HAPPY TRAAAILS...TO US! - Pt. 6

SO…I grab my trusty knee-scooter and gets ta wheelin’ to the hotel lobby desk to officially check us out of this dump.  Chris, decked out in his tux and the incredible disintegrating shoes, heads out to the parking lot and waits for me. 

After squaring things away with the desk clerk, I cut back thru the hotel corridor since it’s the shortest way to get out to the parking lot.   As I approach the room we just checked out of, I see a bunch of hotel custodial-type dudes and gals gawking at the hallway carpeting.  It, too, is covered in the inky, tar-like streaks from the dissolving shoes.   Chris has left a long, dark trail behind him going from the room to waaaay on down the hall to straight out the back exit and into the parking lot.

Janitor Dude # 1: “What the FUCK is THIS SHIT?”

Janitor Gal: “I ain’t NEVAH seen NUTHIN’ like d’at.   D’atz jus’ NASTY.”

Janitor Dude # 2: “Well, I ain’t even gonna TRY cleanin’ THAT shit!  THAT shit ain’t NEVER comin’ out!”

Janitor Dude # 1 (peering into recently evacuated room): “And LOOK – it’s all over the floor in HERE, TOO!  DAY-UM – what IS that?!”

I scoot past as furtively as possible, head ducked.   Finally outside, I immediately spot Chris in the middle of the parking lot.  He’s leaning against our car in the blazing sunlight, tux all askew.  I scoot up to him.

Me: “Why don’t you get in the car and put on the A/C?  You look like you’re dying… Wait.  Don’t tell me…”

Chris: “The A/C died again.   IT’S AN OVEN IN THERE.”

My heart sinks at this horrid (yet unsurprising) bit of news.  I look down at THE SHOES.  Truly magical, these shoes.  All kinds of twigs, gravel, bottle caps and cigarette butts have attached themselves to their melting, gummy bottoms. 

Me: “Listen, we should truck the hell outta here, man.  The whole cleaning crew’s in there cursing about the black shit all over the hallways...”

Chris: “O, my GOD.  It’s all over the hall?”

Me: “Well, what do you think?  HELL YEAH, it is!  It looks like blatant vandalism,” I point at the ground, “LOOK!  It’s all over the parking lot, too – a trail leading directly to The Culprit.  You know, honey, you probably shoulda worn your old shoes until…”

Chris: “YEAH, YEAH, YEAH.   ALWAYS LATE WITH THE BRIGHT IDEAS, THANKS A MILLION.”

Me: “Hey,  I’m just sayin’…”

Chris: “CHRIST.  I don’t even know what the hell is up with these goddamn SUSPENDERS…”  He’s whipping around like he’s chasing his tail - the dopey suspenders snapping just out of his grasp.   I make a move to help but he frantically slaps my hand away:

Chris: “FORGET IT.  WE’LL DO IT LATER.  I GOTTA GET TO A SHOE STORE RIGHT NOW.”

And once again, it’s GO TIME.

* * * * * *

So!  THERE ARE NO SHOE STORES IN ALBANY.

That’s probably an exaggeration, but damned if we can find one.  The church is a good half-hour away and we pass every kind of store and shop imaginable along the way and NOT ONE is a SHOE STORE.

I have become Herman, my head dangling out the car window, ears flapping.  I ask about four thousand pedestrians along the way: “EXCUSE ME!  Can you please tell me where the nearest shoe store is?” 

I get nearly the same exact response every time.  The person stops and squints at me, mouth hanging open like a trout.  Then: “SHOE STORE???”   They look up and down the street as if a fucking shoe store is gonna pop up out of the ground.  They look back at me, head shaking woefully: “Uhhh…I don’t remember seeing any shoe stores around here…”  Each time, impossibly saddened.  As if they, too, have only just realized how pathetic this frigging shoe-store-less town is. 

Chris is driving and it’s making me really, really nervous.  I keep begging him to let me drive but he refuses.  We’re losing time here and he doesn’t want to waste ONE SECOND changing seats.  So I’m the co-pilot – screaming out barely-heeded warnings:

“HANG ON – WHAT’S THAT?  NO – FORGET IT.  IT’S JUST A HARDWARE STORE.”

“WATCH OUT FOR THAT WOMAN WITH THE STROLLER.”

“STOP!  STOP!  YOU’RE RUNNING ANOTHER RED LIGHT!!”

Then:  “WAIT!  AN ARMY-NAVY STORE!  MAYBE THEY’LL AT LEAST HAVE SOME BLACK WORK-BOOTS OR SOME SHIT!”

Chris screeches to a stop in front of this huge old-fashioned army/navy store.  He goes inside and emerges seconds later, giving the thumbs-down:   Nothin’.    Now he is strutting back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the store, putting on an impromptu fashion show for me and whoever else is passing by, preening and grinning deliriously.  I’m starting to get more than a little worried here.

Chris: “So what do ya think,  hon?  Can I pull it off with these bad-boys at the church?  Maybe most of the bottoms have worn off by now…”

The entire sidewalk around him is turning black, like two or three dirt-bikes have been doing wheelies.  The shoes are as flattened as cardboard and from where I’m sitting in the car I am nauseated by their boiled-rubber stench.

