Wednesday

If Every Day Were Wednesday

Wednesday came to us in a time of sadness. My first dog (not one of my childhood dogs, but my first dog), Zeile, had recently passed away and my best girl, Borderline, and I were devastated. I don't know which of us was worse, but we were not helping each other in our grief, that's for sure. Zeile was born on October 20th, also my grandmother's birthday. He was born the year my grandmother passed away and he brought a great deal of pleasure and happiness to my life. When he was about five years old, we brought home a little abandoned puppy (Borderline) for him and he helped raise and care for her. She adored him as much as I did and we were both an absolute mess when he passed away. Enter Wednesday. Wednesday was an “oops” at a farm that raised pure bred border collies. Clearly, she had more than border collie blood running through her stream! She was as funny and silly as she looked and our sad days were over as soon as she entered our home. Wednesday had so many little quirks and a very strong personality. She liked to play tricks! She teased the other dogs and even played tricks on me. Good ones, too! She was smart! And Wednesday was a spot thief. No matter who you are or where you were sitting, if you got up for any reason, you would return to find Wednesday in your spot. She was our pack leader. She started the games and ended them when it was time. She set the tone in our home. She wasn't much of a snuggler (she didn't like how much I wiggle around) but she was extremely affectionate. The last few days we spent together, she kept her head in my lap, her paw on my arm. She wanted us near her. She was brave and sweet to the very end, and she left us better people (and dogs) for having shared our lives with her. So, she silently and peacefully left us after one last day spent holding her ... October 20th. A day that has always been special for me anyway, will now forever be the last day of Wednesday, as well.

Never Forget

Possessed

Last night I fell asleep on the couch for about twenty minutes. Just long enough to have a nightmare! I dreamed I was possessed by an evil spirit who was making me attack myself and others. I remember standing by a refrigerator with my hands around the neck of a small child who was getting a drink. The demon was trying to get me to choke the child, but I refused so the demon began making me attack and kill myself! I was screaming, "By the strength of Little Baby Jesus and Brody and all things good and beautiful, I command you to leave me!!" And the demon was tearing my body apart to get out of me. It was violent, graphic and painful! I woke up to the sound of myself choking. Horrible.

Dear Old Golden Rule Days

I have been loving all the 1st Day of School pictures on Facebook. All the adorable children spit-shined and crisply ironed sporting new backpacks and perfect hairdos. I wish, however, I would have had my camera with me yesterday when I drove home from a shopping spree around 3:00pm. All of my cute neighborhood kids came tumbling off the school bus looking frazzled and disheveled like they just had a rough day at the office. Sleeves pushed up, shirttails pulled out of wrinkled uniform pants and skirts. What I can imagine were fresh bows in the little girls' hair this morning were sagging afterthoughts this afternoon. They looked hot and tired and ... happy! If I had had my camera, one shot would have been perfect for Wordless Wednesday, but for today words will have to do! Good ol' Back-to-School Days!!

Space Shuttle Discovery

Happy Adoption Day!!

puz•zleˈpʌz əl(n.; v.)-zled, -zling. (n.)a toy, problem, or other contrivance designed to amuse by presenting difficulties to be solved by ingenuity or patient effort.

Two years ago today, a little ball of fur found her forever home with us! She had a rough start in life, to be sure. She was abandoned (probably for being the "runt"), was lost in the woods for several weeks all by herself, was rescued - bathed, fed, given shots, etc - and made ready for us!! This little precious angel was afraid of her own shadow and spent a lot of time hiding from us. She was scared and shy. She didn't even have a name for three days because we couldn't get to know her and understand her. She was a Puzzle! Two years later, she is a happy, healthy, bouncy delight! She adores her big sister, Wednesday, and she even got a puppy of her own, Prozac! She's still shy and still tiny, but she's perfect for us! Happy Anniversary, Puzzle!

