Clean floors, or a new puppy?

It’s past my bedtime, and I have just finished mopping the floor, cleaning up a bunch of toys, and running up and down the middle of my street on this cold and windy night.

Why would I be doing those things so late? Because we got a puppy. Her name is Ella, and she’s a blondish, three pound malti-poo. I purposely bought a three month old puppy who, the ad said, was crate trained. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. I hate potty training anything! I like babies in diapers, where their bodily fluids, and other stuff, stay in the diaper and don’t get on my floors! And I like them again, after potty training is complete. Same with puppies. Whatever crate trained means, it does NOT mean that she goes to her crate every time she has to go potty. No, she goes wherever she wants to!

Cleaning up after a puppy wasn’t what I had in mind when I got this cute little fluff ball. It took my husband and I over twenty years to start thinking about a puppy, and another year to actually get one. We both wanted a small dog that could have access to the whole house, not one we had to keep behind a baby gate when we couldn‘t watch her closely. One that would bring us our slippers, and lay her head on our laps while we watched the animal channel together. A dog that would bring in the newspaper and carry it up the stairs so we could read it in bed.

Yeah sure! This little darling thinks slippers are for engaging in a game of tug of war; other tug of war options include pant legs, socks, undies, laundry, blankets, shirts, drier sheets, her piddle pads, and occasionally, a rope. And as for carrying a newspaper up the stairs, she can’t even maneuver one step with a bone in her mouth!

Much has changed since Ella moved in. Now instead of heading to the toy aisles when shopping, I browse the pet department. In two weeks she’s accumulated eight balls, two footballs, three stuffed animals, four squeaky toys, and miscellaneous other things to help entertain her. Her favorite things? A pig snout, for real?, which smells so horrible we have to keep it in a baggie when she isn’t chewing on it otherwise the house reeks of pig snout. For real? Her other favorite, a pleasant surprise because we have plenty of them, and they are free…water bottles. Instead of recycling them we should just pass them out to all the dogs in the world. They are the best entertainment ever!

We must not forget fashion. Our Ella has a wardrobe fit for a princess as her little pink blouse/jean skirt ensemble boldly states. She also has a black dress, a purple dress, a Santa outfit, a pink snow jacket with white fur trim, for all that snow we get, and a pink sweater. My husband isn’t at all thrilled with the whole dressing her up thing, so we sort of compromise. She only gets dressed up to go bye-bye. Though I think he‘d rather it be the other way around. It’s like he isn’t a man if his dog is decked out in pink.

The joy Ella has given us? Well, we’ve laughed a lot. Puppies can be quite amusing. She’s affectionate with lots of kissing and cuddling. This little girl can be as sweet and charming as any young lady. However, there’s the devil dog in her where she growls, nips, barks and runs around like a crazed animal! We’re learning techniques to control this behavior and if it doesn’t work, we’ll have to go to a puppy psychiatrist for ADHD meds. We’ve also gotten lots of exercise taking her out to pee every fifteen minutes, plus we run to tire her out and shorten her hyper moods...works for me too! And she’s cute. What more could we want? .....   Besides clean floors?

My Cluttered Life...

My life is so cluttered, and even one piece of paper can cause me more stress than a whole pile. Take my lottery ticket for example. I don’t know how to find out if it is a winner or not. You’d think the lottery website would be easier to use. Stick in the date on the ticket, and see if it’s a winner. But of course, it isn’t that easy. I‘ve tried, and tried, but it sucked, so I set the ticket aside once again.

As I gaze around the room, I see pamphlets, receipts, bookmarks, books, my camera, which I couldn’t find three hours ago when I needed it to take to my granddaughter’s chorus program. There are files, papers to go into files, empty CD cases, and tiny DVD discs for my little video camera that I can’t find. There are photos, shoes, a water bottle, pens, and scraps of paper with notes on them, some coins, a big empty baggie, and my son’s job application. And there are books piled so high the piles keep falling over.

On the dining room table there are more files, a trust, more piles of papers, plus three stuffed files that say ‘file’ on them. How can all that paper matter enough to file it? Once I file something I seldom ever see it again, so why do I even bother?

Besides my home, my heart and my mind are cluttered. It isn’t just the ‘stuff’ that’s cluttering them up. The ‘stuff’ absolutely contributes to my emotional unrest though. I too often spend extra time looking for things, too often have to purchase something because I’ve misplaced the original, and too often am stressed out, and filled with anger, guilt, bitterness, and frustration over my lack of organization.

Just as stressful though, is my lack of control over so many other things. I don’t mind helping out, but am surprised at the extra things that come with aging parents; doctor appointments, bills, prescriptions, shopping, health, memory, and transportation problems. My siblings help out, thank goodness, but there are so many things that didn’t used to be part of our schedules, and it isn’t always easy to fit them in. Plus the emotional toll it takes when parents are no longer able to handle all their own responsibilities, is often very sad and hard to accept.

Everyone has stuff; and our lives go through stages where they are overly cluttered in one way or another. It’s at those times that I have to focus on God, and pray for wisdom, guidance, and peace. Sometimes I have to pray for the ability to forgive others, and sometimes that‘s the hardest thing of all to do. Besides that, I take emotional breaks by doing something I love, by being with positive people, and by focusing on all the good in my life. Occasionally, I have to avoid certain situations, and certain people, to keep myself sane until I am emotionally strong enough to face the challenges once again.

My cluttered heart is swept clean through prayer and praises. Even after being cussed at, yelled at, and down right unappreciated and disrespected, my worn out heart, mind, and emotions finally find comfort, strength, joy, and peace in Him; my protector, my savior, my God.

