Inspired Work of Self-Indulgence

Opinion

2012-01-29T10:35:00.001-06:00

On Saturday, I took Cheyenne and Dixie to the dog park in southwest Houston. It's a bit of a drive but the park is enormous with trails and trees, lots of room to run off leash, and a big pool for swimming and retrieving. After the rains Houston had last week, there were also plenty of puddles here and there. Have I ever told you that Cheyenne likes puddles? Oh yes, she does. The muddier the better. A Water Buffalo, that one is.

For Dixie, all that space translates into one thing: RUN. That's all she does. She ran there, and then over there, then across there and back through there and then she'd stop for a moment and look for where I was. When she found me, she'd run to me for a nose rub, and then she'd take off again.

There are actually two dog parks. The other park, smaller but still sizeable, is for little dogs, 20 pounds and under. There are signs at the entrances of both parks, Large Dogs Only, and Small Dogs Only. But sometimes, those with little dogs opt for the large dog park. It doesn't raise as many eyebrows as I'm sure it would if someone were to bring their 80 plus pound dog in the small dog park, but I always sort of cringe nonetheless. There are big dogs in the big dog park. In addition to all the Labradors and Pointers there are German Shepherds, Rottweilers, Great Danes, Boxers, American Bulldogs, Akitas and Mastiffs. I wouldn't dare bring a small breed dog into the park designated for big dogs. What happened yesterday is exactly why.

A man and his small Beagle walked into the park as Cheyenne, Dixie and I did. I thought then, hmmm, that dog is small and Beagles are barkers. I hope he doesn't go after a big dog. And then I didn't think about it again.

Because of Cheyenne's recent surgery, I wanted to keep her away from the pool and the temptations to run and jump, so we instead walked the winding path through and around the area. A lot of people do this, they get their exercise and their dogs get to roam around here and there while still being in site.

I heard the barking first. Then I heard a loud aggressive growl. Then I stopped in my tracks. Ahead of me I saw the beagle. The focus of his barking, and source of that aggressive growl was an enormous American Bulldog. The Bulldog lurched for the Beagle, got it in its mouth by his back and lifted that little dog straight into the air. The beagle was yelping and the Bulldog's owner and Beagle's owner were trying to separate them. They did so almost immediately. While the Beagle's owner was checking him and the Bulldog's owner was apologizing profusely, a crowd began to gather. I stepped closer and saw the bloody drool from the Bulldog's mouth.

I wonder what you would have done at this point. Me? I would have immediately put my dog in my arms and carried him to my car and driven him to the vet. But for some reason, even though his dog was injured, the Beagle's owner did not do that. Instead he and the others who had gathered around him began verbally attacking the Bulldog's owner.Why isn't your dog on a leash? You've trained him to be a killer! Who the hell needs a dog that big? The Bulldog's owner kept apologizing, saying, he's never done anything like that before, I'm so sorry. Those words were not heard, or they were ignored. A woman was yelling at him, the Beagle's owner was yelling at him. The man did not raise his voice, just kept apologizing.

Cheyenne and I walked past them, leaving a wide berth between us and the scene. I sat on a bench at a distance and watched the commotion going on, still wondering why the Beagle's owner was not seeking treatment for his dog. The Beagle was standing and obviously frightened and it seemed to me uncomfortable but I could not see any bleeding. Still, I wouldn't take any chances if the dog were mine.

Cheyenne and I got on our way again but I couldn't shake what I had seen. Why did the Beagle owner take his dog to the big dog park? And when he did, did he not consider the risks? Why didn't he grab his dog when it started barking at the Bulldog?

Later, when Dixie was sufficiently run down and Cheyenne had sniffed her fill, we headed to the car. At the gate were the Beagle owner and two other people, seemingly waiting for something. When the police arrived, they approached the car. I shook my head at it all, mainly because the Beagle still had not been taken to the vet, so how concerned was this guy really? I put the dogs in the car and then watched the police approach the Bulldog owner who was sitting on a bench inside the park. Another crowd gathered. One policeman walked away with the Beagle owner and, it seemed to me, asked him to stay there, while they spoke with the Bulldog owner.

I do not know how it all turned out because I couldn't stay anymore and watch. But I do know this: If you have a small dog, don't bring him or her to the large dog park if there is a small one available to you, especially if you have an aggressive small dog. The entire episode was completely avoidable.

I wonder if that Beagle was ever taken to the vet.

Again

2012-01-26T20:58:00.004-06:00

I have a small scar on my chin, courtesy of a German Shepherd who was not at all interested in receiving my enthusiastic pats. I was four then. The bite I received is long gone from my memory, though I do remember the dog and that it was in the morning and in our driveway.

I also have a scar in my heart. It belongs to my mother. She left this life four years ago. I googled her name the other day which is crazy but I was curious what I would find. I found her obituary and several links to this site. I clicked on her obituary and when I read it, I smiled. The woman I read about was awesome. I am so proud of her, so thankful for her. Still. Always.

ELIZABETH OXHOLM GROTH passed away peacefully on the evening of January 27, 2008, her son and daughter by her side.

Born in 1925 in Staten Island, New York, Elizabeth (Betty) lived a long and exciting life, actively involved in sports, the arts and travel. In high school and in her college years, she excelled in Field Hockey, Basketball and Tennis. She graduated from Vassar College with a degree in Economics, and never let her children forget that while they took four and five years to earn their degrees, it only took her three.

When she married Edward Groth, Jr., he took her from her beloved New York City to the city of Houston where he correctly envisioned a successful future in the oil and gas business on the Gulf Coast. She agreed to go on the condition that they return to New York at least once a year, a trip that would include dinner at Sardi's, and at least one Broadway Show, and a trip they made annually until his death.

As he formed Groth Corporation, she worked by his side, her initial desk being a door placed atop two sawhorses. There was no money for a chair at that time. Through the years, as they grew the business, Edward often referred to Betty as the greatest business asset he could have married.

Following her mother's footsteps, Betty moved on from Groth Corporation and chose a career in Residential Realty. She worked for over 20 years with John Daugherty Realtors, many of those years as one of Houston's top Realtors.

Betty pursued her love of the Arts through a lifetime membership in the Houston Museum of Fine Arts, and she pursued volunteer work through her membership of the Junior League of Houston, Inc. She also played tennis at least twice a week at the Houston Racquet Club.

Betty had a unique intellectual wit and strength. She was a true individual who could hold her own in any situation, never hesitated to give her opinion and rarely lost a debate. She loved Classical and Big Band Music. And she enjoyed her weekly Wednesday night Prime Rib dinners at the Houston Racquet Club with Edward, relishing the first notes of New York, New York, the piano player would play when she entered the room.

At a time when many her age would choose to retire, she and Edward instead chose to adopt two of their Grandchildren, giving them a stable home and opportunity. More than one eyebrow was raised when she would nonchalantly say she had five children, the oldest in his late 40s and the youngest six years old. Such was the heart and sense of humor of Betty Groth.

She is preceded in death by her husband of 54 years, Edward Groth, Jr., her mother, Dorothy VanDeventer, and father, "Pappy." She is survived by her brothers Phil VanDeventer and Carl Oxholm; by her son Carl and his wife Kathy, her daughter Marianne, her daughter Alison, her daughter Catherine, her son Edward, and her Granddaughter, Alexandra.

The family would like to thank the many caregivers who aided her in the last year and days of Betty's life, in particular, Eniola, Shirley, and Dorothy from Innovative Nursing, and Veronica from Odyssey Hospice. Their skill, kindness and compassion will forever be appreciated.

A Memorial Service will be conducted at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, 717 Sage Road, in the old church, at two o'clock in the afternoon on Thursday the 31st of January 2008 with the Rev. Dr. John K. Graham officiating. Immediately following the service there will be a Reception in the Founders Hall.

In lieu of flowers the family suggests a donation to DePelchin Children's Center, Museum of Fine Arts, or a charity of individual choice.

Published in the Houston Chronicle on 1/29/2008.

I miss my mother, so very much. I miss her still. I'll miss her always.

What a difference a breath makes

2012-01-15T10:53:00.000-06:00

This photo was taken in 2002 when Cheyenne was two years old. It hangs on a wall in my bedroom. The sitting was a birthday gift from a friend, and at the beginning of the shoot, Cheyenne circled me one time and then plopped down beside me and placed her leg over mine. The photographer was thrilled, saying, keep her just like that, just like that, as he snapped away. I didn't have to. My hand is on her but not firmly. I think this picture captures well the comfort and closeness I've had with Cheyenne.

And nine years later, this is her last night. She's 11.

I post these two photos because after Cheyenne's surgery, she's acting more like her younger self than how she's been over the past several years. I had attributed much of her slowing down to her increasing age. I was so wrong. Her slowed pace and lessened enthusiasm were due to her breathing issues. Seems obvious now. She is such an enthusiastic dog again, at my side whenever I go upstairs, walking at a steady clip when we go on our morning and evening walks, and she's even playing with her toys again. Her tail? In constant wag again. In fact, she's so energetic that I have to remember that she's still in recovery, which means that now I am constantly trying to slow her down.

She and Dixie are getting along. They played a rowdy game of tug-of-war with a stuffed toy this morning, the first time they've really played together. There are a few scrapes, mainly over sticks that Dixie drags into the house and Cheyenne shows interest in, but we're working through those.

So, yeah, the dog-related issues in my life have greatly improved. A bit of training and a bit of surgery were just the ticket.

Recovery

2012-01-08T18:31:00.001-06:00

On Saturday, I got to pick up Cheyenne and bring her home, where she should be. Before I could take her home though I met with two veterinarians who were involved in her case. They gave me a long list of instructions, things to look out for, things to expect, and things that should make me concerned. Just standard, post-op stuff, nothing alarming but, in particular, watching her incision for any infection, helping her eat slowly and keeping her quiet for the next two weeks. That first one is easy.

She has a 4-inch incision in the shape of a large "C" on the side of her neck. The stitches are in four layers from her skin to her throat, including her muscle.

She's breathing like she used to breath a year ago. It's so nice to hear, or not hear is more like it.

Although she's quite mobile, I brought her big bed from upstairs to the living room and brough her upstairs water bowl down as well. I also brought Dixie to a friend's house, where she'll stay for a couple days so that Cheyenne can have plenty of quiet time.

Today is Sunday and I'm happy to say that she had a great night last night, came upstairs with me, slept half the night on my bed and the other half on her bed, which I had dragged back upstairs. She's been resting quietly all day, inside and also outside on the front porch. She's eating well and breathing normally. It's made for a quiet and very happy weekend.

Surgery update

2012-01-06T08:08:00.000-06:00

Cheyenne's surgeon called yesterday afternoon to report that my girl came through her surgery like a champ. The Laryngeal Paralysis was definitely an issue and she needed to have the tie-back surgery but it was not as advanced as we thought, which is really good news. It turns out that she also had a large fatty lump in her throat and that was hindering her breathing as well. That lump has been removed.

I spoke with the clinic several times yesterday and they updated me on her progress. Last night when I called, the assistant told me she was standing right in front of her kennel and that Cheyenne was sound asleep. I'm so glad she was able to rest.

Dixie has been looking for Cheyenne constantly. She walks through the house upstairs and down, through the kitchen, the bathrooms and stops to look out the back door. Then she goes out the front door and looks all over the front yard. Bless her.

I get to pick up Cheyenne some time tomorrow. It's like Christmas Eve all over again, I'm that excited!

About a girl

2012-01-04T20:40:00.000-06:00

My Cheyenne has a little problem. Actually, it's a big problem but she and I have adjusted to it over the past year. I took her to the vet and we kept our eyes on it but recently her problem has gotten worse. In a nutshell, she's struggling to get a good breath of air. In medical terms, it's called Laryngeal Paralysis. For Cheyenne, its onset stayed stagnant for a while. Just a bit of heavy breathing when she was excited or nervous.

But, Laryngeal Paralysis is a problem that will eventuall progress. Cheyenne's breathing worsened around Thanksgiving.

I can tell you that Laryngeal Paralysis is scary, very scary. After diagnosis, the options are treatment, which in Cheyenne's case has run its course, and surgery. There are risks with corrective surgery but there are definite conclusions to forgoing surgery. Surgery is a life-extending solution.

If you were here, I could show you with my hands what the issue is and what the correction is. It's difficult to do so in words, but I'll try. Imagine French doors that must open to breathe and close to eat. The hinges (nerves) on her French doors are a bit rusty and not working very well. In fact, her doors rattle back and forth, out of her control. She can't get a good breath, nor can she get food to go down the proper tube. These are things that we normally do without considering. There's been a lot of choking and vomiting during meals the past several weeks. Surgery takes one of those doors and sews it to the wall of her throat so that the door is always open, leaving a constant area for breath to enter into her lungs. The other door can flap open and shut but no longer will her ability to breathe be based on a tiny slit of an opening. The drawback is that with a fixed opening, there is a risk of food bits or water going into her lungs. To address this, her diet will change to soft food and, sadly, swimming will no longer be an activity for her. (Though, her wading pool most certainly will be.) I can live with these changes. So too can Cheyenne.

I've chosen surgery for Cheyenne. That surgery is tomorrow morning. Please, would you keep her in your thoughts and maybe a prayer?

On resolutions for 2012

2012-01-02T11:56:00.002-06:00

Day two of the new year and my resolution for the year has landed in my lap, handed to me by circumstance.

Today, I recognized what was knocking on my door, asking me to answer.

This year's resolution is one of doing for others. Each day of 2012, I resolve to do something for someone. That simple. Large or small gesture, small or large effort. A favor, an exercise, a hand, a connection.

It began yesterday when I found a ring on my morning walk and then found the people it belonged to. I realized how the link between lost and found was my discovery and connection.

This morning, I read a question on Twitter from a favorite photographer of mine. For Christmas, she received a Hasseblad camera and she was looking for a lab in Houston that processed the medium format 120 film. She was having no luck. After a couple emails with her, and a phone call to the photography store I frequent, I introduced her to a lab that would meet her needs.

She emailed me: WHOA! You're awesome, thank you! I'm totally going to take my roll of film there today. I'm so happy.

It didn't take much effort at all on my part. I've lived in Houston longer than she has and I knew who to call to find the answer, that's all. Just the time to make a phone call and relay the information to her. And, again, I felt that I was an element in the solution, just a small link to a bit of happiness. I liked that.

So in 2012, I'm on the lookout for opportunities to help. I'm opening up my mind and heart to being there, to being an answer.

A good start

2012-01-01T10:26:00.002-06:00

Good morning, and happy new year to you!

So far, 2012 has been a good year. It definitely started out nicely. Dixie, Cheyenne and I set out early this morning for a walk through the quiet streets of the neighborhood. Because Dixie kept trying to untie my shoes as I was lacing them up before we left the house, I had to stop after a while to lace one up again. When I kneeled down, something in the dirt near the sidewalk caught my eye. It was a ring. A gold ring, with several sizable emeralds and diamonds. I picked it up and wondered how I would find its owner. It was near my neighbor's front gate that I found the ring, but the gate was locked. I put it in my pocket and we walked on.

