Too Much Excitement in the Park

We're about to descend into more veterinary hell around here. I took Olga to get her shots on Saturday, and at the vet's office she seemed perfectly healthy. But no kidding, within a couple of hours she started to seem a little uncomfortable, and now (for a variety of reasons I won't go into here) I suspect she's dealing with a urinary tract infection. And she seems to have blown out her internal stitches from her spaying operation. Back to the vet today! I'm dreading it.

The problem with the stitches may have been a result of our morning walk in the park yesterday. She had a fairly wild time chasing sticks and playing with other dogs. Maybe she overdid it. I guess I can't really rely on her to know when to stop -- I'll have to be more careful about reining her in.

I used to laugh at people buying pet health insurance. But now I'm wondering if it's worth it. Vets are so much pricier now than they used to be, and the treatments are so much more extensive.

Aside from the park outing, yesterday was pretty quiet. I worked my way through several issues of The New Yorker and Harper's. John McPhee had a long article in one of the New Yorkers about organizing his pieces -- choosing the lead and the ending, and structuring the piece overall. It was mildly interesting, but I can't help wondering whether he overthinks the process. Granted, I have not written huge magazine pieces, but I've written plenty of long articles (and series of articles) for newspapers, and to me the organization always seemed instinctive. By the time I sat down to write, I usually knew roughly what I wanted to begin with, and the story told itself from there. I think if you read enough you know how to help a piece unfold naturally.

Then again, who am I to criticize John McPhee? Really.

(Photo: Notting Hill, a few days ago. It must be time for the council to collect natural Christmas trees -- they're lying on doorsteps all over town. Seems kind of late, though, doesn't it?!)

Graffiti Affirmation

More graffiti by Bint, she of the large chickens. At first I thought, "How does she know what I look like today?" But I guess that's the point. We all look nice, at any given time. Right?

I'm not sure that's entirely true, but I appreciate the sentiment.

Dave and I met some friends for drinks last night just off Regent Street, and then went on to dinner at his coworker Gordon's house. We had a great time and got home about 1:30 a.m. It was the longest we've left Olga by herself, and although she dragged some of our shoes around the house, she didn't chew anything inappropriate and seemed to have behaved very well.

Speaking of chewing, I got her a new Kong yesterday. So far she has been unable to damage it -- and not for lack of trying. Those things are amazing.

The Brown Bear

The other day, while walking Olga through the neighborhood, I passed a chi-chi little pet boutique called Mungo & Maud. Billed as "dog & cat outfitters," the store specializes in products that are "minimalist yet tactile with a strong use of natural materials." I filed it away in the back of my mind -- a possible shopping destination for dog stuff.

Yesterday, I needed a chew toy for Olga. We bought her a Kong ball when we first got her, and her relentless chewing had worn it down to a soggy, ragged mass of solid rubber. She destroys ordinary tennis balls in a matter of minutes. So I knew it had to be something tough.

The two of us popped in to Mungo & Maud and asked what was available. The sales clerk showed us an assortment of toys, most of which were very soft rubber -- toys that Olga would have trashed in no time.

But they did have a hard rubber bear -- the one at left, in a photo from the Mungo & Maud web site. It seemed likely to resist Olga's choppers at least for a little while, so I bought it, at the absurd price of £18.50. (As I said, it's a chi-chi boutique.)

Well, I gave it to Olga when we got home, and I took the top photo about half an hour later. Soon afterward, when the crumbs were even smaller, I threw it all away. (I watched her during the demolition process, and while she was very careful not to ingest the pieces, I thought it was getting risky.) The brown bear did not pose as much resistance as I had hoped. Maybe it's meant to be more of a tuggy toy than a chew toy -- hence that open ring in the middle?

Olga loved it. She loved it to death.

I don't fault the product. It's just that Mungo & Maud is made for cute and noble Notting Hill dogs of pedigree, dogs that would appreciate minimalist design aesthetics and natural materials. Olga is an East London bruiser. Design is not her strong suit.

Avon Park and Sebring

A few more old photos, scanned from my negatives. These are from Avon Park and Sebring, two adjacent towns in the center of Florida surrounded by miles and miles of citrus groves, pastures and emptiness.

My grandmother grew up in Avon Park, and my great-grandparents lived there and in Sebring most of their adult lives. As a result I visited Avon Park many times as a kid and young adult. In fact, my family owned property there -- including my great-grandparents' house -- for many years, until we finally sold it all about a decade ago.

While in college in the mid-1980s, I drove from Tampa to Sebring several times on photography outings with my friend Suzanne. On one of these trips, in early 1988, I took photos of the exterior of the Circle Restaurant in downtown Sebring, so named because it was on a circular street in the heart of town.

The restaurant is long gone, but the building is still standing, at least according to Google StreetView images taken in June 2011. I don't think we ate there back in 1988 -- as I recall we were there in the late afternoon, which looks about right judging by the light in the photo above, and it was strictly a breakfast-and-lunch place. I have a really terrible, underexposed photo of the front window with a sign advertising two eggs, grits and toast for $1.50!

(Incidentally, while browsing Sebring on StreetView, I also came across an amusing image of three guys outside the firehouse giving a thumbs-up to the Google truck. Ha!)

Avon Park is just north of Sebring, and I took this photo there about ten years ago. I have long loved this sign, not only because the motel carries my family name (purely coincidence -- my relatives in Avon Park were all on my mom's side and hence none of them were Reeds) but because it was just so awesome. It has since been replaced, but the new sign is similar. Clearly the owners wanted to preserve that '50s charm.

