Upper-Body Workout

This little garden spider wove an elaborate web among the purple heart plants just inside our back door. I felt a little bad for it, because surely there won't be many passing insects there. (I hope not, anyway!) I was going to move it outside but the next time I looked it was gone. Maybe it made the move on its own. Either that or the dog ate it.

Speaking of the dog, Bailey and I had more adventures on the Heath yesterday, including swimming in the duckweed pond on Sandy Heath. (Well, I didn't -- she did.) That black dot by the big clump of irises in the distance is a labrador retriever who was swimming toward us. As you can see Bailey is on full alert and ready to plunge toward the other dog -- I held her back on her long lead.

Walking her with that lead is a workout. I've been musing lately about going back to the gym, because even though I walk a lot I want to keep my upper body in shape. After yesterday, I'm thinking I don't need the gym at all! I am seriously sore this morning from managing Bailey on that leash!

We visited the old Pitt House gate, also on Sandy Heath...

...and Bailey was constantly patrolling and lunging after squirrels. Things get a bit dicey when she runs into copses like the one above -- the lead can easily get tangled in the trees. When she ran into one especially dense thicket, I took her off the lead for a moment in order to untangle it -- and like a rocket she was gone, chasing squirrels with wild abandon. I ran after her thinking I would never catch her, calling her name (which she ignored), and caught up with her only when she paused at the base of a tree containing a terrified squirrel.

Now we know that she does not come when her name is called -- at least not when there are squirrels around.

A Bird's-Eye View

Another late start to blogging, mostly because I didn't sleep well last night and thus stayed in bed later than usual. I woke up around 1:30 a.m., rolled over and began feeling a sharp pain in my chest -- which of course had me concerned right away. I got out of bed and walked around, and felt fine standing or sitting up, but then when I returned to bed I got the same pain again. I reasoned that it couldn't possibly be my heart, or it would be constant, right? But in an abundance of caution I called the NHS medical advice line, which fortunately for me is a 24-hour operation, and they seemed to believe it wasn't an emergency but they're going to have a doctor call me later today. (Of course, it being the weekend, my regular GP's practice is closed.)

I did eventually go back to sleep, but not before reading the news. I saw that Robin Morgan died -- her ground-breaking anthology "Sisterhood is Powerful" was a popular book among some of my women friends in college. It seems significant that she died just a few days after Gloria Steinem. It's been a tough week for second-wave feminism.

Here's a view of our garden that we don't often see. Our upstairs neighbors, Ian and Sarah, had us over last night for some snacks and drinks on their terrace, so we got a bird's-eye perspective on our growing space. You can see some dry sticks to the right of the bird-bath -- that's one of our big buddleias, which pretty much died in the drought. I cut it back yesterday, even though it's the wrong time of year, in the hopes that it will leaf out again, but we shall see. I think we may have lost it entirely. You can also see the whitish-silvery look of the dahlias, in a row to the left of the central flower bed. They're that color because once again they've become afflicted with powdery mildew. It's just something that seems to happen to them late in the season.

Here's our patio from above. A regular jungle, isn't it? There's the avocado on the left, the tree fern bottom center, the banana top center, a bay tree upper right, the Brugmansia on the patio table in the middle and the neighbor's climbing rose, aka "The Monster," at right.

There really is a patio down there somewhere.

And here's the view to the north out one of their attic skylights, looking up the street. I've never seen any of these perspectives so it was neat to see the neighborhood and the garden from a new angle!

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.

A Caterpillar and Not Much Else

A mural at the Hampstead School

A pretty quiet day yesterday. Bailey and I stayed home and I read the first 130 pages or so of "Our Evenings" by Alan Hollinghurst, which I'm slowly warming to. I've loved Hollinghurst's past books, but this one is taking me a little longer to get into. I think it's about to get interesting, though.

In the afternoon I walked Bailey through the cemetery and up into Cricklewood.

I found this weird little caterpillar crawling around on a cemetery bench. It's the larvae of the pale tussock moth (Calliteara pudibunda), which I did not know until I got home and looked it up. This struck a memory chord and I realized I'd seen tussock moth caterpillars in Florida several years ago -- a different species. They're not even the same genus, apparently, so I'm not sure how closely related they are.

We found a community open space up in Cricklewood where I'd never been before, and I was impressed by the common yarrow (Achillea) growing amid the dry, dead grass. I've seen it blooming in the cemetery too -- it doesn't seem fazed by the incredibly dry summer. Bailey even posed for me momentarily off the leash! (Or with me not holding the leash, anyway.)

On the way home we passed the vintage Ford Galaxie that I've written about a couple of times before. It's been spruced up with a nice new paint job.

Last night we had a friend, Mark, come over for some drinks after work. Martini time! (For me, anyway. Mark stuck with Budweiser. He likes his watery American beer.)

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.