Our Nutcase Border Collie

Captain Jack is a border collie, at least in part, and he wants to herd. Man, does he want to herd. (Just ask Moonlight, our cat. You thought you couldn’t herd cats? Tell it to Cap’n Jack.) He also seems to regard my dirty socks as part of his flock, because he’s forever fishing them out of the laundry hamper and herding them out to the living room. He doesn’t chew them, just puts them where they’re supposed to be. Only my socks, not anyone else’s.

Maybe it’s a control issue. We have several jumbo dog pillows -one in the living room, one in the bedroom, and one in my office in the finished attic. The bedroom pillow regularly finds its way to the dining room, sometimes just minutes after I’ve returned it to its proper spot. Or if it isn’t in the dining room, it’s in the doorway of our little central hall, where Jack lies on it as though deliberately metering the flow of traffic. Border collie cop?

The pad up in my office is a tougher case: it’s stiffer and more awkward to move, and generally it stays in the corner where it belongs. Or did until the other day, when it too started migrating to block the nearest doorway. And then, not just to the doorway, but down the cluttered hallway of the library, down the steep attic stairs, through an even more cluttered entryway room, through the fairly cluttered living room, to the far side of the dining room. I was in my office working at the time, but I didn’t see or hear him move it. Later, though, I found it -and him curled up on it -right in front of his crate (which of course has its own pad).

Every time I try to catch him in the act with a camera,  he immediately drops whatever he’s carrying and gazes at me in innocent wonder. You can almost hear him: “Yo, what’s up, dude?”

My last border collie, Sam, was certainly a dog with personality. But I think our Captain Jack is taking idiosyncrasy to a whole new level.

Here’s another dog thinking outside the box:

 

And Home Again

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The world traveler is home, tired but happy. Great to see her. Great to have her back home. Not so glad to hear that she wants to go live in the Middle East. But never mind; we’ll cope with that later. For now, we’re just glad to have her safely home.

And what did the traveler bring us from Jordan? Go ahead, think about it; I’ll give you a minute. Ready?

Whatever you thought, that’s not it.  Here’s what she said was in the plastic bags I helped her carry from the car: mud. I haven’t seen it yet, but that’s what she said, and I believe it. Mud. I guess she wanted to bring a little piece of the Middle East home.

If any further understanding develops (on my part), I’ll be sure and pass it on.

Edit: Okay, it wasn’t a little piece of Jordan coming home with her, it was facial mud. Which she bought. (Don’t ask me. This is not a guy thing.)

Sand and Other Adventures, Part 2

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Another email from Lexi in Jordan, this one typed on a borrowed laptop, rather than a phone:

In addition to staggering around on donkeys and camels and getting supremely sunburned, I’ve been enjoying AMAZING food and extreme hospitality. Everyone here is very friendly (though not always the best kind of friendly), and eager to invite strangers in for tea/coffee. They don’t hesitate to talk to people (though there is obviously sort of an odd dynamic between men and women, because men have to initiate conversation). On the flip side of that, I try to avoid eye contact with men in the streets and often have to choose between being extremely rude (ignoring or glaring) and smiling back at what I gauge to be well-meaning friendliness. Aside from that, I feel very comfortable here. It feels like a place I could, maybe, actually live and work someday (Mom, don’t glare at me).

We’ve gone to see some pretty amazing ruins. Everything just looks ancient. The hills here look like crumbly mountains, layers of sandstone and rock strangely inlaid with the occasional patch of grass. They have “camel crossing” signs instead of deer crossings.
I’ve had some fun encounters with strangers, including the Bedouin camel owners who told me that they’ve seen pictures of their camels on Facebook (apparently they have a generator in those caves), and a middle-aged man selling scarves who showed me how to tie a hijab by demonstrating on himself (he was very amused as he wrapped the scarf around his head and indicated where to pin it; “Very good, right?”), and the time I wanted to buy some traditional Jordanian spices. (Forgetting just how little spices weigh, I bought half a kilo (!) and ended up with a truly enormous bag. No wonder the guy behind the counter gave me the look of, “You clearly have no idea what you’re asking for.” Yay for being an ignorant foreigner…)

I think that when I return home I will be very amused by the driving in Boston. While truly awful in comparison with the rest of the states, those of you from outside the U.S. know that it’s nothing compared to the rest of the world. People swerve all over the lanes, go backwards down the breakdown lanes (and sometimes the streets), and they often forget to put up signs to indicate speed bumps in the road (go from 100 km/h to 30 in about three seconds and see how you feel).

I still haven’t picked up much more Arabic than “thank you,” but that’s all right.

That’s all for now.

And that’s all for now from me, too. 
 

A Post from Jordan

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We got an email from Lexi, which she apparently typed on a borrowed cellphone! Here’s some of what she reported:

I’m in Jordan!!!! It’s day three and a half. I have hiked through Petra, survived driving illegally (there are speed bumps all over the highways here), had a ton of amazing food, met fantastic people, and visited some amazing things. For the sake of my thumbs, all I’ll comment on here is Petra.