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

How long does one allow oneself to be miserable before one does something about it? This actually has nothing to do with Gone Girl, I was just curious. (By the way, I can't say “Gone Girl” without breaking into a raucous version of Michael Jackson's The Way You Make Me Feel.) It has more to do with me, because that's the reason I read Gone Girl (hey pretty baby with the high heels on). I have been unhappy with my job for a long time, it seems, and have missed myself a bit. I decided it was time to take some action! One of the things I have been missing is reading so I ordered a stack of books … yes, a stack … and I allowed myself the time to read. I started with Gone Girl (you knock me offa my feet). This book promised more twists than a Chubby Checker concert, and on that promise, it delivered. This falling apart story of the perfect couple began slow and steady and more than a tad calculated. Told in the He Said/She Said style of 1st person story-telling by Nick and diary entries by the Girl, Amy, the story left me constantly wondering whom I liked, whom I trusted, whom I believed. And I liked that. I loved that. But, sadly, the style changed. The middle section of the book picked up a lot of momentum like a lit fuse burning quickly toward the dynamite. The dramatic increase in the pace left me feeling like the story were less contemplated. And this is actually where Gone Girl (just kiss me baby and tell me twice) lost me. I found Amy rather trite, actually, and boring. And, I do not want to ruin anything for anyone, because in all honesty, I couldn't put the book down, but I found the whole thing extremely anti-climactic. The dynamite at the end must have been soaked in the Missouri River because there was no explosion. I must say, however, it felt so good to read an entire book in a timely manner just because that is exactly what I wanted to do! I am excited to move to the next book in my stack and say goodbye to Gone Girl (my lonely days are gone). Hee hee hee (that's going to take a little Michael Jackson imagination on your part)!

The Stepford Wives

My thoughts seem a bit scrambled this morning. I have a lot on my mind. A lot to think about. I like to escape my own brain at night before I go to sleep, so I will trade in a book for old episodes of Mary Tyler Moore and Bob Newhart. Sometimes I like the subtlety of older films and television. I like the innuendoes. I like picking up on the hints. I feel like I'm “in” on some private joke when I understand what they are not saying. They seem to give me the credit I deserve for being so damn smart! I watched The Stepford Wives on my computer last night. I mean, the good version from 1975, not that campy piece of nonsense that came out in 2004. I think I was nine years old when the film was released, so probably 12 by the time I saw it. How did we see movies back then … before the VCR? How long did it take for a box office hit to find its way to the television? I was in 4th grade when my dad came home one day and told us about this crazy new invention “they” had. It would seem you could record something on one channel while you actually watched another channel! Then, you could watch what you recorded later. This conversation came about when Helter Skelter was set to air as a week long television event in 1976, aka: the week Rebecca spent evenings in her bedroom with the door closed playing with The Sunshine Family and Kojak-The Board Game (with her many invisible friends). So, I watched The Stepford Wives last night. I enjoyed the subtle science fiction of the film and the lack of information was actually a bit refreshing. That would never fly nowadays. We need all the answers in today's films! We can't leave anything to our own imagination, not when there are filmmakers out there willing to do all the dirty work for us. What I do not understand is how an entire town full of unattractive, boring men were able to “catch” such beautiful women. I do, however, understand why they would want to change them. It happens all the time. Men want the beautiful woman but do not want to deal with her beautiful mind. So, he tries to change her into the perfect house keeper, lover, and minimalist in the art of conversation. It's boring as hell, but I can certainly see how that would be easier for them. But, the film. We were talking about the film. I appreciated that it allowed me to do my own math. Joanna's new friend, Bobby, was far too bubbly, animated and delightful to last long in Stepford. We knew what would happen to her from the moment she bounced across the screen and we were sad for that fact for the duration of their friendship. She had spunk, and unlike Lou Grant, I love spunk! Joanna's husband's band of boring men friends had former careers far more interesting than their characters deserved … artists, animators, linguists, etc with companies like Disney and Playboy listed on their resumes. These bores had the experience and know-how to make the perfect automatons! It's actually very sad. The film explores a theme I've heard my whole life: Men want beautiful women who never age, or think, or contradict. They want to feel like Tarzan. They want to be The Best. And, embarrassingly, while I was watching, I thought – a couple of times – it would really be so much easier if I could be reprogrammed that way. (Until I saw the ending, of course!) I am being very simple in this “review”. Of course I caught all the themes tucked neatly between an abundance of product placement throughout the film. From the man carrying the naked mannequin to Joanna's flesh-colored, body-hugging hostess dress. Men want to play with beautiful dolls. (And Katharine Ross was very beautiful!) (I was happy to see Mary Stuart Masterson, too, as Joanna's adorable daughter.) Women were burning bras and growing their hair when this film was released and I absolutely get the social commentary. I also, quite simply, enjoyed the film.

