Sunday, June 1, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
If I Could, I Would.....
live in three places, but not at once. A primary residence would be in Tulsa, near Heather and her family. It would be homey, light and bright, with 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. Lots of windows to view the trees and birds outside. Wood floors, small clean kitchen, with a dishwasher. A deck or patio, and fenced area for dogs I have now and ones in the future. A fireplace would be nice, but honestly, I am really only into mantles.
Second residence is a tiny apartment in NYC. Two places to sleep, one can be a hide-a-bed, o.k., both can be a hide-a-bed. A window with a view of anything but another brick wall. A tiny kitchen will do, since I don't plan to cook much while there and a bathroom with just a shower will suffice. I would prefer no roaches or rodents, if I am dreaming big. Just a whistle stop or sub-way ride from the theater district is what my heart desires.
Third place will be on a beach, not just any beach, but one with white sand. I am thinking the gulf. Like the NYC place, it can be tiny, with every piece of furniture converting to a sleeping place for when the kids come to visit. Windows that open to allow the thin gauzy curtains to blow in the gentle ocean breezes, are a must have. An outdoor area with reclining beach chairs for listening to nature's music of wind and surf on warm spring and summer evenings will complete the place quite nicely. Oh, and a grill with a large surface is essential. All if not most meals will be cooked outside. No plastic, pink flamingos, please.
Second residence is a tiny apartment in NYC. Two places to sleep, one can be a hide-a-bed, o.k., both can be a hide-a-bed. A window with a view of anything but another brick wall. A tiny kitchen will do, since I don't plan to cook much while there and a bathroom with just a shower will suffice. I would prefer no roaches or rodents, if I am dreaming big. Just a whistle stop or sub-way ride from the theater district is what my heart desires.
Third place will be on a beach, not just any beach, but one with white sand. I am thinking the gulf. Like the NYC place, it can be tiny, with every piece of furniture converting to a sleeping place for when the kids come to visit. Windows that open to allow the thin gauzy curtains to blow in the gentle ocean breezes, are a must have. An outdoor area with reclining beach chairs for listening to nature's music of wind and surf on warm spring and summer evenings will complete the place quite nicely. Oh, and a grill with a large surface is essential. All if not most meals will be cooked outside. No plastic, pink flamingos, please.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Max & Coco - My Default Pups
This post is going to start out sweet and sappy, turn morbid, and then return to sweet and sappy, because I am going to explain my relationship with two weeny dogs. Almost nine years ago a litter of daschunds was born at my brother's house. Six puppies in all and one was to become ours. My husband selected our puppy based on his observations over several weeks. He wanted the most laid back, calmest one of the bunch and so he selected Max. All of the litter were red, and Max was the second largest. At the ripe old age of 6 weeks he came across the street to our house and snuggled his way into our hearts. Over time he became protective, loved only about ten people, (his peeps), and would get a ridge down his back for any stranger who approached. He has never bitten anyone, loves his toys and good food. His favorite person, of course, was my DH. He was calm with him and did incredible things out in the yard, especially with the lawnmower, Max's favorite motorized vehicle.
Ten months later a second litter of puppies was born. On the recommendation of the vet, who said that Max needed a furry friend, we selected a brother, Coco. This time it was my pick, and I chose the darkest puppy. He is mostly red, but tried his hardest to look like his sire, who was black and tan. He is more of a patchwork, red, brown and black. He was and is more active, loves everyone and shares his brother's love for food. He doesn't play with toys, but like his brother, loved my DH emphatically. He also loves lawnmowers.
During lawn mowing season, DH used to disengage the lawnmower blade on the rider and let the dogs chase and chase until they would collapse on top of the storm cellar, and then he could proceed with with the job at hand. This selfless action pretty much describes what a wonderful, selfless man he was and why we loved him so much.
When DH was diagnosed with cancer he became ill and much less active very quickly. The chemo and radiation really took it's toll. The recliner and later a lift chair became the places he spent most of his days. His sidekicks, the dogs, spent most of their days in his chair, too. They were a threesome, and they loved the fact that he was always at home with them. To say they didn't know the reason for their good fortune would be untrue. They knew he was sick and they seemed determined to comfort him.
At the end DH was home. The last three days he was mostly unresponsive. The house was full most of the time with supportive family and friends and hospice workers were in and out. The dogs lay in the bedroom and refused to move. They mostly refused to eat and had to be coaxed. When the end came and the love of my life took his last breath we couldn't get Coco to leave the room. He had to be physically removed. Before the funeral home personnel took his body away, my brother let the dogs lick and smell his hand, trying to let them know that he was gone.
