Mom Gets a Blessing: We All Cash In

I had to poke my head out of hiding to blog on the new range Mom's best
friend got for Mom for Mother's Day.


Mom's cooked for better than five years now with nothing but a
microwave, two small burners and a tiny convection she got a few months ago. The
oven managed to survive the holidays but gave up the ghost a few weeks ago. You can
imagine the dissapointment that Mom was going through at this point. Her eyes broke my heart and my eyes broke hers and we didn't even really
react. She just came down the hall, sat down and said, "The element
just went out in the oven. No broiling or baking, just the light
works." She looked so defeated. But being who she is and "what" she is
by the next day she was looking for ways to use the crock-pot more.

Then, a few days ago, she gets a phone call from her friend who asks her to go to this home depot page and check out an oven for her. Now I haven't asked Mom
about what must have gone through her heart while she was helping a
friend shop for a new range while she's been without for so long. I
know that at 19.5kbps waiting for a webpage to load can be torture in
and of itself. I'm sitting there the whole time across the room crocheting and watching tv. That is, reading tv really. It's a bit tedious trying to count
stitches, crochet and keep up with closed captioning at the same time.
I'm too possessive of my tv time to boot, I'm not proud of it, just
aware of it. Never mind. So I'm sitting there a bit peaved that I'm
being distracted from doing several things at once and sighing a little
too audibly here and there.

Then all of a sudden she screams. She screams loud. That's never pleasant in a cozy space to begin with. But before I can give a proper "What in the world is wrong with you?" she manages to convey that the pretty range on the monitor is hers. All bought and paid for, delivery included. A blessing disguised as a best
friend.

From Mom's point of view she's looking at the webpage quietly commenting
on how pretty it is, so as not to disturb her annoying daughter when
she hears, "Happy Mother's Day! That's Yours." on the phone. I can tell you from my
point of view Mom's eyes were never more wide than at that moment
when she was silently asking me, "Can you believe this?" and "I'm
serious, she's serious, it's seriously mine!"

Isn't that the way life works? I can't for the life of me even tell you what television show I was so miffed about watching now. Fiction is a grand illusion that holds our attention with a greedy fist about the collar. Life just slaps you
upside the head while your watching some random television show. Life points over your shoulder and suddenly you feel like an idiot.

That's when the inventory panic started. Is there enough flour,
hortening, butter, rosemary? Have all the large baking pans migrated
to the shed? Whatever happened to the glass rolling pin? Good Lord
help us now, there's not enough cornstarch and only a pinch of baking
powder left. Yes, we have minced garlic in the fridge, but haven't we
got a single clove? This celery seed looks old, we're going to need a new
bottle of that and how many boxes of instant pudding do we really need?
How can we actually not have any cocoa powder or unsweetened chocolate
at the same time? Oh no, there's no celery? How can we possibly bake
without celery and that's certainly not enough onion to get through the
weekend. Where did Grandma's recipes go? Hold this mixing bowl while I
look for the cookie cutters, will ya? Oh no, we didn't replace the wisk
for the kitchenaid. What happened to the one cup measuring cups? No,
the measuring cups aren't in the dog or cat foods now, he's moved up to
coffee cups rotfl. Uh oh, we didn't replace the scratched cookie sheet
either. All we have are our little cookie sheets and there's only two
bread pans, that won't do. But look, I found the angel food cake pans,
where's the spring forms?

After the first of many shopping trips we had a few ingredients for some long missed favorites. We started out simple with a favorite coffee cake. That didn't last
twenty four hours. Then I was absolutely itching for chocolate chip
cookies.

Not just six cookies at a time but two whole cookie sheets and
three tiers of wire wracks, boxes for sending some off. So many cookies
that the other end of the house smells like christmas and this end
smells like a bakery. So many cookies that the school house cookie jar
with the little jingle in the lid chimes for a week like church bells.

We were high on a mountain top of anticipation.

The first time you make cookies in a new oven you are liable to come out
with a pan of over-cooked cookies, especially if you take the timer with
you and leave the room. But after that first batch we had it down to a
science. Absolutely perfect chocolate chip cookies baked with real
butter and Nestle's Tollhouse Chips. Every cookie soft as marshmellows and bursting with just the right flavor. Mom's little secret addition to the
dough and my nose half an inch from the glass for the last 45 seconds,
and a brand new cookie sheet were our talismans of culinary magic. All of this assured precious bits of heaven drawn from the utopia of Mom's new "large capacity" oven.

By now the kitchen was back lit with an angelic glow that can only come from a mother and daughter cooking together, not in a rush to get a holiday meal out in time. But rather because they are having fun together and celebrating a blessing. You know the glow I'm talking about. The glow that's always accompanied by sinister music on the silver screen.

That's when we fell off that mountain top I mentioned earlier.

I have to admit that I'm the one that put the cookies and their open container on top of a tall plastic tupperware thing that was sitting, or rather perched on the 2 1/2 inch counter edge. In my defense I only intended to leave it there for a moment while I grabbed a box off the table to send a few cookies to the friend who installed the new wiring at cost. My intentions were pure, they just weren't very well thought out.