Me: “No.  You cannot pull ANYthing off in those fucking things.  Get back in the car.”

I’m immediately cursing myself as he climbs back into the driver’s seat, because I really should have taken over the wheel while I had a small window of opportunity.  Once again, we’re careening madly thru Albany’s unfamiliar streets and intersections. 

“SALVATION ARMY!”  We both scream when we spot the building.  SCREEEEECH. 

I shall never forget the sight of my husband bounding from the car, in his tux, running up to the Salvation Army center.  There is a black man who looks utterly destitute sitting at the doorway wearing a dazed, hot expression of hopelessness.  He glances up at TUXEDO MAN

Salvation Dude:  “Kin ah help you, brother?”

Chris: “I NEED BLACK SHOES – SIZE 13.  OR MAYBE EVEN A 12.  MY BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED…I’M GOING TO BE LATE…”

The dude shrugs: “Well, go ‘head on in and see whut d’ey got…”

Chris comes out a minute later, empty-handed.  He trudges to the car, gets in.

Chris: “Can you believe?  They actually HAD a pair of black shoes in my size.  Some guy JUST bought ‘em for $5.00 a minute before we got here.”

I want to laugh, but I also want to scream.  And I also need to pee, because I’ve been drinking water like a nut because I’m so goddamn dehydrated.  

Suddenly, I have a brainstorm… “PAYLESS.  There HAS to be a PAYLESS store around here.”

Chris: “Really?  Why?”

Me: “Because they’re EVERYWHERE, that’s why.  And I definitely saw some big mall-centers when we entered Albany yesterday, back near the thruway.”

Chris: “SHIT!  So we have to go all the way back to the thruway …?”

Me: “It’s our only hope.  I think we can do this thing, honey.  But we gotta keep our heads...”

Chris: “Okay then.  BUCKLE UP.”

* * * * *

 TO BE CONTINUED…

THESE SHOES WAS MADE FER MELTIN’~!!!– PT. 5

I know I mentioned my BAD ANKLE earlier.   So here we’ve left our dogs at the kennel with some nincompoop who is NOT MARY, and as we trudge back to the stifling, boiling hotel room to FRESHEN UP for the big wedding, my faulty limb is throbbing in the most hellacious way.  The throb mingles with intermittent white-hot bolts of razor-sharp nerve pain.   They say that stress worsens any existing medical condition that one might have.  I am here to tell you that THIS IS 100% TRUE.

So anyhow, I’m still crying.  Not 'cuz of my ankle, either - it's all about the dogs.  In fact, despite numerous tries to pull myself together,  it seems that I am physically unable to stop crying - so much so that I am beginning to scare myself.   I know that Chris feels just terrible.  He is mostly silent, reaching over occasionally to pat my arm or my back and murmuring forlornly:  “I know that was a bad scene back there…I’m sorry this is happening, hon…  It’ll go fast…  They’ll be okay.”

Chris gets in the shower first.  So this whole time I’m trying to phone the kennel and get a progress report on MARY’s whereabouts.  But nobody’s been answering – not even a machine – it just rings and rings and rings and rings.   I am now sitting on the edge of the rotting, putrid, revolting hotel bed.  Absolutely wild, I fling the phone at the wall.

I imagine Ellie and Herman shooting out of their improperly-latched pens.  Being unsuccessfully pursued by the ineffectual Handy-Dude, they dash down the unfamiliar country road in search of MOMMY and DADDY’S CAR.  And of course,  The Grande Finale:  Both dogs bolt out onto the NYS Thruway and immediately getting flattened by an 18-wheeler.  Carnage everywhere.   All my fault, all my fault…Oh, My Bubbies.   My sweet, pretty Bubbies… How could I have left You in that nuthouse with a hapless imbecile…a STRANGER…

Me (thru a torrent of tears):  “WHAT THE FUCK – NOW I can’t even get the goddamn DIM-WIT on the line?!?  WHY IS NOBODY PICKING UP!??  WHAT’S GOING ON OVER THERE AT THAT FUCKING PLACE????” 

Chris (Just coming out of the shower): “Ok, honey?  Listen.  I am 2 SECONDS away from calling an ambulance for you.  You are giving yourself an aneurysm. Get in the shower and get in there now.  It can only help you.  A nice, cool shower.” 

Me: “CAN YOU KEEP CALLING THE KENNEL WHILE I AM IN THE SHOWER?  PLEASE?”

Chris: “Yes, I will keep trying them.  But I will also be getting dressed.  So please just get in the shower.  The sooner we move, the day will go by and before you know it we’ll be picking up the dogs, okay?”

Me: “Yeah,  or picking up their REMAINS…”

Chris: “LYNN.  THAT’S ENOUGH.  GET IN THE SHOWER.”

I get in the shower.  The only thing I can tolerate is freezing cold water.  My body feels so over-heated that I am feverish.   As the water pelts down, it occurs to me that my complete lack of sleep and hormonal state are playing a big part in doing me in psychologically.  I hold onto the shower walls, take a deep breath, thrust my face into the cold spray and finally…slowly…I stop crying.  It feels like I could collapse - right here in the shower - and sleep deeply for 8 hours straight.  But of course, we all know THAT ain’t gonna happen!  WE  GOTS A  WEDDIN’  TA  GIT  TO!

