'Just Dog' gone, over the rainbow

A note from Stan's sister today brought the sad news. The little dog with the big underbite who was so much a part of their lives has ended his stay. We are so sorry for the loss. We enjoyed JD when Sosie and Bill came to visit us in Arizona this winter; we knew then it could be his last adventure.

Here's Sosie's note to friends and family:

JD left us peacefully, held in Bill's arms and gently assisted by Dr. Teare. JD had a good life, and gave us more joy and years than we could have expected. We will miss his little patter of paws across the floors and his enthusiastic greeting each time we return home.
What a blessing that science could spare him the last days of overworking his enlarged heart and flooded lungs, and allow his body to leave at the same time his joyful soul left.
JD leaves us with a fine store of memories. My favorite stories are of raccoon and bobcat, for they tell of his unpredictably vigorous enthusiasm for life and lack of recognition for his small size. He ripped through our deer fence to chase a bobcat up a tree, and then barked furiously at the bobcat just feet above him. I didn't dare look but once at the hissing bobcat while I sneaked in to grab JD and get away with both our lives.
Another serene morning, JD and I returned from our morning walk, and I leisurely watered a few plants before leaving for work. JD did his own morning inspection of the garden, and it led him to cornering a huge raccoon under our deck. The sounds from under the deck were horrifying, and my pounding on the deck and pouring water through the boards did nothing to quell the standoff. I ripped off lath, tossed off decorator rocks, and wriggled through a 12 inch by 14 inch opening to crawl across 30 feet of mud, spiders, and you can imagine what, dressed for work. I hoped to either beat the raccoon with my flashlight or pull JD to safety. And what did JD do? Barked "thanks for the reinforcements! I'll go round up some more raccoons."
Some messy time later, JD and I crawled out safely, me pulling him, and he barking warnings to all the raccoons. Bill's comment to my story that evening? "You didn't have to rip off the lath. It was screwed in. You could have unscrewed it." He survived too.
I expect Bill's favorite memories are of JD bounding pell-mell down the stairs to greet him, no matter how long Bill had been away. Maybe the time Bill and JD waited for me on a street corner in Santa Barbara, and woman after woman came to fuss over them. That's when JD added "Date Bait" to his list of expertise.
Bill admired JD's patience with his Doggles or wearing his "Barking for Barack" t-shirt even though he wasn't that political, or his "I don't FaLaLa for nobody" t-shirt to reflect Bill's droll view of winter cheer. JD was Bill's willing companion on many a trip to the hardware store, or wherever, what do I know? They only smiled and answered my questions with an "oh, we went to drink beer and chase women."
Zach too has his memories of JD, for JD is actually his dog. JD was given to Zach in his first year of college. JD was a found dog, of Shiz Tzu, terrier, and chihuahua lineage. We proudly boasted this made JD "Three Dogs in One, What a Bargain."
In his second year of college, Zach's apartment did not allow dogs. We said we'd care for JD until Zach found housing that did allow dogs. We never stopped caring. Eventually Zach did get housing, even his own house and yard, for JD. A paternity suit loomed. I begged Zach, "Please, don't make me choose between you and Bill. You can have all the visiting rights you want."
Dear Zachary relented and maturely accepted the inevitable, but was often heard to mumble, "You never treated me as well as you treat JD." Indeed, it is written in brick, down at the Sunol kiosk. Our brick reads: The Shearer Family / Solveig and Bill / Zachary and/or JD.
JD, we all look forward to seeing you somewhere over the rainbow. We will remember you.

Max Graduates! (8th grade)

During a stunning ceremony at Lake Country School in south Minneapolis this afternoon, Maxwell Harrison Hien Ho Tong received his certificate of graduation from the eighth grade.

The event is significant because it ends his study at Lake Country. He will enter Southwest High next fall.

From left are Marcelline, the graduate, Grandpa Stan, Grandma Kathleen and Papa Hoi Tong.

Lake Country is a Montessori school.

Would you buy a chair from this man?

After breakfast at the Prior Lake Bakery this morning we stopped at the Ashley Furniture store in Shakopee to see about an occasional chair. Not sure what is ever occasional about a chair, but it turns out that the Ashley folks didn't have many on hand anyway, at least none that appealed to us.

We need a place to sit down in the new master bedroom. Stan can no longer put on a sock by hopping around on one foot, and the bed is way too high for Kathleen to be seated. So a nice chair by the bed would be great, -- not too fancy, not too big.

We saw a lot of big, fancy chairs at Ashley today. Nothing for us though, despite the best intentions of Rom, our sales associate for the day.

We did pick up a pair of prescription sunglasses for Stan today, but we don't have pictures of that. Then we got a two-slice Oster toaster for Danny at Target. Twenty-bucks. It will pay for itself in two days. Our bachelor Dan loves to eat out for breakfast and he loves to tip. He also loves toast. So we thought that a shiny new toaster, a loaf of wheat bread and a jar of Kathleen's homemade rhubarb jam just might trigger an economy move and a new habit on his part, appropriate to the times. We'll see.

We just learned that Ford, Jenn and Kaia (photo, left) will be moving to Shakopee, so we're excited. Nothing yet about the move on their blog, we're watching.