Where have all the decades gone?

My niece and nephew, both a little over thirty-years-old, were discussing (on Facebook) how they feel like they are still in their twenties. And when my son turned thirty, he text'd me asking where his twenties went. And every new decade I enter, I'm wondering the same thing, only I'm decades from being twenty, thus my wondering is about thirty years ahead of theirs.

Our twenties went into making a home, getting used to being married, and raising little ones. We had to learn how to be responsible grown-ups. Making money and paying bills became priorities. We changed lots of diapers, well, I changed diapers, husbands just didnt' do that back then, stayed up too late, that too, would be me, he always got to bed on time, made a lot of meals, me again, and lived some of the most wonderful, exciting, enlightening, and enchanting times of our lives.

Raising children, is one of the greatest joys ever. I will never forget the feeling I got when each of my children smiled for the first time, or their first belly laughs. No hugs are as sweet as a childs. First steps, first words, first tooth, first Christmas. Memories of firsts, and seconds, and thirds, abound.  There's almost no joy as complete as being the parent of  little ones. More on that later.

We had children younger than many people do now-a-days, so we were really too young to face the challenges that came in the next decade. Along with a little one, Josh, we had two teens. Because of that, the decade between thirty and forty was the most difficult one I've experienced. I actually remember, and this is so not me, of sitting in the wooden playhouse in the back yard, and momentarily thinking of either leaving town and never returning, or getting the old 45 out of the closet and blowing my brains out. That thought lasted all of two seconds, but it shows that even the most normal moms can get overwhelmed at times.

I had no idea what to do with teens. Mine were too often sassy and rebellious. They lied, fought, struggled in school, and regularly made life miserable. It felt as though I was just getting out of my own teens, which were hard enough, and now I was supposed to discipline, make wise decisions, and give boundaries.  I wanted to be friends with my teens, not their enemy! But half the time that's the role they put me in.

Some moments were wonderful. Kari won some baton and modeling competitions, and still occasionally gave out her precious and hard-to-come-by hugs. Shawn excelled in football, and had a wonderful sense of humor, when he wasn't too busy picking on his siblings. Josh had a charming calm and friendly personality and was not only easy, but was still delighting me with some 'firsts', still shared hugs and kisses generously, and had a real zest for life and enthusiasm for everything.

The next decade was unfortunate because Josh became a teen about the time the other two grew out of it. All the sudden my perfect, wonderful, happy boy decided to try smoking and other stuff. He'd always excelled in school, loved basketball, and it was now a challenge to get him to get off his butt to do anything. We finally had to ask him to move out, and he did, and to this day he'll admit that changed his life. He's now a wonderful, responsible young man, and of course, one of my favorite people.


I would have to say though, that in the last of that decade, I was blessed with someone I never imagined I would love so much, my first grandchild, Tiffany. That child, now twenty, has given me so much joy that I can't even explain it. No, she absolutely isn't perfect, but even her teen years were fun for me. She was the beginning of the greatest adventure of my life, being a grandma. There's nothing I'd rather be. Sounds ridiculous maybe, but it trumps the whole mommy thing in so many ways. And Tiffy was as loyal as they come. Kari would ask her who she loved, and she'd say, "Mommy!" Then she'd whisper, "and grandma!" 

I never suffered from the empty nest syndrom, it was more like, oh my gosh, they are finally out of here! My fifties were filled with enjoying and indulging the grandkids, all six of them. I've done a lot of writing, made lots of friends, taken yoga and pilates, read lots of books, hiked, gone bike riding, and taken long walks. I've stood on a glacier, rode in a helicopter, watched the snow pile up and the lake freeze over at our home in Flagstaff, enjoyed gorgeous sunsets, gone dancing, and taken long moonlit rides in our convertible.

Life is good, no matter how old we get. Every age has its delights, and it's up to us to enjoy them. Jet skiing, football games, playing tag with the kids, baking cookies, trying to keep up in a basketball game with a five- year-old, running alongside an eight-year-old who only trusts grandma enough to give bike riding a try, all wondrous delights! Over the decades I've learned to enjoy the moments, forgive quickly, make things fun, and to love...regardless of the circumstances.

The last five pounds.....

I have been struggling to lose five pounds for most of my adult life.  I succeeded once by sticking to Weight Watchers, plus fasting one day a week. I maintained it for a whole year (go me!!!) by continuing to fast one day a week. Then I quit fasting, and it came back, slowly but surely. And it has been back for a whole year now. I know that five pounds seems like too much to some of you, and like I'm being ridiculous to the rest of you, but when my clothes are too tight, it feels like I'm being pinched all day long! No one wants to be pinched for hours on end. Typically the pinching occurs on my thighs, where fat rushes to first, and lasts longest. If I go even a pound over the five, and sometimes I go four pounds over, the pinching occurs on my stomach too! OUCH! I only have so many pants/shorts/capris that I can wear while hiding the fact that the top button is not buttoned! (The rest of my pants/shorts/capris are made so that flaps that are usually held down by the buttons, instead protrude out from under my blouse looking like I have the belly button of someone who is 24 months pregnant! )

The problem is I refuse to buy new clothes. I've been wearing more sweats and stretchy pants and shorts lately, which makes me feel so ?????????? Comfy!  No, though that's true, it's not the word I'm looking for.... I guess the word is undisciplined, and kind of sad. Kudos to me for not eating any chocolate, my absolute favorite food in the whole world, for over fifty days now, BUT, I have made up those calories by eating sugar in any form I can get it.  Wintergreen lozenges are one of my biggest weaknesses. (These pink little disks are sold at JoAnns and are wonderful! I am like an addict in that if I am within a mile of that store, it is all I can do to keep driving in the opposite direction! And seeing how I have eaten almost the whole pack tonight, I have to admit that I don't always drive by.) Smarties, suckers, graham crackers with frosting and/or marshmallow creme, cookies, Good & Plenties, UGH! Do you know how long I have to suffer on my treadmill to burn the 600 calories I've consumed in the last couple hours. DAYS! I would have to not eat anything and walk/jog for days!