When we circled back and passed the back side of that neighbor's house, I noticed that his garage door was open so I called out hello? He walked out and I held up the ring and asked if he knew who it belonged to. I wish I could show you the smile on his face. He excitedly called out for his wife and when she came out of the house he told her that I had found the ring. I wish I could show you the smile on her face as well. They had a dinner party over the holidays and the ring belongs to a guest of theirs who lost it when she took off her gloves. Trouble was, she thought she removed her gloves at the front door. Turned out, she did so at the front gate.

It's a nice start to a new year, finding something that someone lost and being able to return it to them.

I've been working on the railroad

2011-12-29T10:56:00.004-06:00

This is a Christmas story about a young boy. A boy slight in stature and mighty in personality. He's a unique one, this kiddo. He's a throwback to a different time. He does not like electronic toys. Yes, you read that right. No batteries, no remotes, no power. The only fuel he taps into is his own imagination.

He likes trains. Wooden trains and wooden tracks. He had a sizable collection but he wanted more. And in wonderful synchronicity it so happened that a friend of mine had four tubs of tracks and trains that were the same kind as this little guy's collection. Four tubs just sitting in her garage. My friend had them because her mother had collected them through the years, picking up boxes here and there at thrift stores. Her mother gave them to her to see if she find a home for them or sell them.

Remember when I filled a Saturday baking Christmas goodies? It was at that friend's house, the one with the trains in the garage, where the baking took place. And my other friend, this boy's mother, stopped by for a visit that afternoon. I believe that is when Santa Claus reached his great gloved hand into the scene. The trains came up in conversation. And before you could say, On Donner and Blitzen on Comet and Cupid, four tubs of train tracks and trains and bridges and all sorts of related things changed hands.

So, Santa delivered the trains! But, as we all know, Santa is a busy guy. He tapped our shoulders for a little assistance. Yesterday morning and into the early afternoon, my friend, her partner and I assembled and connected the tracks. We wound those pieces this way and that all over their backyard patio and sidewalks.

We assembled bridges and overpasses, a major train station, a zoo, a repair garage, a village and so much more.

We did all of this without my friend's son having any idea what was awaiting him. He was pretty darn happy when he found out!

Being Santa's helper? It's a great gig if you can get it. ;-)

Jingle

2011-12-28T10:13:00.003-06:00

Every year when I pull out this collar from the Christmas decorations box, Cheyenne dances in circles around me. From the day after Thanksgiving until New Years Eve, each morning and afternoon, I pull it from the counter for our walks and, when she hears those bells, she jumps up with excitement, all butt wiggles and smiles. One of the many things I love about her.

The day after

2011-12-26T10:42:00.000-06:00

Christmas was beyond my expectations. My fear of being alone, or worse, lonely, was never realized. Not even close. I realized that if they can't come to you, go to them. So, Christmas was spent with family and also friends. It was spent in Austin and also Houston. There was much cheer and joy, and I found myself more than once pausing to look out over a room filled with people I love, and thinking, you are blessed.

I have so very many photos to go through and share but for now I want to share just one. This is a tree that my friend made for me. I think it's just lovely, but more than that, I look at it and think, she made this with her own hands with her own time. That's a pretty awesome gift to receive.

A very yummy Christmas!

2011-12-21T08:41:00.001-06:00

A couple of years ago, I learned that I enjoy cooking during the holidays and gifting friends with a little yummy goodness. It feels good to take the time to make a gift with my hands, to prepare and stir and mix and bake and wrap and give.

This year, the gifts are three-fold: Pumpkin bread, cranberry sauce, and, for those friends with dogs, dog biscuits. All the baking took place in my friend's kitchen. She's a great cook and her kitchen is much better equipped than my own. For instance, she has a Kitchen Aid mixer. That comes in handy when you're making over 20 loaves of pumpkin bread. Saturday was a very busy day in her kitchen.

I really enjoy making cranberry sauce. The recipe is so simple, just fresh cranberries, orange juice and sugar. Once those cranberries heat up and start popping open, the kitchen starts smelling fantastic. Combine that with the smell of baking pumpkin bread and the whole house smells dreamy.

Cheyenne stayed in the kitchen most of the day, ever hopeful for a taste.

Speaking of dogs, Dixie is back! I'll post about her progress later but, for now, would you just look at her legs and her big feet? There's some dinosaur blood in that dog. I'm sure of it.

She must be dreaming of these biscuits.

All in all? Thirty-four dog biscuits, 12 jars of cranberry sauce and 25 loaves of pumpkin bread.

So far, the feedback has been a resounding Yummy!

Here and now, because she was once the same

2011-12-20T07:15:00.000-06:00

This:

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.

~ From a headstone in Ireland

...is so very true.

Bliss

2011-12-17T09:57:00.006-06:00

Do you remember the summer? How hot it was? How dry it was? I do. I feel that for those of us who live in Houston, where there was no rain for months on end and way too many days in a row that read triple digits on the thermometer, there should be a badge. Something like the boyscout's patches, but ours would say, I survived Summer Twenty Eleven ~ In the air-conditioned capitol of the world. It could arrive by the way of discount in our electricity bills.

It's been the opposite lately, weather wise. We've been swinging back and forth in a temperature range between the 40s and 70s. A range like that? I file that under the letter "T" for Thank goodness.

It seems that all that heat we suffered through just a few months ago has been all but forgotten. Nature is full of wonder, isn't she? Now, our city is dotted with the Fall colors of reds and golds and yellows in our trees. Trees all over the city are glowing with color. Houston in December is looking very much like Vermont did in October. It's as if Mother Nature is sending us an apology.

Okay, Mother Nature, apology accepted.

A two-way street

2011-12-14T20:43:00.003-06:00

Yesterday I went to Target to buy some things but first I had to return some things. Visiting Target between Thanksgiving and Christmas is a painful exercise but I figured that a Tuesday morning might be less so. I found a cart in the parking lot, put my return items in it and went inside the store and to the Service counter. There was no line. (Happy me!)

I had to return several things (hence, the cart I gratefully retrieved from the parking lot) that I'd bought as possibilities for a friend whose living room I am helping re-decorate. Lamps, frames, some other stuff.

I gave my receipt to the woman behind the service counter and then handed each item to her, waited for her to scan the bar code, and handed her the next item.

It took all of a minute.

As she stapled my return receipt to my original receipt, I said, Thank you for making this such a painless process for me.

She looked at me, smiled, and said, Thank YOU for making this painless for me. She went on to explain that returns and exchanges are her job but that many customers don't bring in a receipt or don't remember which credit card they used. She said it can be a long process for her and a line builds and people get upset when they have to wait but there's nothing she can do. After she explained, she said again, So, thank YOU.

As I strolled through the store with my then empty but soon to be filled cart, I realized something. If you want good service, be a good customer. It's an exchange of expectations, one that can go smoothly, or not. It's important that you play your part towards the outcome you are after. The equation is that simple.

Blessings

2011-12-12T07:55:00.000-06:00

The greatest gift I was ever given was the gift of adoption. I was just five weeks old when I was adopted. Seems like a lot of time by today's adoption standards, but back then it was not. I was the youngest baby placed in a home by the agency that handled my adoption; I was also the first child placed in a home that was the third child in that family. Benchmarks.

Still, for the first five weeks of my life, my name was Baby Girl.

Since Mom passed away, I've felt like Baby Girl again. In my head, I oftentimes consider myself an orphan, parentless. While I understand that as we age, it is a natural progression that we lose our parents, for me I also lost the two people who chose me, pulled me into their fold, created the life I lived, gave me my family. They took me from Baby Girl to Alison.

That's a lot to be thankful for, and I am.

Fast forward to Christmas 2011. Wait, no, I need to back up, just a bit.

For too many reasons to put forth here, since 2007, I have taken charge of Christmas for my little family, my two nieces and my nephew. We went to Colorado one year, New Mexico another. In 2008, we went to the family cabin and put the first Christmas tree in that house. Last year, I had them here with me in my house.

Okay, now to 2011. Everyone has plans. Plans to be with the boyfriend's family, the maternal grandparents, the fiance's family. I find that for the first time in my little life, I am alone for the holidays.

And so it was that Saturday night when I was at my friends' house, celebrating their family Christmas, a celebration where I was the only non family person there, a celebration where there were mothers and fathers and step fathers and brothers and uncles and nieces and nephews and lovers and love, I looked around me at all that wonderful history and connection and realized, I am an orphan.

Now, understand, I was having a wonderful time. My friend's partner has a big beautiful family and I fell head over heels for the people I met and every single person was delightful and I tried (and I think succeeded) to be delightful right back. In fact, I was so very swept up in family that I felt right at home. But feeling at home, feeling that comfortable, is what reminded me that while the comfort was there, the history and connection were not.

Then I said out loud, I am an orphan. I said it to my friend, the friend I've know for almost 30 years, the one who helped me raise my sister's children, the one who screamed for a doctor when I was in the hospital and a nurse had screwed up a blood transfusion so badly that my eyes rolled back in my head, the friend whose hand I held when we buried too many of our friends at too young an age, the friend who is a sounding board for all the big decisions in my life. She looked right at me and said, You are NOT an orphan, you're family. That's why we wanted you here, you're family!

I stood there and let her words move from my ears to my heart. She was right, my friend was. Indeed, I was with family. I belonged there, was invited and included.

Life shifts this way and morphs into that thing, but always if we look for and accept, we find where we belong. We find family, even if we have to create that family. I should know that better than many. To my delight, I've been adopted again. For the second time in my life, no longer an orphan am I.

We were there

2011-12-08T21:21:00.001-06:00

I drove by our old house today, parked on the narrow street like the stalker I never considered I would be. I saw myself there, stringing lights on the pear tree with my father. I saw the two of us hanging the wreaths on the front doors, the lights on the balcony rails. I glanced through the windows and saw Mom there, gently and specifically hanging the ornaments on the Christmas tree.

Sitting in my car, I could smell the pine logs burning in the fireplace, the ones I carried inside, the ones my father would watch and say, those are too heavy for you, Cat. But I did carry them, I wanted to be strong. And he smiled when they landed and connected flame with the others there.

I sat there and looked at each window and remembered the loved ones who slumbered on the other side of the glass, remembered the prayers we said out loud together. I focused on the trees that were young when we built the house, young and tender, but so strong and tall now.

I looked at the white bricks and the green shutters and I smiled. I saw us, all of us, on those stair steps, through those windows. We were living our lives, just living our lives.

Sitting there, feeling like a connected outsider, nothing moved. I remembered and remembered and remembered. With every ounce of me, and no effort at all.

It seemed that I should cry, but instead I smiled. For once I smiled. We lived our lives there, we loved there! So much love we shared there. For a moment, I saw it all, every bit of life we lived there. I saw all the sparkles from our loving hearts. And then I watched all of my memories rise up in the sky like beautiful bubbles, rising, rising, rising beyond my reach but not my view, not my heart.

Happy holidays!

2011-12-05T12:23:00.001-06:00

On Saturday I did some volunteer work for a local dog adoption event. Santa was there, so of course I had to get Cheyenne up on his lap so she could whisper her wishes. I did not take this picture, which is why Cheyenne isn't looking into the camera. She's looking at me, standing off to the side.

Dixie. Grrrrrrr

2011-11-30T08:09:00.003-06:00

Dixie has the sweetest deep brown eyes and, when she frets, above them are a fold of red wrinkles that fall from her brow in stacks of perfect pancake shapes. Dixie is tall and lean, curious and excited. She is at oftentimes sweet, generous with kisses and an occasional gentle paw gesture.

Dixie is also aggressive and struggling to find her place in this household. Cheyenne has a scab on her ear and I have a bruise on my finger, both from an episode of Dixie exploding with anger because I dropped a green bean on the kitchen floor when I was heating leftovers on Sunday and both dogs naturally went for it.

It was not the first such event. The truth is that when she wants something that Cheyenne has or is moving towards, be it food, a stick or a toy, Dixie attacks and Dixie bites. She absolutely loses her mind and I have to use force to get her to stop, to calm her down.

The truth is that this behavior is severe and has had me struggling with what to do with Dixie. I didn't choose her lightly and, although there are no vows between human and dog, when I got her my heart did promise to take care of her for all of her life.

Dixie is a happy dog but I'm not at all sure that she's living the best life she can. What I didn't consider is the absolute depth of struggle between elder dog and puppy, between Cheyenne's set patterns and our relationship and another living element thrown into the mix and what that life might need and deserve or how that life would struggle to find its place. I thought it would be, if not easier, smoother.

While the two dogs have interacted in wonderful play together at times, the past two weeks have been incredibly stressful for me and for Cheyenne, and Dixie too I suppose. If I could undo my decision to get Dixie, to drive past that moment, I honestly would do so. But I did stop, I did choose Dixie and I will not unchoose her. I struggle because the responsibility is my own, not hers. She's young, just seven months, and it's clear to me that the aggression is a symptom of a larger struggle. What Dixie needs from me is love, understanding, patience.

What she also needs is intensive training. While I've trained her on the leash and we've been working on the sit command, what she needs is beyond my ability. Tomorrow morning, Dixie and I have a meeting at an organization that provides such training, over a two-week period while she's boarded at their location. It's not an inexpensive exercise. Over the phone, I was told that she has possession aggression. Yeah, one could say that. I was also told that my armchair diagnosis was likely correct, that's she's 1) young, 2) struggling to figure out her place in the order of things, and 3) in need of training beyond my ability.

The goal is that once she receives that training, and I learn how to work with her on her lessons, that she will become a happier dog with her newfound understanding of the order in things. She deserves that happiness. Wish us luck, won't you?

The happy joy

2011-11-26T14:29:00.001-06:00

My Thanksgiving day began quietly, just me and Cheyenne. Dixie too, but she was not participating in the quiet. The day's tradition changes a bit each year for me but a few things are constant: a long walk in the morning, family, and friends who are family.

This year, I had Thanksgiving lunch with my dear friend, Jessie. We feasted at a table she set for two, and then we watched some trashy television and laughed out loud at the silliness of some people when they're being serious. Jessie's laughter is music to my ears.

Then I went to my friends' house where I was given a leaf on which to write the things I am thankful for. What a great idea that was, to take the time to write that gratitude down and then hang it on a branch.

My nephew and his girlfriend joined us and they brought their daughter, Faith, who will not sit still long enough for me to get a focused photo. But that's beside the point, isn't it? Because we were all there, together, friends and family, and the day was one of love, smiles and appreciation.