I emerge from the shower.  I note that Chris is nearly dressed in his tux.  The room is so muggy and stuffy, the thought of how gross it must feel for him to have to be wearing that mess fills me with sympathy and concern.  I refrain from asking him if he’s called the kennel again.  He doesn’t need that right now.

Me: “You look nice, honey, but you look so hot.  I’ll get dressed quick so we can get out of this place.”

Chris: “That’s all well and fine, hon – but can you tell me something?”

Me (toweling my wet hair): “Sure, what is it.”

Chris (Sounding unhinged): “Ahhhm...  I’m…I’m just…wondering…WHAT  in HOLY HELL is the DEAL with these SHOES???”

Chris actually got these shoes from his older brother (yup, the groom of today’s wedding), who apparently had no use for these gleaming black patent leather beauties.  So they’ve been up in our closet for a few months now, saved especially for this occasion.  But the shoes are not the first thing I notice when I glance down at the floor – it’s the carpeting.  The carpeting where Chris is standing is covered with stripes of what looks like thick, black melted tar.  The toxic odor of petroleum fumes has begun to permeate the room. 

I feel my eyes bulge in astonishment: “What the…?”

Chris: “What’s going on… Are these shoes exploding?  What the FUCK??”  He is staring ponderously at his own feet,  pacing back and forth, his shoes making sucking, sticky sounds as the rug hastily gets blacker and blacker with each noxious goopy step.  The heels and the soles are nearly completely flattened out so that these look like weird, shiny Male-Genie Shoes or some damn thing.  Never mind what the hell the carpeting looks like.  That shit’s just destroyed.

Me: “You can’t wear those.  You can not wear those things for your brother’s wedding.”

Chris: “What??  What the hell am I supposed to wear?  I don’t have time to find new shoes!”

Me: “We have no choice.  Those things are self-destructing.  If you walk into that big, fancy-ass church wearing those things it’ll look as if Satan himself has been dragging his heels all over the place.”

Chris: “Oh my GOD.  Oh my GOD.”

Me: “We gotta move.  We gotta find a shoe store quick.”

Miraculously, as often happens within the dynamics of a relationship, the tables have turned:  One person has a melt-down while the other keeps the terrors at bay.   Crazily enough, I have become (sort of) the voice of sanity in our little collaborative. 

My cell phone, still laying where I winged it against the wall, starts ringing.  I lurch for it.  It’s Handy-Dude!

Handy-Dude: “Hello, is this Mrs. ..______ ?” 

Me: “YES!  HOW ARE MY DOGS?  ARE MY DOGS ALRIGHT?”

Handy-Dude: “I’m sorry I didn’t answer the phone…I can see you’ve been trying to get thru…  But I’m alone here and I had cages to clean and morning snacks to give out…”

He sounds so upset.  I feel horrible all the sudden.

Me: “Listen, I just want to know if Ellie and Herman are all right.  This whole thing with MARY not being there this morning really threw me something awful…”

Handy-Dude: “I just spoke to Mary and she is so sorry about everything.  Her elderly dog was very sick last night with a stomach blockage, and she has been at the animal hospital in town for the last 14 hours…”

Me: “Oh, my.”  Reality check.  “I’m so sorry.”

Handy-Dude: “But Ellie and Herman are fine.  They’re a little confused.  Ellie is barking mostly, not really Herman.  But please don’t worry.  They will be kept separated and they both ate their snacks…”

I look over at Chris, who is still pacing and sweating and making bold, black, gluey stripes all over the room.

Me: “Okay, okay.  Thank you so much for calling me.  I will touch base with you later.   I hope Mary’s dog is alright.”

Handy-Dude: “Yes, she’s doing better now.  Thank you.”

I hang up and hastily start dressing – my sense of purpose on God’s Green Earth renewed.

Me (Gang-Mollin’ it up): “Ok.  You grab the bags and go out the back exit straight to the parking lot.  I’ll check us out at the front desk and meet you at the car.   We’ll find a shoe store real quick, don’t you worry honey.  NOW LET’S ROLL.”

                                     TO BE CONTINUED....

DING-DONG, THE BELLS ARE GONNA CHIME... Pt. 4

We get no sleep.  Well, Chris gets maybe a snore in here and there.  But I get nothing - NADA.  The room service elevator and the accompanying food cart have been relentless.  Despite the fact that I have given Herman a sedative – something I detest doing – he still freaks out completely each and every time the descending elevator sounds its screeching war-cry.  Which is roughly every half hour or so, up until at least 3:00 a.m.

The rank oppressiveness in the hotel room is equally miserable.  The bed is SO fucking uncomfortable that is defies description.  It’s not even a bed.  It’s a ratty old mattress balanced on broken springs with a huge, bucket-like sagging HOLE in the middle.  In fact, I will not go into these ($120.00 per NIGHT) room conditions any further because I truly dislike reminding myself of how skeevy everything was.   I wonder if everyone’s room was this disgusting, or if they just reserve these rooms for the DOG-FRIENDLY GUESTS.  In which case, DOG-FRIENDLY must be the official euphemism for ‘SCUM OF THE EARTH WHO DESERVE NOTHING BUT SHIT’ with the Best Western folks.  We would have been a million times better off pitching a tent somewhere and fuckin’ CAMPING prior to this wedding.  But of course, life lessons are nearly always 20/20 hindsight. 