Well, there you have it. I'm confessing my weakness, and asking for advice. Who out there has lost that last 5 to 9 pounds and kept it off for a good length of time, and how did you do it?  I will begin my goal again tomorrow, maybe take the other bag of wintergreen lozenges that is 'hiding' behind the bag of ice in the outside freezer, to my daughter's house so I can't go grab it in a moment of craving! Maybe I'll go back on Weight Watchers again, knowing that if I actually stick to it, I could lose the pounds in a reasonable amount of time. And maybe I'll start fasting once a week again. The problem is that 'maybe' hasn't been working for me. Too often I just figure that I can blow off today and begin again tomorrow. But as they say, tomorrow never comes. It just turns into another today! Maybe confessing this to you, will help me to stick to a plan so that I can report to you, in a month or so, that I actually did it. That the five pounds are gone, and I'm out of sweats and back into jeans! Anyone want to join me?

What fun it has been!

What fun it has been reading the comment section of the "Favorite moments of your day" contest. I wish all my conversations and interactions revolved around how great life is. I wish I could be aware of every smile, and know the reason for it. I wish I could see people hugging, laughing, dancing, singing, creating, and celebrating, or at least, get to hear, more often, about how much fun they are having. I wish there was far less complaining, whining and blaming from the people who do those things too often, and more encouragement, empathy, optimism, and joy.

In looking who has replied so far, and I know all of them well, except for one, those people tend to be optimistic, happy people in general. They are the type of people we all look forward to hearing from, and being with. They are people that make life better wherever they are, no matter what they are doing. They touch the lives of others with smiles and laughter, listening ears, and caring hearts. They make a point to enjoy their lives, celebrating the little things as well as the big things. They create happiness, they don't sit around and wait for someone else to do it for them, and they share it with others.

What a pleasure this has been, and I hope to hear from many more people. For those of you that have shared so far, thank you so much. I didn't realize how much fun it'd be for me. It's been the favorite part of my day since the very first comment!

New Contest!!!

See post titled FAVORITE MOMENTS OF TODAY for details...

Favorite moments of today...

Waking up and feeling great!
Getting to spend time with my brother, Don, who I haven't seen in two years!
Holding a new calico kitten. So teeny, eyes tightly shut, sweet little mouth and tiny nose. So Precious!
Wriggling my fingers in my dad's newish full beard. I love it.
Watching my dad interact with my granddaughter, Meg. He's so fantastic with kids.
Getting to spend time with my daughter, Kari. She has a great sense of humor.
Getting hugs and an "I love you" from granddaughters, Britty and Lindsay.
Eating candy corns mixed with peanuts. Kari always has goodies at her house.
Eating a new no fat carmel praline candy frozen yogurt, yum! Unfortunately, eating is always a favorite.
Finally leaving my dad's house after trying to fix a car.
Taking photos of Meg and Britty who were playing models and changing clothes and wigs every few minutes. They never cease to delight me.

What a blessed day!

I'd love to hear some of your favorite moments too.  I'm having a contest...share your favorite moments of the day, and I will choose my favorite one of your favorites and award a gift to the winner. It could be as small as a ten dollar gift card to Starbucks, or Target, or wherever I choose, or let me know where you'd like it from, and/or a 2010 Blue Mountain Arts "Dream" calendar which features one of my poems.  Just leave your favorites in the comments section of this blog, and I'll announce the winner on November 1st. You can enter as often as you want.

Don‘t put your happiness in temporary things…

   When I go to church, I always hope to be inspired, entertained, and enlightened. It doesn’t always happen that way, but a couple weekends ago it did.
  
   The speaker’s name was Nick. He’s from Australia, and has no arms or legs. Nick had an amazing sense of humor, and he made being happy seem effortless. The fact that he has no limbs barely seemed like an inconvenience to him. Though we all KNOW how inconvenient it would be! I think it had such an impact on me because I know so many people who are sad, angry, addicted, and emotionally unstable, yet they have arms and legs! People, we have arms and legs, what more could we want?

   Happiness. Nick had something to say about that as he walked back and forth, with no legs, on a table in front of the thousands of us. He said, “If you put your happiness in temporary things, your happiness will be temporary.”

   The only thing that isn’t temporary is God.

   Nick’s happiness comes from his relationship with God, not his circumstances. He admitted that he has asked God for arms and legs many times. He said that he has a pair of shoes, and long pants, in his closet for whenever God might decide to give him legs. He told us, “You can ask God for anything, but don‘t let your desires supersede your desire for God.” Nick desired God more than anything, and God renewed Nick’s mind, and changed him from being depressed, and at times suicidal, to being happy.

   The turning point, according to Nick, was John 9:1-3. It‘s about a man who was born blind. When asked why that had happened, Jesus had answered that it was “so the works of God should be revealed in him.” Nick said that God spoke to him through this scripture, and that it changed his life. Thousands of people have come to have a relationship with Jesus through Nick’s story.

   We all have a story. With every decision we make, our stories grow and change. I hope that I will never forget Nick, and that whenever I feel offended, hurt, or angry, that I will remember that I don’t have it so bad after all. I hope too, that I will purposely choose to make my story one that glorifies God; like Nick does.