These

2011-11-21T10:41:00.001-06:00

These paws of Cheyenne's, I love them. They have carried her beside me down many roads and through many parks. As she has aged, the hair between her toes has grown longer and gray. It's very soft but she hates for me to touch her feet so, of course, I like to mess with that hair when she's not paying attention. It tickles her. Then she kicks me.

Chasing the blues away

2011-11-18T13:28:00.002-06:00

This week has not been the best collection of days I've experienced in my life. Each morning, I've awoken with the same heavy heart that I carried into my sleep. Each day, I've not done much towards lifting my spirits. Instead, I wanted to allow myself to feel the grief and the sadness and, yes, some anger. I didn't want to drape any emotion over my shoulders that wasn't really there.

This morning though, I let the sunshine in. The morning was so blue sky, cool air crisp that it creeped into me and lifted my spirits. I decided to take my camera on my morning walk with the dogs, and see if I could spot some more things to help me feel better.

This burst of gold leaves was the first thing I spotted.

Then I noticed the pretty simplicity of this front porch.

Watching Cheyenne enjoy a good roll in the grass never fails to put a smile on my face.

Then I passed these two beauties and inhaled their sweet scent because that's what we're supposed to do, stop and smell the roses.

My girl and her shadow.

My neighbor's landscaping along the fence. I love the glossy green leaves and the tall ornamental grass.

Rounding the corner back home, I noticed how tall and lovely this River Birch is in my front yard. I planted it late last year. Every time I notice its sturdy progress, I smile.

I'm glad I took my camera with me this mornig as holding it in my hand reminded me to seek out the little things that I enjoy, and to let them go to work on my healing heart.

I got the news today

2011-11-16T21:58:00.002-06:00

This man, he of the wide grin and sparkling eyes, he's my uncle. He is my mother's brother. For me, to me, he was laughter and tickles, intelligence and a quick wit I tried to keep up with, and compassion. He loved his sister, my mother, and he loved me as well. I'm sure he loved my sister and brother as they too were his niece and nephew, but he was charmed by me and I held on to that, formed my own relationship with him. Our focus was always on us, our banter, our time. I can hear myself now, remembering him, giggling with the delight of a child. So happy I was to see him, always. My Uncle Carl.

I am positive that my Uncle Carl made hard decisions in his life, struggled, cried, fought. He lived through the tragedy of losing the love of his life in a horrible accident, and several years later the good Lord blessed him with another woman with whom he could share his life and heart. He raised three sons who my mother whole-heartedly adored. But I didn't see or really know that part of his life, save for a few foggy family trips. He and I, we started talking, really talking, about 20 years ago. He egged me on for years, to be an adult, to be honest, stand up for myself, laugh at myself. This life, not as serious as I was making it. When I finally was able to laugh, he loved it.

When mother began to unravel, I called him. My father called him. He came here. Of course he came here, she was his sister. He was shocked, sad. He was also direct and firm with her. To no avail. The last time I saw him, his heart was sad. My heart was sad. too. He knew he wouldn't see his sister again and I held on tight to our goodbye because I wondered if I would see him again.

It's okay, kiddo, you're doing a good job. Just keep loving her, that's all you can do. Be strong.

I called him when she passed. I think we cried together over the phone but he was trying to be strong. He couldn't make it here for her service, his legs and hips would not allow the travel. Months later when I went to New York City to scatter her ashes, and told him that I was doing so, he excitedly shared stories from their childhood. Central Park, their skating, the museums, the security guards, and the out-witting. I learned that those two were quite a mischievous team.

He said to me, you're a good kid, Alison, a good kid. She'd like what you're doing.

I called him from Central Park that day and he let me cry over the phone, he shouldered my tears, understood them. He encouraged my journey.

My Uncle left this life in March of this year. Seven months ago. I found out today. It's a cruel way, how I found out, a cruel and unnecessary way.

Carl Oxholm, Jr., age 87, died on March 8, 2011, at his home in Dunwoody Village in Newtown Square, Pa. He was born March 21, 1923, in New York City to the late Carl and Dorothy Oxholm. He lived in Staten Island, N.Y., until enlisting in the Army in 1942. He returned to the New York City area upon his honorable discharge in 1946 and graduated from Brown University in 1949. After several years in retail he joined the Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company of Philadelphia in 1952. He married Eleanor (Ellie) Councilman of New York City in 1952, and moved to the Philadelphia area where he has lived ever since. He enjoyed a 24-year career with Penn Mutual as a Chartered Life Underwriter (CLU) and long-time General Agent, eventually retiring from the position of Vice President of Marketing. During his career he made hundreds of friends in the life insurance business and served as President of the General Agents and Managers Conference in 1968. After retirement he enjoyed his main passion, golf, primarily at St. Davids Golf Club in Wayne, Pa., and The Meadows Country Club in Sarasota, Fla., including scoring four holes-in-one. He was preceded in death by his parents, his sister Elizabeth Groth, and his first wife Ellie who died tragically in an auto accident in 1982. He is survived by his wife of 27 years, Frances (nee Hopkins). In addition, he is survived by his three sons; Carl (Tobey) and his wife Kim, of Sacramento, Calif.; Tom and his wife Becky, of Raleigh, N.C.; and Paul and his wife Karen, of Wyomissing, Pa.; and eight grandchildren. He will be interred in Quogue, N.Y. In lieu of flowers, memorial gifts can be made to the J. Wood Platt Caddie Scholarship Program, Golf Association of Philadelphia, P.O. Box 808, Southeastern, Pa. 19399. Stuard F.H., Ardmore, Family owned since 1822.

Carmon

2011-11-13T19:12:00.003-06:00

I never met Carmon, never had opportunity to hear her laughter. We never said, bless you, to each other's sneezes or clinked our glasses in toast to our successes. She was, however, my friend for several years.

We met through each other's websites. She was a tremendous support during the time I was caring for my mother, and when Mom passed away. I will always remember and appreciate Carmon's words and her kindness during that time. We further connected through horses and compassion. The above photo is of her magnificient dabbled grey horse, Griton, one of many BLM Mustangs that she and her husband, Mike, saved.

Carmon's compassion was enormous and she put so much energy into following through on her beliefs. I enjoyed reading about the work she did towards adopting and acclimating rescue horses into her care, or finding the right home for those she was unable to take in. She adopted rescue Greyhounds as well. Carmon's heart was a big one, her respect for and knowledge of animals tremendous. She was incredibly kind and patient with the animals in her life, and so skilled at helping abused animals trust humans again. For years I enjoyed reading about her process and progress with her animals.

We had hoped to meet, but on two occasions the snow and ice kept us from doing so. Next time, we said. There won't be a next time. Carmon passed away on Friday. Melonoma stole her from this life. The last time she posted on her website, Life at Star's Rest, she did so under the heading, I'm doing alright! She closed that post with these words just after Mike left the hospital to care for the horses and dogs: I still smell of woodsmoke from where he hugged me and I'll wrap the scent warm and close around me through the night.

Today, I find tremendous comfort in her words as I know the scent of loved ones is a powerfully comforting blanket and I'm glad my friend had that.

There is so much more that I can write, that I can share with you about Carmon, but I find that I'm at a loss for words as I absorb the news of Carmon's death. Sometimes, silence is what is the most soothing.

On the sidebar of Carmon's website, are these words by Stanley Harrison:

Somewhere in time's own space,
there must be some sweet pastured place.
Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow,
some paradise where the horses go;
for by the love that guides my pen,
I know great horses live again.

I believe that somewhere in time's own space in a sweet pastured place, Carmon is with the great horses who live again, with her beloved Star again.

Neither of the photos in this post are my own, I think obviously. Still, I want to say that because copyrights were important to Carmon. The first photo is one she took; the second one is credited to her husband, Mike. I copied these from her website without permission but I do give full credit.

Sole dreams

2011-11-12T08:23:00.000-06:00

I think I've been up front on this little site about my love of shoes. I think I even mentioned that when I once referred to myself as a shoe whore, my friend told me that she preferred I say shoe enthusiast. She had a point. Back in the old days -- which are only referred to as the old days because I went and broke my ankle in 2010 and had to have surgery which resulted in my no longer being able to wear my favorite platform or wedge heel shoes -- I would eagerly look forward to changing out my shoes for the change in season, assessing what new shoes would be needed and heading out to shop. Yeah, that activity came to a halt last year. Still, I do enjoy window shopping. These shoes are some that would be in my closet this Fall. You know, if only.

One year old!

2011-11-06T13:02:00.001-06:00

Halloween

2011-11-01T07:20:00.000-06:00

On the first day of November, I'm going to write about the last day of October. Halloween! Once I grew out of trick-or-treating as a child, the night has never held much interest to me. I don't like dressing up in costumes and don't particularly enjoy costume parties. I'm just not one of the many, many adults who have embraced the date as opportunity for cosumed revelry.

I do enjoy giving out candy to trick-or-treaters though. When I lived with my parents, I used to thrill at being the one to answer the door and give out the candy. When I moved out and lived on my own, I still thrilled in spending the evening with them. When I moved back in with them to raise my niece and nephew, I was the one who had the energy to take them to the streets in pursuit of treats. My parents would stay behind and dole out candy to their visitors. Always when the kids and I returned, we would ring the doorbell and my parents would go over the top pretending that they could not figure out who it was in those costumes.

Halloween was wholesome in my memories. When I wore costumes, I was Casper or a princess or Snow White. It was family and children and neighbors. Then at some point, it became dangerous for children and when that happened, adults embraced it and it became sleezy. Costumes reeked of sex or were highly inappropriate either through the news or dressing as an another ethnicity. Not many children were out trick-or-treating. It seemed that the holiday was taken over by adults. I wondered if it would ever return.

Last night it returned. Last night I spent the evening at my friends' house. They decorated their porch with lit pumpkins and witches hats and a big owl. They did not give out candy but instead tiny Play-Dohs in a variety of colors. There we so many children that walked up that sidewalk last night! And the costumes? Back to the old days of wholesome. There were princesses, a Snow White, a Raggedy Ann, a Whoopie Cushion, lots of cartoon characters, a builder, a Houston Oilers football player, twin wearwolves and some ghosts. Without fail, there were Thank yous and even one, I love you from a young boy who apparently loves Play-Doh. There were neighbors introducing themselves and parents waiting by the street asking, Did you say thank you? And we would holler, yes they did!

Last night, Halloween was fun again. It was for children again. And it brought out that childish delight in each of us as we oohed and aahed over the costumes and the cuteness. Definitely, the night was a treat.

Happy birthday to my girl!

2011-10-29T19:30:00.000-06:00

This sweet girl turned 11 today. She was just seven weeks old in this photo.

To celebrate her special day, I decided to take her to a dog park in west Houston. I found out about it just last week and when I read it had a bone-shaped pool with sloped sides I knew that was the place.

But first? Starbucks for a birthday puppy latte!

What a time she had! She fetched sticks in the water, played with other dogs and took a long stroll through the woods with me. When we left, it was all of three minutes before she was sound asleep in the back seat.

I've been spoiling her rotten all day, which really isn't anything unusual. I'm pretty sure she has had a very good birthday.

Haunted

2011-10-26T19:40:00.003-06:00

I drove by that place today. Do you remember, that little patch of land with the four tiny houses? They are still standing, that little cluster, like ghosts. It's as if they hold our secrets. Those four tiny clapboard houses on the one grass-bare lot, chainlink fence keeping them together. I don't remember the stairs anymore, or the furniture inside, but I remember the windows and the light. And I remember you.

Oh, you!

Post Op

2011-10-25T07:30:00.000-06:00

Dixie is not having a good go at post-surgery recovery, bless her heart. Also? I'm renaming the color of my floors to Dixie Red.

Someone is getting spayed this morning

2011-10-24T08:49:00.001-06:00

Bless her heart. I know it's the right decision and really the only option as a responsible pet owner, but it was so hard on me to take her to the vet this morning. First, she didn't want to get into the car, which has not been an issue in the past at all. Second, during the drive, she stood with her front paws on my leg and her head burried in my chest. And she was shaking. What the heck? Did she understand my words when I was rubbing her belly last night telling her what we were going to do this morning? Or maybe she was frightened because of the change in her routine, as in no breakfast and a car ride first thing in the morning.

She was fine once we got to the vet. She trotted right in there and right through the doors behind the technician. I remember that Cheyenne did the same thing when she got spayed. Though ever since then? Not so much.

Dixie is not one to be happy in her crate if there is activity going on around her (as in my walking downstairs to let her out), so I'm sure the vet's office is not a quiet one at the moment. Here at home though? It's very quiet, and Cheyenne seems to be enjoying the absence of her little red friend. At least one of them is have a good day.

Fun times in the sunshine

2011-10-19T19:04:00.000-06:00

This weather lately? Wow! It's promoting a lot of park time for me and the girls.

A morning for the dogs

2011-10-16T10:22:00.002-06:00

After suffering through an entire summer of extreme heat and drought, between my time in Vermont and the current heavenly weather in Houston, I've been delighted to get reaquainted with being outdoors. Lately, I've been spending my mornings on the front porch, with the front door open and the dogs resting on the porch (Cheyenne) or playing in and tearing up the front yard (Dixie).

Dixie hasn't been very present here on this site because she simply will not sit still for more than a moment. This morning, however, I had my camera in hand for a few of those rare moments.

This is a favorite position of hers right before she launches into her Coonhound baying, barooooo rooo rooo.

She starts that baying business and Cheyenne is off the front porch and into house.

And, of course, Dixie follows her.

Homeward bound

2011-10-10T17:28:00.003-06:00

Tonight is the last night of this visit with my tremedous and amazing, love-her-so-much friend, and her beautiful family, and this lovely state of Vermont. There is not a single minute of this trip that I have not enjoyed. Her daughters have charmed me as they never cease to do. They are intelligent, well-mannered, curious, poised and at times absolutely silly giggle boxes. Her husband has entertained me in conversation, kindness and wit. We've cooked dinners and gone out for dinners, we've gone to a cocktail party hosted by my friend's parents who also have a house here, and we've gone to an arts festival in Stowe.

I've witnessed the change of green leaves to red and gold, and every single morning I have heard and seen flocks of geese fly overhead as I sat on her porch with my morning coffee. I've gone to sleep each night with my windows open and been lulled into slumber by the steady hum and chirp of all the bugs in the woods, and the occasional coyote calls.

We've had rainy days and nights and some very cold days and nights prompting some roaring fires in the fireplace, a couple grey days and some sunny days that were what postcards dream to be. We have tickled and danced and sung right out loud, picked wild flowers, gone to the Farmers Market and even managed a nice adults-only evening on the porch, with good wine and great conversation, beneath a dark blue blanket of sky and a million and three stars.

Lastly, my friend and I have had several long and meaningful conversations and we have intentionally re-kindled some weakening flames within me. That will be the lasting gift of my time here. I leave here tomorrow with a full heart, a relaxed but challenged mind, and a couple goals that I look forward to pursuing and achieving.