Now we still had the dozen we had set aside for my brother, and we had the slightly over-done dozen that we had set aside for when the good ones were gone. But every other cookie found itself butter-side down, so-to-speak, on the kitchen floor. Now in Grandma's house this wouldn't be an issue. I Fear our house however is practically a zoo. Four dogs and four cats is good reason not to place things close to any edge. And yes, Miss Can't Yoube Morecareful was responsible. But the circumstances that led me to such a tragic place were beyond my control ;-P

Apparently the men were thinking about eating the cookies, but not cooking the cookies.

My brother and Mom's hubby took the old countertop-range out of the island that day before they realized they weren't able to fill in the hole with countertop from the where the new range is. We were faced with not just less counterspace but negative
counter space. That is a giant hole in the island. One can now search
through the pots and pans while standing up and looking down into the
counter top.

In our haste to cook something, anything before Tuesday, which is when my brother will return to fix the counter. We piled things up on chairs and one sink. This left precious little room for actually laying out hot cookies on racks and accompanying containers. The cookie jar was abandoned for a cake pan lined with wax paper because it could be moved around obstacles with more ease. I somehow had managed to convince myself that it would be fine to perch the cookies on the edge of the GIANT black hole. And fate conspired to tip the cookies away from the hole rather than into the hole where we could have plucked the cookies from the various pans, dusted ourselves off and sighed with relief. Instead, I threw myself at the mercy of Mom. Who, if I do say so myself, handled the whole thing with grace. But I'm convinced she was giggling inside a little too. I didn't actually hear any giggling, but I thought I saw a sparkle in there somewhere?

For Mother's Day my brother decided to take Mom, his wife and mother-in-law out for dinner. I was a little disappointed. I wanted to cook something for her. So we decided to do a breakfast instead. Since we sleep different hours than everyone else we decided it didn't actually have to be "breakfast" food. She opted for more coffee cake, she had already made herself a devil's food cake (her favorite). I made a marvelous chicken pot pie with homemade stock and celery seed crust. I have to blow my own horn and say it was the best I've ever made. Mom said it was "heaven" and that made me smile.

Okay, maybe its just been a really long time since we had pot pie, and maybe we don't use the exotic ingredients on the food channel and perhaps nirvana can't be found inside a chocolate chip cookie. Although, the Nexus may be in chocolate chip cookie dough. But we had fun and we enjoyed the cookie dough as much as the cookies. We laughed more than we usually do, and we put in more time smiling in our two-butt kitchen in one weekend together than we have in all of the last year.

Mom's mother's day gift blessed us all, cause my mamma can cook somethin fierce when she gets the notion. My birthday isn't until September, but I'm already thinking about what I want for breakfast, her crepes are good, so are her waffles. She makes an awsome omelet and she'll do pie instead of cake. Maybe she'll make that...

Kiss My Tailpipe!

I’m not sure where this will go. But it will go, it always does.

One week ago I was in town with Mom. There’s this tiny little store run by Keith, a local jeweler and the only person I know by name at the local shops, just because he greeted us so warmly the first time we went in and because he wraps things up so beautifully and in such elegant papers and glossy ribbons. You forget for a minute that this is no where for everyone except the people that love it. He sells everything from ten dollar knick knacks to very nice custom designed jewelry. The wedding set he made for my brother is simply charming; leaves bound by black hills gold vines got his sweetheart to bite on the first proposal. And if you knew my brother, you’d chalk it up to the fancy ring too.

It’s a tourist town so gift shop items grab them at the windows and the jewelry keeps the locals coming in. But even in the summer, we’re a doorstop between a “real” tourist town and the Canadian border. You can’t even buy a milkshake and there’s no stop lights to impede your progress from the border to the real sights further on down the highway. So even a tiny store, rarely gets crowded. Everyone seems to gather at the corner mini-store/gas station at all hours though, which I’ve yet to figure out.

It did get crowded though. At first I just waited outside keeping the car in one eye and Mom in the other through the window. When we’d first arrived there had been no one but us and we visited about the beautiful decorations outside the shop that his wife had so artfully displayed. This has been the only shop to really go “all out” for the Christmas season. This was the day of Winterfest so sales were bound to pick up. When customers started coming through the door I exited. Eventually sneaking in and telling Mom I would be in the car. Even the sidewalk had people on it, which this time of year is unlikely to produce more than a couple of people on any given block at a time after three.

When I had stepped in to tell Mom I was going to the car, she was busy chatting with Keith’s assistant so I had to tap her shoulder to get her attention. Both Mom and the assistant turned to look at me, I hate that. Mom said okay, but the assistant stopped me at the door and asked if I was alright. ‘Crap!’ This is the one store on all of planet earth that I feel comfortable in. I feel more like I’m visiting a friend here who happens to sell gifts than I do Christmas shopping. I don’t think I can stand the thought of them thinking that I’m a weirdo. Besides, I taped the smile on quite firmly before coming back in the store to let Mom know I was just going to the car, it’s also my way of saying “Can you cut this short?“. But I shouldn’t appear distressed I thought to myself. I smiled bigger and explained with a carefully timed shrug, “I don’t like lots of people.” Her mouth formed a little O and she smiled as she turned back to Mom to finish their conversation.