Shakin' Off the Heat

Power Junkie

I think I'm addicted to electricity. Now I have to add that to my list of vices and I didn't even realize a person could have such an addiction. But here I sit, sweating in my summerweight pajamas, drinking a luke warm Diet Coke and wishing I could watch tv or get on Facebook. When I left work last night at 10:20pm, it was still a sweltering 100 degrees outside and the air was heavy with humidity. Even at the late hour, it felt difficult to breath and I hit the “MAX” button for the A/C in my car. For the first 5 miles or so, it was a normal drive, like any other summer night. As I approached the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, the wind picked up. And when I say “the wind picked up”, I mean, the wind picked up my car and moved it to another lane on the highway! Crossing the bridge, debris was flying and dirt was hitting the car like a full blown sandstorm. I don't know how so much debris could accumulate on a bridge – a bridge that sits very high off the water – and I honestly never thought of the banks of the Potomac River as particularly sandy, but that was the occurrence last night. By the time I crossed the bridge and veered off onto my exit, the rain had started and my vision was almost completely impaired by torrential currents, dirt and debris pelting me like I had done something naughty earlier in the day and had been caught! Another mile or two and the lights went out and the trees began falling onto the highway. I love living in such a beautifully wooded area until the woods start throwing themselves onto the pavement, then my feelings change somewhat. Trees were hitting the highway, cars were hitting the trees, rain and airborn trash was hitting the cars, and I was hitting my brakes. It took a long time to get home at this pace. The only lights on the road were the blaring lights on police cars and the hazard lights of vehicles that had become victims of falling trees. I plucked my way home feeling sad for my new car and more than a little worried that a tree was going to fall on my head. And anxious to get home to the dogs who are afraid of storms. (Well, the ringleader, Wednesday, is afraid of storms, so Puzzle and Prozac suffer fear by proxy.) I had to reroute myself in my neighborhood due to a large tree that had fallen completely over the street. In the darkness, I could see more than one vehicle looking quite smashed by the falling timber. But I finally made it to my little street. Usually, when our whole neighborhood loses power. We do not. I have no idea why we are spared, but I have followed the glow of my television home like the North Star on more than one occasion. But not last night. Last night, my house was just as dark and abandoned-looking as the rest of the neighborhood. I was a little sad about that, but happy to be home. I entered the house to find three very wet and smelly dogs. Why do they like to play outside in an ever-loving monsoon?! What is wrong with them? I thought Boder Collies were smart? They must all be mixed with Dummies. “What kind of dogs do you have?” “Oh, they're Border Collie/Dummy mixes.” Bordummies. Dodo Collies. But I digress ….. The only flashlight I could find in the disorienting dark was a small light on an elastic strap that fits around one's head. I fumbled with it and got a red light to glow. Ha! I picked my way upstairs using infrared headgear! By the time I changed clothes and made it into bed, I figured out how to get the light to glow regular white light and used that to read until the elastic squeezed my brain and I went to sleep. I was disheartened to find we were still out of power this morning. My weekends off are rare and I had plans for today. Plans that would include blow drying my hair, perhaps even using a curling iron a bit. Plans that would include ironing my clothes. I am a vain person, after all. Even after all that I put into my appearance, I still walk away feeling ugly, so imagine how I feel when I can't make any improvements whatsoever! It's going to be well over 100 degrees again today. I grew up poor and never had air conditioning, but we did have electricity and a well-placed fan or two. I would like a fan blowing on me right about now. Yes, I would.