A couple of photos from the weekend:

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Autumn corn, almost ready for harvest.

Two trees that were green when I arrived.

My little friend has picked a bunch of wildflowers just for me.

Bridge and bike path in Stowe.

As I write this post, I am sitting in what has become my usual spot on the back porch. When I turn my head to the right, this is my view.

So, yeah, I'm heading home tomorrow. And I can't wait to see this girl!

And I admit it, this little devil too...

Vermont beauties

2011-10-07T10:00:00.003-06:00

When I walk in the morning, I set out down the wooded path of my friend's drive, along the curve of the drive it spills into, and then out of the wooded area and onto a long stretch of road, bordered on one side with beautiful horse pastures, wooden fences and a stately barn. This morning, the horses had been let out to graze in the pasture that runs alongside the road.

This dappled silver beauty strolled up to the fence and spent some time with me, allowing me to pet her and love on her. Did you ever read the story, Justin Morgan Had a Horse? These horses are Morgans, characterized by their expressive faces with wide-set eyes, compact but graceful build, arched necks and that wide round rump. Beautiful, aren't they? They are very popular in this state. My little gray friend is pregnant, soon to add one more to the population!

What I realized during my time with her is that horses are the only thing that make Vermont smell better than it already does.

Walk a mile in my shoes

2011-10-05T17:34:00.004-06:00

This morning while my friend was dropping off her children at school, I bundled up (because it is cold here!), laced my tennis shoes, grabbed my camera, and set out for a walk.

I enjoy experiencing Autumn in Vermont. It's an actual season, visible in all its deserved transient glory, a short one since Winter loves to get a grip on this place just as soon as its icy hands are able.

Still, the Mountain Ash and Poplar trees are sparkling with yellow leaves and the Sugar Maples are showing off in all their red glory.

The recent rains have dropped many leaves in the woods, coloring my path with a confetti of oranges, reds and yellows.

Life large and small reveals the change from summer hum to Autumn stillness. The air is as crisp as a just-ripe apple and with each step I take, I thrill in what I see before me.

It's easy enough to share these photos but what I can't share is the sounds. The distant and low honking geese flying overhead, the rustle of things unseen in the woods, the breeze blowing through the leaves high above me, a bird calling out. Not a car in sight, just me and the trees, the crisp chilly air, and the amazing and moody lighting, from Venetian blue to dark rumbling gray, of an Autumn morning in Vermont.

Boarding pass

2011-10-03T16:42:00.020-06:00

Hello there! Remember me? My name is Alison and I used to visit this place often. Then a couple things happened, and those things ate up my days faster than Pac Man moved across that maze conzuming all those dots. Those dots? Free time.

First, and well documented here, the flooding and subsequent repair of my house. I was cool during the whole thing, even-keeled, level-headed, kicked my feet up while watching my ceilings being torn out and my belongings packed into 95 boxes and, along with my furniture, moved out of my house. I was even okay with having to move myself out of the house for two weeks. I was okay with all of that, until the day my house was finished and all my belongings moved back in. That day? A strange exhaustion came in from out of nowhere and settled in for a while.

Second, my new job. Well, it's contract work but the goal on both sides is to move it into permanent employment before the end of the year. It's a writing job and if that part of me had slumbered during my long stretch of unemployment, well it's wide awake now. I've been doing research and writing for six weeks now. I've been creating scripts and storyboards for training presentations, and writing brochures, technical papers for publication, and several articles. I've been a writing machine! And that has felt so good, to be doing what I love doing, what I'm good at doing. And the research? Getting paid to learn? Wonderful. But... but... I am worn OUT from it all. My brain is tired. It feels good, to have this kind of tired again, to be this kind of tired again. But feeling good about it doesn't make me any less... tired.

The night before my first day at work is the night I discovered the watery mess that my house was. To say the least, the past six weeks have been a 360 degree turn from what was my familiar schedule. I'm good at juggling multiple tasks and I'm not resistant to change but the last six weeks have felt as if I was surfing a gigantic wave just to stay afloat. I do not know how to surf.

As a lucky twist of scheduling would have it, several months ago, I looked at my One Pass Mileage balance and thought, These darn things are just sitting there, it's time to use some. I called my friend in Vermont and the planning began. I arrived here Sunday afternoon. And I'm staying a while.

Oh how they glow!

2011-09-22T06:24:00.000-06:00

Would you just look at these floors now? The restoration crew has done an outstanding job of putting my floors, walls and ceilings back together again. The painters finished last night and the cleaning crew will work their magic today. On Friday, the movers will bring all my stuff back to me and I will settle in, once again.

Show and Tell

2011-09-16T07:06:00.000-06:00

So, yeah, where were we? Right, my house. It got wet, very wet. I learned a little something: it doesn't take much water to create a whole bunch of soggy damage. I think that when your house has water damage in the ceilings, floors and walls, that one thing and one thing only will get you to sleep at night. That thing? Good insurance. (In my case, thanks to my father's serving his country in the Navy, I have USAA. Thank you, Dad!).

Last Friday, packers and movers from the restoration company ascended upon my house early in the morning.

My dining room looked like this.

And my living room looked like this.

My driveway was a wrapping-to-loading triage point.

At about 5:00 that afternoon, this was my living room.

It's funny, isn't it? There's no damage in my living room. But my house is considered an open plan, so since the damage in the dining room ceiling and walls faced my living room to one side and the kitchen on the other, everything got a fresh coat of paint. Both upstairs bathrooms got re-painted as well. The hardwood floors downstairs are contiguous so, once the damaged boards were replaced, the entire downstairs was sanded. That took place yesterday.

During the week, a whole lot of work went down at my address.

And here's where we are today.

And my formerly clean and serene front porch?

Even though everything is a big dusty, dirty mess at the moment, I'm pretty amazed that in four week's time, my house has gone from a wet soggy mess to more than halfway through a near total makeover. Again, good insurance is a very, very good thing to have.

Water baby!

2011-09-05T09:23:00.001-06:00

On Sunday, I spent the day with Cassie and Faith. We went shopping for Faith and oh dear did we ever get the cutest clothes for Fall. Her first pair of boots (brown suede, with a bow) and her first blue jean jacket! Then we went for a nice long lunch and, finally, to my friends' house for a small party of friends and family, yummy food and pool time.

The fun of splashing has definitely been discovered!

Such a fun, sweet day it was.

I dare you not to smile

2011-09-04T10:55:00.001-06:00

This little one will be ten months old on Monday. She just gets cuter by the minute!

Dear September

2011-09-02T06:42:00.000-06:00

Dear September,

Yea! I'm so happy that you are (finally) here! And how 'bout that miserable introduction August had for you? Has August ever been so rude in the past? I don't recall but seriously, she needs a time out. All "Me Me Me"and "Look how hot I am." Yeah, we get it. Oh did we get it. There was no need for her to scorch us with triple digit heat day in and day out. No need at all. But that's her, not you. Right? Please say I'm right.

Now that you're here, September, I have a few favors to ask of you: First, would you rain? I'd really like you to rain, we NEED you to rain. Second, would you drop the temperature? That too would be great. Lastly, the leaves. Oh dear, the leaves. Hang on to them, would you? The ones that are left, the ones that August didn't sear to a crisp, they need you now. Don't drop them, okay? Hang on to them, nourish them like you usually do in this part of the state. Let January color them and drop them (you know she enjoys that).

I know I'm asking a lot of you but I also have equal amounts gratitude. Thank you for ushering in the new school year, for bringing in school clothes and school supplies, for new pencils and notebooks. Thank you for an opportunity to change up the home decorations, redecorate the mantel, plant colorful Mums in the flower beds. Thank you thank you thank you for being the first of the "r" months.

Love,
Me

Beating the heat

2011-08-29T07:16:00.001-06:00

On Saturday, the thermometer hit 109 degrees. That? That's hot. Too hot to take the dogs to the park, so instead I took them to my friend's house for a dip in the pool.

Cheyenne was thrilled.

Dixie, on the other hand, not so much.

Crescent city break

2011-08-26T08:37:00.000-06:00

Last Saturday, I left the whirring fans and ever so slowly drying house, and joined some friends on an eastbound plane and about an hour later, landed in New Orleans. It was hot there, and humid there, and just like here there. But that was fine with me because there was also a hotel room with my name on it there and in that hotel room several things were missing: 1) big loud fans, 2) big loud de-humidifiers, and 3) a puppy who likes to wake me up at the break of dawn each day, which made if very much unlike here.

It was very Zen-like.

Except this temptation was across the street from me. I admit to spending some time there. And my time there? It was money well spent. So to speak.

But spending two days in a casino is not my thing, especially in New Orleans, so we did step out into the sweltering heat on Sunday for a bit of a wandering here and there.

Oue meandering led us here, because what's a trip to New Orleans without stopping off for cold Oysters on the half shell and a spicy Bloody Mary at this place?

When I got back home Monday evening, my house was dry and the moisture remediation company came over and took all those noisy fans and dehumidifiers away. I was relaxed, had a couple extra dollars in my wallet, some fun memories, and a quiet house. Two days well spent, that's what I think. Thank you, Crescent city!

A very moist update

2011-08-18T19:48:00.001-06:00

Each day, between 6:00 and 9:00 p.m, a technician from the moisture remediation company comes out to my house with that special moisture meter and checks a multitude of spots along the baseboards, floors and ceiling (or, lack of ceiling if truth be told) downstairs and then all the spots around common walls and floors of the two upstairs bathrooms.

I sit on the couch and go through the mail while he does this.

He comes down the stairs and I ask him, "Is it dry yet?" Because oh my goodness, have you ever had de-humidifiers in your house? Those things are amazingly good at owning up to their name. This house is as dry as the arid soil in west Texas. Seriously, I'm slathering lotion on my body every 20 minutes. And the technician tells me, "No, the floors are still wet, and the baseboards upstairs."

I roll my eyes.

Another night and day of three de-humidifiers and ten fans. My house is a noisy, windy whirl of breezes right now. And dry, so very dry. Except, apparently, for the walls and baseboards.

Someone pass the lotion, please.

When your house screams

2011-08-16T14:29:00.000-06:00

When I left my house on Saturday afternoon, I left with the dogs and a bag packed for the night because I was staying at my friend's house after the Stevie Nicks concert. We went to the concert in a limousine and I knew we'd be drinking and I wanted to plan ahead for playing it safe.

On Sunday, my friend cooked a great breakfast and then the television came on and the Sunday paper came out and before I knew it, it was late afternoon on a really lazy Sunday and time for me to get on back to my house, unpack, get the dogs settled, and wind down the weekend with 60 Minutes and laundry.

It didn't quite go like that, however.

In fact, it didn't go like that at all.

When I walked in the door and turned into the dining room, I discovered water. Water all over the floor, drip drip dripping from the ceiling which was dark and wet with wet watery wetness. The wall post was soaked as well, with water running down to the floor.

Cheyenne started pacing. Dixie started barking. I felt the blood drain from my face.

I may have spewed a string of curse words. Loudly.

I ran up the stairs to the master bath which is directly over the dining room, and there I discovered the problem. Water was filled and flowing over both sinks. The faucets, however, were off, and dry.

Out came all the towels that I have. Out came buckets to catch the water dripping from the ceiling downstairs. I scooped out the water from the sinks and poured it into the tub. Then I stood there dumfounded as I watched the water in the sinks rise from the drain.

I called the plumber and the woman on the phone declared it a plumbing emergency and I nodded my agreement as I was at a loss of words when hearing the obvious. An excruciatingly long two hours later, the plumber arrived.

The plumber quickly assessed that the problem was a clog below where the air conditioning line drains into the sink drain on one of the two sinks in the master bath. Finding the clog, however, was a time-consuming and expensive process but as he went about his work he explained what he needed to do along the way, before he did it. The search involved a fiber optic camera, the attic, removal of the full wall mirror in my bathroom, removal of the full wall mirror in the guest bathroom that shares a wall with the master, and, as a last resort, several holes cut into the wall behind the master bath mirror. It took five hours of searching on Sunday and four on Monday for the damn clog to be located. Every two hours throughout the night on Sunday, I had to wake to drain the sinks into the tub.

As I got up at 2:30 that morning to bail out the water, I laughed to myself that while Texas might be under a severe drought, my house certainly was not.

On Monday morning, when the clog had still not been located and the price was rising with each task, I called my insurance company. Because my father served in the Navy, I am a member of USAA and I know it's another company's slogan but I was in good hands. They explained to me that they would send a moisture remediation company to my house that afternoon to check for damage and to assess anything that would need to be removed to avoid mold growth, then they would send an interior restoration company today to assess what it would take to put my house back together again. I had no idea the magnitude of the damage just beyond my eye, but they did.

What was the clog? A whole mess of nastiness that had snagged through the years in the interior of the PVC pipe that when the house was being constructed in 2002 someone broke while assembling (visible wrench marks) and instead of replacing, went ahead and shoved another pipe about a quarter of the way into it to provide a seal. That interior pipe formed a lip on which any and everything could and did snag. After nine years, the snagged stuff finally added up to one big plug in the drain so that when the air conditioning line, which is above the clog, drained, there was nowhere for that water to go but up through the sink drain and into the sink and then out of the sink and onto the floor, down through the sub floor and through the ceilings and onto the dining room floor.

What's the damage? As I write this, the moisture remediation team is knocking out the ceiling and one wall post in my living room. The hard wood floors have extensive damage (as determined from a pretty cool little tool called a moisture meter, in addition to the obvious waves in the previously flat wood planks) and those are being torn up next. Ten fans and three de-humidifiers are on my front porch. Upstairs, the guest and master bathrooms have holes drilled into the walls and patches of the walls have been cut out. All the baseboards have been removed. Bags and bags of debris are on the sidewalk.

This afternoon, an interior restoration firm assessor will be here to provide an estimate for the repair of all the damage and destruction. The moisture remediation company estimates that the fans and de-humidifiers will get the areas dried by Friday, so construction can begin the week after next.

When the plumber first arrived on Sunday, he had a plunger in one hand and a jug of some heavy-duty clog dissolver in the other. I figured that he would be here for a half an hour, max, and then I would wash and dry all the towels and call it a day. HA! Isn't that funny?

Saturday night

2011-08-14T17:24:00.001-06:00

On Saturday night, three friends and I went to see Stevie Nicks in concert. That's a sentence I've said or written many times in my life. There are only a few bands or musicians that I have continued to follow from the time of discovering them and Stevie Nicks is certainly on that list, fittingly only behind Fleetwood Mac. So, when she comes through Houston, I am in the audience. This time, I got lucky because I purchased my tickets with points from my American Express card. And the tickets I purchased? In the pit, which consists of six rows before the regular seating begins. Our seats were perfect and, to my delight, I discovered that the pit is also air-conditioned. The venue is an outdoor venue and with the 100+ degree heat we've had lately, I assume the AC is for the benefit of the performers but we appreciated getting in on that little bit of temperature heaven.