Grandparents day isn't for everyone...

   Grandparents day has come and gone, and I got nothing. Not a card, or a phone call, or a dinner in my honor. No one suggested a family get together, going to a movie, or anything! Nothing, nobody, nada.

   And I have thoughtful kids! Thus, I figured it was just one of those days they didn’t know about. So, I was surprised when I was told they’d sent THEIR grandmas cards for grandparents day! Hm…Weird… So, ya knew huh? … And I am a ???

   Anyway, I suppose I must have felt something less than positive over that fact, or why would I have started to blog about it? I am, after all, a wonderful grandma! Truly! I am not just saying that. I rock! As I was writing (complaining and whining) though, I began to realize that I don’t need a day to be recognized for being a grandparent. My gift for being the grandma is exactly that; the privilege of being the grandma!

   Grandchildren are full of surprises. My granddaughter, Britty, spent the day with me the other day because she was sick. During this recovery period she did fifty cartwheels, twenty-five front rolls, jumped on the trampoline one hundred times, and practiced walk-overs. Then the Motrin wore off, and I saw how sick she really was. Tummy ache and slight fever, even a little cough, so I gave her another dose, then sat down and read stories and babied her. Twenty minutes later, she was asking for ice cream and flipping off the couch! Motrin rules, and that girl is the best entertainment ever!

   Another great thing about being a grandma is that the fun continues even when they aren‘t around. Photos of our times together let me enjoy those memories over and over again; and sharing stories of them delights me, and, whoever I’m telling the stories to. Even just browsing through a store has become an adventure. I can't pass up the doll aisle, the baby clothes, for their dolls, or my future great-granchildren, the toys, or the kids' clothing department. If I find something for any one of them, the anticipation and excitement is a high that trumps any celebration, party, or gift I could receive.

   And I did get a very special grandma gift as Britty was about to go home. Two little arms wrapped around my waist in a tight hug, with a whispered, “When will I see you again?” To which that child was picked up and smooched, with a whispered, “As soon as possible, baby, as soon as possible.”
  
   So, no, I don’t need a special day to be honored as a grandma; every day is already special because of the wonderful, precious, young people that make me one!

Have a wonderful day...

Let me preface this blog with a promise that I'm not going to go all spiritual or religious in all my posts. (Ya' know until I had a blog, I didn't know that's what the 'stories' were called!)

Anyway, I've been thinking a lot lately about all the people who are easily angered, easily hurt, and easily offended and how miserable it makes them, and the people they interact with. I used to be like that, and I can still get angry, hurt, or offended. The difference now is that it happens way less often, and when it does, I get over it way quicker. Thank you, God!

When I'm struggling with something, I go where I know I can find the answer...the Bible, and I came across a verse, Proverbs 18:20b From the produce of his (her) lips he (she) shall be filled.  In my own words, "I will be filled with what my lips produce." So if my lips produce complaints, angry words, rudeness, disrespect, self-pity, and stuff like that, then that's what I'll be filled with, that's what I will put out to others, and that's what my life will be about, and remembered for. (Yuck!)

The other verse I found helpful is Proverbs 18:12a Before destruction the heart of a man (or woman) is haughty... so if we are haughty, prideful, rude, insisting on our own way, always needing to be right, or thinking we're better, our way is better, etc. destruction will follow!!! Perhaps destruction of marriages, friendships, health (mental, emotional, spiritual), maybe jobs, homes, and for sure, the joy of the moment, and all the peace and joy it could've held. Let's choose to let stuff go, and have peace, and fun, instead.

Well, that's it. I had other things I could've written about, and will in a day or two. But I just wanted to try to lighten some hearts, to reach even one person, who too often is impatient, overly-sensitive, angry, sad, frustrated, or depressed. I've been there, and done that, and was miserable. So I thought I'd share a bit of advice from my best friend, God.

The things which are impossible with men are possible with God. Luke 18:27  Have a wonderful day...

Me? A football fan...

 I used to hate football. The whole time I was growing up, my dad would watch it whenever it was on, on our ONLY TV; and he’d yell, and cuss, and pace around the room. Let me emphasize that my dad was a normally kind, fun, loving dad. He was a fireman who often worked two jobs. People have always loved my dad, and so have I. Well, maybe not quite as much, though, during football season. LOL

   Knowing what I knew about men and football, and against my better judgment, I proceeded to marry a football fan. The same scenario was repeated every Sunday during football season. Like my dad, my husband, Randy, would plop on the couch, usually with a couple of beers, and watch game after game, and yell and cuss.

   What is it about a game, that some men take so personally that they let it invade their homes and families? How can their peace and happiness be allowed to be controlled by a game? A game played by complete strangers! Strangers that make a ton of money, don’t care about them, and can’t hear them yelling from outside the TV screen!

   They just don’t get it. And unfortunately, it must run in the family because our youngest son, Josh, had ended up becoming a die-hard Cardinals’ fan. His heart was so wrapped up in that team that my interest was piqued. Every play gave him joy or sorrow, and I began watching parts of the games just to monitor how he would be doing on game days.

   I began asking questions, caring because Josh cared. The more I watched, the more I learned… and the more I watched. A few minutes here and there, then a quarter, a half, and before I knew it, I was a season ticket holder and in the stands in person! And I found out that football isn’t just a game! What? You say! Hey, I was as surprised as anyone. In fact, I was amazed, and at times, even a little appalled, that I cared at all about the game.