A Week of Dreams

In the past week I've dreamed a plethora of dreams. One night was spent with me attempting to gain access to the David Sedaris household, only to find myself stopped short at the door (each and every time) by a rather aloof Sedaris and his dog. One night found me endlessly moonwalking to the point of awakening with aching feet. Another night had me swimming with a beautiful mermaid who loved my hair. An exhausting night was spent running with a pack of loud mouthed wolves. And one night .... the mother load! I really thought it was nothing when I woke up. In this dream, a gentleman who used to work for me came to my dreamland workplace to tell me he could no longer work there due to his recent engagement and a baby on the way. I woke up wondering why I even thought of him and why he would be getting engaged when I thought he was already married. I went to my real work the next morning and a couple of associates were talking about that very man. I said, "It's funny that you would mention him, I totally dreamed about him last night." "Really?!", they asked. "Yeah, I dreamed he asked his girlfriend to marry him." One of the associates looked at me in shock, "He sent me a text last night saying he proposed and she said yes!" "I thought he was already married", said I and the associate stated that she thought the same thing, but apparently we were wrong. She said that in Jamaica, dreaming of marriage usually means death. "Oh no!", I said. "I hope I didn't just kill off Malik, I really like him!" We giggled a bit and then I remembered the baby. I told them just for the record, in my dream there was also a baby involved. My associate really turned white and said, "YES! His fiance is pregnant!!" Wow. Now, perhaps Mr.Sedaris will let me in the house if I promise to leave the wolves outside!

I Don't Get It ....

Recently, my blog began changing my format. For the record, I am not writing every single post as one long, endless paragraph. I just can't figure out how to fix it! Perhaps that will be my project for today! :-)

Killing Lincoln: The Shocking Assassination That Changed America Forever by Bill O'Reilly

I love to read. I always have. I remember days and days spent curled up with a book as far back as remembering is possible for me. Once, when I was stationed in Wyoming during a terrible winter storm, we lost power in our beautiful antique dormitories. I took a candle and a magnifying mirror and attempted to read a book. I remember thinking, “Abraham Lincoln read this way when he was a kid!” (Obviously, I got a lot out of my education! All I remembered about Abraham Lincoln was that he ruined his eyes reading by candlelight and his wife was crazy …. oh, and he freed the slaves.) It's been a long time since I read a book. Any book. I miss them. I miss the escape. I miss taking short departures to other places while on a lunch break or the train. I miss having something other than my day to day stresses and challenges to fill the space in my head. So, I began reading Killing Lincoln: The Shocking Assassination That Changed America Forever on a long plane ride to Colorado last month and finished it 4 weeks later. I'll admit, I read slowly, but this was a snail's pace, even for me. But it felt so good to read a book! This was an excellent escape from modern day Washington DC to our same beloved streets in 1865. It was a bit of time travel for me, and I love that! This book would be perfect for a teen or someone who thinks history is boring. It is fast paced and easy to read (so why did it take me 4 weeks to read it? That's my deal!) and lets the reader really feel the pulse of our country in the weeks leading up to Lincoln's assassination and the weeks following. History is not boring! Lincoln's assassination and the events surrounding it are not boring at all. Living in the area, I have had the pleasure of visiting the points of interest for this life-changing event in our history and I thoroughly enjoyed being taken back in time to the places I know so well … 147 years ago. Again, this probably is not the best book on the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and the events surrounding it, but it wasn't bad. And if you are just getting your historical toes wet … this would be an excellent wading pool!

