Thanksgiving Trepidation

So it's Tuesday before Thanksgiving, which I'm hosting at my house this year.  This will be the first time since, I believe, 1989, that I've cooked for such a large group of people, so it will be interesting.  Thankfully, turkey-making duties are going to the Fiance's sister, whose house we normally go to.  She volunteered, and I JUMPED at it.  So I'm doing sides and desserts, and turkey will arrive with the bulk of the guests.

The dogs are usually amazingly good with groups, so we will hope that holds true with them at this gathering, as well.  I especially hope this holds true with regard to bodily issues, but I'm placing no bets. 

This morning I awoke at some unknown time because Peanut was whining, which generally means she wants off the bed (the bed is far too high for such a short girl to be jumping off herself).  But when I awoke to this, things happened too fast - the whine, then Daisy awake, Daisy growls, Peanut growls...my foggy little brain can't figure out what came first or what's causing what, so I told everyone to shut up, patted some heads, made sure all were separated, and went back to sleep. 

Then Peanut whined again, I have no idea how much longer after the first, with no reactions from other dogs.  So this can only mean that she needs to go out.  So I grab her and put her down, Jasper down, and grab Daisy (Lillie can make it down on her own), and we head downstairs.  By the time I get the alarm off and get to the solarium door to let them out, WHOOOPS, big ol' pile of poo.  Right on the rug.  Which of course I step in (thank goodness for slippers!!).  And very stinky, loose poo, too.  YAY!  5:30 am on Nov. 23.  YAY!  So, dogs go out.  Poo gets cleaned up as quickly as possible, sprayed with de-scenter stuff, and dogs let back in and we head to back to bed for an hour.

All of which is a rumination of one of the many things that can go wrong on Thursday.

But, as long as we confine bodily functions to the appropriate locations, I think we're in for a good day.

I'M ALIVE!

So someone has actually read my blog and been nice enough to comment on it.  AMAZING.  It's a woman who goes by Red Hamster, and you'd think I might've been bright enough to have followed the link attached to her blogger name to see what she has to say, but no.  I'm just reveling in the excitement at the moment.

I guess she picked me  up off a blog I often read, called BADGER MEETS WORLD.  I love that blog - the doings of Badger and the Badger-ettes.  She's a heck of a writer.  I often comment on her blog - after reading her and her family's exploits for a year, I feel sufficiently involved in their lives to offer my two cents occassionally - and apparently my new friend Red Hamster followed me back from a comment.

Ah, the excitement.

I mean, I still don't have a follower, but at least it's not like I'm yelling into an empty room any more.  Now it's just a mostly empty room!  ;-)

Blogging is weird.  In part, it's like a diary of your life, where you have a place that you can put all these hopes and dreams and concerns and events.  And in that way it's exceptionally personal.  But the reason you're putting all that into a blog as opposed to heading your thoughts with Dear Diary and keeping them safely in a locked journal hidden under your mattress is that you want to share these things, know there's someone out there, know that others are experiencing like things (or, know that others are experiencing things unlike anything you'd do, at times).  So it's nice to know someone looks occassionally.

Red Hamster, if you happen to read this, THANKS!!

bad week, good weekend

So it was a bad week last week, with a good weekend.  Sound just like everyone else's week?  Well, mine was worse than usual, at least for me.  And better than usual, at least for me.

Last Tuesday the Fiance went into the hospital.  Heart pain, pressure, shortness of breath - sound familiar?  If not, you better look it up, because it can happen to anyone!  But for him, it meant a trip to the emergency room.  They did an EKG, and no heart attack, so they stuck him back in the waiting room for another four hours.  Finally we actually got into the ER and all their nice drugs and care, and 12 hours after his arrival (and four hours after my departure) he was actually in a room all his own!

So there was much humming and hawing on the part of the doctors.  Tests were run.  He was finally released at noon on Friday.  He's been diagnosed with small vessel disease, and has significant damage already, so while it's not like he has three months to live or whatever, he does have less time than the average bear.  So, we are coming to grips with that, and what that means to us.  Thus far, we've simply decided that a) no, he doesn't want to get any more medieval on his diet, and b) enjoy each day (the sung title of the Tim McGraw song, "Live Like You Are Dying" keeps running through my head).  We've also cried a little, but not too much.  Not yet.

But now the weekend has begun, and I turned 50 on Saturday!  Which I find unimaginable -- SOOOO old -- but it's true.  I do the math, and it's right. 

