No Roses for Governor!

We spent a couple of hours this morning without power.  It has been absurdly windy -- which always manages to knock out the power for a bit.  It was nicely timed, though, as I had just pulled the scones out of the oven.  I hate to say it, but having our scones ruined (i.e. not cooked) could have potentially wrecked my whole day.  Maybe even my week.  I mean, really.

After our lovely breakfast, and feeling the house begin to grow gradually colder, Emilia and I decided to bundle ourselves up and go out to clean up some of the havoc that the wind caused.  Leaves, fir needles, pine cones, and broken branches were everywhere.  After we were at it for a bit (and by 'we', I actually mean 'me'), Emilia looked up at the roof and declared she saw something.  'What's that?' she asked, pointing at the steam pouring out from one of the ducts.  The power was back on!  I quickly ran in to re-start the dishwasher and the dryer before we lost power again, and as I did so, I could hear Governor standing over one of the heat vents crying.  Talk about pathetic.

It's always the same with him.  The heat comes on and he bolts to his favorite place, and then makes the most pathetic groaning noises until one of us covers him up with his blanket.  The little guy likes to be warm.  In fact, we typically refer to him as our Miami Terrier because there is no way he could stand Boston.  It gets frigging freezing there, after all.  I don't know how he can stand it, though -- all that dry heat blasting him in the face.  Emilia was just over a year old when she started quoting me, er, I mean, she started saying -- of her own accord, 'I can't breath in this house!,' every time the heat came on.  Yes, she would occasionally switch to, 'I can't walk in this house!'  (Don't look at me -- I've no idea where she gets it.)

Anyway, as I went to cover the little bugger up on his bed before heading back out into the storm, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the sweater my mom knit for him.  She was just doing the finishing touches on it while we were all in Oregon, and all I have to say is that it is perfect.  Absolutely perfect.  It is a cozy, warm, and very thick wool.  And it fits him better than any jacket we've ever found for him.  Lucky for him, his new sweater is covered with stripes -- and not roses.  And it is absolutely marvelous that his Uncle Sugar has one to match. 

Have you ever heard of the book Harry the Dirty Dog?  It came out in the 1950s and is quite fabulous.  It is one of our favorite gifts to give, and Emilia could probably recite it from beginning to end.  Anyway, on our last trip to the library, we managed to locate the two follow up books: Harry by the Sea and No Roses for Harry!, respectively.  I suspect that after I re-new them the maximum time allowed, I will be adding them to my Amazon shopping cart.  (You know, the shopping cart that will forever runneth o'er...)

And so, No Roses for Harry! is all about the sweater that Grandma knits for Harry.  Because the sweater has roses all over it, thereby causing all the people to laugh at him and all the dogs to bark at him, Harry tries to lose it.  Failing this, he sits in the backyard and pouts.  A bird then flies up, bites on to a loose thread, and flies off, taking the sweater (in a very long strand) with her.  Harry is elated.  The bird then turns the sweater into a nest and can be spotted in one of the trees in the park.  Grandma knits up a replacement for Harry, and instead of the ghastly flowers, it is covered in spots.  Nice book, right?

Now whenever we can't find anything around the house, we've decided that the bird from Harry must have taken it and put it in her nest/sweater.  So far we've decided that she has made off with a dress for Emilia's doll, SweatPea, Mama's eyedrops (which I find annoying on account of all this blasted heat in the house drying out my eyes), and all of Emilia's pacifiers.  (This is ingenious, if you ask me, because the girl has now been off pacifiers for a few weeks...)

The book Harry by the Sea is just as funny.  The family all goes to the beach, and Harry is is hot because he can't find any shade.  One of the parts that makes mama and dada laugh so much is when Harry tries to stand 'in the shade that a fat lady made.'  Emilia has no idea why this is funny, but she knows that page makes us laugh.  As we drove home from the coast a week or so ago, she was conked out in the backseat of the car for the first two hours of the trip.  (The doctor, being a genius, recommended a small dose of children's Benadryl to stave off carsickness -- quite helpful when driving through the windy roads of a national park, mind you.  It is also a miracle worker, as the girl was already so tired she could hardly see straight.)  Anyway, she woke up two times during this nap -- and said both times -- all bleary-eyed, 'fat lady made!'  Then she fell immediately back to sleep.  It was quite funny, once we figured out what she was saying.  (Michael: 'What is she talking about?  Fat lady made??  Oh, yeah ... right ...' chuckle chuckle.)

But there you go, two quite funny (and quite applicable) books that have stood the test of time.  Not just the fifty plus years that they have been in print, but also the fact that they are highly revered around our household.  Despite the fact that the mother is wearing a dress with an apron, and holding a mop in her hand throughout the first book.  While the father is wearing a tie and reading the paper. Seriously, thank goodness times have changed, right?  I could never wear a dress while mopping.  I much prefer my Juicy sweatpants.

Anyway, getting back to Governor, his sweater, and his Grandma.  Mom, he misses you terribly.  No one else will sit on the couch and snuggle him with a stack of cozy blankets.  (He does make an excellent lumbar suport, no?)  And no one will give him snacks into the wee hours of the morning.  It's quite sad, really.  On the bright side, he will stay nice and warm this winter in his natty new sweater.  But the first dog that barks at him while wearing it is going to get it!  That's all I have to say.