Sunrise:  Glaringly, scorching-hot.  The sluggish, dripping arrival of morning feels simultaneously unforgiving and taunting.  Morning is HELL.  In a daze of exhaustion, I look over at Ellie and Herm.  They are both snoring now.  I want so badly to just pack us all into the car and hit the thruway – make a beeline for our cabin near Woodstock, never looking back.  We can explain later to the bride and groom that we had an emergency…that I became sick:  Botulism from the ROOM SERVICE.   Surely they’d understand.  (Besides, based upon the way I’m feeling right about now, this could very well be the truth…)

Chris sits up, groans.  “It’s so fucking HOT.”

Me: “I got my period – like - just this minute.  I’m going to go kill myself.”

Chris: “Please don’t start.  Let’s just get moving.”

I think I am in a complete state of shock as I gather Ellie and Herman’s toys and snacks into a duffle bag to bring along to the kennel.  The dogs are both so happy today, in the new morning light.  Ellie wolfs down her morning Pupperoni’s with her usual gusto.  Frisky and playful, Herman nips at my elbows. Eyes bright, he presents his favorite tennis ball for me to toss.  Thankfully, neither seem to notice that I am silently, uncontrollably sobbing. 

We dress and hustle out to the car.  The plan for today was discussed thoroughly the night before:  Drop the dogs off at the kennel first thing in the morning.  Come back to the hotel to shower and dress for the wedding.  CHECK OUT OF THIS FUCKING HOTEL.  Church and reception.  Pick the dogs up from the kennel by closing time,  7:30 p.m. (Originally, we thought we’d board the dogs overnight but between our stress and the putrid hotel conditions, we just can’t see paying an extra cent or  staying in this ‘hood for any longer than absolutely necessary.)   Finally: GET THE HELL OUTTA DODGE.

In a fog, we arrive at MARY’S KENNEL.  We pull into the gravel driveway, the same one as yesterday.  Dogs inside yowling – same ones as yesterday.  Ellie and Herm jumpy…definitely JUMPIER than they were yesterday.  We ring the doorbell and the door swings open.

It’s not MARY.

The guy who lets us in was here yesterday, too, but just barely.  Sort of on the periphery, futzing around and grinning at us in a bashfully vague way.  I don’t like to use the word ‘simpleton’, but that’s what comes to mind.   MARY had referred to him as her ‘partner’.  I had the impression that he was probably a handyman, kept the place hosed down, fences mended and such.  Anyhow, so now here we are face to face with this dude. 

Me: “Hi, is MARY around?”

Handy-Dude:  “Mary won’t be here today.”  There’s that dull smile.

Me: “What?  She won’t be here?”

Handy-Dude (In a measured, labored cadence): “That’s right.  Mary had an emergency and she won’t be here today.”

I look up at Chris and say: “That’s it, let’s get the fuck out of here right now.”  I can feel all the blood draining from my face. 

Chris: “Take it easy, Lynn, take it easy.  I’m sure it’ll be okay…”

Me: “NO, THIS IS NOT OKAY.  I AM NOT LEAVING THEM HERE IF MARY IS NOT GONNA BE HERE.  WE DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS.”

Handy-Dude: “You’re here to drop off the dogs?”

Together:   Me: “NO.”

                  Chris: “Yes.” 

Me (to Handy-Dude): “Listen, no offense to you,  but I’m very nervous about boarding these two.  They’ve never been boarded before and MARY has all the details as to their specific needs.  When will she be back?”

H-Dude: “Oh, not until much later today.  She had an emergency.” 

Me (more to myself than to anyone): “Christ.  O, Christ.  I don’t like this.”

Chris: “Lynn, I have to do this wedding…”  He’s getting all upset again.

Me (Desperately): “Then go without me.  I’ll go back to the hotel with the dogs and wait for you…”

Chris: “No, Lynn.  I want you there with me.”

Handy-Dude: “Please don’t worry, ma’am.  Your dogs will be fine.  We take care of all kinds of dogs. This is what we do.”

I am wringing my hands and fighting off a full-blown panic attack.  My head swivels from Chris to Handy-Dude down to Herman and Ellie, who are both panting and pulling toward the exit, no doubt sensing my alarm along with their own anxiety about being back in this LODGE OF THE HOWLING PRISONER DOGS.

Very near tears now, I look into my husband’s eyes pleadingly. He gently rubs my shoulder, says softly: “It’ll be okay, hon.  Have a little faith.”

Sensing defeat, I fix my gaze down at Ellie and Herm, shaking my head in sorrow. 

Handy-Dude is drawling again: “Maybe … you want to … follow me … and bring them … back to the pens?  It will … probably … be easier for all of us.” 

Numbly I follow, dragging Ellie who has become an impossibly heavy and unwieldy bowling ball. Chris brings up the rear, wrestling a bucking and whimpering Herman.  The long corridor we go down is lined with barking, snarling, howling dogs of all description.   The noise is ear-splitting and I feel like shrieking right along with them. 