Prozac to the Rescue

I get it. I know that millions of families live apart due to circumstances beyond their control every day. Or circumstances within their control. They do it. There are men and women serving remote tours of duty, leaving loved ones home without them. There are volunteers, missionaries, tourists …. there are all kinds of people who have to be away from their families for extended periods of time and they make it work. I'm not hard of getting it. It's just that that's not the way my husband and I have done it in our nearly twenty years of marriage, that's all. So when Jerry was abruptly called away to work in California for the summer, I was a little shocked. It's not that I am completely dependent or helpless, it's more that we are partners, friends, roommates and our lives mesh together like a fine ballet. Okay, perhaps our ballet is not all that fine, but it works for us and now it's out of whack! The first week my husband was gone, my car died. Dead. In the middle of a busy intersection on a rainy, dark Sunday night. After several offers of assistance by some less than desirable gentlemen and a somewhat unpleasant ride home with a neighborhood tow truck and his wife, I began driving a borrowed work van until I could secure another vehicle. Happily, three weeks after leaving, Jerry was able to come home for a long weekend. A long working weekend, but home nonetheless! His plane came in last Wednesday evening at 11:55pm into Baltimore. According to Mapquest and the little navigational lady in my phone, the airport in Baltimore is a mere 55 minutes from our house. But it didn't take 55 minutes. It took 158 minutes. Not that I mind, of course, but I had to get up at 4:30am the next day to go to work. I decided to take Prozac along for the ride. Prozac is our little rescue puppy and the only one of our three dogs who actually enjoys a good car ride! He's also extremely protective, so I thought he would be the one I would want with me if my van broke down on the BW Parkway in the middle of the night! So, we are crawling along. The Parkway was literally just that: a parkway. We were simply not moving. At one point, we came upon a vehicle pulled over by a policeman. Both lanes were literally moving at approximately 1 mile per hour, so I was watching this poor fellow for a good long time. I was shamelessly staring at the perp as he was being frisked and handcuffed. I mean, traffic was NOT moving and I was simply watching the only thing of interest on the road. The car was pulled over on the right side of the road. Prozac was sitting in the passenger seat and was warm, so I rolled down the window a bit so he could get some fresh air. I was petting and softly talking to him while I stared at the arrestee. I actually made eye contact with the guy for what seemed like, I don't know, five or ten minutes. An embarrassingly long time. You know how moments seem to stand still in time? Like when something is about to fall on your head and you can't move fast enough to avoid impact? Or like running in a dream? We were moving more slowly than that. And the scene played out before me with ridiculous clarity. I saw the man's sweatpants, tennis shoes, a spot on his tee shirt …. his eyes looked a bit blurry but he seemed calm. I am still embarrassed that I just stared at him! Rubbernecking at it's finest! I watched the officer pat down the legs, kick them apart with his own shiny shoes while he flipped his glistening handcuffs off his belt and snapped them onto first one wrist and then the other ~ meticulously routine. Methodically hypnotizing. WOOF! Zac let loose the loudest, most ominous big-boy bark I've ever heard come out of his little 10 month old mouth! Zac is all black and it occurred to me that while the officer and perp both saw me in the car, they probably didn't even know Zac was there! I jumped! The perp jumped! The cop reacted! And the last thing I saw as I made my mile an hour get-away was the besweatpanted wrongdoer hitting the pavement.

The Meeting Will Come to Order

I woke up at 4:00am this morning extremely disappointed because my alarm was set for 5:30am and I was positive I would sleep no more. But I was wrong. I did go back to sleep and into dreamland. I was at a large meeting for work with several round tables and limited available seating. Someone was trying to convince me I should make room next to me for an adult baby (thank you, Dr.Phil) and I was afraid all that feeding and up-spitting would distract me from the keynote speaker. A classmate of mine from waaaaaaaaay back was also seated at my table. When we were in Junior High School, this guy gave an awesome demonstrative speech on the many amazing things he could do with a basketball. One of which was "Palm It". In Junior High I was extremely impressed with that speech. But all of that middle school glamour was moot last night, I must say, because whatever he was adamantly trying to tell me before the meeting began was completely mumbled and distorted due to his mouth being gluttonously full of blueberries.

