Shade

What's the best way to deal with a heat wave?

1. Find shade.

2. Get into the shade.

3. Rub yourself against the shade.

4. Bite the shade.

Quick Blog Break

I'm taking a quick blog break. At least I hope it will be quick. Like a fool, I went and updated my operating system and now I don't know how to use the photo program. Oh damn, I must learn something new.

I'm working on something else that's requiring me to become a techie, so the photo program has to wait. Just a bit. Fingers (and toes) crossed). I have a maximum capacity for this stuff, and my skull runneth over.

Waiting is hard. Ask someone who knows.

Now I Am Five

I have been living with my humans for a year now. They made today my birthday. I didn't tell them different because I don't know. So now I am five.

I get two meals and two walks every day, and I get a treat each time the humans have their meal. I think the treat I get in the morning is medicine but I will eat it because it is mine and because I will eat it.

I get a bath sometimes. The whole pack joins in this activity. I like baths.

I have a cage, but I almost never have to go in it, so I made it my office, for when I need quiet time.

I have three bones. I am tired of the blue bone. The red bone is for outside. The chicken flavored bone is for family activities inside.

I have five places.* FIVE! Plus a couch**, and sometimes an armchair if no one's watching. At the shelter I did not have these things, but I got meals and sometimes walks and treats. I had a cage which was too noisy to be an office.

What I have learned this year:

I have learned to walk on the leash without pulling. I wish we could go faster at the beginning, but after that it's fine. My fur is growing back where I used to pull against the harness.

Sometimes we see dogs. I do not like dogs! But I get a treat if I don't bark at them, so I begin to see their uses. I WILL NOT LIKE CATS.*** EVER.

photo by John Sandel

The back yard is mine. The sun is there. I am safe there. I can have a nap or I can bark. I bark at sirens. I rage at the mailman. I throw myself against the fence if a cat walks on top of it. I only do that when it's important because the humans make me come inside if I do it. I think I took out some fence boards but they must have put them back. I don't know how that works. I would like to give my humans a dead cat but they don't want one.

I know some words. I already knew "sit," "stay," "no," and "leave it." What is "down"? I don't know "down." I know "off." "Love" means "good." I learned "lick" (mostly comes after "no") and "come" (optional). These are human words. I don't say them. I say many dangerous things.

I had a swimming lesson! I will tell you about it when the female gets the pictures.

I like to cuddle.

Some things still confuse me. I have more to learn. I like learning.


For my birthday I would like to have a bath and a dental chew. I hope we will celebrate my birthday today. Sometimes I still worry that I won't get to stay here, but a year is forever so I think I get to stay.

**********

*Wilma's "place" is her pallet. She does indeed have five, so she can participate in family activities in the living room, dining room, and offices. One pallet stays in the bedroom for sleeping. 

**In the photo of Wilma on the couch, Boz's ashes and photo are in the background. Wilma knows about Boz, but we haven't talked to her about ashes. She's too young for that just yet.

***We use the word "cat" to denote "small animal," so Wilma won't have to distinguish verbally between squirrels, cats, opossums or chihuahuas. Too many syllables. We just say "no cat." 

This is What 60 Looks Like

photo by John Sandel

I've never been one to lie about my age. I'm beginning to consider it, but I don't think I'm fooling anybody.

It's hard to get used to how I look as I get older. I think we all feel this way, at least around a milestone birthday. Maybe when I turn 61 it won't hit me as hard. Some days I'm fine with how I look. Some days I'm not. That was true when I was 30.

Isn't age a surprise? All my life I've known it was happening yet it's still shocking to see the signs: the muscles of my upper arms as loosely defined as a boiled potato, the little bumps that appear in odd places and decide to stay, the wrinkles that deepen like windblown crevasses on the surface of Mars.

That last one is more reality than metaphor.

Wilma is unconcerned about age, although she has a milestone birthday coming up, too. She'll be 5 in June.

Ceci n'est pas une chienne sur un divan

A cold is like a mosquito. It's not the worst thing in the world but it's an annoyance, and it usually comes along with a lot of other mosquitos to bite your friends and family. If a normal mosquito bites you it raises an itchy bump. If a bad mosquito gets you, you've got malaria.

This is a roundabout way of saying it could have been worse and I'm glad I got a flu shot this year.

All week I've been shuffling back and forth to the kitchen for more cups of tea between longeurs in the armchair doing crosswords. I don't have energy for much else.