Damn! Damn! Damn! I kicked myself all the way to the car. I got in, shut the door and started breathing that rhythm that slows everything down, if I can keep that up with my eyes closed the world starts to fade. Sigh and Junior were both in the car, but their little canine hearts are more receptive than people’s and rather than the nagging questions people ask when someone is acting like a freak, they just waited for me to come out of my retreat.

By the time Mom came to the car I was breathing normally, Sigh had his huge head hanging out the back window and Junior was busy polishing the passenger side window with his nose. He kindly announced Mom’s arrival by trying to dig through the glass to let her in, when that wasn’t working he started the full body wiggle which travels from tail to neck and back in a sort of frenzied hello. This alone would've been enough to lift my spirits. He paused long enough to run over to me and whine a bit, I think he was reminding me to unlock the door.

Mom and I sat there in the unmoving car. We were debating whether or not we could stand to watch the Christmas tree lighting from a parking place perched just above the action, rather than go straight home as planned. There were probably twenty-five people across the street gathered in the little court yard surrounded by lighted murals of the towns forefathers. A gazebo graces the manicured lawn and walkway across from a single donated garden bench and a six foot tree, as yet unlighted. We drove by on a couple of different routes and Mom conversed with someone “in the know” who wielded a cell phone at the ready. It seems Mrs. Claus had a bit of a wardrobe issue this year, so Santa’s arrival via fire truck would be delayed. By then fifty people had arrived.

We decided to park it and we strategically positioned ourselves just so. Because we and the action were both parked on the right side of the road, we had to look through the back window to see the tree and gazebo. But by the time seventy-five people had gotten there we were happy with our spot and view, all was well in our little world.

We were having a wonderful time. The gazebo eventually filled up with twelve winter clad people of all ages, and we made Sigh pull his head in so we could see while we listened to the carolers sing as Santa arrived and a small procession made itself to the little tree. Little ground candle lanterns were lit along the walk way and children lined up to sit in Santa’s lap. Oh, did I mention the tree was lit? If we hadn’t been looking right at it we wouldn’t even have noticed. From our distance, it looked as if the lights were hanging in mid air, just part of a display for Santa’s bench. A passerby would’ve thought the display small so that the rented Santa could disassemble his little array and carry it off to his next gig. But we know that someday that tree will loom large and so too will the orchard sales again. We also knew that Santa was the fire chief, police chief, local minister or principle. But we knew he wasn’t the mayor, because he was going to give a speech at some point.

Eventually the firemen that had arrived with Santa brought out a rolling ladder and all the children piled on top of two fire trucks. With fully garbed firemen standing precariously, albeit gracefully from every edge, off they went. No sirens but lots of lights took them on a ten minute ride that will probably last a lifetime. While waiting for the fire trucks laden with children to return we felt so blessed as not thirty feet from the car they started the two-handled saw race. With just enough observers that only one layer of people stood between us and the action, most of the time we could see everything. Two evenly matched men kicked it off. One on each end of the blade sawed through a big log as twenty people cheered them on. Then a man and woman stepped up, they actually put in a better time than the first team and he beamed nearly brighter than the tree as he hugged her and planted a big kiss on her cheek. Finally, we watched as a boy about ten joined his father and the two labored for long minutes. But he didn’t give up and the crowd rewarded his successful efforts with lots of cheers and great pats on his little back. Gotta admit, dad looked pooped though.

We chatted about what a great Christmas this would be and I had even commented that the world would maybe get better instead of worse for a while. We have so much to be thankful for this season with her heart getting stronger and my nephew in Missouri offering up another grandchild to the celebrations. We were sitting there marveling that we lived in a place where even I could see through to the action. A place where Christmas still means more in community than in profits and while the gifts here are often handmade and usually capped with twenty dollar limits they are given in remembrance of a special birth and not for “Holiday” value. People say Merry Christmas and God bless you. I wouldn’t refer to it as a Christian community, but certainly a conservative community. Even our new agers prefer things quiet and we all respect each other as far as I can tell. People actually wear the cap you crocheted and don’t replace that warm jacket until its old, not by style, but because there’s a hole that can’t be repaired. It seems odd now that that conversation proceeded what followed.

Eventually Mom had to go to the bathroom and we decided the mayor wouldn’t be using a microphone if they hadn’t used one when they lit the tree. Seventy five people on a windless night hardly justifies such a fuss after all. So we decided to go home.

The problem was, when we’d arrived we were the only parked car on our side of the street. Now there were three parked cars. Most of the folk had walked from nearby homes. But now there were a total of three cars. One little white car parked behind us and one blue van parked right in front of us. We did not know the owner of either car.