Friday night we took a wine sampling train ride, which was fun.  Saturday afternoon at the spa.  Saturday night having one of the best dinners of my life.  AND I got an iPad from the Fiance.  What's not to like??

So, I will see the good.  I'm so lucky to have found this guy.  Anything's possible.  Keep rolling along, enjoying the days.

waiting

This shot beautifully illustrates two things: 1) I am apparently completely convinced that a chair is a valid clothing storage apparatus; 2) that Jasper is completely adorable.

He follows me around as I get ready to leave every morning.  Though this morning, this pile was just too comfy, I guess - he sacked out.  So I say we focus on the latter of those two items - if I wasn't clothes-folding challenged, I'd have no moments like this.

why did i get dogs again?

So I love my dogs.  I love my dogs I love my dogs I love my dogs.  I am certain if I repeat that enough times, it will be true.

No, seriously.  I do love my dogs.  But sometimes, I want to kill them dead.

Times like today, where, once we got past the dishwasher repair person, we seemed to be okay.  But then the bug guy showed up, and we were over the edge.  As I often say, my dogs bark if a bug farts in the backyard, and this is definitely proving to be one of those days.

Or times like last night, when we got home late and the dogs were so happy to see us.  We fed them, and then a bit later I took them out again for a trip to doggie potty-land.  And then, right before we went to bed, as we headed out on 'last time out', I found the presents they left for me.  At first I thought it was only a couple pieces of poo, but after cleaned up those and took them out, I discovered the piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe.  Stuck with poo.  Dog poo.  Which I'd now tracked around, because apparently all the poo was not together (cause what fun would that be, to poo all in one place?) and I'd stepped on a turd.  Yes, nothing quite so much fun as being on hands and knees, scrubbing the grout of poo at 11:45 at night.

Yes, I love my dogs, I do.  Even though I think Jasper just hacked something up on the carpet.  Yup.  They're great.

MEET DAISY!

So this is our new family member!  We decided to name her Daisy (her name when we got her was Elana, which we didn't love).  Isn't she the CUTEST thing ever??  This is her, in the little harness that I got her at the Doxie Picnic from Hug A Dog. It's so sweet -- blue and white gingham!  She's looking a tad scruffy here - she hasn't gone to the groomers yet.  This is her, and Lillie, post-groomer:

Well, I guess she's looking a little scruffy here, too - she had a little bow in her hair, and it came out right before we took the picture, OF COURSE!  

The Fiance and and I are marveling at how well she's fitting in with the other dogs - it's amazing.  They seem totally accepting of her.  Perhaps because she's smaller than they are?  Perhaps because she is so timid?  Whatever it is, I'm okay with it, because it's like she's always been here.

I will say, though, that when I say 'she's timid', that really doesn't describe it sufficiently.  But, I will have faith that, over time, we'll bring her out of it.  Perhaps never as completely as we'd like, but enough that she will climb stairs and come to us more easily!

And that's all for now!  Talk to you soon - 

rescuers are a crazy breed

Talked to the rescue person with the new dog yesterday and agreed we'd meet today, I'd call her with a good time.  So I did call her with this good time.  And she EMAILS me back to say 'oh, I though yesterday (Tuesday) was Monday (it wasn't) and so I can't really meet tonight (!!), how about tomorrow night, same time (grrrrr).  I guess I'm glad I had time to check my email.  Otherwise I would've rushed home from work and fed the current dogs and been anxiously awaiting her and Elana's arrival with the Fiance. And it's totally normal to email a person who CALLED you.  Whose number you have because IT'S IN YOUR CELL PHONE, because THEY CALLED YOU.

On top of this she finally sends me the contract and informs me that they don't accept personal checks, so I'll need cash or a money order to get the dog tomorrow night.

Ah, thanks for telling me that NOW.

Rescuers are nuts.  This woman also, in the short 5 minute conversation I had with her yesterday, totally bagged on the woman who came to do our home check.  Who seemed perfectly nice to me, but Rescue Woman was all, "Oh, yes, Janice.  Her dogs aren't very well behaved.  And she's ... well, she's not everyone's cup of tea.  Not everyone gets a long with Janice.  But she's okay, just, you know..." 