   What’s the attraction? Well, being football fans makes us part of a community, a club, a family, sort of. It’s being part of a team. (Go Cards!!!) It’s yelling so loudly, you think you are actually helping. This only applies at the games, it does not work with a TV. And, it’s fun! We all dress in red and white, and wear shirts with players’ names on them. We all meet together and eat, then we all pack into the stadium, watch the game, yell and scream, and eat some more, then we leave, and go get something to eat.

   It’s just very cool being part of something exciting and exhilarating, sometimes exhausting and disheartening. It’s forgetting all the real stresses of life, for a couple hours, to care about something that shouldn't, I mean, doesn’t, really matter, a GAME!

The Heart of a Grandma

My day was to be spent with my granddaughters, and when my son, Josh, called and heard my plans, he replied, “You’re going to go get the girls even though you already have Megan? I know you like the kids, Mom, but I can’t imagine that’s what you’d choose to do. Don’t you ever just want to relax and have fun?”

I smiled in spite of the fact that I was setting aside what felt like a million things to do so I could help with the kids today. “I LOVE them,” I said. He couldn‘t imagine how very much. “I love being with them; we have fun, and they make me laugh.”

How does a grandma explain what it feels like to hold a grandchild in her arms for a hug, or tickle them silly, or let them catch up to you in a game of tag, just to see the look of triumph in their eyes? There were so many moments shared with them that I wouldn’t trade for all the time, or money, in the world.

Josh and I had just hung up when Megan came into the room, wrapped her arms around my leg, and looked oh-so-lovingly into my eyes. “Hold me,” was all she said, and I swooped that curly headed angel up into my arms. Seconds ticked away, but I let them, as I smothered her cheeks with kisses, and inhaled her child sweetness. I finally set her down, and suggested we go get the girls. That was met with a squeal of delight, as she ran to the door.

It was a huge struggle to get her car seat hooked into the car. Several minutes passed as I tried to get my hand, holding the seat belt, through the small, dark, long, tunnel hidden in the middle of her car seat. What kind of tiny-handed women do the car seat makers think are having all those healthy, strapping young children? “Darn it!” I exclaimed, when the thing locked up, AGAIN, just inches from my destination.

My little darling looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed, and said, “Don’t say that, Grandma! Say _ _ _ _.”

I couldn’t believe my ears, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry! As hard as it is to admit it, it’s so darned cute when little ones say bad words! It shouldn’t be. But it is. “Meggie, that’s not nice, baby, don’t say that word, okay?”
She looked at me so quizzically, that I wondered if she thought I’d said the bad word, not her. I finally got the seat hooked, and the child into it, at which time she forgot all about the bad word and started rambling on, and on, about how much she loved Britty and Lindsay, and every other person she had ever known. That continued until we drove up into my daughter’s driveway, where I was met with delighted shouts of “Grandma!”

My two beauties ran toward me arms stretched out ready to share long, warm, hugs. To them I am a celebrity, their favorite. No one looks at me quite the way my grandchildren do. And certainly no one makes seeing me the celebration that they do either.

So to all the Josh’s of the world, I can only say, that until you are a grandma, there is no way you could possibly understand how it feels to love someone like this. There’s a freedom in being a grandma that I never got to have as a mother. Thus my grandchildren can be indulged, spoiled just a bit, loved on, played with, and taken back home when I get tired. My grandchildren love me, no matter what, and the feeling is mutual. Nothing feels as good as one of them in my arms whether they are being carried, tickled, fed, read to, or falling asleep. They are part of me, and when they leave my side, they take part of my heart with them.
                 By Barb Cage 9/09, 667 words

A Day in the Life of a Dog Sitter

My husband, Randy, and my son, Josh, had left town for a guy weekend. My job was to care for Rookie, Josh‘s dog. It was hot out, so I wanted to stop at the store to pick up a big water bottle, that’s attached to a bowl, so he’d always have fresh water. Once there, I realized I didn’t have my glasses with me, and though I tried really, really hard, I couldn’t see the hole where the water would flow into the bowl. If I was going to need to poke my own hole in the apparatus, I needed to know about it, so I proceeded to track down an employee who could actually SEE! Though the one I found could see, he couldn’t understand English. Yes, I was at WalMart. Though we tried to communicate, it was no use, and I went to find someone who could make sure my purchase actually worked. He assured me it did, no drilling, poking, or stabbing would be necessary. I was finally on my way. Rookie would be so happy!

I got out Josh’s key and headed to the front door. After several minutes, I had finally unlocked the four locks on the two front doors, only to find that he’d left the chain hooked on the inside. I slid it over and over again to no avail. I wiggled my arm down to its skinniest part and pulled the door hard against it. That did it. I managed to release the chain and open the door in spite of my smashed, mangled muscles.

I went back to the car and retrieved the water bottle, filled it with ice, yes, ice, and water, and headed to the arcadia door. The door was closed and locked, duh, and was behind blinds which, of course, were also closed. While trying to balance the bowl on my hip, I squeezed between the blinds to open the door. All the sudden the tank started to tip off the bowl. OMG! The water started sloshing out, and only by some miracle, I managed to get it, all in one piece, to the ground. My hands now free, I tried to open the blinds, which were crooked and stuck, probably from me thrashing about in them while trying to save the floor from the impending flood.

I mopped up the water, let Rookie in, and once again picked up the water jug. Right as I got inside the slightly open doorway, Rookie charged past me on his way back outside, causing the water to slosh all over, again. He pranced around me, sniffing, and hitting me with his tail, as I tried to maneuver his gift to the ground. He was obviously as excited as I was. Three gallons of ice water, clean and cool in his new blue dish, all sparkling looking. Aahhhhh…. He sort of studied it, but his tongue never even came out of his mouth. I splashed at it, showing him that it‘s water! Without a second glance, the dog sauntered over to his old metal bowl and lapped eagerly. Ungrateful mutt. And that was that. I’d wasted enough of my time. I would get the bag of dog food out of the car, and be on my way.

