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mousmeI am vegetable-enabled. Went to see ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
toughlovemuse for our weekly writing jam, and picked up my veggies at the same time. She, chibipunkdemon (he lives on your drum kit) and I are all sharing in a fresh produce program which lasts for 20 weeks over the summer.
I realise it's a bit silly to get this excited over vegetables, but I really am quite thrilled. Yay for not having scurvy!toughlovemuse made muffins out of the small amount of rhubarb that we got (her muffins are delicious: I had one for breakfast and one for lunch), and a very yummy garden salad with the chives and tomatoes and lettuce and things and stuffs. I went home with chives and tomatoes and green onions and asparagus and a few other things I'm forgetting because I'm at work. Oh, and muffins, of course.
I've made an acquaintance on the metro going to and from work. I don't see him often, but it always puts a smile on my face when I do. His name is Barbeau, and he's a two-month-old golden retriever puppy who's beginning his training to become a guide dog for the blind or disabled. He's large for a two-month-old, I thought at first that he was at least four or five months, but it turns out they start their training very young.
Guide dogs spend the first two years of their lives with a volunteer, who takes them everywhere: on the metro, on the bus, into supermarkets, to work everyday: everywhere, without exception. This is to get the puppies used to the idea that there is nowhere they can't or shouldn't go, as long as there's a human with them.
When they're two years old the volunteer has to give them up, and they go for their "real" training, that is when they learn all the rudiments of their trade: wearing the harness, responding to signals, learning how to help someone who can't see or has some other disability to navigate in the world. After the year is up, they're paired up with a human, and then there's more training until they form a perfectly harmonious couple.
I always have a smile and a pat for Barbeau. He's a cheerful, willing little guy, and it's always very sweet to see him fast asleep on the floor of the metro after a long day. Being a puppy is exhausting work.
I've been walking home from the metro now that the weather has improved. Granted, I should do it even when the weather's lousy, but the bus happens to be timed precisely for when I step out of the metro, and I'll confess that in winter the temptation is often too great to resist.
Anyway, now that I've been walking, I've been learning new things about my neighbourhood, and re-learning things I already knew. One new thing is the people who live on the corner of my street where it intersects with a much larger one. I saw them last summer when I was walking to and from the metro, so I know a little bit about what they're like from the outside, at least. They spend the warm months out on their rickety front balconies, with two or three dirty-looking dogs lounging about or playing with each other, and small and equally dirty children dashing around. They're a friendly bunch, for the most part, although we've never done more than nod to each other in a civilised fashion as I walk by.
Lately, though, every time I've gone by, they haven't been out in plain view. I know it's the same family because their dogs are still around. Instead I've heard the sound of very one-sided arguing. From the sounds of it, it's a mother yelling at her child, though I've never been able to confirm this one way or another. I have to say it makes me a little sad that anyone should be on the receiving end of that kind of tone, be it child, adult, or dog. The tone is shrill, loud, and particularly unpleasant, the words (to my ears) unnecessarily harsh. I know that I cringe when I hear it, and it's not even directed at me. I can't help but think that, whatever I may have thought of these people before (when I did think of them), their home can't be a very happy one.
I made sort-of friends with one of the neighbourhood cats, on a more positive note. Normally the stray cats in our area are skittish, nervous beasts that are quick to slink under the nearest car or under a protective porch if you so much as look at them. On Tuesday, though, as I made my way home, I caught sight of a large if skinny tabby cat making his way along the sidewalk. I made my usual overtures to the cat, and to my pleasure instead of panicking and flailing and running away the way I expected him to, he instead paused to consider me.
After a moment he decided that I was worth investigating, and he came to sniff at my fingers. Once the fingers were deemed acceptable, he then proceeded to make a giant whore of himself, rubbing himself all over my hand and purring and even lying on his back on the ground and exposing his belly to be rubbed. I assume he must be an abandoned pet, since he's so friendly, but I know better than to take in every stray I meet now. It took four cats for me to learn my limit, but now I know it. The cat wandered off after a few minutes, when I told him I had to go (I was going to a concert that evening and was meeting someone before, as I mentioned).
My own cats were a little miffed that I didn't immediately cuddle them when I got in. Unfortunately, pleasant as the little encounter with the friendly kitty was, I wasn't taking any chances on passing fleas or skin complaints or anything else to my very plump and pampered indoor kitties.
It occurs to me, not for the first time, that I'm rather enjoying my life these days. I'm busy and productive, even if my job and my finances aren't ideal. I like this quiet little existence, in which I write and play music and hang out with my friends. I like getting excited over vegetables and having the high point in my day be to meet a puppy in training for Mira. It's not to say that I would object to travelling somewhere, or to getting a better job or what have you, but I can't really complain all that much about how hard my life is.
