Zoey

I'm watching Zoey for four days.
Zo is tolerant, gentle. Puck is a better dog when he has a good example around.
Cute Zo. She's the best dog in the world. Hands down.
Puck is a cute little monster, too.

First Fire

Had my first fire as a boss the night before last. We were third due on the first alarm (it went to a second) and stretched a backup line to the seat of the fire. Very exciting for me. Need to work on keeping better track of my crew. That's my responsibility now and easily overlooked at a fast-moving, rapidly changing fire scene--not to mention it's so dark and smoky you can hardly recognize anyone around you. Still, no one was hurt (including civilians) and I came away from it feeling good about a job well done.

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Haven't been posting much, because, honestly, it is very difficult to edit one's life for public viewing.

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Puck. I've never had such a sickly little dog in my life. $800 in vet bills so far this month... $200+ last month, $200+ the month before, etc., etc., not to mention all the money we've spent on beds, toys, treats, clothing (yes, clothing) for the little monster.

He's awfully f*cking cute though. I mean really, really cute. It's a good thing, because that's about all I have to recommend of him. Willful, defiant, sickly little .... We love him though. He's pretty damn cute.

Excuse the expletives, but that's how I feel about him.

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Bid for and made my first choice of firehouse spots. Come Spring, I will be lieutenant at a fire station in the Western Addition, a somewhat rough part of town. I went through this station as a probie and loved it. It's a house that tends to attract hard-working, salty, funny people. I'm looking forward to it.

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Life is good. I am thankful for my life and all that I have: love, good friends, a great job, good health, Puck. I am content.

Christmas Dinner was Disgusting

... but a festively appointed place setting appeases the guest.

Of course, none of the guests said so, but I'm sure they were just being gracious.

Beef wellington--soggy, pasty, bland.
Green beans--greasy.
Potatoes--bland, underdone.

Every time I open the refrigerator, a pungent odor of shallots makes me close the door again, my appetite spoiled. The scent of meat, grease, bacon clings in the air.

You truly are what you eat, and I just don't eat that way at home.

M and I laughed about it over the phone last night, and then I took an oath to destroy all remnants of Christmas Dinner. I feel bad for wasting food, but you might not understand how disgusting and distasteful the leftovers are.

Today I will return to sanity and make up a big batch of my fantastic very vegetable chicken soup. You should get the recipe from me: it's quick, easy, chock full of good veggies such as chard or other greens, Brussels Spouts, leeks, etc., and tastes delicious every time. Only takes about 20 minutes to make.

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A word on haggis. I know what you're saying, I don't want a big dollop of it on my plate either. However, this batch was wonderfully spiced and served in little filo triangles. It was amazing. Besides, when in Rome....

By the way, in Scotland I went to a whiskey tasting. It was held in a whiskey shop--not as a special event, mind you, but as part of their regular business. All the whiskeys were out on a table--free to the taster. It was very peaty stuff and reminded me of licking a dirty ashtray (not that I would know, of course). Joy. And the taste lingers on the tongue for hours.

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Here's Puck. He's gone awfully quiet in the house, so I'll withdraw to find out what he's into.

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Almost forgot. Assigned seats went great. R noticed it right off the bat, saying loudly to the room, "Don't just sit anywhere you want, you know, there's a specific place for everyone."

Then, at dinner, I apologized to M's 28-year-old son for having to put him at the kids' table, seeing that he's hardly a child anymore, and R chimed in "Well, I may as well be at the kids' table."

I simply smiled.