Two and a half years have passed and the two dogs have graying muzzles. They move slower now, but still love to go outside with me and tend to the flowers and walk the yard. They love me and depend on me. They love my mom, and she loves them which is no small miracle. They are her boys, her words, not mine. And yes, they are my dogs too, but only by default.
Ten months later a second litter of puppies was born. On the recommendation of the vet, who said that Max needed a furry friend, we selected a brother, Coco. This time it was my pick, and I chose the darkest puppy. He is mostly red, but tried his hardest to look like his sire, who was black and tan. He is more of a patchwork, red, brown and black. He was and is more active, loves everyone and shares his brother's love for food. He doesn't play with toys, but like his brother, loved my DH emphatically. He also loves lawnmowers.
During lawn mowing season, DH used to disengage the lawnmower blade on the rider and let the dogs chase and chase until they would collapse on top of the storm cellar, and then he could proceed with with the job at hand. This selfless action pretty much describes what a wonderful, selfless man he was and why we loved him so much.
When DH was diagnosed with cancer he became ill and much less active very quickly. The chemo and radiation really took it's toll. The recliner and later a lift chair became the places he spent most of his days. His sidekicks, the dogs, spent most of their days in his chair, too. They were a threesome, and they loved the fact that he was always at home with them. To say they didn't know the reason for their good fortune would be untrue. They knew he was sick and they seemed determined to comfort him.
At the end DH was home. The last three days he was mostly unresponsive. The house was full most of the time with supportive family and friends and hospice workers were in and out. The dogs lay in the bedroom and refused to move. They mostly refused to eat and had to be coaxed. When the end came and the love of my life took his last breath we couldn't get Coco to leave the room. He had to be physically removed. Before the funeral home personnel took his body away, my brother let the dogs lick and smell his hand, trying to let them know that he was gone.
Two and a half years have passed and the two dogs have graying muzzles. They move slower now, but still love to go outside with me and tend to the flowers and walk the yard. They love me and depend on me. They love my mom, and she loves them which is no small miracle. They are her boys, her words, not mine. And yes, they are my dogs too, but only by default.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
We're In A Recession, Let's Eat Like It
Fifty-seven years of life has prepared me for many eventualities, even a recession. I know how to schlep baskets and pillow cases full of dirty clothes to a laundromat, and if funds are low, wash them, bring them back home and hang them out to dry. Heck, when times were really rough, a sink could become a washer and hands could substitute for the spin cycle. Used bread bags and margarine containers can be used to store leftovers. I can stretch a meal for as many souls as turn up to eat it. In the past I could create a whole bunch of meals with a pound or two of hamburger. Give me a few potatoes, an onion, some condensed milk and butter and we'll have a mean pot of potato soup. But I would rather throw on a pot of pintos, preferably with ham to season them. Take those same potatoes and onion, throw them in a cast iron skillet with a little cooking oil, and create heaven for the tongue.
Beans, fried potatoes, corn bread and home grown, sliced tomatoes will rival any hoity-toity dinner on the finest menu of the best restaurant in town. For special occasions add some green onions, banana pudding or strawberry shortcake. Top it off with a nap for cheap entertainment, and let the broke times roll.
Don't get me wrong, I love prosperity as much as the next guy, but bring on the high carb, lean time meals, and I will be happy in my poverty.
Beans, fried potatoes, corn bread and home grown, sliced tomatoes will rival any hoity-toity dinner on the finest menu of the best restaurant in town. For special occasions add some green onions, banana pudding or strawberry shortcake. Top it off with a nap for cheap entertainment, and let the broke times roll.
Don't get me wrong, I love prosperity as much as the next guy, but bring on the high carb, lean time meals, and I will be happy in my poverty.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
I've Never Been a Fashion Plate, But Good Grief
O.K. I have always been unusual. A skinny little kid, taller than everyone in my class. A prominent nose with a hump, (thank you dad). My best feature, pretty green eyes and in my younger days, medium auburn hair and lots of it, (thank you, mom). So imagine my horror in my 5oth year to hear a diagnosis I have never heard of, Charcot. What causes it? Usually diabetes, (I am not diabetic), syphilis, (never been exposed, the doctor checked), heavy metal poisoning, (don't have that either). So the doctors are calling it idiopathic, (another word for we don't know why). But the doctor assured me it is somewhere in my DNA, (thanks mom or dad). And 'what does it effect', you might ask? Feet and hands is the answer. 'So what', you say. Well not so fast.
First my feet started hurting for no apparent reason, keeping me up at night, like someone was sticking me with needles and then the burning. Then later they went to sleep, and seriously I could have walked on hot coals and broken glass and would not have felt it. Then bones started breaking. Yes really, again for no apparent reason. This followed by arches disappearing and the shape of my feet completely changing, becoming convex. Next surgery to repair bones and tendon releases. Somewhere during this process my hands began the pain, numbness, burning and so on.