We arrive at the pens.  Handy-Dude gestures for me to bring Ellie into one.  I pull her in.  She sniffs the concrete floor, worried.  And then, THE UNTHINKABLE:  Handy-Dude takes Herman’s leash from Chris’ hand and pulls Herman INTO THE SAME STALL AS ELLIE, slamming the gate behind them.  Ellie and Herm are now standing side by side, staring at me thru the chain link fence, wearing expressions of pure disbelief that I can never forget.

“SHIT!!!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”  I cry out frantically, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“WHAT?  WHAT IS IT?”  Handy-Dude reels as if I have back-handed across the chops.

“THEY CAN NOT BE IN THE SAME ENCLOSURE!!!  MARY  KNOWS  THIS!  I WENT OVER THIS WITH MARY AT LEAST 50 TIMES!   JEEEESUS!!!  THIS IS NO GOOD!”  I spin around to face Chris: “THIS IS NOT GOOD.   WE ARE NOT LEAVING THEM HERE.”

Handy-Dude moves faster than I would’ve thought possible.  He re-enters their pen, grasps Herman’s collar and hastily leads him into the separate adjoining stall, latching the gate firmly.   But he’s left Ellie’s pen unlatched, and she immediately starts pushing her way out to escape.  

Me: “YOU DIDN’T CLOSE ELLIE’S GATE!  O MY GOD,  SHE WILL TRY TO RUN AWAY IF YOU DON’T PROPERLY CLOSE THESE GATES!!!  THEY BOTH WILL!!!”

Handy-Dude is muttering apologetically as he latches Ellie’s gate, saying such things as: “Please don’t worry.  They will be fine.  You should leave now, it’s for the best…”

In anguish, I look at Ellie and Herm as if for the last time.  They are returning my gaze, both are very concerned since it must seem as tho’ the next stop for MOMMY is the insane asylum.  Chris is guiding me by the elbow back down, down, down the howling corridor.  Now I can hear my own dog’s distressed cries joining the hellish chorus and my heart cracks in half.  I am convulsed in sobs.  I turn to Handy-Dude as we reach the front door.

Me: “You listen to me.  I don’t know what this emergency is all about, but I want MARY to call me, IMMEDIATELY.  I want to speak with MARY myself.  TODAY.  NOW.  Okay??  My cell phone will be ON and I am WAITING FOR HER CALL.  OKAY???”

Handy-Dude: “Yes, yes.  I’m sorry about all this.  But it will be okay. This is what we do…please try to enjoy your day…”

Me (bitterly): “Not a chance.  Not on your LIFE.”

I sob the entire way back to the hotel, literally unable to speak.  Several times I implore Chris to turn it around so we can get Ellie and Herman out of that place.  He’s a little tearful too, but he is resolute and firm. 

Chris: “Let’s just get thru this wedding and we’ll pick them up right after.  We won’t even stay for the whole reception.”

TO BE CONTINUED….

HAIL MARY, FULL OF… - Pt. 3

So this room-service elevator situation pretty much seals the deal that there’s no way we can possibly leave the dogs in the hotel room and attend the wedding rehearsal dinner.  And honestly, I don’t think we ever truly thought it possible from the get-go.   But where there may have been a wee sliver of hope, now there is none.  

Herman can’t stop bellowing hysterically, and we quickly decide that our next course of action is for all of us to pile back into the car and get to the church.   The rehearsal is set to begin in about half an hour. 

Once we’re on the road, Herman settles down, altho’ he still wears his ‘worried face’.  Ellie is completely disgruntled that we had to leave the hotel room so soon.  The car radio confirms that it’s 98 degrees outside.  During the drive to the church, the air conditioner in our car blows a gasket and starts blowing HOT AIR.

Me: “What joy.  I am going to fucking kill myself.”

Chris (voice raising): “LOOK.  Can you TRY to hold it together?  FOR ME?!?  I’m getting SICK from this whole situation, and you are making it worse with the COMPLAINING…”  He is sweating like crazy.  I feel awful.

Me:  “Alright, alright.  Take it easy, hon.  I’m sorry.  I’ll be good.” 

The church is clear across town.  Nice, sweltering drive.  I am sucking on ice cubes from my little travel cooler, passing cubes into the back seat for Ellie and Herman.  We’re all just sweatin' and slurpin’ and chompin’ away.   The city looks like one big white-trash strip mall interspersed with mini-slums.  I wedge an ice cube between my boobs, deciding that I hate Albany.

We pull up at the church in the nick of time.  Chris dashes inside and I stay with the dogs.  Dunno if being parked in front of this huge religious structure has anything to do with it, but miraculously the car A/C kicks in.   I give a little prayer of gratitude and tilt my seat back to recline and read the newspaper.  After a few moments of whimpering (WHERE DID DADDY GO?  I WANT TO GO IN THERE, TOO…)  Herman finally (and literally) chills out, thrusting his face toward the A/C vents with a grumbling sigh.  Ellie is already napping.  

The rehearsal goes for about 45 minutes.  I stay slumped in my seat, watching as the church empties. Wow, the bride really does have a huge family.  I see Chris explaining to a couple of people that his wife is over there in the car across the street.  Their squinty gazes toward me and my dogs (staked out in our beat-up old Hyundai wagon) register puzzlement and incomprehension.  I wave pseudo-gaily at these blankly staring faces.  Not much feedback with this crew.  What can ya do.