A Break in the Weather

Praise Jesus! Sunshine! Yesterday the clouds and rain were blown away by a gusty, breezy springlike wind, one that propelled Londoners out of their houses and into the streets and parks. I opened the windows, aired out the flat and took the opportunity to head over to Kensington Gardens to check out the native bird life.

Backstory: While walking Olga in the park on Monday, I saw a stunning little brownish bird with an orange breast. I wasn't able to photograph it as I only had my point-and-shoot camera, and I was being jerked along by the dog. So I went back yesterday, sans dog, to see if I could find it again.

Sure enough, in the same area of the park, I saw one sitting on a fence, chirping away happily.

Isn't it cute? Funniest thing, though -- I thought perhaps I'd found some mildly exotic European bird. No. It is a robin. I kid you not. In England, robins are a completely different species from their American counterparts.

In a nearby thicket of bushes, I saw several other intriguing winged creatures. The bird above is a Great Tit -- a bit ruffled because I interrupted it in the middle of grooming.

And this little thing is a Blue Tit. Both of these tits were tiny and flitty and very hard to photograph.

Finally, on the way back home, I noticed some of the park's resident feral parakeets swooping among the treetops. They're very easy to spot at this time of year, brilliant green against the brown bark of the trees. They clearly were not made to camouflage themselves in a deciduous environment!

It felt so great to get out on a nice day. I didn't try to take Olga because I think I exhausted her on Monday. She's been having some digestive issues (perhaps related to her tendency to eat random bits of stuff off the street) so we're letting her take it easy.

Banana Pudding Crisis Response

Thanks, readers, for your feedback on my existential angst and yesterday's post. Your perspectives were all invaluable! I think it is indeed an American "disease" to build our personal identities around our careers, as one of my readers pointed out -- and our careers, in our minds, are those activities that make us money.

When I mentioned my discontent to Dave, he pointed out that I do a heck of a lot of work beyond my part-time, income-producing job. I do all the cleaning, all the laundry, I pay the bills, I manage most of the errands. Not to mention all the time I spend on photography, even if it is more of a hobby than a job. So, yes, I am doing a lot.

And I am going to be quiet about all that now, because no one wants to read ad nauseam about my personal doldrums. (As my brother succinctly but correctly put it: "How exhausting.")

I took Olga on a long walk yesterday morning in Hyde Park, beneath low gray skies. The weather has warmed but the ground is sopping wet and squishy with mud, and there are lots of standing puddles. This made for a disastrously muddy dog by the end of the walk. I had to throw her in the shower when we got home in order to hose off her undercarriage. (And she loved that -- NOT.)

Her surgery seems to be healing well, by the way. She hasn't paid any mind at all to her incision. I'm not sure she even feels it, really. I am so thankful she hasn't had to wear that awful cone.

I made a bit of comfort food on Monday -- banana pudding with Nilla wafers, a specialty of my childhood babysitter and one of my favorites! Dave and I brought some Nilla wafers and boxed pudding mix back from the states when we visited at Christmas, and I layered it all together and topped it with whipped cream. It wasn't quite my babysitter's recipe -- hers did not involve boxed pudding or whipped cream and it had meringue on top, which means time in the oven -- but it was close. We still have some wafers, so maybe I'll try a more authentic second batch from scratch one of these days.

(Photo: Camden Market, last week.)

Is This All There Is?

I've been in a bit of a funk lately -- well, not a funk, really, more like a generalized state of crabbiness. I get that way when I start feeling uncertain of my overall direction. Like, what am I doing with my life? Is it enough to be living in London with my partner and a new dog and a part-time job and an obsessive photography habit? I am essentially without a career at this point, without any larger purpose. I'm coasting along day-to-day, but I don't have any greater goals.

Well, I guess that's not exactly true. I have some goals for travel and things like that. But you know what I mean -- an overall purpose.

I've wanted to publish my photography, but I'm feeling less and less like that will ever go anywhere. There are so many people making images now -- it's a bit like journalism, my erstwhile career. These days, at least according to popular wisdom, everyone's a journalist, everyone's a photographer. We all produce content, so the value of content has fallen and it's getting harder and harder to find anyone to pay for it. Even good content.

(This feeling has no doubt been exacerbated by the frustratingly brief rejection letter I recently received from another publisher.)

Then again, was I any better off when my career was more active? Is newspaper work any more purposeful than scheduling substitute teachers? More interesting, maybe, and a bit more lucrative. But there were certainly things about it I didn't like -- the hours, the competition, the occasionally rude rejection by potential sources. For God's sake, I am living in London, with spare time and the means to just enjoy myself. I have a hell of a lot of nerve whining about anything.

Truth be told, I wasn't entirely sure of my purpose even when I was editing newspapers. I've never been a particularly ambitious person. I mostly just want to do my job well, support myself, and have enough money to enjoy my life. I'm doing all of that now, more or less.

I suppose this is just the human condition -- the current of dissatisfaction that runs through most of our lives, the feeling that we need more. It's the desire that the Buddha warned about. Maybe I should go back to sitting! Meanwhile I will keep walking Olga, and keep enjoying my evenings with Dave, and keep seeing my world, and recording it in the best way I know how. If I have a purpose, that's it, at least for now.

(Photo: Camden Market, last week.)