Now back to the point on this post. I am not a vain person and have never been up on the latest fashions. I always wanted to be clean, and neat, and I love me some make-up. I was never a shoe person, because with a size 9 foot and being 5'10", heels and strapy sandals just weren't my thing. Now I am 5'9", (apparently shrinking), and my shoe size is an 11 irregular. Recent trips to a orthotic clinic have resulted in casting and molding my badly misshapen feet and custom shoes have been made for me. They are huge, flat and ugly, with a capital UG. Here is a comparison:
You had buck teeth and the orthodontist took off your braces and your teeth stuck out more
Your had a big nose and when the plastic surgeon removed your bandages, --ta-da--, bigger
You went under the knife for a D cup and woke up in recovery with AA's
It sounds like the pity party has began, (maybe a little), but let me put it in perspective. This deal sucks, but I still have feet to walk on and hands to use, so for that I am grateful, however, I will never wear Jimmy Choos.
First my feet started hurting for no apparent reason, keeping me up at night, like someone was sticking me with needles and then the burning. Then later they went to sleep, and seriously I could have walked on hot coals and broken glass and would not have felt it. Then bones started breaking. Yes really, again for no apparent reason. This followed by arches disappearing and the shape of my feet completely changing, becoming convex. Next surgery to repair bones and tendon releases. Somewhere during this process my hands began the pain, numbness, burning and so on.
Now back to the point on this post. I am not a vain person and have never been up on the latest fashions. I always wanted to be clean, and neat, and I love me some make-up. I was never a shoe person, because with a size 9 foot and being 5'10", heels and strapy sandals just weren't my thing. Now I am 5'9", (apparently shrinking), and my shoe size is an 11 irregular. Recent trips to a orthotic clinic have resulted in casting and molding my badly misshapen feet and custom shoes have been made for me. They are huge, flat and ugly, with a capital UG. Here is a comparison:
You had buck teeth and the orthodontist took off your braces and your teeth stuck out more
Your had a big nose and when the plastic surgeon removed your bandages, --ta-da--, bigger
You went under the knife for a D cup and woke up in recovery with AA's
It sounds like the pity party has began, (maybe a little), but let me put it in perspective. This deal sucks, but I still have feet to walk on and hands to use, so for that I am grateful, however, I will never wear Jimmy Choos.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Roots. I Have Them?
My youngest daughter's short visit has got me thinking about so many things. She went 'back to life, back to reality'. Her life, her home, her husband, her town. 95 miles northwest from where I live and she wants me to move there, yesterday. She is happy, loves her little family passionately, and for that I am happy.
Sixty miles to my north, three cities converge and while driving the interstate highway that connects them, one cannot tell where one ends and the next begins. Until recently northwest Arkansas was one of the fastest growing areas in the country. My oldest daughter lives in one of these three towns. That is where her life is. She is probably happier than she has been in a very long time. That makes me happy, too.
I have this home, a former life with my husband where we grew up, grew children, raised cane, gardens, and flowers. This is my town, but I really never thought too much about it, until today. This one, like many cities is currently floundering in the present economy. Many jobs lost to foreign sounding places. We have a large college, two large hospitals, river, truck and train commerce. Ours is the number one manufacturing city in our state but many of our blue collar jobs have dwindled. Still, it is a good size, offers many shopping, dining and outdoor activities. we have a state fair, rodeo, blues festival, river festival, many libraries and a convention center.
Present day, my mother, who just turned 80, and possesses her faculties, if not her good health, lives with me. This, she reminds me, is her home too, and so it is for as long as she needs it. A promise I made to her during all the years she pounded the halls of a long term care facility providing loving nursing care, (in short supply today), to 'her residents'.
This home, far from being utopia, provides the closest thing to a "break" my mother has ever received. She has endured far more heartache and heartbreak that anyone should during a lifetime. Her life from my perspective has illustrated what it mean to suit up and show up and put one foot in front of the other. Like so many of our parents and grandparent, her journey contains enough material for a book, or at least a mini-series. But I am not worthy to write her story since my part is just that.
So, in the future, I expect that my life will change and change some more. I believe that my roots will be pulled up and replanted in a new place at another home. What do I really want. I want to be where I can love the most. Not be loved the most, but one naturally follows the other. In my new home Elliot, Oliver and Alaska will romp and play, snuggle with me, eat my food, and I will return the favor. I will see their mommy and daddy much more often. They will get sick of me but I will make them promise to see about me, and make sure that I am cared for. Their assurance that I am kept clean, fed, warm, cool, and yes loved, when I will need it most. And my plan is to express my love for them in words and deeds, before they have to live up to their promises.