I've postponed all my appointments, even those with loved ones. I kept one appointment with Wilma the other day, accompanying her on her morning neighborhood hunt, and was laid out for the rest of the day. This annoyed Wilma; she does not have a cold and would have appreciated more hunting or at least chasing and biting things in the back yard.

But as you see, we've worked out a deal. When she can't have violence, she can have doggie bliss.

"This way lies madness," you say. But Wilma's smart. I think we've got her trained to believe she's allowed to lie on the towel, not the couch. So when the towel is not available, neither is the furniture. I'll let you know how that works.

No toys on the towel, though. We have to draw the line somewhere.

Wilma: the Report

Wilma has been living with us for 9 months. We're a family. I remember this with Boz, the feeling that his presence transformed us from a couple into a family. But we're a different family with Wilma because Wilma is a different person. She's more rambunctious (gross understatement), though only a few months younger than Boz was when he moved in. Boz was an old soul. Wilma is young in all her parts.

It's impossible not to make comparisons. Boz was an angel, easy to live with from the start. Wilma has required training, consistency and love to learn to walk peaceably on the leash and to not freak out when she sees other dogs. There have been frustrations, family discussions and time-outs for each of us. But with every step backward there's a forward leap. Wilma wants to be part of the family and she demonstrates it at every opportunity, unless she forgets. In other words, she's a normal dog.

And she has a tail. Boz's was removed by someone before us who might have been loving but certainly was ignorant. Wilma's tail is a fascination. Sometimes she wags it so hard it has a circular motion. Among her many nick-names: Propeller butt. (Who needs cable?) She's incredibly and immediately expressive at both ends, though sometimes she uses her outside voice indoors. That's ok. It would never occur to a dog to hide her feelings. Even Boz used to wag his little stump like crazy, though he almost never barked.

Because Boz's tail couldn't be heard from a distance and because he'd lost his bark, he was forced to communicate in other ways, like a look, a movement or even a breath. He taught us Doglish slowly, over time. With Wilma we're all speaking it now.

Another difference between Wilma and Boz: Boz sat symmetrically. Wilma sits like this. 

A similarity: both sun bunnies. 

Multitasking

I signed up for the bluefeet newsletter because I like it and I learn from it. Bluefeet was founded by Lilli Cloud "to help people achieve their potential by capturing and communicating what makes them and their work extraordinary." Scroll to the bottom of any page of the bluefeet website and sign up if you want to get the newsletter, too.

This time around, Lilli and her staff sent a newsletter entitled, "Getting Your Flow On." They included a link to an article about multitasking. It says multitasking is bad for your brain.

I don't know if that's true. I get my flow on in multiple ways, all at the same time.

When John comes home and I'm nowhere to be found—the bed is half-made, some of the dishes are put away, the bathtub is squeaky clean but not the bathroom floor—I'm probably in the garage because that's where the filing cabinet is.

If multitasking is bad for my brain, that could explain the roots of my noun problem. I often have to grapple to find the word I'm looking for. I always stumble over "Brussels sprouts" and "sideboard," for example. I have no idea why these in particular give me trouble. Sometimes when I write and the word I want is not available, I write OWTTE (or words to that effect) or FABW (find a better word) and move on, hoping it'll come to me while I'm editing. It usually does. (It has to. I'm not finished until it does.)

I had a little trouble understanding the multitasking article because I had to switch screens between paragraphs to read another article I was reading about  the dwarf planet Ceres. Did you know it gets up to -28 degrees Fahrenheit up there? Hey, I've spent winters in Chicago. -28F is livable! Or it would be, if Ceres had an atmosphere. I don't remember anything else about the article but it gave me something to do between paragraphs in the multitasking piece.

I used to think my multitasking was a talent but now I know it's frenzied (FABW). It's time for me to buckle down, concentrate and focus (OWTTE), or I'll never GTD (get things done).

Wilma's Last Sales Pitch Before Christmas

The reason her bed is soaking wet is she was deeply involved in her bone. The reason the floor in the foreground is scratched is she was deeply involved in a squirrel outside the window, and she thought it would make sense to try to get him.

I distracted her with fine reading material.

 

(As an aside, it is next to impossible to photograph her tail because it's always moving.)

But she seems calm now. Her tail is slowing down. She's—

She's literally a dog, not a literary dog.