Chris climbs into the driver’s seat. “Hey!  The air conditioner is working again!”

Me: “Yes.  Glory be to God on High.  How’d it go in there?”

Chris: “Oh, fine.  It’s a freak-show, what else is new.  Very scary priest.” He gives a little shudder.

I’ll mention here that me and Chris aren’t what you’d call practicing Catholics.  Chris pretty much considers himself an atheist, altho’ he supports and gets into my spiritual leanings often enough.  I live by a self-stylized form of devotion that borrows from Buddhism and Native American Earth Worship philosophies. 

Me:  “You should go to the rehearsal dinner without me.  I’ll wait for you back at the hotel with the dogs.”

Chris: “No.  We’re all staying together.”

Me: “But you’re in the wedding party…”

Chris: “No.”

Me: “Okay, it’s up to you.”  I’m relieved.  “Honey…I think I want to go check out the dog kennels.”

Chris: “Now?  But we’re only boarding them tomorrow morning.”

Me: “I know.  But I wouldn’t mind seeing the place first.  I want to go there when they’re not expecting us and see them in action.  Is that crazy?”

Chris thinks about it for a second. “No.  It’s a good idea.  Let’s go.” 

                                                            * * * * * * * * 

Well, the kennel is located in a really beautiful country region outside of town.  True to Kennel-Marm MARY’s website photos, here indeed are the green rolling hills and serene pine tree havens.  As we pull into the gravel driveway, the incarcerated pooches inside set to baying and howling in frantic unison:   Mommy, Daddy…is that you?  Have you at last come to rescue me from this place?   I feel a stone in the pit of my stomach. 

We all get out of the car.  Ellie and Herman are both pretty jumpy, no doubt because of the uproar they’re hearing inside the kennels.  The front door is locked and we ring the bell.  A brunette woman with a cherubic face answers.  Perhaps in her early 50’s, sporting a kindly smile.  Ahhh, yes…t’is none other than MARY. 

MARY is mildly surprised that we have come a day early to see the facility, but she is also understanding: “Of course you’re a little nervous.  They’re your babies!  And especially since you’ve never boarded them before…”  She proceeds to show us around, pointing out the two adjacent stalls that are reserved for Ellie and Herman. 

For what feels like the zillionth time, I say: “Now please don’t forget, MARY…I know I sound like a broken record, but I really can’t stress enough how Ellie and Herman MUST be kept in separate enclosures.  He’s already getting very high-strung from this whole trip so far, and he will hassle Ellie if he is feeling neurotic…”

She pats my arm: “I know, I remember.  I even made special notes in your file.  They’ll be fine, please try not to worry.”

The dogs are pulling us to the exit.  They have decided that something smells rotten about this whole setup.  We bid MARY farewell for now, until 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. 

Then we head back to that godforsaken, disgustingly hot and muggy room at Best Western, where we’ll order some shitty room service, watch BLAZING SADDLES on the crappy cable station and try to get some sleep before the BIG DAY. 

TO BE CONTINUED…

WHO DOESN’T LOVE ROOM SERVICE? - Pt. 2

 It is Friday - May 8, 2009:  The morning of our departure for Albany is upon us.  It’s extremely warm outside for early May, already nearly 80 degrees at 9:00 a.m.  The car is packed full of dogs and wedding gear, and we are ready to roll.   Chris picks up his tux from a rental shop on Queens Boulevard.  He also grabs bagels and coffee for us from the Jewish deli on the same block, as well as some turkey breast for Ellie and Herm.  Then we’re off for the NYS Thruway. 

Chris: “Buckle up!  Now, we can’t be late for this rehearsal.  We gotta make good time, no fuckin’ around...”

Me: “Ummm….And WHY on earth are you telling me this?  YOU’RE the driver today.  You wanna make good time, go ahead and make good time, for chrissake.”

Chris: “Wow.”  (He shoots me a look)   “You’re such a sweet woman.  I’m really looking forward to this nice, loooong drive together.”

Me: “Well, GOD.  What the frig do I have to do with it?”

Truthfully, we are both pretty agitated this morning.  As much as we’ve tried to feel positive about this expedition, there is an unshakable sense of dread permeating the whole thing. 

Oh, and I’m about to get my period.

We do make good time, tho’, pulling into Albany ahead of schedule.  We decide to go check out our hotel accommodations at the Best Western that sits smack-dab in the middle o’ town. 

Now, Ellie is an old HOTEL PRO, bless her game little terrier-heart.  In fact, she positively LIVES for a good hotel adventure.  She can’t get enough of meeting new people and ordering room service and is truly in her element just lyin’ on her back with her chubby little legs waving in the air on some seedy hotel bed. 

Herman, on the other hand, has never been in a hotel before.  This trip marks a first for him.  (Quite possibly a last, too - altho’ I never give up hope.)

I am at the hotel reception desk, retrieving our room key and handling the necessary paperwork.  There’s a line forming behind me. A lot of people seem to be checking in specifically for the same wedding we’re attending.  The bride has a huge family and right now I’m pretty happy that none of them know who we are.