The moon was full and the sky clear, lending a bit of magic and excitement to air. I didn't think I could get more excited than I was as we were walking into the venue but that moon put me over the top!

At several of the concerts I've recently attended, the rule on cameras has been not to allow cameras with interchangeable lenses. Fair enough, right? As my friend said, there has to be some give somewhere because it's not as if they can take everyone's cell phones away. In the pit, however, cameras were strongly discouraged. And it was the job of a couple of people on the event staff to tap any would-be photographers on the shoulder and request they not take photos. I'm always up for a little hide and go seek with the camera police at concerts, and I'm happy to say that not once last night was my shoulder tapped.

She sang her heart out for her audience. She spun and twirled and wrapped her cape around her body, playing up her mystique to the delight of her fans. I know of no one else who receives such applause for simply twirling but its her trademark move and fans, including me, delight in it. She spoke to her audience, explaining songs and telling stories, and she expressed her gratitude after the applause died down. She's a gracious performer and truly the lady can rock. This concert was more about Stevie the writer and she included several of her new songs and kept the true gems from her previous albums. It was less about the Welsh Witch, ribbons and costume changes, though when she came out with her gold cape before launching into Gold Dust Woman, the audience went nuts. As usual, I sang out loud right along with her, from the opening song, Stand Back to her new, For What It's Worth. I cried all through Landslide, swayed to Rhiannon and rocked out to Edge of Seventeen. It was quite a concert, such an extraordinarily fun evening of rock and roll.

For Jessica

2011-08-13T08:45:00.015-06:00

My friend RocketMom commented on my last post asking if I'd also dress her up for the Stevie Nicks concert. This morning, I decided to take her up on it. Those boots alone are $1,500 but look how beautiful they are! The ring? Fourteen thousand dollars but, you know, what better way to accesorize a t-shirt than that glorious ring? Also, we're pretending that tonight's Stevie Nicks concert is not in August but, say, late October. I hope you enjoy, RocketMom.

Saturday night

2011-08-11T09:02:00.005-06:00

On Saturday, for the maybe 20th time, I'm going to see Stevie Nicks in concert. I'll be wearing black sandals, a white skirt and a wonderfully soft grey v-neck t-shirt. That's fine and all but what I would really like to be wearing is the ensemble I pulled together, above. Seriously, that dress and those shoes! Of course, if I could afford a two thousand dollar dress by Alexander McQueen and seven hundred dollar Guiseppe Zanotti shoes, it's highly unlikely I'd be wearing them to a concert, but a girl can dream, can't she? Oh yes she can!

While I was away

2011-08-07T18:18:00.000-06:00

Last weekend I drove my niece to Nacogdoches where her boyfriend was meeting us to pick her up and drive her back to Louisiana. Although the hotel we stayed in was pet friendly, I didn't want to put Cheyenne through a three-hour drive two days in a row and I didn't want to endure Dixie through the same. So, the dogs went to my friend's house for Saturday afternoon and evening.

My friend has a big yellow Lab named Abby. Abby is a sweet girl and much more tolerant of Dixie than Cheyenne. Thankfully, my friend pulled out her camera!

Abby even shared her crate!

Getting the message

2011-08-04T15:08:00.002-06:00

My sweet girl. Those eyes are telling me to put down the camera already and feed her. Because I am a minute late and she is STARVING.

My girls

2011-08-03T07:42:00.001-06:00

They are sleeping so close together that, for Cheyenne, this could be considered a full embrace.

For the dogs

2011-08-01T09:28:00.005-06:00

Yesterday, Dixie turned 14 weeks old. She's grown so fast in the past six weeks, and most of that growth seems to be in her ears, legs and feet.

This picture was taken during her first week here. It was a rare quiet moment she shared with my niece.

She likes to sit on Cheyenne's bed on the front porch, which is cool except that she also likes to get up and sprint under the front gate and out onto the sidewalk. And that is not cool because that's too close to the street. She's almost too big to do that, so for now and until she grows a bit more, her porch and yard activites are limited to the back where the fence is solid wood to the ground.

She's a sweet puppy but she's also a terror. She likes to chew anything and everything she can wrap her mouth around. Table legs, books, furniture corners, shoes, dog beds, and my hands and feet. I keep a supply of toys and rawhide chews throughout the house to divert her whenever she's headed in the wrong chewing direction. Baby gates and crate training help me keep an eye on her. Also? All my bookshelves look like some version of this kitchen bookshelf now:

She's a Coonhound, so her barks roll into baying and I have discovered that I love that sound. Barking? Not so much. Baying? Absolutely. She's expressive with her needs, likes and dislikes, and is learning to bark at the door when she wants in or out.

Formal training, for both of us, begins in a couple weeks. For now, she's safest and quietest when she's sleeping.

The photo below of Dixie and my niece is the most recent I have of Dix. I think that if you scroll up to the earlier photo of the two of them, you will see the rapid growth we are experiencing around here! I apologize for the blur. Unless she's asleep, she is constantly on the move.

And what of Cheyenne? I'm proud of her as she's adjusting well. I even caught her playing with Dixie the other day. Mostly though, she ignores Dixie and chooses me as her play buddy. Which is just fine with me.

Pooh

2011-07-26T15:24:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was my birthday. My morning crossword puzzle included the clue, "Kanga's kid." Of course the answer was Roo. In the afternoon, my niece took me to see the movie, Winnie the Pooh. Later, we met with friends and family at one of my favorite restaurant patios. One of my friends gave me a lovely jar of Texas natural honey.

That silly 'ol bear was a part of my day all day long.

And that? That makes for a very nice birthday.

The dog ate it

2011-07-20T10:42:00.002-06:00

To Whom it May Concern,

Please excuse Alison's absence from participation on this site for the past three weeks. She has many ~~excuses~~ reasons.

She put a new addition into the household, in the form of a puppy.
Cheyenne cannot stand the new addition.
New addition tries to chew everything that moves or is stationary.
Alison spends a lot of time chasing the new addition away from table legs, chair legs, and books on the lower shelves.
Alison's beautiful, intelligent, funny, sweet niece has been in town since mid-June and will be here for two more weeks.
They've seen a lot of movies.
They've read a lot of books.
They've spent a good bit of time wandering through bookstores.
They've completed a couple of very difficult jigsaw puzzles.
They've been to the cabin.
Alison's other niece came to Houston last week.
There was much laughter and cupcake baking in the house.
Both Alison's nieces left for Austin on Saturday.
The younger one returned yesterday afternoon courtesy of Southwest Airlines.
Alison is currently doing temp work for a friend whose assistant is on vacation.

With the above in mind, please excuse her absence. She has every intention of returning. Unless the puppy eats her computer. Which is a definite possibility.

Sincerely,
The non-blogger, formerly known as a blogger
xoxo

One Tin Soldier

2011-07-03T08:33:00.000-06:00

I want to share with you a special email I received yesterday from a friend of mine who works in the private aviation sector. You may remember her from a couple years ago, she was frequent in the comments under the moniker, Sassy Suspect. In the real world, she goes by Jessica and she's a smart, funny, ball of fire who I enjoy calling my friend.

To my friends and Family on this holiday weekend,

I hope this email finds you all in wonderful and blessed health. The company I am with has recently begun flying military charter flights. I thought I'd take a moment to remind us all to remember what a wonderful country we live in and how truly blessed we are and to never forget all the men, women, children and families who make sacrifices for our beautiful country.

I left this past Tuesday for Fort Hood in Kileen Texas. 320 troops boarded our 747-400 en route to Afghanistan. The crew and legs I was assigned were to take them as far as Hahn, Germany. A second crew met us in Hahn to refuel and take them on Afghanistan for 12 months of duty. The soldiers boarded one by one quickly filing in and filling each seat, as we reminded them that the butt and not the barrel of their rifles needed to face the aisle. They listened to our commands (something flight crew is not used to).

We tried to keep the mood light. During our demo I got caught in my life vest and a soldier said to me, "I didn't realize it was going to be that kind of flight." Insert my red face rear galley. One soldier told me he spent the previous day at Chuck E. Cheese. I replied, "Sounds like fun, what did your children do?" Many other cheesy jokes followed during our 9-hour flight as the soldiers tried to keep a jovial attitude even though they would miss milestones in their children's lives and only be able to look and hear their wives/girlfriends/lovers through a computer screen for the next 12 or 13 months. Our leg was complete at 2130 CEST. We said our goodbyes and then headed to the hotel.

Day 3: Hahn, Germany to COS Fort Carson Colorado Springs, Colorado

We met the plane at 0600 CEST and the soldiers were transported to the terminal as we changed crews, refueled and restocked. The soldiers boarded at 0715. We stood at our doors said hello and their light, fun and down right giddy moods were contagious. The hardship, fear, terror, anger, longing and camaraderie was hard to ignore as I tried to magine what life is like on the inside of their fish bowl. Mid-flight, I walked around the plane and tossed the soldiers that were awake small bags of Hairbo gummy bears I picked up in Germany. This was received with the look of surprise like a child finding a unexpected gift; it's the little things in life that can put a smile on someone's face, right?

The plane's wheels touched U.S. soil at approximately 0957 MST and a roaring round of applause went through the forward, main, rear and upper deck cabin. 302 U.S. soldiers were returning home. The mood of the plane was electric until moments later when the Chaplin spoke over the P.A. system asking everyone to bow their heads to remember the 19 fallen soldiers of the 1st Brigade (Raider Brigade) Combat Team. We had a few moments before the doors opened and I chatted/continued to joke with the soldiers. One of the three soldiers sitting in front of my jump seat told me, "The only good thing, and this is THE ONLY good thing about deployment is the first time I see my wife. That first kiss is like falling in love all over again." Three or four soldiers around him nodded their heads and grunted their agreement.

The soldiers filed off the plane in the same manner they filed on, single file militant style. As they walked by me getting stuck on the bulkhead I said, "Welcome home," they replied, "Thank you." It was one of those moments in life that grab your heart strings and pull you under water making making you grasp for breath as a tight knot forms in the back of your throat. These individuals have sacrificed, gave up their lives for us; it's hard to imagine what they have experienced. Looking each one in the eye I replied, "No, Thank you."

Happy Fourth of July Everyone and God Bless America Land of the Free!

- - - - - - -

Some letter, isn't it? As I was reading it, Coven's One Tin Soldier was playing on the radio. I'll leave you, then, with those lyrics.

Listen children to a story

That was written long ago
'Bout a kingdom on a mountain
And the valley folk below
On the mountain was a treasure
Buried deep beneath a stone
And the valley people swore they'd
Have it for their very own

Go ahead and hate your neighbor
Go ahead and cheat a friend
Do it in the name of heaven
You can justify it in the end
There won't be any trumpets blowing
Come the judgment day
On the bloody morning after
One tin soldier rides away

So the people of the valley
Sent a message up the hill
Asking for the buried treasure
Tons of gold for which they'd kill
Came an answer from the kingdom
With our brothers we will share
All the secrets of our mountain
All the riches buried there

Now the valley cried with anger
Mount your horses draw your sword
And they killed the mountain people
So they won their just reward
Now they stood beside the treasure
On the mountain dark and red
Turned the stone and looked beneath it
Peace on earth" was all it said

She's got legs

2011-06-24T07:26:00.000-06:00

Truth be told

2011-06-22T21:14:00.003-06:00

I think this photo is a great way to show how successful Cheyenne is at telling me what she thinks about the new addition to the family. There's a message in those eyes and it's not a warm and fuzzy welcoming one.

Update, and all that Jazz

2011-06-20T12:45:00.001-06:00

Yes, I am having a flare-up of Ulcerative Colitis. But, we caught it in time. The medicine is working and the restricted diet in combination with the medicine is also working. I've been feeling great since the weekend. Big health mess? Averted! Thank goodness.

On Saturday, I traveled to Nacogdoches to pick up my niece, Alexandra. She is spending the summer with me and I've been excited about that since we came up with the plans earlier this year. On my drive there, I saw something, something I could not shake out of my head during our stay Saturday night. On the drive home, I saw it again and this time I had to investigate.

What did I see? A sign that said, Coonhound Puppies. Oh dear. I've gone back and forth for a couple years on whether or not I wanted or should get another dog. I did want one, and I wanted one partially to keep Cheyenne company, but I also didn't want to upset Cheyenne or make her uncomfortable in any way. She is and always will be my number one girl, best dog friend. I knew that if I got another dog, it would not be another Chocolate Labrador. There's only one Cheyenne and that's just how I see it. I did look into other breeds though, and was considering a Coonhound. Coonhounds have similar temperment and loyalty as the Labrador, and they are in the same adult weight range, though the Coonhound is a taller dog.

Can you see why that sign caught my attention? On Saturday night in Nacogdoches, while we watched movies in the hotel room, I was mentally going over how I could fit another dog into my life, if, I told myself, I were going to get a new dog. I kept thinking about that sign. With respect for Cheyenne, I ~~justified~~ realized that with my niece being here all summer, she could assist with a new puppy and Cheyenne could continue to get ample attention from me while adjusting to the new addition.

When I asked about the puppies, I was told there was one left. I asked, male or female? If the answer was male, that would be a deal-breaker for me. Cheyenne thrives in her alpha dog role and whereas she could easily establish that with a female puppy, I wasn't so sure she'd be able to keep it with a growing male. Cheyenne will be 11 in October and I did not want to put a challenger to her role in this house. The lone puppy? Female.

And then I saw her, and then I held her, and then I bought her. Just. Like. That.

She is a Redbone Coonhound, eight weeks old.

She rode the entire way from Lufkin, Texas, back to Houston in my niece's lap. During the drive, we tried out several names for her but we couldn't land on one that we liked or that seemed to fit.

When we picked up Cheyenne from my friend's house, I went in the house first and my niece followed with the puppy. Cheyenne didn't really pay any mind to the puppy as she was too excited to see me. At my friend's house, we talked over potential names and all agreed that a southern name would be fitting for a Coonhound. So, I googled southern names. After saying several out loud, Dixie was the one that we all liked and thought fitting, especially given my penchant for nicknames. Already, she's my Dixie Cup and my Dixie Lou Who.

Dixie has large feet, very long legs and very long ears.

When we all got home, Dixie got a little to close to Cheyenne for my girl's liking. Cheyenne roared a deep bark at her and, in response, Dixie high-tailed it across the room and under a chair. That's the same thing that Cheyenne did when we introduced her to my friend's mature female lab, Maggy. Maggy let out a growling bark and Cheyenne scooted her butt under the coffee table so fast that all we saw was a brown blur of movement. Maggy is the one dog in Cheyenne's life who was alpha dog over her. So, I was happy with that little exchange and I've been letting them work it out.