Little Two Little Two

I often have a flashback at work. Like, every day. And I want to share it because, for me, it is a fond memory. But each time I try to write down my thoughts, it turns into a sad, sad story. My friend, Ric, thinks these are the times when I am in need of a good editor. I just think I need to figure out a way to tell my tale. So. 'Twas my 7th or 8th summer on this earth, and I spent the better part of it locked in a bedroom with my cousin. See? That doesn't sound good. But it was the 70s and long before we knew adults were not supposed to lock children in bedrooms. And I do remember our “warden” asking me if I wanted “a couple three pancakes” once, so I am sure we were fed from time to time … perhaps Sunday brunch? I must stress again, these are fond memories for me! My cousin and I had fun locked in that room! Although deprived of sunshine and fresh air, we were allowed considerable time to explore our imaginations! And we were extremely creative! We acted out commercials and skits and played them back over and over on a little tape recorder. We listened to records and sang along. We cranked up the swear word on Davy Crockett when the singers sang “he's a HELL of a song” because we thought that was absolutely hilarious. We invented press on nails using layers of Scotch tape and bright red nail polish long before Lee did. We wrote scary stories that would give Stephen King nightmares. And we designed a full line of fabulous footwear! That's where my flashbacks come into play. Who knew that so many years later I would be working in a fantastically huge shoe store, mesmerized by all the glorious shoes and designs before me? My cousin and I wrapped scarves, belts, ties, chains - anything we could find in the room - around our feet and modeled them for our shoe company, Little Two Little Two. They were beautiful! And the selection was endless ..... My cousin is gone now and I don't talk about those days with anyone anymore. But I do have a genuine passion for shoes, design and creating something from nothing. And I often chortle remembering the antics of two little girls and a summer of imagination, laughter, and incredible footwear! (If I ever own my own company, I will call it Little Two Little Two, and I'll probably make my own commercials!)

Sinking

Often my dreams will cut away to a birdseye view of the scene. Sometimes that is scary because I feel like I am being hurled through space …. other times it is lovely as I am simply floating peacefully above whatever is unfolding below. Overall, I would say I enjoy that my mind does this for me, allowing me to see things from another angle. Last night's dream began like many others with me wandering the twisting streets of an historic village. I usually believe I am in Spain, but that's rarely confirmed. This dream placed me in a bewitching evening scene with large white lights hanging from the trees and a warm breeze in the summer air. People were laughing and moving together in one glorious wave of movement. My male companion in this dream changed randomly and often. At times it was my husband, then an old high school crush, then a stranger …. there was really no rhyme or reason to his identity, he was just taking me to see a street comedian and I wasn't thrilled about it because I was certain it would be a hypnotist. The streets were extremely crowded and I was becoming irritated with all the walking and winding and bumping into people. We had abandoned the vehicle believing we could make better progress on foot, but I really just wanted to sit down and not be trampled. I flashed to an overhead view and it really was lovely. The crowd far less annoying and unorganized from this angle and my mood cheered considerably. However, to my right I noticed a dinner party happening on a delightful, romantic, patio with beautiful paper lanterns and charming people tittering and story-telling. They were my friends! I was immediately jealous and sad. Why were they having a wonderful party without me? Why wasn't I invited? My companion took me over to the party against my protests and I ran into my friend, Jenn, on the street with a pink bakery box and a beautiful smile. She seemed genuinely surprised to see me. “Oh”, she said, “I bought this amazing bread!” I looked into the box and saw what looked like 5 or 6 half-eaten large pretzels and many, many crumbs and loose sesame seeds. “Come on in”, she said, “there's plenty of food!” But there wasn't plenty of food. There were some pretzel remnants and weak Kool-Aid. My friend, Ric, was there and he told me not to feel stupid, “If you put a rock on a cloth napkin, it tastes just like a beignet.” I must have wandered off again, back into the crowd just for a moment. I turned back to the party and saw my friends on the street doing some organized Bollywood dance routine. Again, I felt sad and jealous. I wanted to dance! Jenn was wearing a grey and black tunic over grey tights and I knew that she had put a lot of effort into the look but I couldn't help noticing it was so incredibly drab next to the gorgeous Bollywood dancers. But her smile was as brilliant as the bright green scarf she was waving above her head and I was touched and heartbroken simultaneously. Again, I flashed to an aerial view and became unbelievably despondent as I noticed the entire village slowly, slowly sinking into the sea.