Chris is standing off to the side in the corner of the lobby, restraining both dogs by their leashes.   I can’t look, but from the sound of it I know that Herman is pulling frantically to get to me, clawing the tile floors and making an ungodly racket.   He bucks, whines, yelps, MOANS in abject misery:   MOMMY!   O, GOD…MOMMY!!!    I am less than 15 feet away but he is LOSING IT, as tho’ he is certain that the reception counter is about to swallow me up whole and he will never see me (or taste my delicious, home-cooked doggy-meals) ever again. 

The dude at the counter sports a tight-lipped little smile, his eyes flitting over to Herman and back at me.  “Separation Anxiety,” I say to him.  He raises one eyebrow and gives a little grunt.  And what the fuck’s with YOU? I almost say to him, but then decide not to.  I finally get the key and the four of us head on down a long hallway to our room. 

It feels as tho’ the temperature has climbed another 15 degrees since this morning. Both dogs are foaming at the mouth and pulling - excited and crazed.  Chris is cursing under his breath since his arms are getting yanked from their sockets.  Also notable:  I have a bum ankle from an old accident, and on bad arthritis days (one of which is – of course  – today!)  I use a funky little knee-scooter to zip around.  It’s actually a pretty cool rig.  So here we are:  Sweating profusely.  Dogs yanking and wheezing, Chris cursing and me doing some fancy one-legged scooting like a circus performer down this hotel corridor.  We draw a little bit of attention, I guess.  Not too bad, tho’.

We get into our room.  It’s very hot in the room.  I turn on the air conditioner, but it doesn’t sound or feel too effective.  The dogs are sniffing all around, beyond excited now.  Ellie is absolutely giddy and even Herman seems like he could be okay once things settle a little bit.  I put down a big bucket of water, and they lap it eagerly.  Me and Chris drop our bags and plop down into a couple of chairs, heaving sighs. 

No sooner are we seated when there’s a resounding metallic CLANKING SOUND coming thru the wall.

Seems that the ‘dog-friendly’ rooms in this joint are all situated directly next to or across from the extremely noisy, active ROOM SERVICE ELEVATOR.  So as a BONUS, the clanking elevator mechanism is also always accompanied by thunderous, rattling room service carts and such.  And this is constant.  Constant.

At the first CLANK, Herman’s head spins around like Linda Blair.  He has a distinct language all his own, and I know this bark very well.  This is similar to the bark he employs when THE BOILER REPAIR MAN is working in our basement at home.  Except THIS time, it’s even a tad more hysterical.  Herman’s message now, in this strange and - yes, HOSTILE - environment,  translates as follows: 

“‘MOMMY AND DADDY, MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE.  THE MONSTERS  HAVE ARRIVED  AND  WE  ARE  NOW  FACING  IMMEDIATE  DEATH  AND DESTRUCTION.  WE MUST EVACUATE THE PREMISES AT ONCE.  THERE IS NO POSSIBLE WAY WE CAN IGNORE THIS, AND I REFUSE TO IGNORE THIS, AND I WILL DO EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO PROTECT US ALL, WHICH iN OTHER WORDS MEANS, WE HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW BEFORE WE ARE ALL HORRIBLY MURDERED.   DO YOU HEAR ME?  DO YOU HEAR ME?  DO YOU UNDERSTAND?  BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE IGNORED.  WE MUST ACT NOW.”

Me and Chris look at each other.  Here we go.

TO BE CONTINUED….

* * * * *



ROAD TRIPPING

Ahhhhh,  ROAD TRIPS.   It used to be pretty exciting taking the occasional road trip with my rock band.  And I do love a good road trip movie:   RAIN MAN!  BONNIE & CLYDE!  In fact, a dream of mine is to one day rent a nice little RV and travel across country with Chris and our dogs.  Maybe even bring the cats along, why not?  Take a couple of months off, take a great, big ole’ HIT-THE-ROAD-TRIP!

In May of 2009, Chris committed to being an usher for his older brother’s wedding.  The wedding was taking place in Albany, New York.  Not much of a road trip, really.  A mere 4-hour drive from our abode in Queens. 

The plan for this wedding was a Friday evening rehearsal at a church in Albany, followed by a rehearsal dinner at a local pub, followed by an over-night stay at a Best Western Hotel, followed by the Saturday afternoon wedding.  As far as destination weddings go, I’m sure plenty of people would consider this one to be a piece of (wedding) cake.  But for us, there were complications.  Two of them to be exact.  Their names are Ellie and Herman.

Ellie is a sturdy 30-lb. Corgi-mix.  Herman is a rangy, long-legged Shepherd-and-adolescent polo-pony combo, rounding out at nearly 120 lbs.  These two have really got it made.  You know, let’s face it, any dog of mine has got it made because I’m freaking crazy about dogs.  I must be one of those broads who, in another life, ran with the wolves or some damn thing.   Me and my hounds, we’re a genuine pack.  I bring ‘em along everywhere with me.  They’ve never been boarded in a kennel, nor had anyone baby-sit for them.  Never, ever. 

So as soon as this wedding presents itself, my mind starts moving on the logistics.  How the hell am I gonna rig this?  Actually, with Ellie I could maybe get away with someone sitting for her, but it would still be real rough.  She was nearly 11 and a real mama’s girl.  She’d bark the entire time and drive the sitter crazy, best case scenario.  Worst case, she’d try to make a break for it at some point and run away.  Nuh-uh, not good.