The van was the last to arrive and he had tucked himself in quite securely to avoid the yellow curb to the corner. At the time we thought nothing of it. But suddenly it was a problem. We worked for a full five minutes to get out. At a stop turning the wheel of the jeep is very hard. So Mom was exerting herself quite a bit but she assured me it was not too much. Once I got out so I could give her a wave back toward the little white car to back up right to the bumper. The worst part, the awful part, was that shortly after we started trying to pull out, the driver of the van arrived to rustle in his car. Mom insisted later that the reason he had “issues” was probably because his wife had insisted he move his van a bit. He watched us the whole time, getting in and out of his van, leaving the door open. At the time I actually thought he was kind of funny, trying to look as if he was rummaging around for something, but never actually moving anything only watching us. Mom stopped abruptly and because we were on a hill, which caused the big jeep to lurch a bit each time she stopped going backwards, she wanted to make sure she hadn’t bumped the car behind us. She hadn’t but now we had plenty of room in front of us to pull out. As she walked back to the driver’s seat he confronted her.

Now all of this time we never asked for help, and never would have as long as it was so obviously would have been appreciated. We never complained or gesticulated. Mom is infinitely patient and I do not like attention. If it had taken us an hour we would not have asked for help. The entire celebration was taking place on one business sized lot of land. If the owner wanted to spare us any embarrassment, it was his to spare. But he didn’t, or perhaps he couldn’t. You could almost feel his build up toward frustration, but at what, I don't know. I’ll never understand that mind set. When I say he confronted her, I mean just that. He approached with his chest puffed out and his arms waving. “Lady, if you can’t get out of there you shouldn’t be driving.” Mom didn't push back, but she replied only that it was difficult to turn the wheel sharp when at a stop, as if conceding it was all her fault. She never pointed out that he had an entire street to park on and he didn't have to get quite that close, if only because it's just rude. Nearly every trip to town means at least one parallel park, it's not as if this is a new experience for her. I'm guessing he wasn't quite intelligent enough to pick up that seemingly obvious fact. The funny thing is the only reason Mom was driving was because I don't like parallel parking during business hours, so after we left the gift shop, I asked her to take over, thinking we might need to parallel park in traffic, of course we didn't.

For any one at issue with two broads driving a four wheel drive to town, take note. At this moment if you should get a hankerin’ to come a visitin’ us all ;) and you happen to NOT have four wheel drive, you’ll be hiking a half block uphill while your gas savin’ car sits waiting at the bottom of the driveway. Or you could always opt for a “Cory tow”. That’s my brother coming down from his place in the hills to push, pull or tow your determined butt back to reality. I’m not sure why, but some people seem determined to try this method first time out.

Now I’d seen the space, I’d been out of the car, it was tight and while you can see a one foot clearance in front of a van, you can’t in a jeep limited. But for me, none of that is really the issue. Perhaps we are a couple of old broads who should never be left to parallel park again. Although this is the first time I recall this happening and with 60 years of driving experience between us. Never mind. The issue for me was that it was easier for him to watch her struggle for five minutes. It was easier for him to get in and out of his van three or four times and finally talk above chatter so everyone could hear as he humiliated her, than to move his van forward a foot and be done with it. Of course she could drive out of it now, she had nearly hit the car behind her. When we did pull out, there wasn’t six inches between the corner of our car and his, which for me is too close.

I was devastated, I’m still devastated. I haven’t left the house since. I haven’t checked an email, read a blog, I canceled two appointments and doubt I’ll be rescheduling. I’m so humiliated. Everyone saw, and at a Christmas celebration. Its just that if someone is going to humiliate someone does it really have to be at a Christmas gathering?

Mom actually asked him to calm down at one point because she was recovering from heart surgery. “Well!” he bellowed. “Then, like I said, you shouldn’t be driving!” To which I wanted to reply, ‘The doctor said she’s fine to drive, Mr. How Can I Humiliate You Today.” But this coward acted like a coward and sat silently in the car holding the scruff of my dogs neck with my head down most of the time. Never to be out done, Mom ended the previous encounter by looking the man in the eyes and saying, as only a grandmother with conviction can really get right, "Shame on you." At which point, said man lowered his head, turned around and walked off. :)

I know I’ve over reacted. I know I’m being unreasonable. I know, I know, I know. But I just can’t seem to kick it back in this time. But this is sort of my kick-in, I hope. After I post this I’m going to check my email. I’m going to listen to Christmas music. I’m not going to loose another nights sleep with this man’s voice booming in my head. Mom doesn’t understand my obsession with it, she was over it before we had turned onto the highway. I couldn’t sleep for two nights, didn’t even leave the room for days. Why? I don’t know. This, I don’t know. Every time I even think about going here or there, I see him approaching with a puffed out chest and exaggerated features. He couldn't have possibly looked that frightening to anyone else. Right?

I know the why of the overall, the psychiatric why of the big picture. But, for the life of me, I can’t figure out the why of this little, insignificant event.

Now soon I will blog about the weather. How creative is that? We have a pile of snow though, Sigh is simply beside himself and the camera beckons.

But for now, just this rant.

The Hauntings of Thanksgiving

Holidays are the hardest time of year.