Outside of that, and one low growling reminder this morning, Cheyenne is adjusting better than I had imagined she would do. Dixie seems to have gotten the message and is staying wide and clear of Cheyenne, as it should be for now.

If Cheyenne was at all threatened or concerned about Dixie, she didn't show it, although she did act especially pleased last night when I put Dixie into her crate downstairs, and she and I went upstairs together, as we do every night, and went to bed.

So, yeah, there's a new member of the family. And only four times have I wondered what in the world I was thinking: 12:30 a.m., 2:21 a.m., 4:50 a.m., and 6:30 a.m.

Fingers crossed I'm wrong (but I don't think so)

2011-06-15T12:01:00.000-06:00

I've been feeling the initial signs for a couple of weeks now. At first I tried to ignore them, thought, nah, it's something else, something that will just run its course. After 25 years, one would think that I would recognize the beginning for exactly what it is. Still, I hate the path, so denial is usually the first step for me.

But then on Monday the pain really kicked in and demanded to be heard. Yesterday, a mild fever joined the pain. This morning, I woke up with a mind full of hope that things would be different but a body that hurt in every joint.

What in the world am I talking about? Ulcerative Colitis. UC is a chronic autoimmune disease that I was diagnosed with in college. It results in inflammation of the colon’s innermost layer, where small tears or ulcers develop along the interior, oftentimes bringing on a lot of pain, and blood.

I will spare you of the key symptom, but lets just say that I spend a lot of time in the bathroom.

Doctors and scientists still do not know what causes ulcerative colitis. In the past 25 years, I've read a lot of reasearch, all inconclusive. Many think the disease is inherited while some think it is environment. At one time, it was thought to be nutrition or stress, but both of these theories have been debunked. Although the exact causes are not known, one thing is for certain: UC is a result of the body’s immune system responding incorrectly. Your immune systems understands the difference between good and bad bacteria and so does mine, usually. Sometimes, however, my body cannot differentiate and so it attacks itself in my colon. And, oh wow, is there ever a war brewing in there right now.

Even though I know what is going on and I have an appointment with my Gastrointerologist this afternoon, I'm still really really really hoping that I'm wrong. Seriously, I'm probably the only person that goes to her doctor hoping to hear food poisoning.

That was then

2011-06-06T11:21:00.002-06:00

This picture brings back so many memories. It was taken in 1986 and I thought it was lost forever but recently and digitally it came back into my life. The couch was red or maybe it was blue, and I remember it being much larger than it is here but I guess that's the kind of distortion that time and absence will do to a memory. There is so very much I can say about this picture, so very many words. For now though, I'm going to leave it as is.

Simplicity

2011-06-03T08:23:00.000-06:00

I snipped this daisy from the enormous potted Gerbera Daisy plant on my front porch. I bought that thing in a 4-inch plastic container in late April and now it fills its 18-inch pot with thick green leaves growing tall and wide, and beautiful daisies shooting out on strong green stems. There's something so delightfully pleasing in the simple effort of walking out your door and snipping a flower from your garden.

I hope your weekend is filled with finding equally simple delights!

Long hot happy weekend, Day 3

2011-06-02T09:05:00.001-06:00

On Sunday afternoon, we packed two cars with four dogs, four people, one baby, one canopy and a cooler of beer, water, chicken salad, chips and fruit, and we drove to the same spot where I had taken Cheyenne the day before. We parked in a suspect place, and lugged our goods through the park only to find that other people had decided on the very same spot. And they didn't seem very happy to see us. And they definitely weren't happy to see and experience our four dogs frolicking about in the water, even though they had a dog doing the very same.

We didn't stay there long. Instead, we piled all that stuff and dogs and people back into the two cars and drove back to our house. I had bought a pool to use there so we decided to fill that thing up and enjoy ourselves without the attitude of others.

It was the right decision.

Cheyenne even learned to share!

Long hot happy weekend, Day 2

2011-06-01T09:47:00.001-06:00

More from Memorial Day.

On Saturday morning, coffee in hand, Cheyenne and I set out for an early walk around the property. She did her best imitation of a cow and happily grazed on the moist grass.

Then I loaded her in the car and took her to a favorite spot on the San Marcos river. I've been taking her there for years and as soon as we get out of the car, she picks up the scent of familiarity and practically drags me across the road and down the path that cuts through the heavily wooded park to a spot where the banks of the river gently slope and she can easily get in and out of the cool waters.

Cheyenne will play fetch with me for a few minutes until she loses interest, then she enjoys just plopping her behind down in the shallow water and watching the river world go by.

My niece Catherine got to the house in the early afternoon and we sat on the porch talking for a while before she had to head out to a birthday party conveniently about 20 minutes away. She left her dogs with me and took off, promising to return by dinner. Yea!

And then this precious family arrived.

When Catherine returned, she embraced an armful of her own niece.

A whole lot of fun and laughter took place in this little house that afternoon and evening. Good times!

A long hot happy weekend

2011-05-31T09:02:00.002-06:00

About two and a half hours west of Houston, just south of San Marcos, sits a creamy yellow farmhouse on top of a hill. That farmhouse was where I spent Memorial Day weekend. Well, truth be told, I spent most of my time on the front porch of that farmhouse. In a rocking chair, with a book. As hot as it was during the weekend, there was a constant breeze on that front porch making it quite comfortable. Add to that the sound of rustling leaves mixed with the constant hum of crickets and cicadas and you have Texas Hill Country perfection.

Of course, I took photos over the weekend. A whole lot of photos. This week, I'm going to share some of those photos here.

I arrived early Friday afternoon, quickly unpacked my bags and the groceries, filled the indoor and outdoor water bowls for Cheyenne, then stood on the front porch and delighted in the fact that I had absolutely nothing that I had to do until packing up and returning to Houston on Monday. Family members were not going to arrive until Saturday so Cheyenne and I had the place to ourselves Friday afternoon and evening. Together we strolled the property several times, me exploring the light and her the smells. We were both pretty happy with what we found.

The farmhouse sits at the top of this long, rocky drive up the hill.

Standing on the front porch, looking left, this is the view.

A back yard reminder of how hot it was.

View from the kitchen window:

View from the front porch screen door, that slapped open and shut all weekend:

Rust and light and weeds, to my delight.

Sunset, Friday evening.

Except for my phone, which I only used a couple times, it was a completely unplugged weekend. So very nice.

A tiny wave

2011-05-30T17:50:00.000-06:00

Day Play We play all day

2011-05-22T18:48:00.004-06:00

Sunday morning was filled with the magical moments of reading to this baby. Or maybe I should just confess that Sunday morning was when she stole my heart. Again.

Close your eyes and I am with you

2011-05-19T10:26:00.003-06:00

Yesterday was my friend Maria's birthday. The world lost the bright light that was Maria's in 2009 to Ovarian Cancer. But I still have her, right here in my heart. I imagine her, feel her, consider her, and love her. I still celebrate her.

Wednesday night, a couple friends and I raised a glass in toast to Maria. And then we started imagining her, up there. In our imaginings, she was with her sister and her father, and inside I smiled at the thought of that. We took it forward and imagined my father and mother meeting her that evening. My mother was liking her style and my father was, we had no doubt, raising an eyebrow towards her beauty. Martinis and wine were involved.

Together, we imagined them above us, having a grand ol' time receiving our love and dreams. Watching over us and loving us right back.

Charmed

2011-05-18T09:13:00.000-06:00

I don't know what it is about this baby but I am completely charmed by her when she has food all over her mouth and turns toward the camera. And smiles.

Mother and child

2011-05-16T13:34:00.001-06:00

This photograph is one of those rare moments where the subjects and the lighting fell together perfectly, just as I raised the camera to my eye.

Sunday morning royalty

2011-05-15T06:28:00.000-06:00

Although Cheyenne is not 85 years old, nor is she the Queen of England, I do see some resemblance here.

Levi love

2011-05-14T08:36:00.002-06:00

When I was in Louisiana, I had the opportunity to visit with a dear person in my life, the one and only Velvet Sacks. And with that, I had the opportunity to meet the new dog in her life, the resident destroyer of dog beds and couch cushions, Levi. Levi is a Goldendoodle, a soft and enthusiastic mountain of blond and red wavy hair. When I drove up Velvet's driveway, Levi was at the fence in full-on body wag of excitement that someone was pulling up his driveway. VISITOR! HUMAN! FOR ME!!! My heart grew two sizes instantly. Getting out of the car, I reached for my camera as Levi eagerly jumped up on the fence to greet me. This photo is of that moment. Just look at that face! Your heart is melting, isn't it? Yeah, I thought so.

Mmmmmmm bananas!

2011-05-11T08:55:00.000-06:00

The lonely goatherd

2011-05-10T21:26:00.002-06:00

For much of my young life, my parents owned a small cabin on the shore of a narrow lake formed by a dam in the Guadalupe's headwaters in Hunt, Texas, the heart of the Hill Country. I spent many long weekends and summers there, learned how to swim there, how to catch Perch with a worm on the long line from a bamboo pole there, painted and searched for Easter Eggs, dug for arrowheads, learned to canoe, rode horses and generally lived a carefree time of discovery and happiness.

The summer of my seventh year was the third full summer we spent at that little cabin. My sister Marianne was eleven and by that summer, and my adoration for her was full blown. She was tall and tan, had long hair that she never brushed but always looked perfect in its fall across her shoulders. She had long muscular arms that matched her tall muscular legs. With every ounce of my young being, I wanted to be her, but since I could not, then being beside her was the next best thing. Where she was, I wanted to be, where she went, I wanted to follow. Bless her heart, I shadowed her so closely that I knew the warmth of her breath, the breeze of her skin.

On the backside of the cabin, my father had configured a compost bin and when Marianne (and therefore me) wanted to fish for Perch from our dock, he'd direct us to the bin to collect worms for bait. On my knees beside my sister, my hands would wriggle through the dark dirt. I remember it smelling earthy, moist and fresh and delighting when I scooped a handful to find a fat and squirming worm wriggling across the top of the mound. I held out my prize to Marianne and she smiled at me as if I’d found a diamond there. She took the worm from my open hand and put it in the cardboard bucket from the fried chicken we ate for lunch earlier in the day. She told me, The active ones are the best 'cause when you put them on the hook they wiggle and that’s what the fish notice. She knew this. This and everything. I worshipped her for it and she knew that I was always a blank slate for her to impart her knowledge upon.

When the idea hatched itself inside her head one evening that summer that she wanted a goat, she lit it like a fire to light up all the darkness in the starry hill country night. She had a plan and she wanted me to help her. I was thrilled to be asked. In low voice after dinner, while we sat on the front porch eating our ice cream, she secretly whispered her plan: Before the sun came up in the morning, we were going to sneak down the stone steps of our backyard, get the canoe and row across the lake. Once on the other side we would climb what was then a mountain to me but in reality a rocky but steep hill. On the other side of that hill was a farm with sheep and goats, and most importantly to my sister, baby sheep and goats. To this day I do not know how she got that piece of information. I also don’t know how she woke up on her own before the sun but she did that also, and she jiggled me awake with much effort as I had lost a huge portion of interest when weighed against my desire to sleep. "That’s okay, I’ll go without you," she said in a cool and dismissive whisper. Desperately not wanting to be left behind, I threw back the covers and wiggled out of my pajamas and into the first thing I saw, a damp bathing suit on the cold slate floor. Putting on that bathing suit naturally put me in whining mode of chilly discomfort as we snuck down the hill in the darkness spread out like forever before us and forever behind. Marianne had a certain way of cutting me off mid-whine, which was to take my chin in her thumb and forefinger and turn my head however far it needed to be turned until my eyes were locked solid with hers and she’d hold us there for a minute and it would get me quiet as suddenly as the new sound of silence following the blast of a firecracker.

Down the rocky steps we walked, her feet as silent as a shadow while my stomping was surely disturbing all the wildlife. Being quiet was second nature to Marianne, she moved as quiet as a snake on the water and only spoke when she needed to, when some need or instruction was to be conveyed. She held the canoe steady while I stepped in, then she stepped in and released the lines from the dock. Pushing us away, she sliced her paddle into the water. Sitting in front, I charged myself with looking for hazards, and I turned my head back to smile at her. I could only make out her dark square shoulders and strong arms expertly handling the paddle, moving it back and forth, right side to left, in a gently rhythm. I could hear the paddle moving in a slide through the water and then the ripple behind the boat followed by the drops of water flying from the oar as she shifted to the other side. And then again, the slide, ripple and drops of water. Such music discovered by such young ears.

My memory at this point fades into another, turns a corner from my own to that of my father’s voice telling the story, something I heard him do so many times that it has consumed my own recollection. For reasons unknown to me, I most clearly remember him telling the story at one of my parents’ many cocktail parties, as they called them, one evening at our house. Those early-evening cocktail parties were always wonderful for me. I could roam the house and see my parents’ friends dressed smart, smell the women’s grown-up perfume, and hear the wonderful and adult sound of the ice clinking in their drink glasses. That sound to me was the definitive sound of adults, the sound that announced the difference between them and children, and I relished in hearing it.

Dad is sitting in his chair, the red leather wing back chair that in my memory has stretched its proportions to being that of a throne. I’m standing at his knee, leaning into the familiarity of him but facing the guests to watch their eyes on him. One of his enormous hands is on his drink and the other is in the air punctuating the story.

"Well, I wake up and I don’t see the girls. Betty is still asleep and so is Carl so I walk out the back and there they are. I see them in the lake, in the canoe, Marianne paddling towards the house, Alison in front. There is something else with them in that canoe but, for the life of me I couldn't figure out what it is. I have to go back inside the house for my binoculars."

At this point, he puts his drink down and fills his hand instead with my shoulder.

"Alison is just a tiny thing and she’s sitting in the front of the canoe holding onto a young goat, of all things. Marianne is paddling like a pro and she has hold of a small lamb with her legs. If it wasn’t for Alison’s white hair, they’d look like two little brown Indians crossing that lake!"

I look up at him and smile and then turn to smile at their friends, all giving him their full attention.

Dad continues the story, chuckling, “When the girls get to the dock, I’m standing there and I tell them ‘Girls, the sheriff is here.’ ” At his knee, I nod my head up and down to the guests to confirm his words and I squirm with excitement because I know what’s coming next when he says, “And I tell them, 'He’s looking for goat thieves!' ” At this, my parents' guest break their silence into a shelf of laughter rising over my head and Dad pulls me onto his lap, his massive shoulders moving up and down with his own laughter. He says, “And you should have seen them. Alison sitting there with this damn baby goat, wriggling in her arms, her eyes as big and white as her hair and turning back and forth from me to Marianne saying, ‘It was her idea Dad, it was her idea.’ ”

And I did do exactly that. When I heard “sheriff” I pictured jail and not having any idea what jail was beyond the image of striped clothes and bars in a window, I still knew it wasn’t a place I wanted to be and figured I would be somehow excused if I wasn’t the one who thought it all up.