Act As If: Stumbling Through Hollywood with Headshot in Hand

(mostly) comic essays for the actor in your life

Camelot & Vine

"Intelligent escapism" for the armchair adventurer in your life

Buy, read, enjoy, review! And thank you for another great year.

Small Business Saturday

 

 photo by John Sandel  

Small Business Saturday, held every year on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, is sponsored by American Express. But you don't have to use a credit card to take part. You can shop at your favorite local independent businesses all year 'round and make a difference in your community with every dollar you spend.

Do I have to tell you this? I don't have to tell you this. You know this.

I'll be participating in this year's Small Biz Sat. at the Flintridge Bookstore and Coffeehouse. Mostly I'll be in the Bookstore part unless I need a snack.

Come by 1010 Foothill Blvd. in La Canada from 2-4 pm and say hi. I'll sign your copy of Act As If. If 2-4 pm isn't convenient don't worry, the books, gifts, decorations and treats will be there all day.

Print copies of Act As If are currently not available anywhere else! This is an exclusive Flintridge event, so come on down.

I probably shouldn't mention that Wilma is a small business expert.

Wilma's Holiday

Wilma behaved beautifully last night and didn't bark at any trick-or-treaters. After the festivities, I asked her how she was feeling.

"Bring me a lemon coke, child," she said. "Mama needs to rest."

Be You

Two favorite quotes I've been trying to live by lately:

"I'd rather be respected than liked." - Gale Ann Hurd

and

"Better to be an asshole than a chicken-shit." - Sheldon Patinkin

Like many women of my generation, I was brought up to be "nice." It has taken me too many decades to realize that "nice" gets you nowhere. But "nice" can be an unconscious reaction.

There's nothing wrong with being kind, but there's a fine line between being nice and allowing one's self to be walked on. And this is a hard thing to learn. I've slammed the lid on my own Pandora's box of thoughts, words and needs so many times that people who know me often say, "What do you want, really? You have a right to say," while they try to drag it out of me.

To say "No thank you" is not the same as the more definitive "No," which in turn differs from "No way, you jerk," if the situation warrants.

Learning to say any variation of No is a process for me. Or Yes, for that matter. And I'm not the only one.

I like these old sidewalk stamps in Pasadena. I suppose they're only in the pre-WWII neighborhoods but don't quote me on that.

This one's post-war. You can quote me.

The hardest thing to be is yourself. At least that's true for me. And yourself changes, with breakthrough after breakthrough, throughout your life. "Breakthrough" sounds kind of glorious, but sometimes it's just plain hard work.

Being my best self is easy at home with my loved ones (none of whom are jerks, by the way). But out in the world, being myself means being honest as well as politic, and being glad of my achievements as well as my weaknesses. It means not hiding behind "nice."

Damn. I guess that means I'm a person.

Wilma's First Three Months

Today marks 3 months since Wilma came to live with us. Together, we've:

graduated from the Reactive Rover class at the Pasadena Humane Society

 where we acquired evasion tactics for avoiding malicious fluff-dogs;

learned to walk politely on the leash (mostly);

not killed any squirrels;

and

begun to sort of ignore cats.

I don't know if Wilma will ever feel safe with other dogs or if she'll ever gain self-control around the squirrel concept. But isn't it amazing that a dog can learn self-control at all? She's come a long way.

In the house Wilma is more able to focus, and we're learning each others' language. Except see that blue toy in the picture? She ate it. We knew she had done so when one evening we were sipping our non-alcoholic beer by candlelight, and Wilma was gnawing away at her blue toy, and we were feeling all domestic and rosy. And we looked over and the toy had disappeared. Speaking of self-control.

The adjustments you must make to a new family member are real. Wilma requires more attention and training than Boz did because she's Wilma. Boz was an exceptionally easy dog because he was Boz. It's unfair to compare them, though difficult not to.

I was relieved when Wilma upchucked that little pile of blue cloth a couple of days ago. I imagine she was, too.

**********

Remember, the Pasadena Humane Society's Wiggle Waggle Walk is September 28th. You can sign up to walk or donate money at the PHS site, or do the same with my friend Paula Johnson's Rose City Sisters team (a.k.a. pack).

Wiggle Waggle Walk

photo by John Sandel

Every year, the Pasadena Humane Society's Wiggle Waggle Walk unites families and dogs to raise funds in support of dogs that don't have families. There will be a fashion show and a look-alike contest.