I do need to buy a fly swatter, however. I don't know how they got in, but there are flies in my apartment, and I don't plan on sharing with them.
toughlovemuse for our weekly writing jam, and picked up my veggies at the same time. She, chibipunkdemon (he lives on your drum kit) and I are all sharing in a fresh produce program which lasts for 20 weeks over the summer. I realise it's a bit silly to get this excited over vegetables, but I really am quite thrilled. Yay for not having scurvy!
toughlovemuse made muffins out of the small amount of rhubarb that we got (her muffins are delicious: I had one for breakfast and one for lunch), and a very yummy garden salad with the chives and tomatoes and lettuce and things and stuffs. I went home with chives and tomatoes and green onions and asparagus and a few other things I'm forgetting because I'm at work. Oh, and muffins, of course. I've made an acquaintance on the metro going to and from work. I don't see him often, but it always puts a smile on my face when I do. His name is Barbeau, and he's a two-month-old golden retriever puppy who's beginning his training to become a guide dog for the blind or disabled. He's large for a two-month-old, I thought at first that he was at least four or five months, but it turns out they start their training very young.
Guide dogs spend the first two years of their lives with a volunteer, who takes them everywhere: on the metro, on the bus, into supermarkets, to work everyday: everywhere, without exception. This is to get the puppies used to the idea that there is nowhere they can't or shouldn't go, as long as there's a human with them.
When they're two years old the volunteer has to give them up, and they go for their "real" training, that is when they learn all the rudiments of their trade: wearing the harness, responding to signals, learning how to help someone who can't see or has some other disability to navigate in the world. After the year is up, they're paired up with a human, and then there's more training until they form a perfectly harmonious couple.
I always have a smile and a pat for Barbeau. He's a cheerful, willing little guy, and it's always very sweet to see him fast asleep on the floor of the metro after a long day. Being a puppy is exhausting work.
I've been walking home from the metro now that the weather has improved. Granted, I should do it even when the weather's lousy, but the bus happens to be timed precisely for when I step out of the metro, and I'll confess that in winter the temptation is often too great to resist.
Anyway, now that I've been walking, I've been learning new things about my neighbourhood, and re-learning things I already knew. One new thing is the people who live on the corner of my street where it intersects with a much larger one. I saw them last summer when I was walking to and from the metro, so I know a little bit about what they're like from the outside, at least. They spend the warm months out on their rickety front balconies, with two or three dirty-looking dogs lounging about or playing with each other, and small and equally dirty children dashing around. They're a friendly bunch, for the most part, although we've never done more than nod to each other in a civilised fashion as I walk by.
Lately, though, every time I've gone by, they haven't been out in plain view. I know it's the same family because their dogs are still around. Instead I've heard the sound of very one-sided arguing. From the sounds of it, it's a mother yelling at her child, though I've never been able to confirm this one way or another. I have to say it makes me a little sad that anyone should be on the receiving end of that kind of tone, be it child, adult, or dog. The tone is shrill, loud, and particularly unpleasant, the words (to my ears) unnecessarily harsh. I know that I cringe when I hear it, and it's not even directed at me. I can't help but think that, whatever I may have thought of these people before (when I did think of them), their home can't be a very happy one.
I made sort-of friends with one of the neighbourhood cats, on a more positive note. Normally the stray cats in our area are skittish, nervous beasts that are quick to slink under the nearest car or under a protective porch if you so much as look at them. On Tuesday, though, as I made my way home, I caught sight of a large if skinny tabby cat making his way along the sidewalk. I made my usual overtures to the cat, and to my pleasure instead of panicking and flailing and running away the way I expected him to, he instead paused to consider me.
After a moment he decided that I was worth investigating, and he came to sniff at my fingers. Once the fingers were deemed acceptable, he then proceeded to make a giant whore of himself, rubbing himself all over my hand and purring and even lying on his back on the ground and exposing his belly to be rubbed. I assume he must be an abandoned pet, since he's so friendly, but I know better than to take in every stray I meet now. It took four cats for me to learn my limit, but now I know it. The cat wandered off after a few minutes, when I told him I had to go (I was going to a concert that evening and was meeting someone before, as I mentioned).
My own cats were a little miffed that I didn't immediately cuddle them when I got in. Unfortunately, pleasant as the little encounter with the friendly kitty was, I wasn't taking any chances on passing fleas or skin complaints or anything else to my very plump and pampered indoor kitties.
It occurs to me, not for the first time, that I'm rather enjoying my life these days. I'm busy and productive, even if my job and my finances aren't ideal. I like this quiet little existence, in which I write and play music and hang out with my friends. I like getting excited over vegetables and having the high point in my day be to meet a puppy in training for Mira. It's not to say that I would object to travelling somewhere, or to getting a better job or what have you, but I can't really complain all that much about how hard my life is.
I do need to buy a fly swatter, however. I don't know how they got in, but there are flies in my apartment, and I don't plan on sharing with them.
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no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 04:45 pm (UTC)Or was it the vitamins.... ??
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 05:48 pm (UTC)Don't want scurvy? Eat your fruits and veggies. :)