I’ve said this in the past and I’ve heard so many people with depression, anxiety etcetera say the same thing. It’s a uniquely painful time I think for agoraphobics.

It’s as if the spirit of the holidays has fled me. Perhaps I left it behind somewhere. There was a time when I could grab a hold of it, even if just for a short time, eventually I got caught up in the wave. Moving through thanksgiving with a smile and even a sparkle. It's not as if I ever had any responsiblilites. A proud gen-xer, never married with no children left me free of all pressure related to throwing a good party.

But long before the fear got the better of me I disliked the run-up leading to holidays. The crowded stores, the cacophony of overlapping conversations and the always mad rush to “get ready”. In our nuclear home a lost shoe or cake pan could lead to thirty minutes of drama. Weeks of procrastination meant tortured last hours before finally piling into the car. My parents and siblings seemed unaffected by all the self-wrought stress, and even today face events with the same last minute sprint. To their credit, they seem to come out relatively unscathed.


I quit leaving the home for holidays about ten years ago. Initially I thought it would be a temporary thing, surely I would join the family the next year for Thanksgiving and it seemed nearly everyone at one point or another had had to skip a holiday for work or traveling to a spouses for that special day. So it seemed to me it should be forgiven if I skip that year, and I assume it generally was.

I always insisted that Mom go about the holiday as if I didn’t live with her. She and Papa went without me when he was still with us. Then her new husband accompanied her and all was well for me. Well, that's what I tell myself. Now she’s not able to travel home alone and at this point in her life I should be the woman preparing and planning and making it all wonderful for a room full of children scuffling about peeking around corners in anticipation. Instead I keep the spirit holed up and stuffed down, brought out just long enough for a quick prayer.

There were of course holidays that I enjoyed in that other life. That life and time when the spirit propped me up and kept me going. Even when the occasion was a huge get together, I usually thrived once things got going. Although the run up to an occasion often left me crippled with anxiety and fear internally, once we drove up to a loved one’s home the spirit seemed to step in. My fear was crumpled up, stuffed into a tin box and put away to enjoy after the party.

Our family is pretty big and I can remember the table. That moment of shock I always had when I would look down the length of the table and over to the other table and wonder at all these happy people who genuinely loved me and I loved them, each and every one. The camaraderie. The prayer of thanks. The endless procession of food being passed around until the portions being shoveled onto the plate got smaller and smaller as the evidence of our bounty took up more and more space on my dish. The spirit of thanksgiving taking its place at the table with us.

I still love them one and all. Old and young and big and small. With their neurotic tendencies and all their idiosyncrasies, they were beautiful and intelligent, and they were mine. Mine to talk with, laugh with, share with and reminisce with. Mine to defend, amuse and listen to. Mine.


The women could compete on Top Chef with pride and the men could shuffle furniture about with the ease, if not finesse, of any fancy moving company. And yes, they could veg out on football too. When my uncle got that first big screen TV I think he may have crossed into godhood there for a while. The smells were magnificent, the deserts were classics and the smiles were thrown about like confetti. Who could ever ever argue that this was not what the holiday was all about?

But they didn’t know what it took for me to get to this point. Or perhaps, I suppose, they did. Odds are, at least some of them did and do. Because when I look back as an adult I’m able to imagine it from their eyes.

The women who started preparing weeks, even months ahead with phone calls, recipes and schedules. Always efficient in the kitchen with such grace and dexterity. Turning one and two-butted kitchens into dance floors with seemingly choreographed hips, weaving in and around ovens, burners, cutting boards and china cabinets. How often I wonder, did they wish they could hire a caterer or get a baby sitter? Did they ever resent dressing up, cooking like slaves then washing dishes? Eventually doling out desserts and finally keeping the children happy and entertained while the men watched football, a movie, played a game, napped or chatted? Did they face the holiday under two conflicting minds, one of bliss and one of silent endurance? If so, they never showed it.

If they had known that I was of two minds myself, would we have shared? Could they have known that every moment was a wonder shock for me.

To see such unity, such love, such selflessness.

Could they tell that I was insecure and afraid of embarrassing myself. Had they guessed that my chatter was a ruse to convince them all I was happy and contented, even successful? How many of them were suffering to the same extent of their own demons forever whispering they were fooling no one? I was sure that every eye saw past the composure to my secret self, slumped in a corner and hiding from scrutiny?

Can it really be that all of this actually shares a couch in my mind with all my favorite memories. That place where I hold all the precious mementos of family and love and warmth. These doubts and fears and anxieties were once blanketed by that love and unity. When did the negative become the dominate in my mind? How could they win over the day? The spirit kept the demons at bay until I was home alone. Here I could pick up my depression once more and hold it close without fear of discovery. How could home be a refuge then? How can that, this be an escape?

I have Mom, but we were all meant for more.

I miss them all so much. My family. My strength. There’s an occasional email and “hi” sent with a pic. But I’ve managed to keep them all away with my walls. Building the ramparts with such zeal and enthusiasm that Thanksgiving has become a plate wrapped in cellophane or delivered down the hall.

