Things I Learned This Weekend

The Chicago Botanic Gardens is still one of my favorite places in the world, and if I had to put a price on the experience of visiting, I would value it over $20, but for some reason I resent the hell out of them charging me $20 to park every time I go.

(Pictures can be seen here and here.)

Walking through an enormous rose garden smells like old ladies.

Park district day camp groups should have to publicize their presence before visiting an attraction so that others can be sufficiently warned of the infestation in advance of driving an hour and paying $20 to park.

The daylight can ooze away in a matter of seconds, leaving you with a monstrous greenish-black cloud overhead, frightening rotating winds 20º colder than the ambient air, the smell of sulfur and water overwhelming your olfaction, and the hairs on the back of your neck standing up in an innate warning to seek shelter, and yet all this is no guarantee that rain will fall.

Having heard whispers by other people at my gym who dislike one of the women who works there left me feeling quite frightened of showing up one day when she’s working, and I’ve avoided her like the plague. Somehow I ended up going one afternoon when she was there, and not only do I like her a whole lot, but she is my favorite person who works there now. I really should not let the opinions of others influence me, because I so seldom like the same things that other people do.

There is a reason my dog doesn’t get out much and is behind on his shots: he is almost uncontrollable if I have to take him to the vet. He and I are both covered in cuts from him trying to violently rip off the muzzle put on him to keep him from eating the vet, and it took four of us to hold him down just to draw two vials of blood. The good news is that whatever spell he had Friday night and Saturday morning, it wasn’t something detectable in a physical exam or blood tests, and he was released with a clean bill of health. Our follow up appointment next week to update his shots should be twice as bad now that he knows what to expect.

There are many things that won’t get dog blood out of the fabric that upholsters the roof of my car. If there is something that will, I have not discovered it yet.

River might be a pitbull/rottweiler mix who looks tougher to his peers right now, but I don’t like the way he looks with cuts all over his face.

Wrestling with an 85-pound dog for two hours in a vet’s office is more exhausting than I ever dreamed. For both of us. Napping with your pooch after such a wrestling match helps.

The craziest, most unpredictable, most mentally unstable patron, whose phone calls we dread more than any other encounter other than having her in person, is downright pleasant when she calls from the hospital, where her medications are forced and she is as balanced as she will ever be again.

Peace lily plants, after they’ve been watered, perspire tiny droplets of water that cling to the very tips of their leaves. Even though it’s entrancing and beautiful, I cannot resist and touch the water drop, releasing it from the long, green finger that holds it.

I don’t know why I go see the Harry Potter movies. I shouldn’t. It’s a waste of money.

OH YEAH! I go for the previews!

A Guy Ritchie version of Sherlock Holmes, even if Robert Downey Jr. is in it, is just wrong. I love Holmes. I love those stories. I will have to go into hiding and avoid all future advertisements and trailers for this movie.

It has been years and years since I was this excited about an upcoming movie, but I found myself teary-eyed and grinding my teeth as I watched the trailer and waited for the announcement of the release date of Where the Wild Things Are. I hope I don’t cry with glee through the whole movie. I need a countdown timer for the movie on my blog!