What we didn’t know at the time was that when my father watched us gliding across the lake with our bounty, he called the man we stole the animals from and arranged to buy them from him. I loved him for that, right then and there realizing what a great father I had. My mother though, was not at all pleased. The goat, which we named Billy, and the lamb, Ramsy, accompanied us several weeks later in the back of our station wagon on the six-hour drive home. The drive home was a thrill to me as I had secured top position via temper tantrum, between my parents in the front seat, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass playing in the eight-track, at my insistence, for most of the journey home. “It’s fun to be in America…”

I share this story with you today because today is my father's birthday and this is one of my favorite memories. One of many.

Les bon temps? They did roule

2011-05-09T09:13:00.003-06:00

This past Saturday, May 7th, was my Mother's birthday. It was the fourth birthday of hers that I've celebrated without her and, while it doesn't get easier, I've learned my way around the day and have become familiar with the muddy mix of sadness and happiness that swirls together through my heart. This year, I celebrated with my youngest niece, Mom's youngest Grandchild. She's a student at Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge and so I scooped her up from her apartment and demanded a tour of the beautiful campus and then we made our way to a lovely old hotel on the banks of the ever-rising Mississippi River.

We strolled along the riverfront, toured the Old State Capitol Building, and listened to some great music at the Baton Rouge Blues Festival.

All within walking distance of our hotel.

We wound our way back to our hotel in time to choose a prime spot in the hotel bar to watch the Kentucky Derby. My mother was a big fan of horse racing, the Triple Crown races in particular, which begin with the Derby. She especially enjoyed it when the Derby fell on her birthday, as it did this year. So my niece and I drank champagne (me) and Shirley Temples (her), toasted my Mother, and watched a very exciting race.

Later, we ordered room service for dinner, and ate our dinners in bed while watching a rented movie. It was decadent, and lovely, and perfect. I believe that our day of togetherness, exploring and celebration was one that my mother would have loved. We sure did!

Trail's end

2011-04-27T08:47:00.000-06:00

When I was in Austin a couple weeks ago, my niece took me to her secret spot where she likes to run and sometimes take her dogs for a swim. It's a bit of a stroll from where you can park your car, but Cheyenne loved the dirt path and insisted on leading the way, even though she had never been there before. I think she knew there would be water at the end of the trail.

Between the breezy moments

2011-04-25T19:25:00.003-06:00

Sometimes at night, I sit out on my front porch, watching the sun drop below the broad Pecan trees across the street, and listening to the humming bugs and the breeze rustling the young leaves on the blooming trees, and the occasional lonely bird calling out to nothing in particular. Sometimes, I smile and think how perfect the world, how great the peace. Other times, a tear falls when I realize how much I wish things could be, could have been, different. I think about what I couldn't possibly have saved, what I couldn't possibly have changed, what I couldn't possibly have stopped from changing me, or hurting them.

I know I'm not responsible for any of it but, still, sometimes I feel responsible for not being able to stop the things that made the worst of differences.

From my little flower beds

2011-04-24T13:35:00.000-06:00

Picture this, if you will: These flowers in my hands, reaching to you, a gift for you. Happy Easter, I hope you enjoy.

Happy girl

2011-04-19T08:05:00.001-06:00

Dear friend

2011-04-17T09:16:00.000-06:00

Dear friend,

Thank your for visiting my heart yesterday. Thank you for coming into my mind with a gentle knock and a whisper, for taking my hand and leading me through so many memories of you.

The afternoon we spent at the lake, on the dock, swimming out to it, climbing up on it, letting the sun dry our bodies, feeling safe.

Our poetry contests, the joke of the key to our heart on the floor.

Your black leather baseball cap.

Your teaching me how to do a flip off the diving board, your patience as I tried and tried and your excitement when I succeeded.

Do it again!
No.
Do it again!
No. I did it once. I'm happy with that.
Quitter.

Tubing the lazy Guadalupe River, gazing up at the Cypress trees leaning far over the water's edge, creating mottled light and shadows on our faces and shoulders.

How your perspective shed new light on my understanding.

How frustrated you would get with me when I wouldn't break my routine.

You and your damn plans, God forbid you change your routine just once.

All you had wanted was for me to stay out later than I had planned. I wouldn't budge. We were so young then, how could we have known that my routine was the only thing that kept me from losing my footing?

I remember reading you the nursery rhymes you never were read as a child, buying you a book of them and watching you turn its pages.

I remember your laughter.

You've been gone for almost 15 years now, and I always remember you as if you were this morning.

I miss you. I always miss you.

He said yes and she said yes and I was there

2011-04-15T07:00:00.001-06:00

I've written about this day before.

Here
And here
And here
And, yep, one more here.

Sixty-two years ago today, my parents were wed. When I was a little girl, I would look at pictures from that day and wish I could have been there, that I could have been part of special moment in their lives. It had not yet occured to me that my entire life is part of that day.

I've grown quite satisfied with that realization.

I like to think of them, up there, and imagine them raising ice cold martinis to each other this evening in a toast, and my father thinking that at least now on this day, he doesn't have to worry about taxes today.

The beginning of my day

2011-04-13T10:20:00.001-06:00

After several months, my morning pattern in my new house has settled into a routine that I'm quite happy with. Following the bits that I manage to do without really being fully awake -- making the bed, brushing my teeth -- Cheyenne and I head down the stairs. I pour the remainder of my water glass into the ever-thirsty indoor plant at the bottom of the stairs, turn off the alarm and the porch lights, open the front door to let Cheyenne out, and get the newspaper from the front yard. I switch the coffee maker on, get Cheyenne's breakfast ready, then clean and fill her water bowl. While she inhales her meal and slurps up some water, I pour my coffee. And then, the words that thrill Cheyenne to no end:

Wanna go for a walk, girl? Wanna walk?

She circles me in excitement, all tail and butt wag while I put her collar on. The path of our morning walks are decided as we are walking. Sometimes I lead the way and sometimes Cheyenne takes the lead. Our walks are always a happy part of my day, especially this time of year when I discover new things that have changed since the last time we walked a certain sidewalk or passed a certain house. New paint, new flowers, a newly raked yard or painted fence, new growth on the trees.

This morning, we were out the door before 7:00, and that's the magic hour because the lighting is soft and gentle, a bit dreamy. Just like I like it. So I brought my camera.

Of the weekend

2011-04-12T09:39:00.003-06:00

My house was a house that had family in and out its doors all weekend. My niece was here and then the beach and then back here Saturday night. My nephew and his girlfriend were here and then the beach and then back here Sunday morning. My great niece was here for the weekend. On Sunday, everyone was here together.

Yea for family togetherness!

Faith is eating solid foods now. Well, solid foods in the form of puree. And with solid foods, comes solid poop. This is great news on the milestones calendar but... yeah, that. What a mess!

Cheyenne is jealous of Faith, or the attention I give faith, or the feeding schedule that is Faith's. Okay, lets be real, it's the food. Oh, the treats that Cheyenne was given over the weekend! On a bottle-to-treat ratio, 1 to 5. Okay, OKAY, Cheyenne was whining over it and even barked once. And I had my hands full.

On Sunday morning, Faith and I were sitting on my front porch when my niece Catherine woke up. I gently handed her niece to her and watched them discover each other. Faith smiled and cooed and Catherine said, Awwww. A lot. Then asked Catherine if she wanted to feed Faith and she said, But I don't know how to do it. I've never done it before. I smiled at her and told her, Before you, sweetie, I had never done it before either. And then I showed her how. Then I stood back and watched my niece feeding her niece and my heart exploded into a million sparkling pieces of joy.

Before my niece left for Austin Sunday afternoon, she made her bed in the guestroom. I had no idea until, hours later when I went into the room because I was missing her and hoping I could find something she left behind. What I found was her courtesy and consideration. And that? A very nice way to end the weekend.

Three beauties

2011-04-06T10:39:00.001-06:00

One of my favorite things about the Spring is that each year it delivers my dear friend and her family to Houston for a week. They pack their bags and leave frigid, snowy Vermont to relish in our warm temperature and cool breezes. Then they leave and laugh at us when the temperature in Houston is in the high 90s and there's not a breeze to be found south of Kansas. Usually, I high tail it up to Vermont in July for the same kind of break from home's extreme weather. Last year though, I did not make the trip. So, I haven't seen my friend, her husband, or their two beautiful daughters in a year. A year is way too long not only because I miss my friend so much but also because those two girls of theirs have grown so much!

Tuesday night we all met for an early dinner where we requested a patio table at one of their favorite restaurants. My nephew and his girlfriend joined us with their daughter (who turned five months yesterday!!!). What unfolded was a lovely evening shared with family and lifelong friends. An evening of deep connection and satisfaction.

Father and daughter

2011-04-05T08:00:00.001-06:00

A dark day

2011-04-04T09:31:00.001-06:00

Imagine, if you will, a black curtain hung over this space today. Like blocking a mirror, like blocking dreams.

On this day in 1968, a coward took Dr. King's life. I was six years old and nothing about the horror touched me that day. I was too young, too protected. But for the rest of my life, yes. This man who believed in freedom for all, who believed in equality, this man who was a non-violent man of God, was killed by a single bullet. Just one.

Dr. King said, Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter. I carry those words in my heart; they are an important compass.

Bubbles!

2011-03-31T19:51:00.003-06:00

This afternoon, Moo and her mother and I set out to take some photos in the Bluebonnets. (If you live in Texas, this is a mandatory rite of passage.) In the car, Faith smiled and cooed. And when we got to the flower patch? She was not at all interested in smiling or looking at the flowers or listening to her mother jiggle keys to get her attention. All she wanted to do was exercise her new favorite activity, that of blowing bubbles from her mouth.

And so it was.

Until Mom scooped her up.

Yes, when you look at these two, you are looking into a big part of my heart.

Rocky

2011-03-28T08:32:00.000-06:00

On Saturday afternoon, I took a drive to meet a horse. His name is Rocky, and he's half Thoroughbred, half Quarter horse. Rocky needs to gain some weight and some muscle, his chest is narrow and so is his behind. But that will change.

Don't worry, I did not buy a horse. I did, however, lease one.

Rocky needs some attention and his owner is too busy right now to provide it. Right now I am not too busy.

I have missed having horses in my life, missed spending time with such majestic animals, and I am so excited to get to know Rocky and explore our mutually beneficial relationship.

Three

2011-03-23T09:40:00.001-06:00

My sister's boyfriend took this photo last week when they were in town. He emailed it to me yesterday and I can't help but look at it again and again because it makes me happy. For one, I don't know the last time a photo was taken of my sister and me. Secondly, my sister is a Grandmother! Lastly, would you look at that baby's hair? Her mother has been pulling her hair into tiny ponytails on top of her head lately and every time I see her, I smile from the heart outward.

Present

2011-03-18T09:34:00.002-06:00

Yesterday, my sister and her boyfriend drove to Houston from their home in Austin for an appointment with my sister's doctor. That doctor's office is just a couple blocks from where I live, which is pretty convenient and also kind of a weird coincidence for a city the size of Houston. In light of that convenience, we decided that they would come over to my house for a visit before her appointment.

And then her son, my nephew, came over. And his girlfriend. And their baby girl.

And we ate pizza together, a family lunch on a random Thursday afternoon.

My camera's memory card was stuck in my computer so I didn't get any pictures. But I don't really mind not having any pictures from yesterday because sometimes my camera gets in the way of my enjoyment since I'm so busy shooting the moment rather than being in the moment.

It was lovely to have them all here in my home, and it was lovely for me to be here as well.

Not a single splinter was had

2011-03-15T20:16:00.003-06:00

While Cheyenne was recuperating from surgery over the weekend, I chose to busy myself with a project since I wanted to stay at home with her and there is only so much Lifetime TV that a girl can watch before her brain rots. (Truth.) The project I decided to tackle was to oil the two teak chairs and table that I have, the two chairs and table that my father bought for the covered porch in the back yard of our house. This was a task that, long ago, I HATED, didn't want to do, resented being asked to do, and pretty much sucked in my efforts to get it done. My efforts? Lazy and lame.

My father had a love affair with wood. He used his enormous hands to care for wood, sand it, treat it, oil it, build boats and fences from it. Me? I'd try to help but had very little interest and would quickly run out of the very little patience I had for such an intimate relationship as caring for any wooden anything as much as my father did. But I respected his relationship with wood and I loved to watch his hands work the wood, heal the wood, give it life and color. I loved to watch his eyes and his patient determination to preserve wooden items.

After we sold my parents' house, the chairs and table went to the cabin where they sat outside for way too long, enjoyed but not cared for. They became dry and ashen from neglect. When I bought my new house, I realized that those chairs and that table belonged with me. And this past weekend I decided to give them their life back.

While Cheyenne slumbered on her bed on the porch, I swept the debris from between the slats, brushed the bits of accumulated dirt and dust from the corners, and oiled the heck out of every inch. Hand on rag, rubbing the oil deep into the thirsty wood, I felt my father's hands around my own, heard his Rub with the grain voice in my ear, connected my hands with the path of his hands from years ago.

And for the first time, it mattered to me, to do a good job on these chairs. These were my father's and now they are mine. I experienced the wonderful relationship between my hands and the wood, between the dry thirst and then saturation provided by my own fingers. I felt the deep satisfaction of using my hands to take care of a piece of furniture so that I might enjoy it for a long, long time. Just like my father taught me.

Before

After

Healing

2011-03-13T08:12:00.000-06:00

Dog beds all over the house, yet it is the floor she prefers to rest on while her pain pills go to work.

Sigh of relief

2011-03-11T18:19:00.001-06:00

Cheyenne is home. She's loopy and dizzy and sore, but she's home. With me, where she belongs. The lump was broader and deeper than we initially thought but it's all gone now. And by "all gone" I mean that it's out of Cheyenne's body and sitting in a jar filled with some preservative something and on its way to a lab where it can be tested and analyzed. But... BUT... her doctor/vet/surgeon said to me that everything about that lump has been removed from Cheyenne's body.

So, yeah, I'm breathing again. In. Out. In. Out. Nothing fancy, just breathing.

The girl has 29 staples in her shoulder. On her chest, nine stitches close three incisions, another row of staples on her leg. On her belly I can't count the staples and stitches because she has no interest in getting on her back.

It doesn't matter.

The important thing is that my girl is back home with me. I understand that many lumps were cut out of her body today and I can see the stitches and staples that sew her together again. What's important is how she ran to me when she saw me, how she squeezed herself between me and the counter, licked my leg and slightly wagged her tail. She knows that I belong to her, that my body and my heart translate to safety for her. That position of trust is a glorious one that I embrace.