Sixty miles to my north, three cities converge and while driving the interstate highway that connects them, one cannot tell where one ends and the next begins. Until recently northwest Arkansas was one of the fastest growing areas in the country. My oldest daughter lives in one of these three towns. That is where her life is. She is probably happier than she has been in a very long time. That makes me happy, too.
I have this home, a former life with my husband where we grew up, grew children, raised cane, gardens, and flowers. This is my town, but I really never thought too much about it, until today. This one, like many cities is currently floundering in the present economy. Many jobs lost to foreign sounding places. We have a large college, two large hospitals, river, truck and train commerce. Ours is the number one manufacturing city in our state but many of our blue collar jobs have dwindled. Still, it is a good size, offers many shopping, dining and outdoor activities. we have a state fair, rodeo, blues festival, river festival, many libraries and a convention center.
Present day, my mother, who just turned 80, and possesses her faculties, if not her good health, lives with me. This, she reminds me, is her home too, and so it is for as long as she needs it. A promise I made to her during all the years she pounded the halls of a long term care facility providing loving nursing care, (in short supply today), to 'her residents'.
This home, far from being utopia, provides the closest thing to a "break" my mother has ever received. She has endured far more heartache and heartbreak that anyone should during a lifetime. Her life from my perspective has illustrated what it mean to suit up and show up and put one foot in front of the other. Like so many of our parents and grandparent, her journey contains enough material for a book, or at least a mini-series. But I am not worthy to write her story since my part is just that.
So, in the future, I expect that my life will change and change some more. I believe that my roots will be pulled up and replanted in a new place at another home. What do I really want. I want to be where I can love the most. Not be loved the most, but one naturally follows the other. In my new home Elliot, Oliver and Alaska will romp and play, snuggle with me, eat my food, and I will return the favor. I will see their mommy and daddy much more often. They will get sick of me but I will make them promise to see about me, and make sure that I am cared for. Their assurance that I am kept clean, fed, warm, cool, and yes loved, when I will need it most. And my plan is to express my love for them in words and deeds, before they have to live up to their promises.
First Post - I Am a Blogger
This past weekend was wonderful. DD#2 visited with two of her three children. Almost 3 year old, Oliver and our baby, 6 month old Alaska, or Ally for short. We attended the Air Show on Saturday, and my grandson was so happy and inspired. He noticed all the things we didn't. We were craning our necks to watch the jets, skydivers and helicopters. He was excited by the trucks, jeeps, real army men and stationary aircraft. He even got to go inside two of them and sit in the pilots seat. He wore sunglasses, ate frozen concoctions on a stick, and carried his own little lawn chair over his shoulder. The highlight, riding on the big yellow school bus to and from the pick up point.
The baby, she was a little doll, in her flowery summer dress and matching hat. She was lathered up in sunscreen, (as were we all), and oblivious to all the commotion around her. Woke up only a few times, mostly to nurse and be oohed and awed over.
Afterwards, back to Mimi's, dinner, a Mickey Movie, much couch time and cuddling and then the best part, sleeping in Mimi's bed.
On Sunday, breakfast, a trip to the cemetery to visit pop's gravesite and take flowers. Oliver played with rocks, bugs and pick tiny grass flowers to leave at the headstone. He didn't understand, but we talked about Pop being in heaven with Jesus, and he understood the general direction was up in the sky. Good job, Ollie. We came back home afterwards, visited with great grandma, loaded up more items than my poor little daughter should have to carry in her lifetime. I followed them to have Mexican food and they were on their way. I miss them so much today, but will travel to their home this weekend for dear grandson's 3rd birthday. Can't wait.
The baby, she was a little doll, in her flowery summer dress and matching hat. She was lathered up in sunscreen, (as were we all), and oblivious to all the commotion around her. Woke up only a few times, mostly to nurse and be oohed and awed over.
Afterwards, back to Mimi's, dinner, a Mickey Movie, much couch time and cuddling and then the best part, sleeping in Mimi's bed.
On Sunday, breakfast, a trip to the cemetery to visit pop's gravesite and take flowers. Oliver played with rocks, bugs and pick tiny grass flowers to leave at the headstone. He didn't understand, but we talked about Pop being in heaven with Jesus, and he understood the general direction was up in the sky. Good job, Ollie. We came back home afterwards, visited with great grandma, loaded up more items than my poor little daughter should have to carry in her lifetime. I followed them to have Mexican food and they were on their way. I miss them so much today, but will travel to their home this weekend for dear grandson's 3rd birthday. Can't wait.
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