Work dogs and show dogs/ moms and daughters--Franzen's Freedom

I finally finished this 563 pp behemoth and the last 100 pp or so are excellent, including this paragraph:

Her mainstay, of course, is Jessica. So much so, indeed, that Patty is rigorously careful not to overdo it and drown her with need. Jessica is a working dog, not a show dog like Joey, and once Patty had left Richard and regained a degree of moral respectability, Jessica had made a project of fixing up her mother's life. Many of her suggestions were fairly obvious, but Patty in her gratitude and contrition meekly presented progress reports at their regular Monday-evening dinners. Although she knew a lot more about life than Jessica did, she'd also made a lot more mistakes. It cost her very little to let her daughter feel important and useful, and their discussions did lead directly to her current employment. Once she was back on her feet again, she was able to offer Jessica support in return, but she had to be very careful about this, too. When she read one of Jessica's overly poetic blog entries, full of easily improvable sentences, the only thing she allowed herself to say was "Great post!" When Jessica lost her heart to a musician, the boyish little drummer who'd dropped out of NYU, Patty had to forget everything she knew about musicians and endorse, at least tacitly, Jessica's belief that human nature had lately undergone a fundamental change: that people her own age, even male musicians, were very different from people Patty's age. And when Jessica's heart was then broken, slowly but thoroughly, Patty had to manufacture shock at the singular unforeseeable outrage of it. Although this was difficult, she was happy to make the effort, in part because Jessica and her friends really are somewhat different from Patty and her generation — the world looks scarier to them, the road to adulthood harder and less obviously rewarding — but mostly because she depends on Jessica's love now and would do just about anything to keep her in her life.

Antidote for antimaterialism

From Steppenwolf, by Herman Hesse (1929)

It was not my fortune to be Marias only lover, nor even her favorite one. I was one of many. Often she had no time for me, often only an hour at midday, seldom a night. She took no money from me. Hermine saw to that. She was glad of presents, however, and when I gave her, perhaps, a new little purse of red lacquered leather there might be two or three gold pieces inside it. As a matter of fact, she laughed at me over the red purse. It was charming, but a bargain, and no longer in fashion. In these matters, about which up to that time I was as little learned as in any language of the Eskimos, I learned a great deal from Maria. Before all else I learned that these playthings were not mere idle trifles invented by manufacturers and dealers for the purposes of gain. They were, on the contrary, a little or, rather, a big world, authoritative and beautiful, many sided, containing a multiplicity of things all of which had the one and only aim of serving love, refining the senses, giving life to the dead world around us, endowing it in a magical way with new instruments of love, from powder and scent to the dancing show, from ring to cigarette case, from waist-buckle to handbag. This bag was no bag, this purse no purse, flowers no flowers, the fan no fan. All were the plastic material of love, of magic and delight. Each was a messenger, a smuggler, a weapon, a battle cry.

New arrivals at the farm

Day in the Life, Part 2

I counted 15 last night while freshening water, but oldest ram was hobbling, like me, with bad arthritis. I wonder if he just keeled over, or coyotes took down the weakest. By 10 am, nature had pretty much taken back what it had given

Late Breaking News on the Farm

Predators

At right is our chicken coop, containing five hens and a rooster. The coop is portable; I drag it around the yard so the birds can find fresh greens, worms and bugs.

At center is a large bird, I believe a turkey vulture, who, on a windy day, soaring high drafts with fellows, spotted something he might like to eat and decided to check it out.

Removing stains from red wine

Older people can extend their lives by drinking several glasses of red wine in the evening. A hazard is that red wine spills occur. In my case, I often have an unfinished glass on my bedside table. During the night, I reach for the nose drops and accidentally knock over the glass of wine, which spills on the bedclothes and floor.
Remedy 1: Cursing helps relieve tension. I usually say some combination of goddamit, fuck.
Remedy 2: Don't leave the wine glass anywhere near where you are sleeping.
Remedy 3. Step 1.Remove all the stained bedclothes, clothing, etc., ASAP, and soak in water. You'll notice that the bright red turns purple. Attempt to flush the stain.
Step 2. Some people recommend soaking the cloth with white wine. I have never tried this. Others recommend using a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, which is a mild bleach, and vinegar. (Of course, we all know that we can use regular bleach if the cloth is white.)
Step 3. After vigorously flushing material in sink, applying remedies such as HP, bleach, stain remover, etc., we use regular hot water washing cycle (not overloading but underloading to provide maximum flushing action).
Red wine can extend our lives but can be messy. Prompt action after an accident can prevent stains or the need to replace permanently stained fabrics.
p.s., I don't have any white, shag carpets, which can be hell, but only have finished wood flooring all over my house, so that's not a problem. Also, the last couch we bought at Rooms to Go has some kind of miracle petroleum fabric that is impermeable to wine spills if you wipe and flush.