Dover Does the Paper!

Purple and black

"When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple." So starts the well-known poem by Jenny Joseph. The poem caused me to take a second look at purple, an unfavored color for me up until a decade or so ago. I have now embraced it as a favored, but not my favorite, color, and I do wear it.

Lent, third from the left.

Purple is traditionally the color of royalty, bishops, and Lent. Checking out the Web, it also signifies wisdom, passion, good judgement, and generosity. And more.

The color is associated with royalty because the ancient dye was very dear, originating from the secretions of a small, predatory Mediterranean sea snail and obtained with difficulty and in low yield. The chemical structure of the dye is related to that of indigo, and one source of  royal blue dye came from a related snail, although indigo is more abundantly found in plants. Tyrian purple is the same compound as indigo except that it contains 2 bromine atoms in a shared chemical structure.

I recently read that black was the color associated with mourning because it was originally the most valuable dye. More valuable than purple?

Every kindergartener knows that blue and red crayons combine to make purple; cool blue and hot red mix to give the colors of royal purple. There is a chemical experiment that I have done hundreds of times with kids of all ages, where you take black felt tip markers and perform a simple separation experiment using filter paper, water, and, of course, a variety of black felt-tip pens. While most people know that when we are looking at a black material or object, that item swallows up the rainbow colors of the light that fell upon it so that none of the light reflects back to your eyes. Less well known is the fact that black inks are made up of various colorful dyes. The photo below shows different pens and the inks that, when combined, make black ink. Each company uses different signature combinations.

Taking black ink and seeing it separate into various colors is magical, and it never fails to draw a "Wow!" response from first timers and old hands. (Click photo for larger view.)

So here is Dover, then, decked out in purple. Is he showing the colors of royalty? Is he preparing for a stint in the house of bishops? Must be, because dogs don't do Lent.

Dogs of the season

Dottie says: These are MINE! 

Cisco says: Get me outta this thing.

Dover says: Whatever! Just throw the thing.

A blessing we like

Life is short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who make the journey with us. 

So be swift to love 

and make haste to do kindness. 

                                                           Henri-Frederic Amiel

                                        

The smell of sulfur

Not our real skunk.

We were sitting peacefully on the couch this morning, Dover and I, when he went eagerly to the door for his first foray out into the morning. I took a cautionary sniff, a necessity this time of year;  the air passed the sniff test, so I slid the doors open and let him out. He tore around the house, out of sight, and within  seconds I knew I had made a grave mistake. Organic sulfur compounds suddenly filled the air. It was only 6 AM, but I called Dover back in a commanding voice. Dover eventually returned back around the corner, looking sheepish and somewhat confused.

I sniffed him, but the outside aroma was so strong due to the surprised skunk that I thought the skunk had missed, but I erred in this judgment. Once Dover was in the house, I realized my mistake.

Tom and I went into action with peroxide, baking soda, and dish detergent. We were short on supplies, because we had recycled old, depleted peroxide in our home-made skunk-off kit but, being optimists, we had not yet laid in a new store. We put together the concoction as best we could with the supplies at hand, washed the repentant creature, followed by a trip into the shower for a further scrub down. The washing machine has been going all day and the downstairs is passable; we have closed off a few rooms upstairs, the ones to which he had repaired for a good roll around on beds and rugs before we understood the extent of this household disaster. He apparently didn't like the smell either, but that won't prevent him from future encounters of a sulfurous kind.

Contemplating his actions.
Repentant or plotting his next exciting encounter? 

Skunks, very cute to look at and reportedly quite appealing creatures to know, are notorious for their chemical defensive prowess. Doing laboratory research on skunk compounds does not endear a researcher to others in the lab area. One curious researcher went around collecting road kill to figure out the compounds in the skunk's defensive spray, but his lab mates forced him to turn to another line of inquiry. The predominant chemicals are now pretty well known to be a mixture of 6 organosulfur compounds and one nitrogen containing compound; the complex mixture also includes smaller amounts of other sulfur compounds. The up close and personal smell differs from the smell from further away for two reasons: dilution, as the compounds go off in their various directions, and chemical composition, which varies with distance because the volatility of some of the most offensive compounds. The compounds are both obnoxious smelling and detectable in very small quantities - it is estimated that we can detect 10 molecules in a billion molecules of air.