Hot and Cold

The 6:30am-3:30pm shift is not my favorite. I have to get up NLT 4:30am - that's if I'm really organized and plan my outfit ahead of time - which is pretty much the middle of the night. I feel tired all day and when I work that shift, it means a lot of physical work, as well. So, I am extremely tired by the time I leave. Additionally, I rarely get to leave on time, so the joy of getting off early isn't something I usually get to celebrate.
Today, I managed to leave shortly after 4:00pm, however, and that is quite an achievement! Due to my exhaustion (aka: laziness) and desire to avoid rush hour traffic, I left work without using the restroom, in spite of the tell tale signs that I should do so.
(Dumb)
On my way home, my car began to overheat. I turned on the heat, right? Because that's what you're supposed to do. But smoke was rolling out from under my hood and I was forced to pull over and call my husband for rescue service.
After an hour and a half of doing whatever it is boys do under the hoods of cars, I was on my way ....
.... still with the heat ON.
.... still with me having to pee desperately.
It was very hot in my car. Very hot. I had the windows down to get some fresh air. I had passersby pointing at the smoke coming out from under the hood as if I am too oblivious to notice such a thing. I had to undo my pants because my bladder was growing larger and larger with each painful mile.
I took a call.
That was a good idea as it took my mind off my troubles.
I was chatting away when I got home and decided to walk down the driveway to the street to check the mailbox. "Oh, it's nice and cool out here!", I exclaimed.
Nice and cool.
I mean, exceptionally cool.
Very nice.

I was all the way to my mailbox and happily waving at my neighbors when I noticed my pants were completely unbuttoned, unzipped, belt flapping at my sides....

I'm a real winner!

The Joke's on Me

I had a brilliant idea! I get so few brilliant ideas, I was extremely excited that I actually had one! I decided I would write down my dreams in the morning and post them for all my fans to analyze. It would be therapeutic! It would be interesting! It would be fun!
So, yesterday, I started a new category on my blog called "The Dream Academy" and I opened with a doozy of a nightmare. It was titled, luringly, "Analyze This"!
Although no one accepted the challenge, I was still excited and optimistic when I went to bed last night eager to fall asleep and dream the next installment.
Well! Obviously, The Weisenheimers in my head had other ideas! My dream last night was so insultingly filthy there's no way on God's green earth I would ever repeat it! EVER! I'm disgusted and embarrassed my head could even come up with such pure ... filth!
I feel like I even need to explain myself now and I've told you nothing! A. It was a dream. I was asleep. It's not my fault.
and B. Even in the dream, I had no active part in the goings on. I just made a phone call to a friend to tell her of the amazingly hilarious idea I had for a movie. Hilarious.
So the joke was on me last night. I guess The Weisenheimers did not want to be analyzed.
I'm not giving up on my brilliant idea, however!

Analyze This

It was raining heavily at 2:09am, but I was drenched in sweat, not rainwater, when I was jerked away from a disturbing nightmare. March nights in Maryland were absolutely contrived for perfect sleeping. The windows can be opened without the assault of humidity clogging your airwaves. The scent of freshness in the air is hypnotic and even the occasional cloudburst taps out a sleep-inducing tattoo.
So, under these ideal conditions, I fell asleep quickly and deeply.
In my dream, I was a little girl of about ten. I was dressed in old fashioned clothing, but I knew this was only dress up. I wasn't actually an old fashioned girl. I was sitting before a beautiful antique vanity applying makeup in the delightfully haphazard way little girls do wearing a lovely ivory dress and oversized matching hat. I marveled at the intricate stitching on the dress and each glorious bit of craftsmanship on the amazing hat. I could see the weave of the fabric and the silkiness of each thread. My lipstick was applied as if I didn't understand the difference between lipstick and Chapstick and my eyeliner was slightly too heavy for a girl my age, but I thought I looked rather comely, nonetheless.
In the mirror, I noticed my hat on the floor behind me, partially under the old iron bed, in the room that was quickly becoming too small for all that furniture. I turned to look at the hat, realizing it was actually pinned under one of the iron bed legs.
I was confused.
I looked back in the mirror to confirm that I was still wearing the hat.
How could my hat be stuck under the bed and on my head?
I went to the bed to lift it up and retrieve the hat then glanced back in the mirror.
I was still sitting there in my beautiful gown and glorious hat.
But it wasn't me.
The face was hard and distorted. She was older and angry. She looked vicious and mean. I was frightened.
Suddenly, she flew from the mirror and pushed me on the bed. She was strong and heavy. Her face was gruesome and evil. She pinned me on the bed with an anger I didn't understand causing me a great deal of pain and confusion.
I tried to scream, but you know how it goes with dreams and screaming ….
I thought she was going to rape me and I struggled feverishly to get away.
Her dense, beastly body moved across mine and I was horrified. Her pelvic area was nearing my face and I wanted to vomit. She urinated on my neck - I was panic stricken … frozen with fear and disgust, when, thank God, I woke up.
So my question is this:
Why? Why, on this night designed for peaceful sleep … when I am surrounded by downy pillows and fluffy puppies … when I am exactly where I want to be …. why does my mind take me there?