She's sleeping beside me now. It's a heavy sleep, she's drugged and breathing deeply in and out. I watch her rib cage rise and fall, watch the shiny staples lift and sink. A third of her body is shaved, parts here and parts there, but what matters is that the danger has been removed. What matters is that she is with me again. What matters is she needs to heal and I am right here, right beside her, and I will help her become whole again.

Big C, little c

2011-03-09T10:29:00.002-06:00

When Cheyenne was a puppy, several friends offered some good advice on raising and training her. One friend told me to regularly rub her body, feel for any changes, sore spots or lumps. That was some good advice because it turned out that Cheyenne is a very lumpy girl. Through the years, I've lost count of how many lumps her veterinarian has tested. Always, the result was fatty lump.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed a new crop of lumps on her chest and one on her shoulder. As usual, I made an appointment with the vet to get them tested. That appointment was yesterday and, sadly, the results were not fatty lumps this time. Cancer is present in the lump on her shoulder.

Every single time, and there have been very many, that I've sat in the examining room with Cheyenne waiting to receive the test results of her lumps, I've worked hard to keep calm and not let fear and worry take control of my mind. In that small room while we wait, time drags on. I fill the minutes that seem like hours by petting her and loving on her. I had grown accustomed to her vet walking through the door and smiling at me and telling me the lumps were fatty. Yesterday, though, she came through the door and said she wanted to get one more sample from the lump on her shoulder. My heart sank into my stomach and my stomach sank to my knees.

And then Cheyenne and I waited for eternity to hear the results.

So, yeah, one of her lumps contains cancer cells. On Friday, she is having surgery to remove that lump and also to remove a couple others that her doctor doesn't like because of proximity to her lymph nodes, their shape, or their continued growth and therefore large size.

The good news is that we caught it early. Very early, thanks to my friend's sage advice to regularly check for changes in Cheyenne's body.

Keep my girl in your thoughts on Friday, please. I'll let you know how it goes.

Blooming color

2011-03-07T11:41:00.002-06:00

Are you familiar with this flowering tree?

It is a Saucer Magnolia, also known as the Tulip Tree. It's a very popular tree here in Houston and, I suppose just like the entire Magnolia genus, all over in the Southern growing region. It is a lovely tree, a tree with flowers of large lavender and pink and white petals. Like the Redbud tree, the Saucer Magnolia is one of the first signs that Spring is on its way, if not already here. These two flowering trees seemingly pop up over night all over Houston, and suddenly we have color again.

The problem is that I am not a fan of this tree and yet I have a sizeable one in the front yard of my new house. It is in full bloom right now and, I admit, looks lovely. And yet I remain indifferent. I want to be head over heels with the tree, I really do. I spend time with it each morning and am starting to be taken by its bright green leaves and sweet scented flowers. Yet I can't yet say that I'm thrilled that the tree is in my yard. It's in a prime location for a Dogwood or Bradford Pear (two of my personal favorites), but I will not remove it because it's not the tree's fault that the previous owners planted it there. Nope, instead I'm challenging myself to learn to appreciate and embrace this tree. We do, afterall, live together.

Mother and Child

2011-03-02T12:19:00.002-06:00

Just what the doctor ordered

2011-02-28T09:26:00.001-06:00

After coming out of the medicinal fiasco that was my life for a week and a half, we took off late last week for a long weekend at the cabin. In a word, it was perfect.

What happens when smart people do really stupid things

2011-02-23T09:51:00.006-06:00

Lately, I have struggled when I sit down to write, thinking, Where do I begin? I usually roll my eyes when I land at the obvious answer, which is to begin at the beginning.
The French, Commencer par le commencement, is so much nicer to the eye and ear and if only I could have Maria from the Sound of Music sing to me, Let's start at the very beginning. It's a very good place to start. Wait, I'm wandering. This writing about the beginning has nothing at all to do with what I want to say here. That's because I'm feeling sort of, I don't know, what's the word... high? Yes, I'm feeling sort of high at the moment. So, my thoughts are all over the place, disconnected and roaming around on their own.

Where was I?

A little over a week ago, I decided on my very own that I was going to stop taking the medication that I have been on for seven years. Once a day, a single pill and a sip of water traveled into my body.  Off to work they went. Their job? To keep anxiety at bay. I had my reasons to be on that medication, very real reasons. But those reasons do not exist anymore. Although I've recognized it for months and had plenty of opportunity to discuss my plans with my doctor, educated and mature woman that I am, I decided to quit when the last prescription was finished. And so I did. Just. like. that.

Then the unraveling began.

Monday morning I hallucinated purple feather wreaths on my walls. And my thoughts at that were simply, purple really does not match the house. I admit, I'm mildly disappointed in my hallucinations. Are purple feather wreaths all my unleashed mind could come up with?

Almost immediately, I started experiencing the side effects of what I'd foolishly done. I was a dizzy host to a monster of a headache, I couldn't sleep, had blurred vision, felt pain in my muscles and joints, had vertigo, had these weird, electric-feeling zaps in my neck and eyes whenever I turned my head or blinked, and had such vivid, such luscious and impossible dreams that it took me half the morning to realize that I was not remembering something that actually happened.

The first couple days, the symptoms were occasional, mild, so I figured (again, foolishly) that they would all go away soon, that it was my job to march through them. I subscribed to an I'll give it one more day kind of thinking. Surely I'll feel better tomorrow. Tomorrow laughed in my face. Well, maybe the day after tomorrow I'd feel better. Ha Ha HA! That day arrived with tar and feathers and a laugh track. Sleep? Yeah, maybe just maybe I'll wake up in the morning and I'll be back to normal. And I was! At least until I opened my eyes or moved a muscle.

I looked up what happens when you quit this medicine cold turkey. I had all but two of the side effects. But still, I thought I could be strong, tolerate what was happening, and just get through it.

Ha!

Occasional and mild upgraded to all-the-time and horrible. The pain in my muscles and joints moved to pain in my bones.  The veritgo had me afraid to get out of bed, afraid to turn my head, to stand up, walk down the stairs, walk up the stairs.  My appetite was either absent or voracious. My body hurt from the simplest of movements, i.e., raising a glass of water to my lips.  I was a self-imposed prisoner in my own house because the vertigo was so bad that I stopped driving (about the only intelligent decision in all of this) and I was seeing purple feather wreaths across my walls.  Tuesday morning, I woke with a fever of 102. Thirty minutes later, it was 102.5. For goodness sake, when was I going to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT?

For a fleeting moment, even though I knew what was going on with me, I looked at the thermomenter and thought, It's not side effects at all, you're getting the flu.

Unrealistic? You bet. But, understand, I was going out of my mind.

Turns out, I was going through withdrawals. I'm sure you have deduced that fact already, but I did not associate what I was experiencing as more than side-effects. And I mistakenly viewed them as temporary. I did not associate what was happening to my mind and body as actual withdrawal, and I just didn't know that my symptoms were so serious that my brain would be willing to fry itself with a fever in order to get what it needed.

After a week of this, I finally called my doctor Tuesday morning and ~~begged him to get me out of this living hell~~ told him what I had done and asked what I should do. It turns out that carrying on as if nothing was wrong was not the right thing to do, that I did not win any points for thinking I could soldier through. In fact, my actions (stopping the medication cold turkey and ignoring the resulting side effects of dong so) were not only foolish but dangerous. That's what my doctor said when I finally spoke with him. Well he said more than that, there was the what in the world were you thinking, do you live under a rock, have you not heard what happens to some people when they stop their medications cold turkey? lecture.

What was I thinking? I was thinking that I didn't need to take that little pill anymore, so I would stop doing so. And then I was thinking that I could be tougher, stronger, than the resulting side effects. That's a joke. It's not as if I could out wit them, or out bid them somehow at the auction for physical normalcy.

The only way to meet my goal of stopping these pills is to taper myself off them over the next six to eight weeks, under my doctor's monitoring. Early yesterday afternoon, I took that first step which, to no one's surprise I'm sure, began with getting back on the medication. Then I slept for four hours. When I woke, my headache was still lingering and my entire body felt as if I had been dropped from a bridge onto a thick slab of concrete, but the vertigo was only slight and I didn't feel that I would hit the ground if I stood up. I stayed awake long enough to realize that I wanted to go back to bed. And then I slept for almost 12 hours.

And now tomorrow is finally here. When I woke this morning, I cautiously opened my eyes. No electric zapping! Then I slowly moved my arms, then my legs. No pain. My headache has gone the way of the purple wreaths and I do not recall a single dream I had last night. I suspect though that I did not dream. I suspect that my brain got what it needed and finally got some rest as well.

It's an odd feeling to be sitting here on the other side of this completely avoidable nightmare I put myself through. Some of what I wrote in this post was earlier this week (the ramblings and feelings of being high in the first paragraph) and I decided to leave that here because when I read that first paragraph now I want to ask the self that wrote it, Who ARE you, and what the heck did you do with ME?  That begin at the beginning translation into French? I did not know that. Somewhere inside my withdrawal, a little opening in my mind allowed my highschool French to bubble up. I'm amazed at how the brain works when we cease one low-dose external element it has become accustomed to receiving. It turns into a screaming, demanding, temper-tantrum-throwing 2-year old, one that WILL NOT STOP UNTIL IT GETS WHAT IT WANTS.

I have now experienced a bit of what it's like to have your world turned upside down because of a medication, or stopping that medication. In my case, the medication was for anxiety. But what if it had been for something more serious? What if it had been for depression or for skitzophrenia? I've read enough articles about the Catch-22 of prescriptions for psychological disorders working so well that the individual, feeling perfectly normal again because the medicine is working, believes the drug is no longer needed and quits. The results have led to horrific actions including harming others and suicide. Thankfully, that did not happen to me. Thankfully, the reasons for the anxiety I felt when getting on this medicine and, with professional assistance, deciding to continue on two different occasions were personal and family-based. Situational Anxiety, as the reasons are classified. Those reasons are gone now to death and time and it is time to get off this medicine, this much is true. But I've learned that going off medicines such as these should be thoroughly considered and not without the guidance of a medical professional.

My side effects gave me severe pain, horrible vertigo, hallucinations, headaches and a bit of the French language. They stole a week of my life. It was very frightening and completely avoidable. What can I conclude from this? Always talk to your doctor if you want to stop a medication he has prescribed. A simple lesson but, Oh God, it was painfully difficult for me to truly gain that knowledge.

Have you missed her?

2011-02-21T08:52:00.000-06:00

A sunny afternoon together at the park. Now, that is a nice piece of normal.

Mexico

2011-02-17T12:45:00.046-06:00

It has taken me a couple weeks to find the words to express what was so beyond my expectations about my recent trip to Cozumel, but I have found them. And here they are:

My first visit to Mexico was when I was a mere two years old. I do not remember that trip but my Mother assured me that I had a grand time. Twenty-eight years later, my friend took me to Cancun for my birthday. I remember a lot of that trip, the first swim-up bar I'd ever experienced, the whitest sand I'd ever seen, and a sweet moment of running for shelter in a warm afternoon rain.

For years, my father maneuvered his boat across the Gulf of Mexico to Cozumel for the winter months. The fishing in the Caribbean waters between Cozumel and the Mexico mainland is outstanding for Blue and White Marlin, Sailfish and Tuna. The sun and sand and relaxed, friendly mood of Cozumel was outstanding for business deals. Dad loved Cozumel.  He loved the marina and he loved the people. He loved the restaurants and he loved the sunsets. He loved the blue and turquoise waters of the Caribbean sea.

In 1994, my father booked a Christmas trip to Mexico for our family in a small town I'd never heard of on the Pacific side, in the state of Oaxaca. Again, the draw was the waters and the fishing for him. The minute I walked down the stairs of the plane and onto the tarmac I fell in love with the place. It was simply wonderfully imperfect, it was wild and it was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. That was just the area around the landing strip. The next two weeks sealed it for me. The town was Puerto Escondido, a sleepy fishing village sitting at the base of the Sierra Madre mountains.

Two years later I would move to that sleepy fishing village and spend six months there. Before that, I visited numerous times. I drove through the country more than once, ultimately visiting or at least driving through every state. (Not something I would be able to safely do today which makes me cherish the memories all the more.) I simply could not get enough of the country and her people.

So, I grew to share my father's love for Mexico, from Mexico City to Mazatlan, Ixtapa to Cabo San Lucas, Monterrey to Veracruz.  And Cozumel. Together with the family, we would visit Cozumel three times before he died. One particularly sweet time was for my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. He was so happy there, so very happy and carefree. He loved showing us around his Cozumel and we loved his doing so. We fished, we snorkeled, we drank beer.

When I was considering the trip to Cozumel my nephew and I took couple weeks ago, I chose the dates because I wanted to be there for the anniversary of my father's death. This year marked six years to the date and day, Super Bowl Sunday. I didn't want to be here for that, so traveling to a place he loved was a perfect solution. I brought some of my father's ashes with us and decided that we would rent wave runners that Sunday and scatter my father's ashes in the sea that he so loved. I admit that I do have some of my father's ashes. It might be odd to you but it's very comforting to me, as it allows me to return him to and make him part of the special places that he adored.

When my nephew and I set out on our wave runners, we played for about ten minutes, jumping our own wake, doing donuts, etc., and then I motioned him over to me and we headed out a bit to the deeper blue water. I said some words about the blues of the sky, the water and my father's eyes, and then we put his ashes to the wind and water. As I watched them disappear from view, as bittersweet as it was, I knew, I just knew that these were the waters and this was the country, where he should be. We paused a moment to reflect on what we had just done and what it meant to us, and then we tore off like the wave runner banshees that we were on that trip.

Five minutes later, I was surrounded. By dolphins. About 15 of them, swimming with me, jumping alongside me. Big, graceful, amazing dolphins. In the wild. Right there. I could have reached out and touched them. I motioned my nephew over and when he got there, they were playing with him as well. We'd stop the wave runners and the dolphins would swim back and forth beneath us, circling. We'd get moving and they were right beside us, racing us and jumping in the air. We counted two mothers and calves and they were all right there with us. All of them seemingly without fear.

Eddie and I were stunned. And delighted. We used the words awesome and amazing more than a couple times. We stayed with the dolphins, or they stayed with us, for about 20 minutes, until it was time to return the wave runners. As we rode back to our hotel's dive shop, we noticed the restaurant, pool and beach crowds were on their feet watching us. They were smiling, we were smiling. Some were clapping with delight and some simply were grasping their hands. The man from the dive shop was standing on the beach, guiding me in, as he excitedly expressed he had not seen that before, farther out with the cruise ships, yes, but not where we were. Eddie and I could not believe what we'd just experienced together.

As we walked through the sand, smiling and still a bit stunned, I felt something in my heart, something familiar and warm. It was my father.  And then I understood. My father sent the dolphins to us. I believe that these were the waters he's wanted to be part of all along, and I believe the dolphins were the means to his saying, I love you too.