I’m still thankful for all those wonderful things, all those bigger than life memories. I’m still grateful for my family, home and freedom. I appreciate the spirit of the holidays more and more even as it leave me behind to my fear.

Pet Therapy: and shamless excuse to show pics of my pets

Let’s talk about pets.





I grew up in a house with pets and I’ve never had a moment in my life when pets were not a central part of my life. I shudder at the thought of not having these scaled, shelled, feathered, or furry friends within arms reach.


The great thing about pets is that all the clichés are absolutely true. They are always right there for you.

Dog’s are always thrilled to see you come home and they never judge. The dog owner is forever and always A#1 in somebody’s heart.

Cats are soft and gentle, fierce and commanding all in the same moment. However unlike a dog, a feline will weigh and judge their people. But they will also forgive and tolerate our inferiorities. Because we are after all, only human.

A fish will always relax someone focused on their world. A bird will inevitably lead a person to ponder the fragility and the moral complications of caging wild animals, and a turtle’s perseverance will get it to the finish line, even if it takes a really long time.

My best therapy inevitably pushes me toward my pets. Happy times are shared with yips and purrs, while sad times with nuzzles and more purrs.
Nothing takes the bite out of a sapien insult quite like a canine nose under the elbow followed by the recipiratory belly scratch.

Nothing chases away the cobwebs of a nightmare like a cat on the pillow,

and nothing can compare to the rebound from rejection like a pack of dogs competing for one persons attention because you’re just the coolest person ever.



To them I’m always interesting, intelligent and fun to hang out with.

This is Sigh. Named, I’m told, for sighing a lot when he was a puppy. Still a very apt name. He’s my eighty-five pound gentle giant. My angel, sent here by happen chance just for me. Shortly after we had lost our Toby, the dog that came with the property, a man at my brother’s church had just married. Sigh had a record with the police for escaping his cell and trolling our small town for ladies every night. So his single owner kept him indoors most of the time. Marriage to a non-dog person earned Sigh a reprieve as long as he go to a home out of town with more room to run. My brother heard through the grape-vine that Sigh was looking for a new home and thought of his favorite sucker. His little sister.

Now Sigh already had a reputation among the faithful.
Parked alongside the tiny little church for two services a week, Sigh had made lots of friends as they passed his friendly mug to and from services and this gentle giant is much loved in town and word quickly spread. My brother took over temporary custody and headed here.

I was so offended. We had just lost Toby. I thought it rude to come around trying to cheer us up with a big brute of a dog that would surely just get us in trouble with the neighbors. It was simply too soon to fill that gap with a big snow dog who already had a wrap sheet. But then through the door, led by a brown rope and followed by a proudly feathered tail came the biggest brown eyes you ever saw. Sitting there pouting over my loss and a perceived insult I looked into those brown eyes and melted like a stick of butter in the microwave.

I don’t know how they do it. They just know who needs them. The moment the rope came off he crossed a room full of people and came over to me. He put his big foot up in the air like a mooch and sighed. “What’s your name?” I said. “Sigh.” came my brother's reply and I reached out and felt that thick fur and “Reach Out and Touch Somebody’s Hand” started playing in some faraway distant theater. LOL

He sheds on everything, is unfixed and knows it.


He behaves better off leash than on and never ever, for any reason should he be left alone with an unopened meat lovers pizza on the deck.

Unsure of his paternal parentage, he certainly looks like a great Pyrenees and he cuddles with snow like my cat cuddles with fleece. We know his mother was an Akita and while he certainly doesn’t look it, he sure has all the personality of an Akita. He talks a lot, never hesitant to share his opinion, and he’s fiercely loyal to me above all others. He follows me around, but is never “in my face” unless we have company. Then he stays right on me like a secret service agent.

He earned himself a doggy run when we learned just how good he was at escaping, but spends little time on it as everyone is always willing to let him go about with them in the yard. He spends most of his time under my desk or on my bed and his BFF is Dax, my cat. He resisted her attentions at first, stepping away from her if we caught him paying attention to her. Apparently being a cat lover is not considered “cool” amongst dog-kind. But she was persistent. Now she’s his favorite cuddle partner when I’m busy.


He takes up to thirty minutes to try new foods. First setting it down, then looking away for several minutes. A bit later he’ll glance at it and touch it with a paw. Eventually he goes through an elaborate series of holding it in his mouth for ever increasing lengths of time until he's determined it's edible and finally, down it goes. It took us several days to figure out he wasn’t just a picky eater. Obviously, we suspect at some point someone gave him something that was too hot or, I hope not, used food to pick on him. Or he could just be weird. He also won’t take food from people he doesn’t know. He knows the people who he can get “safe” food from and if someone is new, he waits until family take and offer it to him.


He’s my Big Yellow Dog, my four-footed angel, my gentle defender, my compassionate comrade and my cuddle bear. He responds immediately to my moods and a raised voice, a sniffle or a gasp are all calls to action. Any sign of upset and he’s at my side in a flash.

Oh, and he sighs, a lot.