As you might imagine if you’ve ever seen Indiana Jones, it’s breathtaking. We begin by walking through an enormous gorge called the Siq. It winds irregularly through the mountains, huge rock faces rearing up on either side. Everything is a burnt sandy color, except for the trees that sprout up here and there between the boulders. Some of the cliffs are rounded, some jagged, but they all have huge chunks gouged out of them, as though by some enormous animal. I feel tiny, walking past huge caves and the occasional (and gigantic) ruined temple entrance. Everything feels old, caked in a smorgasbord of mixed histories and religions. It speaks of something very enduring and rough, but striking in its beauty. (God is my favorite artist.)


On the way up, we rode donkeys. Much easier than riding a horse. But it turns out riding a donkey is extremely scary going downhill. Donkeys really like to walk near the edges of cliffs. On the way out, we also rode camels, a very weird experience. I wish I could babble all about the Bedouin, but I don’t have space here. I spent too long describing rocks, so this is what you get for now. And for those of you worried about my safety or who made me promise to be very careful, let me say that I have attracted as little attention as I could, not been called at in any serious way, and only had one or two very small adventures in my driving. I have worn make-up (some of you will be proud of me and others of you very confused by that), tried every exciting dish that was put in front of me, and learned one word of Arabic, which I use constantly: shukran (thank you). I miss you and hope you’re all having a wonderful start to spring!

It makes me want to be there!


On the Banks of the River Jordan

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Well, that’s poetic license, because I’m not sure if she’ll actually see the Jordan River—but my older daughter Lexi took off this afternoon for ten days in Jordan, traveling with some other folk from our church. They’ll be staying with families there, and hoping to meet and pray with some Muslim groups, and generally open some lines of conversation. I don’t know as many details as I would like, because, well, she’s twenty-two. She doesn’t exactly withhold information; she just doesn’t stop moving long enough to fill us in on everything. (I suspect other parents will know what I mean.) She’s traveling with one of the pastors of our church, a woman who has been to the Middle East several times, so that gives us some reassurance.

She was excited and nervous when she left. Allysen and I are awed, proud, and—yeah—a little nervous.

It runs in her blood. When she was fourteen, she traveled to Armenia with a local exchange group. Since then, she’s been to Mexico and Nicaragua. She gets it from her mom.

Edit: Got a text msg: “Safely in Amman.” Probably the last we’ll hear for a little while. 

Half a Roll of Duct Tape Later

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The dead mouse smell from the wall was just too much, so I took off some of the wood paneling (thank goodness for the junky old wood paneling we never got around to replacing!) and cut through the plaster and lathe in a few places. Not good. I found the place where the smell was coming from, but it was a small opening to an inaccessible space. All I did was improve the ventilation into the room. And meanwhile, we’ve got windows open and a fan running in February!

Today I had an inspiration. Why not see if I could rig an exhaust duct running from the wall opening to a window? It worked for Apollo 13 (sort of), didn’t it? Failure is not an option. So I bought a 20-foot length of flexible dryer duct and some extra duct tape. Also handy were some plastic sheeting and a “cone of shame” once used by one of our dogs after surgery. Here’s the result:

 

The dryer duct is stretched across the floor, which isn’t ideal, but who cares? That blob of plastic you see in the window is actually a powerful fan, with a big plastic cone and sheeting holding the duct tube in place. It works! Not perfectly, but we can close the other windows part way now, and actually stand to be in the rooms. Now we just have to wait for nature to finish the job. (Hurry. Hurry.)

Edit: It’s not working as well as I would like. The rooms are definitely better than before, but still not really a place you want to hang around in. And I still have to keep the windows open.  (With snow predicted for Wednesday.)

I picked up another window fan to exhaust the room air and draw in fresh from neighboring rooms with windows open. Unfortunately, the fan — one of those dual-fan units designed to fit in a window like an A/C — doesn’t really move that much air.  So… we’re still hanging out in the kitchen or the bedrooms or in my office.  But at least we don’t feel like we’re going to keel over if we accidentally breathe when we walk through the dining and living rooms.

Edit: Three weeks later. The smell is finally gone, except for the very occasional, very faint whiff.  I’ve put the walls back together.  Life returns to normal.  Thank God!

Dead Skunk in the Middle of…

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…the living room?

Almost. Something seems to have died in one of our living room walls. Mouse, probably. God, does it stink. We now have a fan running in the window 24 hours a day, venting the fumes. I forget how long it took to subside the last time this happened. A week? Two? I’m just grateful that we’re having mild weather, so while it’s driving up our heating bill, at least it’s not happening during a cold snap.

I’m starting to think “three strikes and you’re out” might be my new rule for rodents. First, mice chewed the spark plug wires in our car, to the tune of a few hundred bucks. Then the squirrels ate the wiring on our outdoor Christmas lights. Now this. I wonder if it died of insulation or copper poisoning.

I just hope it didn’t chew the house wiring before it died. Auggh. Now, there’s a thought.

Outstanding Psychologist

A little reflected glory here. On January 26, my brother Charles S. Carver received an award for distinguished contributions to the field of personality psychology. The Jack Block Award was given by the Society for Personality and Social Psychology (SPSP)—the largest organization of social and personality psychologists in the world—”in recognition of his research accomplishments over the past thirty years which have shaped modern personality psychology.” It was presented at the Thirteenth Annual Meeting of the Society for Personality and Social Psychology, in San Diego. The announcement didn’t say anything about his contributions to football spectatorship or beer appreciation, but I’m sure they were thinking it. (Photo by his lovely wife, Dr. Youngmee Kim.)

Well done!

Edit: You can read more about the award, and Chuck’s work, here.  

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