I locked the front doors, and went out the garage door. Oops, forgot my car key. I turned to go back inside, and found that the door had locked behind me! My keys to my car, my home, Josh’s house, and my cell phone were all in the house. For a split second, and I do mean a split one, I thought I was trapped inside the garage! However, I quickly remembered that garages do open from the inside. (Thank goodness.)

I headed to the neighbor’s house and called my daughter who agreed to come and get me. She arrived in good time, shaking her head and laughing as she pulled up. I started to get into her car, and she says, “Don’t you have a purse?” What a dumb question, of course, I do. “Yeah, duh! but my car is locked.” I turned to my car to prove my point, grabbed the door handle, pulled on it, how ridiculous to think I could get to my purse, and the stupid door flew wide open!

She laughed harder and shook her head some more. My grandchildren also laughed…at me. But I didn’t care, I was a free woman! And better yet, laying on top of my purse was the key to Josh’s house. I don’t know how it got there, but one thing was for sure; I was going into that house, get my stuff, and get the heck out of there! And the next time the guys want to get away, I’m going with them.

Life is precious...handle with care.

So much has happened lately, that my heart is aching for the hurting of the world, particularly our own. Our own family, our own friends, our own town. Today is the fourth anniversary of my dear friend’s son’s death. We went out to lunch yesterday, to be together, to visit, to talk about today. But yesterday was significant enough. Yesterday was the fourth anniversary of Matt’s last day here. How does a parent deal with this sort of anniversary? Or with the anniversary of today? Then the anniversary of his funeral? Then the upcoming holidays? She worries that she isn’t strong enough to bear it. But bear it she does, because she has no other choice. I know that she gets her comfort, and the strength she does have, from God first, then family and friends. She has suffered, in most of our opinions, the worst thing that can happen to anyone.

Yet, recent news revealed a mom had shot, and killed, her two boys. An apparently hurting, or likely mentally or emotionally ill, mom, stole the futures of the two people she probably loved most in the world. In one moment of her life, she made the most horrific decision anyone could make. Why do some people see death as their only escape? Why didn’t she do something that got her away from the stress of life long enough to calm down? Why didn’t she just leave for awhile? Why do some people feel they must immediately react to every feeling, emotion, and mood? Total futures, and many lives, can be ruined forever from one rash decision.

In my own extended circle, I’ve recently heard of two people that tried to commit suicide, and I know of two others who considered it. Why are people so sad? So overwhelmed? How do people learn to cope? There should be nothing so horrible that the only answer is death, when life is so precious.

While I was at the cemetery yesterday, I noticed a small grave. The dirt was relatively new, with just a tiny plaque that had a little girl’s name and 2007-2008 on it. It was a name I was familiar with, a story I knew part of. A beautiful toddler struck with a horrible disease that took her from her family so quickly, but not until they’d suffered months of agony during her downward spiral. I, and I’m sure many others, had prayed for a miracle that never came. Yet, I still believe, and I hope in a loving God. No I don’t understand, and I can’t imagine that I will ever understand, but I still place my faith in Him.

I’ve also been praying for Brett, a family member of one of my favorite in-laws. He‘s only twenty years old, and has been fighting for his life this week. Something major is wrong with his heart. I believe hundreds of people are praying for him, and I believe that God is listening; and so does someone else...our granddaughter, Megan.

She was packing up to go home on Sunday, when she stopped and asked me to pray with her. I thought she would pray for something for herself, or her parents. She has faced some of her own giants and will be the first to tell anyone that Jesus answers her prayers. I took her little hand in mine, and we bowed our heads. In her precious little five-year-old voice, she surprised me by saying, “Jesus, please fix Brett’s heart. Please make him all better so he can go home soon.“ Meg has never met Brett, she only heard of him this past weekend. But she knows Jesus, and for her, as it should be for all of us, that’s enough.

Going to the mailbox is no longer fun!

Sometimes I hate to even go to my mailbox because too often it is full of things I don’t want; coupons that I never remember to have with me when I can finally use them, offers of credit cards I don’t need or want, fliers from stores, promises from businesses, and bills. I honestly don’t mind bills that I believe are really mine, if I really owe them.

However ,on regular basis, we get bills from collection agencies that really belong to some guy named John *%#@* who uses our address and phone number. We even got one of our charge cards taken away from us a few years ago because HE went bankrupt. After that we had a long break, about a seven year period I'd guess, which we never heard about him. But once that time passed, we started getting mail, and phone calls, from collection agencies once again. We even moved during that time, and somehow they, or he, traced us to our new home! I’ve told these bill collectors that we don‘t know John *%#@*, have never known him, and that he is sort of stealing our identity. Then I try to turn the tables on them and ask how we can find him! They apologize and say that they can’t share anything with me, that any information they have is confidential! They end the conversation promising that they will take our address and phone number off his accounts, and their list, and that I should call the police.

I was telling my husband about the whole thing, and he agrees with them. I should call the police so they can go to John *%#@*‘s house and talk to him, maybe even arrest him! That might be a great idea in a perfect world, but in this imperfect world, he supposedly lives HERE! And if the police try to call him, they will call US!

