Janetism

As I think I've said, Janet had no love for high school bands, much less for the various sporting events her band would be forced to attend.

"What is it about pep rallies?  I have nothing to do with the football team.  It's us basically saying 'Hooray for our zip code!'"

Got Milk?

Trader Joe's cream top milk was her favorite.  In my periodic stabs at being healthy, I'd sometimes pick up skim by mistake.  This did not make for a happy Janet.  She liked her milk unhomogenized, with big clots of buttery cream sticking to the sides.  She was all in favor of pasteurization (given her immune system, she'd be silly not to be), but didn't get why milk had to be homogenized.

I think there's a metaphor for the way she lived her life in there somewhere, but perhaps that would be reaching.  Mostly, Janet was pro-butterfat.

Not that I need it, but I picked up a quart today, just because.  Cheerios, raspberries and chunky cream for breakfast.  It'll make a good breakfast, though I might eat before the official Janet Wake Up Time of nine am.

Janet was pretty amazing about finding four leaf clovers. Patience coupled with the "orange stare". She explained the latter as term for the way that orangutangs spotted oranges. They just unfocussed their eyes and soaked in the environment, enabling them to spot otherwise camouflaged oranges by not concentrating their vision on the obvious. She told me that she'd heard that on a nature documentary. But I've never seen it referred to elsewhere. I don't think she was fibbing, though. And she sure could find those clovers.

Side note, yes, it's been a while since I posted here. Might start doing it again. Or not. Sometimes it helps, some things I prefer to keep private. You know how that goes.

Janet, age 12

This would have been just after she got back from Singapore. While return would find her condemned to the evil Broughton High (home of the infamous marching band which she would later escape from to Interlochen Arts Academy). Still, no trace of that dark cloud here (not that she really let it get her down). Perhaps nostalgia for Singapore's culture with its private school and horses to ride mixed with relief at leaving muggy weather and giant bugs behind.

Oh wait, she moved back to North Carolina. Well, at least she was reunited with the stuffed animals she'd had to leave behind. She told me that they stopped talking to her after this point. She believed it was because they were miffed she'd put them in a box.

Hmmm...looking at this picture, would anyone have guessed that she'd grow up to be a voracious reader and stalker of used book stores?

Janetism

Having been told by our dog training friend Nan that you should never move around a dog, but make them move, lest they put on airs, Janet invented a new dog command.

"Move butt"

Training is real simply. Kick them in the fuzzy tush until they start moving, say the command, then reward.

Come to think of it, I think she used it on me a few times.

Nanowrimo

National Novel Writing month. It's a bit silly. Every November, it's a challenge to write 50,000 words by midnight November 30th. Janet always encouraged me to do it. She once did what she called NaNoSymphMo, which was her writing a symphony in a month. Obviously quite harder. I don't think she finished, or at least she didn't consider it good enough to give me a listen. But I hope I'll find it someday as I poke around her music files. There's a lot.

This year, I was all set to write a fiction about a tough gal on a space station riding a Victorian bike. It was the kind of story she'd like. I'll still write it someday.

On November first, the day of the Nano kick off I had lunch with a friend who survived stomach cancer, although she lost 75% of her stomach in the process. She asked me what I was doing, and I told her.

She shook her head and said, "You have to write about her. For her. And for you." Funny how we don't mind cliched dialogue when it carries truth. When it's real.

This blog is about happy stuff, about Janet the person. Like what she liked, and even her silly habits. Like, why did she think vanilla extract had to stay in the fridge? What was with the "no folding over the towels on the towel rack" rule? And did she really ice her feet before getting into bed? Just saying.

But I'm not writing about just the happy stuff with this book. It's a Yang Yin thing, eh? The good sometimes needs the bad to make us realize how precious the good is. It's kind of like Janet and me in public. She looked even prettier when juxtaposed next to my ugly mug.

It's not an easy thing to write. I'm about 9000 words in. But I'll finish it, even if I'm the only one who reads it. For her, and yeah, for me.

Deming, NM

I'm paralleling the same route that we took 15 years ago in the Citabria. Right after I left the Navy, we piled into the little two seater and flew, pretty much at highway speed, east to my Mom's place in West Palm Beach. Right out of the California hills, we hit a bit of turbulence, which may have given Janet, or at least her tummy, second thoughts. But at an Arizona FBO, we met up with the couple who ran the place. While the husband showed me his biplane he was working on, his wife plied Janet with ginger candy. Airsickness disappeared immediately. Janet was in love. With the candy, and I suppose with me, too, or she wouldn't have made it that far.

Come evening, we landed in Deming, NM, where I'm writing this. The cabbie who took us into town told us it was the land of clean water and fast ducks. The town is set on a spring, and every year, they have a duck race. Later, we'd discover they used plastic floaty ducks, much to Janet's disappointment. She always did like ducks, maintaining that the best part of the Disneyland Jungle Boat tour was seeing real ducks nesting on fake crocodiles.

That evening, we found ourselves watching Sesame Street. Hey, it's better than most of the other stuff on TV! And I remember this song coming on:


We waltzed around the room, singing "Batty batty bat bat bat bat" until we got tired and went to sleep. Or something like that.

I won't be somber, but just before she passed, I held her up and we waltzed as best as we could to that song, then finished with an Arbeau pavane. But in deference to M. Arbeau, I think Janet liked the bats better.

Bat bat bat bat bat...