This pet profile has been brought to you by Sigh, Peaches, Dax, Junior, Julie May, Charity, Tiger, Sugar and Joey. ;-D

I Have Hope

Hope.

I have hope this morning.


For me this is a fleeting thing. As quickly passing as a random thought. It fades out of my grasp as mysteriously as a dream. I can write down all of its twists and turns while it hangs tenuously in my mind‘s eye. But after a few moments, even the words on paper cannot quite bring into focus the images that I was so desperate to record.


So I hold on tight to that feeling while its there. So tight that it hurts. So tight and with such a fear of it’s loss that my body seems to cramp with the effort. Perhaps the desperation and crushing hold only makes matters worse, less tenable.


I'm not sure what it is I have hope for, but I have it. Perhaps it's the hope that things will be better. Life will change. Walls won't crumble and leave me exposed. I will have a place of safety that isn't suffocating, not claustrophobic and the air will be fresh rather than stale. I can open the drapes and enjoy a potted plant. I will go into the yard and actually pause and feel the sun. I will go Christmas shopping in the daylight.


I have hope that family will see me as an addition to the foundation rather than a weakness to the insulation. That they will think of me as a help not a hindrance. That my countinence on a bad day will not keep loved ones away on a good day. That when I come to mind it’s my smile they think of rather than my frown. They will not be a ashamed of the lazy cow in the back room. I will not forever be a whisper. I have HOPE that they will someday, stop punishing me for being me.


I have hope that extended family will not murmur my name as if I’m in a house full of cats on a hill. That they will not hold my offense against those that surround me. That they will not confuse mental health with intelligence. That they will research instead of assume. That they won’t look to Hollywood for an example. That they will not forget the girl I was. I pray that they do not think me short on faith or failing in devotion. Someday they won’t think “call before you come” means “don’t call us, we’ll call you”. I hope that they will discover that I like to be part of their communications online, even though I don’t go to family reunions, holidays or talk on the phone. I have HOPE that they will someday, stop punishing me for being me.


I have hope that the world will forgive me for what I am.



I have hope. I have hope.

Breathing

Wow, what an interesting day I had yesterday. It started out with an appointment with the p-doc, and that’s always just too much fun.

But, yay, I didn’t actually have to see the “p-doc” who I do not much care for. She seems to be a bit threatening, which doesn’t seem like a good attribute for a shrink. At least, I don’t think so. What do you think? Anyway, it was actually a nice(so far) man who actually knew the family, not me though. I haven’t decided whether or not that is a good or bad thing yet. He was very accommodating while I was sitting there, we’ll see how accommodating he actually is when the results come through. I hate waiting. Apparently he will make his recommendations to the p-doc and between him and my therapist they will come up with a med adjustment, which I’ve wanted for a really long time.

It was a bit too intimate in the questioning department for me, and I wish he hadn’t gone into the past, I don’t much like it there. But there it is. I didn’t collapse, implode, pass out, break into a sweat or start panting or anything ;) so all in all, I have to call this one good.

Afterward we drove to Conconully, a great little town nearby where everyone has fences to keep out the deer. I’ve seen deer up close and personal all of my life. But they still manage to float my boat. Why is that? The fences of course do very little to keep them out of anyone’s yard and the homes are packed in like sardines.

In one yard we saw 18 deer, and that was just the one. It was so much fun. One little dear deer (pun intended :), was parked munching on grass on the edge of the road, just laying there. If she had stretched out a hoof to show off her elegant leg for a nearby buck, she would’ve been “in” the road, rather than lounging on the shoulder. We stopped and said hello and she said something like, “Hello gawkers. How are you this fine morning?” We were delighted, she was rather hmm...contently ambivilant?

They don't beg for food like they do in some parks, just go about their day, lazying in nearby yards. Ironically, we didn’t see a single one perched in the middle of the road. By our place you pass them every morning and evening crossing the street.

I love the town, and I love the tolerance of the people that live there for the wildlife. We’re the migrants after-all ;) Although, there isn’t a garden in sight lol.

It was a great drive. The tourist season is over and the Okanogan is just waiting for the seasonal carpet. But it’s cold enough the we had the whole park to ourselves and I was able let sigh out to stretch his legs. That was too much fun. A bit disappointed I left behind the camera as the willow trees were absolutely gorgeous. The little community keeps the bottoms trimmed and the whole park seemed draped in long golden tresses floating from organic chandeliers. It really is worth a visit if you get there after they’ve claimed it back from the tourists.

Then home with a nice evening of reading and television and needlepoint. Criminal Minds was something else last night. Wow!

Mom and I vowed that since she plans on getting more activity and I plan on getting out more that we would start going to town or nearby at least twice a week and go for a little walk. I’m so praying this will actually happen. There were no people in the park and though Mom stayed in the car. It was SO great to just meander about with Sigh and breathe.

*****

Beautiful Language:

The sky is deep. The sky is dark.
The lighted stars are so damn stark.
When I look up I fill with fear,
if all we have is what lies here.

This lonely world, this troubled place,
then, cold dead stars and empty space.
But, I see no reason to persevere.
No reason to laugh or shed a tear.
No reason to sleep or ever to wake.
No promises to keep,
and none to make.

