Reflections

Two days ago (Monday, January 29, 2007) we had our dog Killian’s teeth cleaned, plaque and tarter. (“Remember; there is no plaque in the Dental-Hall-of-Fame.”)
This is rather traumatic, since it requires putting the dog under anesthesia — in this case, gas; first time was injected general anesthesia.
I can just imagine trying to clean the teeth of an awake dog. It’s hard enough administering pills.
This is the second time.
The first time was so traumatic I didn’t want to put him through it again.
But the vet promised gas was less traumatic than injected general anesthesia.
And plaque was building up on Killian’s teeth. Thankfully it’s not building up on Sabrina. I don’t think I’d want to put her through such a thing. Sabrina is 11; Killian is younger, and spunkier.
Nevertheless, the procedure made Killian wonky; perhaps not as wonky as the last time, but utterly smashed.
We went skiing yesterday afternoon and left the dogs home. I went skiing last weekend and Linda walked the dogs (i.e. before the procedure) — although it was more like running; I can ski that fast.
Killian is recovering slowly — doing a lot of sleeping. Monday night we had to cover him with a blanket. I’m sure his mouth hurts.
Today (Wednesday, January 31, 2007) we might go for a walk at their beloved elitist country-club.
Every time I suggest a walk, his tail starts thumping enthusiastically. In fact, it starts thumping enthusiastically the second I show up, despite wrong snowblower, wrong running-shoes, wrong ‘pyooter, wrong motorcycle, wrong breakfast-food, wrong politics, wrong operating-system, and on-and-on; world without end — amen, amen.
What I find interesting is that it starts thumping enthusiastically despite my being a brain-injured wreck. He doesn’t seem to have been clued in by my loving siblings.

“World’s Fastest Indian” is drifting slowly away.
Cycle-World and I have been carrying on a furious game of phone-tag. I called a few days ago, left a message, and they called back and left a message.
I called a second time, left a message, and again they called back later and left a message.
So far, no charges to the credit-card account, so it sounds like my online purchase attempt crashed.
So in the words of Dubya: “what, me worry?”
I wasn’t that desperate for that tape anyway. If I get it at all, it will probably be at Vast’s el-cheapo link.

“In Search of Steam” is also drifting away.
Again, no credit-card charge, and I got the predictable blathering “We’re working on it” response to my e-mail inquiry.
But more than anything I realized I might already have it downstairs in a box in the cellar.
It’s an old book; this most recent a reissue with probably an updated introduction.
But why in the wide, wide world would I want an updated introduction? It’s the content that matters; and I may already have that in our cellar.
No charge; so again, “what, me worry?”

Principal maintained our deferred-income account at the mighty Mezz. When I retired, I rolled over the entire deferred-income balance into an IRA at Principal.
The other day I got a 1099-R from Principal declaring the entire balance had been distributed to me, but of course, I hadn’t received anything.
So I called them up — an 800-number — and after waiting a few minutes and listening to various plugs for their fabulous all-caring services, was told by a service-rep they had to issue a 1099-R even though the entire deferred-income balance had been rolled over into an IRA.
I had noticed the 1099-R said nothing was taxable, and there also was a code on the back that indicated the deferred-income balance had been rolled over into an IRA.
I also was told the mighty Mezz is ending their relationship with Principal — probably from the transfer of ownership.
No matter: the money sits (about $28,000) until I’m advised otherwise. We don’t need it.

We have joined the Canandaigua YMCA. No discharge-letter yet from the PT-gym, so no written apology yet. But I ain’t mailing it without a hard-copy discharge-letter. I don’t think the Bluster-King would either — despite going over-the-top with me.
And so my dreaded discharge from the PT-gym has lead to what I feel is a better option. The Canandaigua YMCA costs half as much, and has better equipment.
So the fabulous PT-gym drifts into the filmy past, victims, I feel, of their own over-reaction. It’s lead to a better deal.
Whatever; working-out at the PT-gym got me in better shape, enough to improve my skiing, and put the almighty Bluster-King on-the-trailer at the mighty Curve.

My sister-in-law (my brother’s wife) in Delaware goes by the nickname “Vast Right-Wing Conspirator.” She likes to surf the Internet for el-cheapo ways of buying things, and then browbeat you for “spending too much.”