So I am left with no answers, only more questions. How did John *%#@* ever hook up with our information? Does he know us and we just don’t know him? Did an unscrupulous relative (yes, we do have those) give our information to him? Did he find us on the internet, or in the phone book? Who knows? And how will we ever know? And should we care about it?

Maybe we should! What if he shows up at our door, suitcase in hand, and has the proof that he does, indeed, live here! We could call the police then too, but they’d have to let him in because all his I.D. cards would prove he lives HERE, with US! (John *%#@*, if you are reading this, please do not do that!)

It’s all a mystery, and though he is stealing our address and phone number, I guess John *%#@* isn’t really stealing our identity. Yet? Right? So you see what I go through? That is just one of the problems that comes through our mailbox. We all might as well suck it up and realize that the mail box is no longer a fun place to go. Gone are the days of ‘birthday’ cards, ‘miss you’ cards, or ‘have a happy day’ cards. All those are sent through the internet now. Money isn’t going to float out of your mailbox, no fragrant envelopes will freshen the inside, and no fun packages will pop out. Identity theft, (along with address and phone number theft,) is on the rise; and so it seems, for us at least, is getting a mailbox full of collection notices for John *%#@*!

family party

Tonight I had a family party, and though it was supposed to start at 6:30, it was after 7:00 and only a handful of people had shown up. Mom and Tiffy were helping with the fruit tray, I was putting chips in bowls, dips out, and trying to finish up the salad. Kari had brought stuff to make margaritas and in the midst of all the craziness couldn't find the blender or an ice chest for the bag of ice. The TV was already blaring with a football game, and kids were pesting. I'd already had a long day, hadn’t even gotten a chance to take a shower, hadn’t gotten to exercise, and was pretty peeved that practically everyone was late. So without a word, I walked out front for a moment of peace.

I looked down the road, and no one was even coming yet. I’d worked my butt off all day, and it obviously didn’t mean anything to anyone, and I wished I hadn’t even attempted to have the stupid party. Then while I was indulging in my own pity party, my phone rang. It was Josh, and he wanted me to call Patti to see why she hadn’t called him back to tell him whether or not she was bringing RockBand. So having nothing better to do (ha!) and time to spare (lol!) I called Patti, only to find out that they were going to be even later because they had all HAD to take showers. Whoa….the hostess, ME, couldn’t make the time to take a shower, but the guests obviously had that indulgence. I hung up and headed back inside, promising myself that this was the last party I was ever throwing. And who cared if I ever saw any of them again?

Hm, it seems that I would...

Finally, a couple of them showed up, and my icy heart started to melt as I gathered them in my arms for hugs. Within about a half an hour, the house was full of people I loved. Ranging from two to seventy-eight years-old, every single person that I could see was one of the most important people in my life! These were MY PEOPLE!

The next few hours were filled with kids doing gymnastics in the middle of the room (what good is it to do perfect splits and cartwheels if no one is around to see how great you do them?) Little boys flew cardboard airplanes above our heads, and put jumping rubber spiders on our backs. People talked over each other, and around each other, and you had to keep moving just to get to visit with everyone. Food was gobbled down, and drinks were plenty. (Too plenty for some of them!) Conversations flowed from room to room, and outside, where the lake glistened, and the moon lit up the night. And it was good!

Favorite highlights were that Missy, our beautiful niece, new darker hair which made her blue eyes look absolutely gorgeous, had come all the way from Hawaii! And our newest family addition, Jaiden, who looks so much like his daddy did at that age, passed out hugs and kisses like they were Halloween candy. As for the others, I got to hear stories about boo-boos, grade school bullies, college classes, jobs, vacations, jet-lag, internet romances, and new houses! We took plenty of photos, taking turns getting in and out of them so everyone’s camera was used. (Yes, it would seem that we each had to have our OWN group photo!) I wonder who is missing in the best one? That‘s something we’ll likely only find out if we scour each other’s Face Book and My Space pages. (There is no question that we will all do that which will lead to a trading frenzy!) Yeah, all in all, it was one of the best evenings I’ve had in a long time!

So it appears that I lied. Not only will I have another party, but I will have another, and another regardless of the fact that I know without a doubt that practically everyone will still be late, and I'll be the only one who won't have time to shower!

Sleep deprived

It’s 6:30 A.M., and I have just been routed out of a pleasant sleep by some eager weed-eating fool! I didn’t go to bed until after one o’clock, tossed and turned, yet here it is a mere five hours later, and I am forced awake by the loud whirr of a weed eater. Yes, I understand that it will be over one hundred degrees today, and the earlier it is the cooler it is, and I suppose if they are going to start disturbing people so early, a Friday morning is admittedly better than a Saturday morning when more of us get to sleep in, but darn it! Its intermittent buzz is loud and aggravating enough that even if it stopped immediately, I couldn’t fall back to sleep.


As bad as it is though, I’d rather be awakened by a weed eater than by a barking dog. I love dogs in general, it’s their owners that let them bark incessantly that I have a problem with. Barking is my absolute least favorite sound in the world because it has been the most common wake-up-before-I’m-ready, sound throughout my life . I‘m sure it has to due with my belief that the dog owners are some how snoozing away, while I am wide awake, and an angry, disgruntled mess.