The Natural Anti-Depressant

Wednesday is our oldest girl. She's an almost-twelve year old border collie/hound mix with a LOT of personality! She's funny and smart and definitely in-charge of our household. She lost two of her "sisters" in two years and she's been our champ though it all. She's an absolute angel!

Puzzle is a not-quite two year old border collie rescue puppy.

While Wednesday is the picture of good health and energy ... she is nearly twelve years old and finds herself irritated by Puzzle's annoying love for her. Puzzle is literally in her face 24/7. Wednesday growls at Puzzle. Puzzle wags her tail. Wednesday tries a big girl growl, you know, with teeth. Puzzle licks her teeth.
Puzzle follows her, herds her, licks her, nudges her, pounces on her ....

Wednesday needs a break.
Puzzle needs a puppy of her own!
Enter Prozac!
Prozac is an 8 month old border collie who recently found himself without a home.
We have a home!

And so it begins ....
Puzzle still adores Wednesday, but she loves having a puppy of her own to play with! They love running through the yard and tugging on toys. They romp and roll and you have never seen so much tail wagging!!!
And Wednesday can take a break when she needs to without Puzzle pestering her. Although, I find Wednesday seems to have increased energy as well!
Maybe it's the beautiful spring weather .... ?
Perhaps.
But we think it's the Prozac!

Old is New

I've been thinking about my grandma a lot lately. I suppose because I somehow have found myself "her age". What?! Is that possible? My fondest memories of my grandmother were when my sister would go to school and I would stay home with Grandma while my mother was at work. So I would have been about 2-4 at that time, which would have made my Grandma .... *gasp* ... my age. I am taking back all those thoughts of her being "old", that's for sure!
I have many, many memories of my grandmother. I have precious little tangible evidence of our relationship, however, and that makes me sad.
For Christmas, my sister had some of my grandma's old linens made into a spectacular apron for me! It's funky and fun and absolutely beautiful! Sometimes I feel separated from my very tiny family because as much as I am the same, I am very different. My grandmother, my mother, my sister ... they all embroider - I do not. They all cook and clean and embrace domesticity - I do not.
I do, however, like a good party! I do so adore filling my home with good friends and good cheer. And I do love to look relatively stylish while doing so!
With all of that being said, the apron was the perfect gift for me. The perfect way to encircle myself with all those wonderful memories!!
But the most special part of this amazing gift were the beautiful words and photos shared by the remarkable woman who made them for us. Her passion for what she does (and what she does is amazing) and her understanding of the feelings behind the fabric made me completely cherish that my apron was made with love. The love of my grandmother, the love of my sister, the love of my memories, and the love of a very dear, creative woman.
And I will wear my fabulous apron with pride and whimsy and pleasure ... because that's what my grandmother would have done!

http://theemptynest-janet.blogspot.com/2011/12/tale-of-four-apronspreserving.html

(please take the time to cut and paste this blog address to see exactly how beautiful the apron is!)

January Fun Day!

Wordless Wednesday's Sister, Puzzle

After the Holidays