I don't much resemble Wilma except in lounging posture, and neither of us is ready to be in such a big crowd. However, you can see by the photo above that Wilma wags in support of this cause. What you can't see is how her whole body wiggles when she wags. I've started wiggling and wagging right back at her. I think she gets it.

My friend Paula Johnson is heading up the Rose City Sisters team (a.k.a. pack) for the Walk. Here's what Paula says about the event:

I am thrilled to help support the animals at the Pasadena Humane Society & SPCA by participating in the 16th Annual Wiggle Waggle Walk on Sunday, September 28, 2014 in Brookside Park in Pasadena. Your donation will help provide nourishing food, safe shelter and medical care to over 12,000 animals this year! Your contribution will also help fund the low cost spay/neuter program, the adoption program, wildlife services, humane education programs and more. Help the animals by making a gift today.

If you're looking for a team, you can join Paula's. If you can't make it on the 28th you can still donate money via her team, or anyone else's.

We have always had shelter dogs. They require dedication, just like any relationship, and like any relationship, the dedication is worth it. I suggest you don't make physical resemblance to you a requirement when adopting, but there's something for everyone.

Here are some photos from the 2013 Wiggle Waggle Walk. And check out this video, made by a favorite local celebrity in 2012.

Rain

Well, that was nice. For some of us.

A certain person named Wilma charged bravely out the back door to secure the perimeter against rain-crazed squirrels. Then she came in and crashed from the stress, curling up in her bed and moaning with disgust. Either that or she was snoring.

It's a good day to curl up, preferably with a book, but for some people that's not an option.

Reactive Rover

photo by Jamie Rosier

Wilma had not been with us long before we knew she'd need help adjusting. She's lovely in the house; obedient, eager to learn, knows her sit and stay, never poos or pees indoors and only barfs if she gets too excited. (We try to keep things calm.) One of my friends even called her a "perfect hostess," and it's true. Wilma will love you as long as you're not a squirrel.

Outside, Wilma she still likes people but as far as John and I can tell, she was never socialized with dogs. She's afraid. Her fear sometimes looks like whining, pulling on the leash or prancing from side to side. Or it can look like growling and some nasty barking of the "I will kill you if you come over here" variety.

The Pasadena Humane Society has all kinds of classes. We got Wilma into their Reactive Rover class as soon as we could. There the head of training, Roberta MacPherson, and her associate, Jamie Rosier, taught our family the essentials of daily walks, avoiding stress and fights, and how to make it all fun for Wilma. (Hint: it has a lot to do with hot dog bits.)

Last Thursday, to the stirring strains of Edward Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1, Wilma graduated. As we all know, graduation doesn't mean you've learned everything. It means you're stepping out into the world, equipped with the tools you need to continue learning.

If you know of a big, wide, fenced in space where we can let Wilma run free a few times a week, we'd love to hear about it. Girlfriend needs to use up some energy.

Wilma Acts As If

Act As If: Stumbling Though Hollywood With Headshot in Hand is my book of essays about the life of a journeyman actor in Hollywood, a life I lived for twenty years. It's not easy work, but it's hilarious if you bring your attitude.

The book comes out in August. In celebration, Wilma shows us how to Act As If. 

Here's Wilma with John, acting as if she's dangerous.

Here's Wilma with her bunny, acting as if she's a big time squirrel hunter. (I'm sorry, Bunny.)

Here's Wilma, acting like she owns everything in the house. She doesn't.
(Photo by John Sandel. Raised bowls thanks to Bellis.)

Here's Wilma with John again, acting like—actually, she's not acting here. She's being herself.

I discuss these techniques and more in Act As If, and I give each topic all the gravitas or hilarity (or both) it deserves. Wilma is a very good actor.

Wilma: Home at Last

I'm not goin' nowhere, she sez. Sez she's stayin' right here. Don't even ast me to budge. Don't even.

Please?


(After two shelters and two other homes, this sweet, receptive, trained and trainable Boxer mutt deserves to stay. She settled in quickly and is willing to keep us. We're introducing her to our lives little by little, and she takes everything in stride. We're saving the trauma of bathing for tomorrow, but that's the limit. Think she'll like it? I don't either. She's spent a long time getting her girly-dog stink on, and she won't like losing it. But honey girl, it's got to go.)