Watching: A tv special on tornadoes. Some of the footage is amazing. I'm finding it difficult to watch the segments that deal with the deaths caused by tornadoes, particularly the deaths of children, however.

Listening: Kate Bush, The Kick Inside. Background courtesy of
Ace of Space

Dry/Wet

We were promised rain today. Not just any rain, in fact, but a veritable deluge. Meteorologists on the Philadelphia news stations were talking about rainfall as heavy as an inch an hour.

Instead, we have sunshine, blue skies, and fluffy, cotton ball clouds. At any other time, this would be considered perfect weather. Unfortunately, we are suffering from a drought. We usually have about five to six inches of rain between the end of May and the middle of July; this year we've had only an inch total in that time period.

From no moisture to too much: My project for the week is getting the twins to stay dry through the night. They've been toilet trained for a year now, so we are long overdue for this step. I attribute the delay to laziness: mine, not theirs. I haven't wanted to deal with changing sheets every day; it was just easier to put diapers or pullups on them at night.

Finally I decided yesterday that I'd had enough. At bedtime, I put them in vinyl pants over thick underpants and told them that if they stay dry for five nights, we will go see Tarzan again. I'm a great believer in the judicious use of bribery. This morning they were both wet, not surprising since this was our first attempt. Fortunately, the vinyl pants kept the wetness contained so their sheets were dry. We'll try again tonight, but this time Tab and I will get them up to use the bathroom when we go to bed at 11.

I don't know whether our next door neighbor Lorraine has had a visit yet from the health department inspector, but she has certainly become motivated to make some changes. For one thing, she's been working harder to place the dogs she's rescued. At least two of them, to our knowledge, were adopted this weekend. When I saw her Sunday, I asked, "So, Lorraine, how many dogs are you down to now?"

She stopped and thought for a moment, then answered, "About eleven."

I then asked how many she planned to get rid of. To my surprise, she responded, "All of them." She went on to say that she wants to move and has to get rid of all her animals.

This afternoon, Lorraine was busy stacking up massive piles of refuse in front of our houses for tomorrow's garbage pickup. She's throwing out three chairs, which have been gnawed to pieces by her dogs, several dozen huge bags and boxes full of assorted trash, and a twin mattress and box spring covered with dog hair. And all of it reeks of dog urine and buzzes with countless flies.

I don't even want to imagine what the inside of her house is like.

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