No, I don't know.  Nor do I feel the need to know.  Janice came to my house for the check, and then I ran into her at a doxie event,  and that will probably be the sum total of our interaction until, maybe, next year again at the annual doxie event.  So why do I -- who found her fine -- need to know that 'not everyone likes Janice'.  Nor do I need to get a sense of her credit score, job assessments or whether or not she likes brocolli.  It seems to me that it's tough to find people who want to do rescue work, especially scut work like home checks, so if you have someone, you might want to be more 'oh, she's so great' than otherwise.

I do speak from experience - I did rescue work myself for six years.  And tried to stay on the periphery as much as possible, because I found the other people I was involved with all a bit crazed. 

So no, Wacky Rescue Woman Who Thinks Tuesday Is Monday And Is One Of Those TMI/No Filter Kind Of People, I don't need to know anything about Janice.  But I might've been interested in the 'cash or money order policy' earlier in our association.

So that's what I'm doing tonight - going to a movie, and getting cash.  Because tomorrow night - assuming she wasn't confused again - we will meet/get Elana!

oops, here we go again!

So the Fiance has had dreams of a yorkie - yorkshire terrier - for a while now.  And because of these dreams, he's become a bit yorkie-obsessed.  At first I thought it was just dreaming.  Then I'd be sitting at work and get an email with a link to an adoption site showing a yorkie.  And I'd think, "uh-oh".  So after a seeing a few of these, and wanting to be supportive, he finally said I would need to be the 'front man' - people think Al can be a little intimidating looking, and he doesn't speak 'rescue' - and he asked me to apply for two of the dogs.  So I did.  The one, called Ladybug, had been adopted by someone else that day.  But the other - with the ridiculous name of Elana -  was indeed available.  So we jumped through a few rescuer hoops, aced the home inspection, and tomorrow night we meet Elana. If everyone seems to like everyone else, I write a check, and she stays with us.

Dog number four.

Oh, my.

I'm not entirely sure about this.  I was initially,  but the more I think about it, the more I don't know.  Afterall, it's I who has to keep getting up in the middle of the night to let the dogs out, who makes the extra food, loses the sleep.  Peanut was SO HARD to get in the groove - how will this one fit?  And Jasper, I swear, seems to already realize what is going on, and is already acting out.  And to this we're going to add another dog?

But it does seem like something that's meant to be.  So I just need to have the faith that there was a reason for the dreams, and for this particular dog.  We've had great luck with the others, after a little work, pain, and sleep deprivation.  So perhaps we can help another dog, too.

But we seriously have to change the dog's name.

I would tell you the names under consideration and give you a chance to vote, but since I'm both author and sole reader of this endeavor, it seems like the votes might be weighted in my favor!  So we'll just have to duke out here, between the Fiance and I.

I'll keep you posted.  And try to keep my apparently split personality in check.

It's been a while since I posted.  I started one recently, but it's still in the drafts.  This won't be long.  I hope.  Because it's a lament, and it's late at night as I write it.  Bascially, I'm feeling sorry for myself.  But I've always found that it's best to just give yourself license to feel sorry for yourself occasionally, but you have to put a time limit on it.  I'm allowed to throw myself a little pity part until I go to sleep, which will be soon, and then tomorrow I'll get up and give the dogs kisses, and let them out, and greet my fiance with a kiss, and tell the refrigerator guys where to put the new fridge, and dump the stuff out of the old one real fast, and answer questions at work, and so on and so on, until the end of the day when I go back to bed.  And then we'll have gotten through another day, and it's all good.

The lament is for my left foot, which, now that I write that, seems rather as though Daniel Day-Lewis should come around the corner and start spouting an Irish accent.  But it's a serious lament.  Because right now the nerves of my foot are so over-active, and the foot is in so much pain, that I'm scared to go to bed, because the sheets will hurt.

And the lament is because this has been getting worse for the last couple of months, but I just thought it was related to any number of weirdnesses about my body, so I accepted it.  And it didn't seem that bad.  But last Sunday it suddenly flared so badly that I could barely walk, and it's continued since.

Monday I tried to get a podiatrist appt, but could not get one until next week, so I just went to my GP, who ordered an x-ray.  The x-ray ended up showing arthritis.  ARTHRITIS.  I turn 50 in two months - seriously, this could not have at least waited until the calendar flipped?  He took the x-ray because he though it might be a stress fracture, but no.  ARTHRITIS.  I realize stress fractures are horrible and if anyone who ever reads this has one, they would be like, "oh, no, girl, you don't want a stress fracture", but seriously, I think I would prefer that.