We watched Tiger's spectacular finish at the Memorial today, and lamented the waning Twins. So close. Birdie got her walk and more obedience training. She comes when called now. Really.

And that was about it for laughs on this rainy June day.

Danny bed update

Kathleen's big brother Dan happily reports this morning that the new adjustable bed is doing its job. He got eight hours of sleep for the first time in recent memory! We seniors know how important and difficult eight consecutive hours can be.
Our bachelor hasn't yet memorized the control settings on the remote so he used his flashlight to make adjustments after lights out. But that can be refined, of course. (a Clapper, perhaps? Just kidding, Dan.)
So we're all smiles. Dan's feet are up and so are our spirits.
Ain't technology great?

Danny's new bed

Sleep with your feet above your heart, Danny, and you'll be a lot better off, the doc told Stan's brother-in-law.
Today we skimmed Craigslist and found just the thing: a barely-used adjustable bed in Bloomington for about a fourth of the retail price of this high-quality unit. The previous owner had his hips replaced and used it until he was back to normal.

We set it up at Danny's condo (that's him wheeling the new bed to the elevator in the garage) and last we saw, Dan was merrily working the motor controls, raising and lowering his back and feet, finding that perfect setting. We hope he's not having too much fun and finds some time to sleep.

A couple of smoothies at Linda's

The Bishop at the Rocky Mountain Evengelical Lutheran Church of America loved Linda's smoothies. She didn't use any juice in them at all and she called them her "Bishop's Best."

Yesterday our sister had Bev Korkowski over and Linda made a thinner version of her summer classic. We asked for the recipe:

She writes:

Hi Stan, A recipe?

I realized that I have only dumped things together over the years and have never used a recipe. Every smoothie is different. I measured for the first time today and this is what I used.

1/2 cup orange juice

1 cup blueberries

1 cup yogurt

1 medium banana

Makes 2 servings.

When I make smoothies, I throw any kind of berry in or almost any kind of fruit, frozen or fresh. The older we get, the more I rely on blueberries. I put a variety of juices in as well.

In the photo, Bev and I are toasting you, Stan. I am so glad you sent her my way. We're planning a trip to Gerten's Nursery in Inver Grove Heights for our next outing.

Love, Linda

Forgive us our uncoolness

At times it seems that parents were put on this earth just to embarass their children.

It's never the big things that make youth shake their heads, roll their eyes and shudder at parental uncoolness. Most of the suffering comes from little details thoughtlessly overlooked by the elders.

Sometimes it's the plaster.

Whenever a schoolmate asked to use our family bathroom in Alexandria, we had to endure the humilitation of a massive cracked plaster out-cropping, splitting away from the wall and threatening to crash onto the toilet tank with the very next door slam. But it clung there for years, like some teetering remnant of a stone-age earthquake as we sheepishly answered the inevitable inquiries from startled, eye-blinking friends. Our parents just had other priorities, it seemed, and only after we graduated from high school did they ever get around to repairing the wall of shame.

Sometimes it's the forks.

Last Sunday the issue came to a head, as our middle-aged daughters finally put it all out on the table, so to speak, and scolded us for our cheesy silverware. At any picnic, our every day forks would be first class. No plastic breakables for us. No sir. Made of a thin but durable, bendable steel, they have four sharp tines and are dishwasher safe. They may lack heft and size, but we've never broken one yet. You can get a dozen for a couple bucks. You never worry about losing one when you clear the table. We bought about three dozen at Target when we were giving a big picnic buffet back in the 80s and they somehow just found a permanent home in the silverware drawer.

Yes, we have legacy silverware as well. That's the good stuff we hardly ever use, shined and stored in a felt-lined case over there in the hall, waiting for the next company to come. Perhaps we took it out when you came over. It's very nice. Polished steel. Heavy. Special. Classy. Certainly not for our every day use.

We've been happily using the good old picnic forks at table every day for decades. Never noticed a problem.

Our daughters always have, it turns out, and perhaps their impressionable friends, who maybe weren't served with the good forks that day.

There's just no excuse for such tawdry table service, we were told Sunday. You can go to a thrift store and get a very nice inexpensive set that won't make you feel like you're eating at a soup kitchen. And you can use them for every day. The forks you use every day are really bad, our daughters agreed.

But despite these directed comments, our threshold for acquiring prouder forks probably wasn't lower appreciably. We just nodded and smiled and expressed mild good intentions.

Our middle daughter, the one in charge of peacemaking and general appearances, must have sensed this. Yesterday a mysterious envelope from her appeared in our mailbox. Inside, wrapped in a bow, was our starter kit: A pair of very nice, used, hefty, substantial, polished steel forks with a Western Hotels logo discreetly embossed on the back side.

We get your kind hint, dear child. We'll try to do better.

Jazz beat on Birdie's block

At just four months, Birdie struts her stuff daily now. . . and mostly stays out of trouble. Here's 60 seconds of fun on a leash. Yes, she's in desperate need of grooming, but so what. Her car could use a wash, too. And notice that little tail.

Don't tear the angel heart

To see all the details of this delicate iris, please click on it very gently.