The only true remedy (other than time or distance) for a dog who has met a skunk is a mixture of 3% hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, detergent, and water; this mixture chemically changes the compounds. The new compounds don't react with the fur, and they are them more water soluble than those produced by the skunk. When this washing solution was first reported, the chemist had used 30% hydrogen peroxide, but he found that he had changed his chocolate lab into a yellow lab; he revised his recipe to use only 3% hydrogen peroxide. The ingredients must be mixed on the spot, because if they are mixed and stored, reactions will occur that form carbon dioxide and  oxygen gases, which will cause the bottle to explode.

One Dog's Tricks

Dover has several tricks. He does the usual: he sits, stays, lies down, heels, turns, and poses majestically when a passer-by stops to admire him. He brings in the newspaper every morning, exchanges the Peace when asked (using his left paw), stands ever so briefly on his hind legs and hops towards an extended dog biscuit lure, and, reluctantly, weaves in and out between my legs.

But his real tricks involve tennis balls. He is an expert shortstop, shagging balls from any angle with graceful leaps and twists. When he brings them back for more, he deposits them a few feet away from his partner, and gives them a determined swat with his snout which propels them into the partner's playing field. I guess that counts as a trick also.

His newest trick is in the water. He has braved the waves to find his quarry since he was a puppy, but now he stands mutely on shore until we hit a second tennis ball out into the sea. Then he plunges in, cuts a straight line through the waves to snatch the first, and with an expert eye, tracks down the second, captures it, and brings both in.

And then he requests a repeat. And a repeat. And a . . . .  

[The second ball is tucked into his
jowl behind the lead ball.]

A Place at the Table for Everyone

Eating one by one: The day started inauspiciously with the usual mix of Cheerios and granola for me, assorted other cereals, breads, and eggs on toast for others. People straggled down at different times, took their breakfast to private places in the house or on the porch to eat in morning solitude, enjoying the morning papers and the sight and sounds of the waves, gulls, and osprey diving for her own breakfast.

Eating in small groups: For lunch, we had shakshuka, an Israeli/Arab dish prepared by a friend visiting from Texas. This is, essentially, poached eggs in tomato sauce, with bread for dipping and scooping, and, in this instance, the added attraction of Mexican chorizo along with it. People showed up and ate in small groups of 4 or 5, depending on when they arrived for the meal, who they hadn’t seen for a while, and miscellaneous other variables. Children ate their trusted and true sandwiches, but a few of the older kids, plus the 2-year old, tried the shakshuka and, like the adults, pronounced it outstanding. The 2-year old was even heard to ask for more.

A place for everyone at the table: The dinner menu started with an appetizer plate of assorted cheeses, crackers, grapes, and cherries, accompanied by wine, beer, juice, and pop. About twelve adults gathered by the kitchen sink and out back by three charcoal grills to preside over peeling, trimming, dicing, slicing, washing, marinating, lighting, and organizing stations. Others took their turns on the porch to demolish the appetizers, and kids set to work trundling knives, forks, plates, and other eating paraphernalia from their resting places in the kitchen to the tables lined up on the porch. Everyone took turns shepherding the two-year-old future marathon runner as he careened from the front to the back of the house, up the step stool to inspect the pantry shelves, and onto the swing on the front porch.

The meal was produced, carried in, divided up, and eaten by 25 friends and family of greatly varied ages amidst delight, pleasure, and raucous laughter. 

Here is the menu:

• Roasted garlic from our son’s organic farm;
• Butternut squash roasted with grapes and onions;
• Corn on the cob;
• Mussels garnished with a mystery topping – check out the picture;
• Sweet Italian sausage with an optional garnish of sautéed peppers, onions and other stuff;
• Grilled flap loin, flank, and t-bone steaks, seasoned or non.
• Hamburgers, cheeseburgers and sliced ham for the culinarily suspicious. There were to be hot dogs as well, but the wrong package was taken from the freezer in Boston and transported south, only to have it be discovered that it was marked by an X, meaning it was full of rotting hot dogs destined for trash pick-up rather than the grill;
• And one of the pieces de resistance: home fried French friesl We mowed through 4 huge batches and not one strip was left.

Finally: Ice cream topped by Tom’s homemade, chemically inspired, crystallizing, private-recipe chocolate sauce.

The take away message: Everyone had a place in planning, providing, and preparing (except, perhaps, for the two-year-old) and everyone had a place at the table. There was plenty for everyone, and some was even left over for another day. Listen up, World!

Blessings all around.