One person said, "oh, yea, I think I have that in my knees."  Which again, not saying that's not painful and a huge hit to an active person.  But you can have your knee replaced.  You hip.  They replace all kinds of thing.  But not feet.  Not one is loping off a person's foot and replacing it with a better, faster foot that looks just like your old foot and works just as well.

My foot.  My feet.

I've always had painful feet.  I was surprised when I talked to a friend one time, and she told me that most people's feet don't hurt.  You don't end the day with the feeling that you have a couple pounds of ground round attached to the bottom of your legs.  Your feet don't feel bruised to the point where, at times, it's an effort to take another step.  But I've accepted this - it's all just part of who I am.

But this burning.  The nerves.

And I love to walk.  And I'm heavy - which I'm sure doesn't help the problem - so I need to walk.  I should be walking briskly for a minimum of 20 mins four times a week.  Meanwhile, I have no shoes on at the moment because the pain of having a shoe touch the top of my foot is too great.

I was sitting on the couch just before bed, and my fiance came upstairs.  I said, 'would you do me a favor,' and he said yes (well, actually he said no, but he's just contrary like that - he meant yes), and I said "touch my foot.  lightly.  with your finger."  And he thought I was joking, I guess (plus he's not especially fond of feet) so he leaned down and started moving his foot down, and at one point his foot was below my cuff, and I couldn't tell if he was touching the foot or not, so I look, and then he touches the foot, and at first it was okay.  But a couple seconds in, it was starting to burn.   And this is the lightest touch, not much more than a feather's weight, and I say, "okay, stop" but he doesn't, because often light touches like this are nice.  And I say, "okay, that hurts - stop."  But he doesn't, and I can't blame him, because his finger is barely touching my skin, and it's been moving there less than five seconds, so how can that hurt?  And finally I start to cry, and I say, "please, stop", but he doesn't realize I'm crying because he's watching his finger lightly, lovingly trace the top of my foot.  And finally I'm like, STOP IT THAT REALLY HURTS I'M SERIOUS.  And he stops and looks up, and says, 'Seriously, this cannot hurt that much?" and I'm crying and saying, "yes, it does.  It does."  And while writing this and reading this take forever, and you mihgt think, "he's horrible - how could he not stop earlier", truly, it was the space of seconds, and he was being so delicate with his touch - it's crazy that it could hurt that much.  But it did.  And it does.

So tonight I want to cry.  I want to mourn.  Because I'm only 50, and this hurts so much.  Because I want to walk and walk and walk - thousands of miles before I'm dead.  But right now, just sitting here not moving I can feel the foot burning.  Because my foot HURTS, and I don't want it to.

I know there are MANY, MANY other problems, and as such things go, a foot isn't so bad.  Of course, things aren't being aided by the fact that I also have an appt with a cardiologist this week, because, as my GP said, "your heart doesn't look as good as it should for someone your age."  And this with my birthday still two months off!!

But still, my foot HURTS.  And I want to walk and run and play.

so m sitting in the bathrm, postg, just cause i can. how crazy is this, u can post from anywhere? course, have 2 b 160 word or less, but still - while peeing!

okay, i know this may seem lame, but just checking out how this works.

so i'm posting from my phone. how weird is that? ah, technology!

Meet the Peanut.

This is Rosebud, or Rosie, more commonly called the Peanut, or simply the Nut. Also the Kielbasa, cause she's a chubby little thing.  I love this pic cause she looks like such an angel, and while she is a sweetie, I'm not sure about 'angel'.  This must be a week or so after I picked her up from the Humane Society - this particular one a four hour drive to BFE - and if you look you can see that there's some hair lacking from her ear.  But that's grown in now, and her tail looks less rat-like, and since her hair overall has been growing, we're starting to place bets on how long the hair on the rest of her body may become.

She is a growl-y little thing, less so than when we got her, though, and she is a barker, like all dachshunds.  She sits at night in the family room, looking into the solarium, which is dark, barking at nothing.  I explain it away as seeing lights reflecting on the glass, and reacting to those, but between you and me, I think she's just a wackadoodle.  Don't tell her I said that!

I'm Falling Apart

Have you noticed, as you've gotten older, that things don't seem as tight as they once were?  Skin sags, things seem to be come disconnected or damaged more easily?  Man, I am totally there.  I've always had bad feet, gained a bad back a few years ago, have some permanent damage from that, and now I've got this rib that keeps popping out of place.  If you've never had this, it's an annoying pain of sufficient intensity to make it seem entirely reasonable to call your chiropractor at home at 2 a.m. and demand his immediate presence.   So that's where I am - rib out of place.  And thinking that, as convenient and wonderful as it is to have my own private IT guy in my sweetie, I really should've dated until I found a chiropractor.

