Florida Oranges and Happy Birthday Mike

Today I'd like to talk to you about oranges.

But first take a moment to look at the cute kid with an orange section stuffed in her mouth. 

This would be Gary's daughter Athena, when she was little.

While In Florida in 2005 Gary purchased this orange tree.  What was he thinking?  This tree would never make it in our neck of the woods!

In April of 2006 Mike, (Gary's father), stopped by for a few days en route from his Florida winter retreat to his Bethlehem Pa. apartment.  He gifted me a lemon tree, and Gary 2 more orange trees.  

So then there were 4.

Gary and Mike planted the trees together in this oblong planter.  

Rewind.

Gary's love for his father was evident in that they were best friends as well as father and son.  We were living in WV at the time.  The Man Cave was downstairs, and that is where  sounds of  laughter and loud boomy movies would carry up through the vents and infiltrate my own quiet place in the living room as the two of them either watched movies together or carried out their father-son bond from afar via phone. 

Together they constructed a deck off of the side of our house, put together a shed, planted flowers and shrubs, and pulled weeds. Always laughing.

On April 30, 2006, as we stood beside our Buick, Gary put his arm around me and we looked at Mike as he held one of those disposable drug store cameras, and we smiled.  Unbeknownst to us, it would be the last time we would see him alive.

On May 12, 2006 Gary and I stopped at the post office to pick up our mail on our way out of town.  He smiled when he read the card from his father.  

We'd be seeing Mike the following day and Gary couldn't wait to give him the box of DVD's that he had ready for him, ones he was sure his dad would enjoy when we visited with him in Bethlehem Pa. on our way home from King of Prussia, Pa.  

The next day Gary got the call as he sat on the bed in our hotel room.  There would be no visit with his father that day as planned.  On May 12, 2006, (the very day that Gary received the card and after he called and thanked him for it), Mike had a heart attack and died suddenly while raking leaves in his granddaughter's yard.  He wasn't found until the next morning.

There's so much more to this story.  But let's stick with the oranges.  

In the spring we lug the heavy planter outdoors and the oranges and lemons smile big and soak up the sun.  

Before the first frost, we carry them back inside and place them in the laundry room under a UV light.  

Who would've thought these trees would make it this far...  and in Maryland?    

I often wonder if Mike thought they'd survive this long.

But then again, knowing his son...  he probably expected this.  Gary doesn't give up easily.  

Trust me, the oranges are bitter and not fit to eat.  Somebody told me that they have to be germinated (is that right?) or something like that.    

Look at those lemons!  

I say it's the country music that blares from the laundry room that keeps our tropical trees thriving.  Gary thinks his Dad's spirit might be giving them a boost.  

Today would be Mike's 77th birthday.  A part of Gary died the day his father passed away. A couple of months later, his X refused him visitation with Athena, his daughter.  And the worse parental alienation I've ever read about or witnessed took place.  Another part of him died at that time as well.  

So it's with a heavy heart that he celebrates his father's life today.  But the words from the card keep him strong.  

Happy Birthday Mike.

Pink Floyd Experience and Love Your Pet Day

I'm back.  I had to take care of 

a few things out of town.  

Like...  

Having a piece of the best chocolate cake ever...

and attending a Pink Floyd Experience concert

 in Lancaster, Pa. 

 It was great, by the way, and our seats were wonderful...  took the above video on the way out!!  

And watching this sweet pooch get his hiney shaved at the Pet Smart Grooming center.  Look at that face.  Isn't he a sweetheart?!  And he was such a good sport.
If he could talk, what do you suppose he would say?  

It's good to be back to my Gracie.  And by the way, I think I fixed her poopy problem before I left.  It seems she had some matted in her butt fur so I cleaned and cut her fur there and she hasn't had an accident since then.  She was probably just trying to get that disgusting stuff off of her.

Dear Diary,

February 20 was 'love your pet day'.  Wouldn't you know I'd be left alone on the very day I was supposed to be loved?   

And is it any wonder that I tore up a newspaper and spread it through the house, threw pillows on the floor (along with other important stuff), and refused to eat....  

Well...  I refused to eat until Lindsey and Rissa came and fed me.  Then I caved.

  

So as a peace offering I get this funny looking toy that squeaks real loud.  Oh, don't get me wrong.  I love the toy.  But I smell a rat.  Or should I say I smell a dog...  on Mom's clothes.   It seems to me she might have been "loving another pet" on Love Your Pet day. 

I guess I'm supposed to forgive, forget, and watch the house like a good dog.  And I guess I will.  Gracie.

Enjoy your new Puppy... Idiot!

Gracie's regressed bad habit of pooping on the floor has brought back a not-so-pleasant memory of our first year with our new pup.  

Just thought I'd share a little from the book:

     We put up barricades to protect the white carpet from Gracie who was nervously peeing and pooping in fifteen-minute intervals on the shiny kitchen floor.  An end table, a living room chair and a bookcase kept her from real trouble. 

 After observing her bathroom habits, I took her out for potty minutes before her next spill was due, but she was too interested in smelling the ground and bouncing around being cute to do her business where she was supposed to do it.  After I brought her back inside, she squatted and let loose. 

     “I think she needs smaller confines,” I said.  So we sectioned off a part of the kitchen calling it Gracie’s corner.  A long kitchen bench flipped onto its side, a big box of stuff, and a five-gallon jug of water separated her and her cage from the rest of the kitchen.  “That’s better,” I said.  “At least now her mess won’t be all through the kitchen.”  She looked sad as we walked away, and guilt consumed me because I was secluding her from the rest of the house, but as I turned to take one last look at her sad face I noticed that she wasn’t sad at all and was trotting happily next to me into the living room.  “Gracie!” I said. “How did you get out?”  The walls handiwork in Gracie’s corner revealed a flaw in its construction so I stuffed a towel into the little opening that I hadn’t noticed before, and then placed her back in her corner.  This time she didn’t look so sad, and five minutes later she pranced into the living room ferociously tossing the towel into the air and catching it again.  I was tired and not amused.  I just wanted to go to bed. Then the voice, 'enjoy you’re new puppy… idiot'.

      I helped Gary bring up an old door from downstairs and we placed it where the other smaller barriers had been. Gracie whined as we left her behind in her own little space, and she finally gave up and went into her cage to sleep.

 Dear Diary,

I’ve been kidnapped.  They keep calling themselves Mommy and Daddy, and I think they’re trying to brainwash me.  It feels good to lie down though and rest my weary bones.  Speaking of bones, I wonder if they have anything I can gnaw on.  My teeth are killing me.  (Sigh)  I miss my real mom and dad.  I wonder what they are doing right now, probably missing me.  Well, I guess I’ll just have to make the best of things.  Oh, did I mention that there is another person that lives here?  Her name is Lindsey and she smells good.  She’s one of those teenagers they talk about.  I’m going to try to get in good with her, so maybe she can help me escape and find my way home.  Maybe she’s been kidnapped too.  We can break out together.  Well, guess I better go.  This strange woman wants to take me out to potty again, whatever that means.