And Herman…well, Herman I knew with utter certainty was gonna be the major dilemma.  He was 2 years old then, and I had literally not known a moment’s blessed peace in the two years since the moment I set eyes on him as a 7-week-old whelp.  I love this dog like nobody’s business and it’s a good thing, too, because it’s been one long uphill road training him and helping him to become the fine young gentleman he (almost) is today.

Of Herman’s many hyperactive personality – ummm – quirks - his episodes of severe separation anxiety are probably the most problematic.  He is an immovable creature of habit and in unfamiliar circumstances - or when his routine is toyed with - his panic can border into seizure territory.  Herman is truly a ‘special needs’  boy, and I use this term in all sincerity and with no irony or sarcasm intended whatsoever.

ANYHOW.   After much debate, me and Chris decide that we will travel to Albany with the dogs, who will spend the night with us at the (dog-friendly) hotel.  Then, on the morning of the wedding, we will simply have to board them in the most reputable kennel in all of Albany.  I keep telling myself:  It will only be for 24 hours.  ONLY 24 HOURS.  They will just have to suck it up and handle it.  And so will I…

Now, to find THE MOST REPUTABLE KENNEL IN ALL OF ALBANY…

After extensive research and prolonged industrious investigation, I come to believe I have finally found just such a kennel.  It comes complete with a glowing reference from the bride herself, who - while not a dog-owner – has a co-worker who is gaga for this place.  There’s even a website, depicting rolling green fields and reassuring, securely-fenced enclosures filled with grinning, cavorting canines big and small.  I get the name of the kennel owner:  MARY. 

Three months prior to this wedding, I call MARY to make the arrangements for Ellie and Herman’s 24-hour stay.  MARY sounds like a sweet, calm woman and she patiently answers every neurotic question I throw at her with a gentle ease.

Until the day we drop Ellie and Herman off at her kennel, I will be calling or emailing MARY on a regular basis -  sometimes twice or three times a week - with a new concern. (Example: “Herman sometimes picks on Ellie when he is anxious.  Please…You can NOT put them in the SAME enclosure.  Please make sure that they are ALWAYS KEPT IN SEPARATE enclosures…”)   And each time, MARY soothes my nerves and restores my confidence that – indeed - everything will be okay.   MARY becomes my beacon in the night.

And so, cautiously, I begin to look forward to our Road Trip to Albany and to The Wedding. 

Before you know it, we are on our way.

TO BE CONTINUED….(of course)…..

SAY CHEESE!

Resolution to evolve

Evolution.  Start…

To be kind

And to unwind

With open mind

And heart.

                                    * ~ Lynn Ann ~ January 5, 2011 *

I like this year so far!  Maybe it’s this crazy virus that’s got me all scatty, but I’m really not unhappy with anything.  Well, a couple of things maybe.  Couple of people have me  somewhat annoyed.  But even so, I really can’t let that bother me.   They’re only PEOPLE, after all, and some PEOPLE tend to be more annoying than others.  More their problem than mine and as long as I keep ‘em at that perspective, I’m golden.

Herman has me a little nuts right now.  There’s somebody working IN THE BASEMENT BOILER ROOM and he’s losing it.   He’s barking like a fucker (actually, roaring) while I’m trying to write.  Plus, I am in the throes of this throbbing, virus-y headache.  So I may get interrupted here and there, but I do want to post a little something today and just check in with y’all.

I keep meaning to BLOG about this thing that happened back in October (2010) when I attended a lecture given by my favorite spiritual theologian, Eckhart Tolle at the Riverside Theatre Church in Manhattan.  Nothing earth-shattering, but I’m diggin’ it.

Ok, it’s the night of the lecture and just as I’m leaving home to go meet Chris in the city I spot my old, broken, cheap-o Kodak digital camera sitting on my piano.

This camera has died a slow death, doing all kinds of weird, funky things until finally it went completely kaput.  It has not worked for months, but impulsively I pick it up and try turning it on.  Nothin', as usual. Not even the meagerest of beeps.  Regardless, I throw it in my bag before heading out the door.  I can’t tell you why, other than I was feelin’ a little spunky.  I was all kindsa excited about seeing and hearing Eckhart speak in person, after having read his books and seeing many interviews over the past several years.

So when I saw the broken camera sitting there, I remember thinking: “Shit, I wish I had a working camera for this event.”  And then: “Man, I’m gonna bring this sucker anyhow.  Maybe it’ll work tonight.”

Once I arrived at the opulent and ornately glorious Riverside Theatre Church and settled into a pew, I rummaged for that little $99.00 Kodak C433 camera and I turn it on.  And waddaya think – BOOM -  it starts right up.   And I take a whole gang of pix that night.  And the camera works to this day.  And it works good, too – like it’s brand-new! 

Now, I’m not claiming that my man Eckhart is the next coming of Christ or even remotely supernatural, but this is what happened, plain and simple.  (And Chris is my witness, but I know you believe me, right?)

What’s the moral?  Is there one?  Everything old is new again, just like the New Year perhaps?  Or perhaps not.   Perhaps it’s up to us to make things shiny and new again, with some faith, good intentions, open minds and open hearts.

Anyhow, that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. 

Herman finally passed out.  Strike while the iron's hot...

Time for another nap. 

 * * * * * *