for their song "1979," their biggest hit. It came from the "Mellon Collie" album, a double-disc magnum opus of youthful angst and wonder. I owned the album, like many of us at the time, and when this concert came across Colin's radar I was excited to go.

We both agreed it was an interesting idea, presenting an alternative rock album in an orchestral form. There were several opera singers who performed some of the numbers, in addition to the musicians and choir, and they were backed by a screen projecting Steampunk-looking animation sequences depicting Chicago, the Pumpkins' home city. But the best moments were definitely when Corgan himself sang. He has a distinctively reedy voice, but he's actually a much better singer than I remembered.

Here he is performing "1979" last night, so you can get a sense of what this experiment was like.

In an ideal world, the screen for the animations needed to be bigger, and Corgan needed to be onstage for more of the songs. But otherwise, I thought it was, as I said, an interesting idea. In my opinion the classical presentation deprives the songs of a certain energy and intensity, but it was worth the experience.

That was a lot of socializing for one day. Today I'm going to huddle inside with the dog! (Who continues to show no ill effects from our recent raisin episode.)

Raisin Angst

Soon after I wrote yesterday's post, in which I blithely mentioned giving Bailey some of our bread-and-raisin pudding at the park, a reader contacted me. Raisins, she said, can cause severe and even fatal kidney damage in dogs, and it can take days for the symptoms to appear.

She advised me to Google "can dogs eat raisins," and when I did, what I read was terrifying: "Raisins are highly toxic to dogs and can cause sudden, severe kidney failure. Even a single raisin or grape can make a dog very sick or cause fatal kidney damage. Some dogs react badly to a tiny amount, while others may not show immediate signs. You cannot predict how your dog will respond. Do not wait for symptoms to appear. Call your vet or an emergency animal hospital right away."

HOLY SH*T! Had we just poisoned our dog? Dave and I talked about it and although I was a little more panicked than he was, we both agreed the situation may not be that bad. For one thing, we weren't sure Bailey got any raisins in her two bites of bread pudding -- if she did, she could only have had a few. Also, it had already been 19 hours since she'd eaten them and she seemed fine. Finally, yesterday was a bank holiday and our vet's office was closed, so I couldn't even call for advice. We decided to just keep an eye on her.

Bailey and I went walking on Billy Fury Way, where we found some interesting graffiti (above and below), and she seemed absolutely normal. Of course, to hear Google tell it, it could take up to 48 hours for problems to develop. I didn't feel like we were completely off the hook.

But the more I thought about it, the stranger all this seemed. How had I never heard of this supposed raisin toxicity? Everybody knows not to give a dog cooked chicken bones, for example -- why isn't "raisin danger" just as well known? Are they really that dangerous? Back in the days before commercial dog food, people used to feed their dogs table scraps -- surely some of them inadvertently got raisins? Did they drop dead?

The vets seem vague about what causes the toxicity -- they think it may be a certain acid in raisins and grapes that dogs can't process, but they're not sure. They're also vague about which dogs are prone to problems. Are little fluffy teacup dogs more at risk than shelter brutes like ours? Dave found an online calculator that suggested Bailey should be fine having just a few raisins, given her weight and breed, but other web sites said such calculations are impossible to make. It all sounded a little off.

And we all know Google's penchant for scaring the pants off us when we look up information about any human health condition, so I eventually grew a bit skeptical that the dire language was really warranted.

Through all of this, Bailey was her normal self.

Also on our morning walk, we encountered a flock of pigeons gathering to feast on some cookie crumbs dropped by the pigeon man, who passed us going in the other direction...

...and we passed the home of our recently deceased famous neighbor, whose quirky front garden always charms me. Note the handwritten sign by the front door: "Bon Voyage Miraculous Fifi."

In the afternoon we walked to the cemetery, and still, Bailey was her normal self, chasing squirrels (to the extent that she can while on her lead) and showing no signs of illness.

While at the cemetery I found a nice sherd of Blue Willow pottery, showing the characteristic three figures walking across the bridge toward the temple, beneath the willow tree. It has joined my collection of pottery fragments in the bowls in our dining room.

Even through yesterday evening, I was nervously watching Bailey. Every once in a while she'd leap up and run outside to chase squirrels, barking madly, and Dave and I would sarcastically say, "She's looking pretty lethargic." She ate and drank as usual. She played tug-of-war with her blanket after dinner with her usual abandon. But then there were times she did seem a bit slower than usual, and I just couldn't tell for sure. Was it my imagination?

This morning she still seems fine, though, and she's pretty much outside the window of time in which problems typically appear. I don't doubt raisins are toxic to certain animals and I don't mean to downplay the dangers, but in our case, at least, we're declaring the episode over.

An Outing and Some Memories

Today is the birthday of my childhood friend Theresa, who would have been 60 this year. I've mentioned Theresa several times on this blog -- she lived down the street where I grew up and was one of my earliest friends. I have many good memories of playing at her house, learning about science from her biology professor father, exploring the woods and swamps, and getting up to mischief like shooting BB guns at floating glass jars in a neighborhood pond that was rumored to be bottomless. Theresa died last year, but just as we always remember our parent's birthdays and other dates that were significant when we were children, I will never forget that this is her birthday.

Dave and I spent yesterday morning at home, me washing dog blankets and reading, Dave on his computer. Finally I suggested we take the dog out for an adventure, so after lunch we leashed up Bailey and walked to Hampstead Heath.

Getting Dave to walk that far is a minor miracle -- he isn't a huge fan of walking in general -- but we had a good time and he got a chance to see Bailey on her long lead and how she behaves in the "wild." She was a good dog, for the most part. I know I've said this before, but she's gradually becoming less reactive to other dogs as she feels more secure with us. We still can't let her get nose-to-nose with them, but at least she doesn't bark and snarl when they pass.

We walked to Golders Green Park, where we sat at one of these picnic tables and had coffee. (Well, Bailey didn't have coffee, but she did have some of our bread-and-raisin pudding.) She's very concerned in the photo above because Dave has walked away from us -- you can see him in the distance, returning.

The coffee break wasn't exactly relaxing, because there's a fair amount of dog management involved in keeping her nearby and under control, but we enjoyed our walk anyway, and the main thing is...

...it tired her out. Happiness is a tired dog.

Last night we watched "Deep Impact," at Dave's suggestion. We are doing a whole lot of nothing significant with our holiday weekend! (Today is a bank holiday so Dave is off work.)

Rain and Not Much Else

It rained off and on all day yesterday -- another 3.4 mm, giving us 10 mm so far for the month. (About 50 mm is average for August.) So we're still behind the curve but we're getting some moisture, and there's more to come this week supposedly.

Bailey and I actually got caught in the rain on our afternoon walk, something so unexpected that I didn't even think to bring an umbrella. We had to wait a few seconds beneath a shop awning until it slacked enough to keep going. The plants are happy, though the rain is beating up some of the older flowers like the Iron-in-the-Fire dahlia above.

Here's the whole garden from the back door. It looks greener in the picture than it really does, mainly because you can't see all the brown grass. But even this little bit of rain has freshened things up.

Otherwise I don't have much to say about yesterday. I read more of "Our Evenings" and walked the dog, did some laundry and some minor cleaning, and we watched "Titanic" in the afternoon (a good rainy day movie). And honestly, that was pretty much the extent of my activities. Ho hum!

In the evening I had a conversation with my siblings about the continued dispersal of my stepmother's estate. It just goes on and on.