And, so at night I still raise my eyes
to study the clear but mysterious skies
that arch above us as cold as stone.
Are you there, God?
Are we alone?
The Book of Counted Sorrows


Best E of the day:

Subject: GOOD NAPKINS
Some of you may not have daughters, but you have been a young girl...

THE GOOD NAPKINS .. Ahhhhh ... The joys of having girls .

My mother taught me to read when I was four years old (her first mistake).

One day, I was in the bathroom and noticed one of the cabinet doors was ajar. I read the box in the cabinet.
I then asked my mother why she was keeping ''napkins' in the bathroom. Didn't they belong in the kitchen?

Not wanting to burden me with unnecessary facts, she told me that those were for 'special occasions'
(her second mistake).

Now fast forward a few months....It's Thanksgiving Day, and my folks are leaving to pick up my uncle and his
wife for dinner. Mom had assignments for all of us while they were gone. Mine was to set the table.

When they returned, my uncle came in first and immediately burst into laughter. Next came his wife who gasped,
then began giggling. Next came my father, who roared with laughter. Then came Mom, who almost died of
embarrassment when she saw each place setting on the table with a 'special occasion' Kotex napkin at each plate,
with the fork carefully arranged on top. I had even tucked the little tail in so they didn't hang off the edge!!

My mother asked me why I used these and, of course, my response sent the other adults into further fits of laughter.
'But, Mom, you said they were for special occasions!!!'

Pass this on to your girlfriends who need a good laugh or anyone who has a daughter !

Life is too short for drama & petty things, so kiss slowly, laugh insanely, love truly and forgive quickly....
and for heavens sake, use the good napkins whenever you can!

Comics that made me chuckle

brilliant living color

Meet Judy Jane and Sigh, my angels.

Yesterday was a good day, a blessed day and it was in color.

It started out looking awful. Mom had an appointment with her cardiologist about the new pacemaker/defribulator they connected to her heart. I was just not looking forward to it and don’t usually go to appointments with her. But I wanted to make sure I understood how it worked and what the prognosis is.

Mom's understanding was that her heart was too far gone for a pacemaker, so we were confused as to why they put one in her chest. But in fact mom’s heart rate is too fast and a pacemaker doesn’t kick in until it goes too slow. Oh! But that wasn’t the end of the surprising little tid bits we got from the delightful young lady that is my mom’s cardiologist.

First she explained how once a day the DF (I will shorten defribulator to df, cause’ I’m lazy) will get a phone call everyday from the manufacturer and it will download mom’s heart activity, run a diagnostic and then forward the whole mess to mom’s df “specialist”. Then, if I understand correctly, the specialist can tweak the programming if need be and update the puppy the next time the df gets a phone call. HOW COOL IS THAT?

All it needs is a free landline and it calls her “heart” every night between four and seven a.m. to check in. Yes, even mama's heart gets phone calls. I just love technology. She can travel to 120 different countries and it will contact her there and do it’s thing. I had no idea things were moving quite that fast. I knew we were testing that sort of thing, but not actually doing that sort of thing.

Mom was also under the impression that nothing had really changed, since she thought she was too sick for a pacemaker, and that all the df did was keep her alive, not make her better, so she couldn’t hope to get any stronger. This has obviously been the most difficult thing through all of this. So I just swallowed the lump in my throat and came right out and asked the doctor, “Can Mom start living again?”

The doctor looked at me in shock, turned to look at mom in puzzlement and said, “Yes! Of course! That’s what this is all about. Go out live, play, enjoy life.” She explained that it would take a little time, but she could start building her strength up and getting back to her old life as soon as she wanted. Just keep her arm below her shoulder for five more weeks until the wire is good and seated into her heart. I was so happy I was giddy.

There are some special things she needed to be aware of, like keeping a cordless phone 6 inches from her heart. She might set off alarms at airports and anti-theft things. She has a card she can present if this does happen. These things can interfere with it as well, so she needs not to linger around them, but just moving away from them will stop the interference. Some things she has to just stay away from completely but they are few. 12 inches from an induction cook-top. What’s that about?

Afterward we sat visiting in a Safeway parking lot, just enjoying the easy breaths and playing with the dog. Mom's new caregiver was with us and she has been another blessing bestowed on the family. She fits right in and doesn't seem at all shocked by our strange little family. Although, personally, I think she's just good at hiding her puzzlement.

Then we went to the library and Mom waited in the car. I went into the library with Avon and without Mom and was in and out in 10 minutes, just grabbing stuff off the shelf lol. Avon must have thought me a not very discriminating shopper. But I saw a favorite author and a new line I just had to check out. I went in without Mom, and that hasn’t happened in ten years. Ironic? Isn't it grand?

It was one of those days that is experienced in brilliant living color. I thank God for my mother and his gifts of intelligence and ingenuity, that are keeping her with us. Mostly I thank Him for things like parking lot conversations with your best friend and your dog and hugs and smiles and living color.



My angels. When they're not propping me up, they're propping each other up :)