I got up from my nap after Massey got home from school. The dogs had napped right along with me. Massey was going to babysit and I headed out for the grocery store. Massey was going to put the ornaments on our tree but ran out of time so she left for her babysitting job. I contemplated putting the dogs out before I left for the store but would only be gone half an hour and it was still pouring outside. Zach was next door with his buddy so I just decided to leave the pups inside. How much harm could they do in thirty minutes?
I found out as soon as I walked in the kitchen door. There was a chewed up baking potato out of my potato bin on the kitchen floor. He hadn't eaten it...just gnawed on it. All the chewed off parts were in a pile beside the tater. I walked in the dining room and it looked like the DEA had been there to search for drugs. One of my sofa cushions was in the floor with foam padding EVERYWHERE. Next I saw my lip liner pencil and lip gloss I had left on the downstairs bathroom counter when I left for the funeral that morning...the liner pencil looked like it had been fed through a wood chipper and the gloss tube had more holes in it than my kitchen colander.
I went upstairs into the living room and saw the chewed up tube of toothpaste I had bought at the Dollar store and left on the bathroom sink just yesterday for Massey in the bathroom off her bedroom.
Then I saw the REAL crime scene. Massey had gotten the bag of ornaments out of the living room closet to decorate the tree but ran out of time. Did she put the bag back in the closet? Of course not...the bag was ripped apart and the living room floor was covered with broken ornaments. There wasn't one left in the bag. Then just as a calling card, The empty bag had been peed on.
I looked around the living room and saw Ham and Charlie both sitting in a corner with looks that totally said "WE had absolutely NOTHING to do with this!" Then I saw Ziggy on the other side of the sofa looking up at me with that happy face he always has, head bobbing like a bobble headed pup and smiling away as if to say "Yep, it was all ME...I did GOOD didn't I?"
I put all three pups out back and called Zach on my cell and told him to come home and help clean the crime scene. He walked in the front door and said "Oh My God." Then he got to the steps leading down into the dining room and used some really colorful language as he started to help me clean up all the mess.
I picked up all the big pieces of broken glass ornaments saving the hooks for ones that survived. Zach stuffed all the foam padding in the dining room into a trash bag and came upstairs to help me with the ornament debacle. He went around the other side of the sofa and said..."That's classy, he left another calling card over here."
There was a nice little pile of Ziggy doo doo curled into a heap. I told Zach I would get it up with toilet paper and flush it down the toilet. When I picked it up it was held together with strands of the holly printed wrapping paper he ate the day before when the kids got Christmas stuff out of the attic.
Someone remind me why I love this dog so much.
Let's bounce on to my next story of the day. I went to the funeral of my dear friend and customer earlier the same day. She was over ninety one years young and fought the good fight. She only had two bad months and I call that a win.
She was Catholic so I blocked off three hours for the funeral. I was raised in East Point Christian Church. Our funerals usually consisted of a scripture reading, two hymns and the eulogy.
Not to diss the Catholic faith at all and remember this is just a blog...but I just don't get all the pomp and circumstance. I've said it before, "I'm not smart enough to be catholic." Stand up. Kneel, cross yourself (is it left to right or right to left) and they all know those sayings back when the priest says something.
I met Barb at the funeral (the owner's wife of our restaurant). She was raised in the Catholic faith for her first twelve years. As we walked in I told her we needed to sit in the back in case it ran into overtime...this wasn't my first Catholic funeral. She agreed and we sat at the back. Number one the funeral started twenty minutes late. Number two we both knew the priest, he is a customer at the restaurant. Number three...he can clearly see us both on the back row from his pulpit, or whatever they call it.
This is going to sound crazy (and remember it is just a blog) but my closest affiliation with the Catholic church is movies. I felt like I was in a Godfather movie and someone was getting whacked while we all sat there giving them an alibi. I know that is totally wrong and I apologize..it's just me trying to be funny.
It dragged on and on but Barb seemed to suddenly remember her roots and was mesmerized She even pulled down the kneeling thingy at one point. There's two things I hate doing...having to kneel down and having to get up.
The young alter girl, who I wondered why wasn't in school handed the priest the swingy thing filled with incense and they blessed the box with my friend's remains.
Then we got to the final phase. The priest (who unfortunately knows me from the restaurant) asked everyone to come forward for communion. Barb grabbed my arm and said quietly "Let's go." He invited non Catholics to come down and be blessed, signifying with crossed arms they weren't of the Catholic faith.
I told Barb I wasn't going. She tugged at my arm and physically tried to pull me. We looked like Lucy and Ethel in an episode of "I love Lucy."
She huffed and puffed, stalked down the aisle alone and received her communion and blessings from the priest. It meant a lot to her...it should. She is Catholic.
I stayed on the back row thinking once again "Dang it IS hard to be Catholic."
Our friend is gone but I am sure I gave Father Dan lots to laugh about.
Til next time...Protestant COTTON.
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