It being a weeknight, I'm going to close on that note.  Work in the a.m., you know??

Communion

Well, it's been a wasted weekend.  Only good if you like dog hair coating your very existence.  Friday was spent working, writing my first blog, and, of course, breathlessly awaiting the arrival of the trash men.   Yesterday was spent washing and drying and chopping and bagging various food items for a party that is today, at my BFF's house, and then today, of course, is the party.  So, high in fun quotient (do chopping, washing, drying with friends and it's still fun), but low in cleanliness quotient, or furthering other needs of my own, like getting my last two boxes from the Fiance's ManCave in the basement.

Ah, well.  What's a girl to do?

Last night, in continuing pursuit of accomplishing absolutely nothing, the Fiance and I went off to see 'Prince of Persia', which was a video game he played often in his youth, apparently.  Honestly, it was a lovely movie.  Five stars, Hollywood at it's finest.  In it's way, it was like watching a great old adventure movie from the '40s, just with better special effects.  The story was good, and the Fiance, who annoyingly figures out the ending to the movie five minutes in, had no idea exactly where it would end up (apparently he played the game, but never reached the end, if, indeed, the movie has a similar ending), the sets were great, the costumes were great, the actors were pretty, there were battles and fighting, but no need to see entrails, lots of blood, or generalized goriness - enough to know people were dying, but no wallowing in the deaths.   Would totally see it again.  And this from a person who's taken to just walking out of movies if  things become too disturbing (much to the Fiance's annoyance).

Then we came home and watched the 'Dr. Who' we'd recorded via magic of the DVR.  Ever seen Dr. Who?  It's a British show, the longest running sci-fi show in the world, and the Fiance has been watching it since he was in his nappies, practically, in England.  He turned me onto it when we started dating, and it's now a fav.  High reco's on it, too, if you want to waste an hour or so, though I am sorry you'll miss the David Tennant years of the Doctor, a human-looking alien called a Time Lord, who has an affinity for planet Earth and it's people and can travel throughout the galaxy and throughout time as he chooses in a blue Police Call Box that is deceptive in its outer look.  Yes, I know, it all sounds very odd, but it's fun and at times thought-provoking.  The Doctor changes every once in a while, going through a 'regeneration' on the show, and he suddenly looks completely different but with the same memories - thus the reason it can be such a long running show.  Anyway, check it out if you have a free hour - BBCAmerica.

Well, enough with the malingering, I have to go help do party setup.  So I will chat with you all later.  Doggies are, astounding enough, quiet, due to the fact they are al on the couch, asleep.  But as soon as I stand, that will change.

Later -

Day One, Trash Talk

So, my first post.  I've given some thought to this whole concept, yet I know it's a discovery-in-progress - what do I want to talk about, what do I not, what should be revealed, how openly should I discuss certain issues?  So, welcome to the development process - come along with me!

Today we're sitting around, waiting for the garbage men to come.  Okay, no, I'm not on a lawn chair in the driveway, actively awaiting their arrival.  In fact, much of the day I wasn't giving them a lot of thought.  But it's 5:50 PM, and they usually are here 7-8 AM.  See a problem?  Yes, perhaps that 10 hour difference.

AAAAAHHHH, and as I write that, they show up.  In a larger-than usual truck, might I add. 

I realize that may seem like nothing, but I did not want to have to drag the cans back up to the trash, let me tell you!!

Plus, we'd had these baby birds in a birdhouse, and I found that they'd died last Saturday.  It was so very sad, because we'd been so thrilled that the mother and father house wrens had decided to nest there again.  But when I came home last week and walked near it, a cloud of flies appeared, and there was this smell...

I opened the birdhouse and pulled their tiny little bodies out, and bought a new birdhouse, as I can only assume no one would want to nest there again.  I put their little bodies into the trash, and they were adding nothing to the ambiance of the garage, and I was reminded of my sad task each time I went in there.  So, they have gone off to the great beyond, literally this time.

Well, on that happy note, I can't imagine you won't want to stop back at see what's up at Casa Barking Dogs again. 

My sweetie's home - the dogs are reacting more than normal.  So, talk to you soon -