My Brother

I apologize for not posting my blog last week, but I was on a trip that I wish I hadn’t had to take--at least not for the reason I took it.

I had already been planning on visiting Phoenix to see my brother Rob Osgood and his family. I did get to visit family, but Rob had passed away by the time I got there.

Rob had been ill for years with pulmonary hypertension. I knew it would eventually kill him, but I had hoped that “eventually” meant a long time from now. But despite some improvement in treatments of that disease over time, his poor body reached a point that it simply couldn’t take any more.

I was five years old when my baby brother was born. At that time, I had an imaginary playmate named Bucky the Goat. Bucky disappeared when Rob arrived.

Rob and I grew up in Pittsburgh, in the Township of Mt. Lebanon, on Arrowood Drive. I was a fairly quiet kid, with strawberry blonde hair. Rob’s bright red hair made him stand out in a crowd, and he rose to each occasion as an outgoing kid with a ready wit and outstanding sense of humor.

The front lawn of our home became a Wiffle Ball diamond, and we played that kind of kiddy baseball all the time with the neighbors’ children of all ages--many of whom were Rob’s best friends. Our backyard was vast and led to some woods, and the first part of the slope eventually sported a rope ski tow for Rob and other neighborhood kids. One of the scariest memories of my childhood was the day when we were all clearing the grass and weeds and small trees from the yard for installation of the ski tow--and Rob stepped in a bee’s nest. He was covered! Our neighbor brushed most of the bees off, and Rob was rushed to the hospital. Fortunately, he wasn’t allergic to bee stings.

As he got older, Rob became enamored of cars. That love affair existed through his entire life. When he was fifteen, he drove the family car up and down our steeply sloped driveway. He got his driver’s license when he turned sixteen and never stopped driving after that.

Nor did he stop adoring and acquiring cars. One of the earliest in our family was a 1930 Model A Ford. At later times, he wound up with a Datsun 240Z, and other sports cars. I’m not sure whether he ever kept track of them, but, knowing Rob, he probably could have told me the exact number and every make and model he’d ever had. His last car was a Cadillac.

He eventually turned his love of cars into his career, starting a company called Steel Dreamz, in which he acquired and sold pre-owned vehicles. Okay, he was less tactful than that. He may have referred to them as used cars. Good quality ones, of course.

Rob was married twice. His first wife Jackie and he had two wonderful kids--Hallie, who married Aj a few years ago, and Garrett, who inherited his love of cars. He acquired a delightful stepdaughter, Liesl, when he later married his high school sweetheart, Chris.

Like me, Rob was a pet lover. He enjoyed Hallie and Aj’s cats. He grieved recently over the loss of his adorable and rambunctious yellow Lab, Sadie. He had been the one to choose to adopt Scarlett, a lovely ruby Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who’d been in need of a new home after being saved from being a mama in a puppy mill. Scarlett now lives with Lacey, a sweet Blenheim Cavalier owned by Chris.

I didn’t see Rob often enough during recent years, although we spoke at least weekly by phone. The most recent time I saw him was earlier this year when he came to California to visit the beach. He’d wanted to see the ocean one last time. But he enjoyed it so much that he planned another visit later this year--this month, in fact--which gave me continued hope that he would visit often to see the beach yet another “last” time.

Rob was always there for me, though. Whenever I had a problem, especially those relating to loss of the older generation in our family or other issues relating to them, he always listened and gave me a strong, if remote, shoulder to cry on.

I could use that strong shoulder now, Rob. I miss you.

Of course maybe now you’re laughing over the Three Stooges with our Uncle Gary, whom we lost twelve years ago. I hope so. Nyuk, nyuk to you both.

Pet Gifts

Instead of blogging about handmade gifts last week, which was our primary topic, I sort of addressed this week’s topic: what other gifts to give.

But I didn’t delve much into what to get for our pets.

I’ve been looking for a new “blue ball” for Mystie. She knows that term. Her favorite game is to get us to throw or kick small rubber balls, ones that squeak when she squishes them in her mouth. She has three, but her favorite is “blue ball” --and its rubber is starting to crack. It’s in the pattern of a soccer ball, and I can find them in white but haven’t found another blue one to replace the original. They used to say dogs are color blind, but the last I heard was a theory that they had some limited ability to see colors. It probably doesn’t matter. Whatever color it turns out to be, she’ll know it’s not the same treasured “blue ball.”

Lexie’s a little easier to buy for. When she plays, it’s with nylon bones, so I’ll get her some new ones to chew on and tease Mystie with.

We haven’t started dressing our dogs in clothes or costumes, but there are a lot of cute outfits out there, especially this time of year. I saw a lot of dressed-up pups yesterday when we went to The Grove shopping center in L.A., right next to the Farmers Market. I was surprised to see the number of dogs there, in fact, until I stopped to pet a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel (I can’t resist hugging Cavaliers) and the owner told me that it was the last day to have your dog’s picture taken with Santa Claus! The line to see Santa was long--filled with both kids and dogs. We missed out, but we’ll get our photos of the dogs with family.

Do you get gifts for your pets over the holidays? What kinds?