Besides weed eaters, and dogs, that can ruin a perfectly good sleep anywhere, when we spend the night at our home in the pines, I have mornings when geese, ducks, or birds are my unwanted alarm clock. I can’t do a thing about geese and ducks, but I did outsmart the swallows that built their nest on an eave above our deck. Unfortunately, it seems that in the swallow species, the parents wake up the kids before dawn! Every morning, while it was still dark outside, mommy, or daddy, swallow perched right under our bedroom window, and sang and chattered an hour before sunrise. UGH! Even though I am quite aware that it’s against the law to disturb an active swallow’s nest, I felt like knocking the little mud creation down hoping they would relocate to someone’s else’s deck. Yet, I was also very excited with the prospect of watching the babies learn to fly. I stewed over a solution for days, pretty much at precisely four a.m. every morning, until finally, I got the brilliant idea (I do get those occasionally) to put my puppy on the roof. He is a wonderful, fake, little puppy (no doubt the absolute best dog in the world) who breathes softly, his little tummy rising and falling, and the noise he makes is just loud enough to fake out mommy, or daddy, bird. Puppy’s new job is to rest from sunset to sunrise on the exact spot where the parent swallow HAD perched to sing. And, yeah me, I never was awakened by it again! Now we are co-existing in peace and quiet, the sounds of the wind whistling through the pines, a perfect lullaby that allows me to sleep uninterrupted until my bodily clock awakens me! (And if I’ve had too much tea before bed, that is often earlier than all the other irritants put together!)

My life's trophies aren't silver and gold...

My goal was to purge the garage, to get rid of 'stuff.' I moved the car to the driveway so I'd have plenty of room. I wanted to make quick work of this unpleasant chore. The sooner I was done, the better. However, after setting aside my husband's Lone Ranger and Tonto figurines from his childhood, and re-wrapping my grandma's pitcher, I came across a box that stopped me cold...well, actually warm. My heart was sent back over thirty years when I came across the box containing trophies that belonged to our grown children. Well, trophy tops, because during my last cleaning binge, all I'd accomplished was to unscrew the tops off of the bases, and save them. But what good were a bunch of trophy tops? I needed the space, so I decided that I'd take their pictures, for memory sake, and then toss them out. So as though my kids were right there, instead of tiny metal people, I photographed them together, then separate by sports, then by each child. When I was done, I scooped them up and headed to the trash. Which is when the little BMX guy fell on to the garage floor. I froze.

I gently laid the other trophy tops on the floor and picked up the little guy. The memories that flooded my heart were so stong I felt as though I could almost reach out and hug my flesh and blood little bike racer, all sweaty and smelling all boy. Dust covered his clothes, and I could barely see those blue eyes twinkling through the dirt on his face. I could, once again, feel the pride and excitement emanating from him, feel it swirl around me. This little, metal, silver boy, helmet on his head, perched on a plain, old cheap bike, had me back at the BMX track, for the very first time, watching my son speed past the other little boys. My son, on his old Schwinn, banana seat, big handlebars, and all, had beat out all the others. Neither their experience, nor their shiny, light-weight, expensive bikes had made any difference. My son had not only captured the audience's hearts, but this precious little trophy, too.

As I ran my finger over this piece of metal, my heart began to ache. I wondered where that had come from. Was it the lost innocence that protects our children from the realities of life? Was it that his life was no longer filled with hours of freedom and fun? Or was it because my dear friend had lost her son in a tragic car accident four years ago, and I was hurting on her behalf? If my heart ached, for whatever reason, about the loss of my son's childhood, how must she feel when memories overtake her? I still have my children. I can call them and hear their voices, get in the car and go visit them, and am so fortunate to be able to share hugs, laughter, and memories with them. My memories are still accumulating, and as precious as the ones of their childhood are, the ones we continue to share are priceless.

I took a deep breath, and wiped the tears off my cheeks before picking through the pile of trophy tops pulling out one of my other favorites. This one was a swimmer, belonging to my youngest son. At age two, he was already fascinated by his siblings' trophies, so I had decided that when his swimming lessons were over, I'd go buy him one. However, the lessons hadn't taught him how to swim, so we'd reverted back to letting him wear his floaties. Because of that, he'd thought he could swim and would jump into the pool any time he got the chance. He had no idea he'd sink, because any time the pool gate was open, his floaties were on. Except once. We'd had a swimming party, and someone had left the gate unlocked, and he'd somehow gotten it open, and was under water when I found him. After coughing, and both of us crying, he was okay, but teaching him how to swim become my top priority. I worked with him every day, and in two weeks he was swimming across the pool and jumping off the diving board. He got his much coveted trophy, this little, metal swimmer, which represents life and triumph, hard work, and memories. The trash was the furthest place in my mind that it should go!

Our daughter's trophy tops were for cheerleading, baton, and modeling. She'd worked so hard for them, and when she finally started winning them, they'd meant more to us than real gold! She'd had a physical problem that had caused her to be marked down at many of her first competitions, but once she finally learned how to compensate for that, she began winning more and more, and we were thrilled. Because of her determination to just keep making adjustments, and never giving up, the little, gold, baton twirler is one of my most precious possessions. Just holding her takes me back to those competitions, and the thrill of victory after many agonizing defeats. Memories of parades long forgtten, cold mornings on football fields wet with dew, and her smile as she marched, cheered, and performed are special times that I will treasure forever.

I couldn't part with the trophy tops. They will stay in the box in the garage where I can pull them out and trace the little silver and gold faces as I remember some of the accomplishments of my children. The memories will reside next to first belly laughs, first steps, and first words. Those memories are joined by first days of school, first times they drove, first dates, weddings, and births of my grandchildren. Memories of my six grandchildren have been piling up so fast that sometimes the lines blur, and I don't recall which one did what, or when, but each memory is covered by so much love it really doesn't matter. My chidren and my grandchildren are MY trophies. They aren't silver and gold, they are flesh and blood, laughter and tears, accomplishments and defeats...laced with disappointments, awe, anger, pride, frustration, worries, joy, and most of all, LOVE.