Four-Legged Therapists

It’s been almost two weeks now since Shadow left us and the house is eerily quiet.  Shadow wasn’t a noisy dog.  She rarely barked.  She rarely whined.  About the only noise she made was when she would “talk” to Dean as he prepared her toothbrush in the morning, and, of course, the clicking of her toenails on the wood floors as she followed him from room to room ― or when, in the morning, she walked from the bed to the door, to the bed, to the door, to the bed and back to the door, then the bed, then the door .... long before the alarm was set to go off. But even so, without her, the house seems much quieter.

Shadow and I got off to a bit of a rough start.  We already had a dog.  I didn't want another one.  I didn’t want the shiny black dog that Dean “thought I wouldn’t notice” prancing and bouncing in the back yard.  But Dean and Shadow had bonded like a super glue finger sandwich within seconds of meeting each

other and separating them would have been as painful as ripping that flesh apart.  I’ll be honest.  It was a long, long time before Shadow and I became friends, and we were never devoted to each other the way she and Dean were.  We were always a bit wary of each other – especially during the times she was eating remote controls, ripping the couch, chewing through bannisters, sneaking any food left on the counters and demonstrating her skill in the fine art of escape.  Whenever Dean was away and her attempts at fleeing from me failed, Shadow would lie by the front door patiently waiting for his return.  If I happened to walk by she’d follow me with her eyes, and I know she was thinking, “when will he come home and save me from that woman?”

During the last couple of months of Shadow’s life, as she declined and spent more and more time sleeping, the cats got quieter too.  They had reached one year old and I thought maybe this new demeanor meant they’d left the kitty antics behind and had reached that dignified, mature, and somewhat boring, adult cat stage.  But now I’m beginning to think they had sensed Shadow’s illness and reacted accordingly.  As Shadow grew weaker and the sadness in the house increased, they became more subdued.  They slept more.  They quit chasing each other.  They didn’t wrestle with each other.  They didn’t play with their toys.  A lot of nights, instead of sleeping with us, they chose other places.

The day the vet came to put Shadow to sleep, Sophie sat nearby.  I don’t remember if she stayed through the whole process, but she was there, watching, when it started.  Maybe she was just curious, but I think she knew there was some serious stuff happening.   I like to think she wanted to be there for Shadow.  And maybe for us too.  The days after Shadow died the “girls” seemed to sense our sorrow and spent more time in our laps and once again started sleeping with us.  

 

And then, all at once, they began playing.  They wrestled with each 

other – in the dining room, in the family room, on top of me in the middle of the night.  They chased their balls and threw their little mice around.  Their paws pounded the floors like a herd of mini elephants as they chased each other.  On top of all the playing, Sophie decided to take over Shadow’s job of the early morning wake up call. Unfortunately she doesn’t tell time quite as well as Shadow did and has begun pawing on the bed around 

5:15 a.m.  If I wait too long to pull my arm out from under the covers and pet her she begins pawing at my head.  And then she grabs a chunk of my hair in her teeth and yanks.  The only way to stop the pawing (and prevent baldness!) is to continually pet her, get up, or throw her out of the bedroom.

Here’s what I think.  I think they decided it was time to move on.  I think they decided we needed to try and be normal again.  To laugh.  To make some noise.   So we are.  The house is still too quiet but there are

more and more bursts of kitty antics and laughter.  Like the other day.  Sophie was running with Maisie hot on her tail.  She tore around a corner only to find Dean blocking her way and when she tried to put the brakes on she ended up sliding on her butt right between his legs.

We miss Shadow.  I miss Shadow.  But just because Shadow isn’t here anymore doesn’t mean she isn’t with us.  And as the days go on we are remembering her more with smiles than with sadness.

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Four-Legged Therapists

I Think My Ears Are Sprouting

Guess what I’ve figured out? I have figured out why there is a weird little part on the cord of my earbuds.  I don’t know if all earbuds have this special part, but the buds I use (not to be confused with flower buds) do.  And not knowing why that little part is there has been driving me crazy.  I don’t mean I was driven to the tearing at my hair while my eyes darted around wildly and spittle dribbled from my mouth as I was moaning and shaking my fist at my computer kind of crazy.  I save that for the office.  No, I mean just the usual every day quietly mumbling at a handful of plastic-covered wire kind of crazy. 

It’s this little part.  It’s really two parts in one.  

 I could not, for the life of me, understand why it was split so one part could move up and down.  Was it meant to keep them secure?  It is pretty windy here.  I tried pushing the movable part as far as I could to one end, placing the loop over my head, cinching the part under my chin and putting the earbuds in my ears. It wasn’t very comfortable.   

There were lots of people wearing earbuds at the gym, but I never saw anybody with the cords of their earbuds cinched under their chin.  Anyway, even though I have been known to get quite a bit of speed going on that elliptical, I’d never been in any danger that the wind from my pumping legs would blow those buds out of my ears.  And I’d never seen people running outside with that special part pulled up under their chin either.

Even at work, on the days I was working so hard there should have been a tornado strong wind dust devil strong light breeze swirling around me, I’d never produced the amount of wind that would warrant tightening them down under my chin.  Okay, there was that one day when I forgot to take a Lactaid before eating a piece of whipped cream topped cake but that’s a different kind of wind which didn’t involve earbuds.  Not in the accepted manner anyway.  I suppose the people around me could have placed them carefully in their nostrils and cinched them down to prevent them from sliding further into their nasal passages but I … um … am going to move on now. 

I knew there had to be a reason for this special sliding earbud part but I had no idea what it could be.  And I didn’t want to ask because I wanted to figure it out myself.  Plus I didn’t want to put someone in the uncomfortable position of explaining the obvious while trying not to make me feel stupid. 

But all at once ― it came to me.  I know the reason for the sliding thingy on the cord of my earbuds.  Are you ready?  It’s an earlobe protector!  I know.  I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out either.

The thing is, I only use one ear bud at work.  I do this because because when I am working at my computer, I face away from my cubicle opening and I have a heightened startle reflex.  I have actually fallen to the floor after being surprised, and even though I haven’t done that for many years, at my age, I’d just rather not risk it.  So, if I am listening to music, there is always one earbud that is just dangling. The problem is, a lot of times it gets caught on the arm of my chair, or smashed in between the arm of my chair and my keyboard table, or squashed between my chair and my leg, and if I move the “wrong” way it yanks the one I'm using to listen with right out of my ear.   

 

But no more!  This seemingly insignificant part lets me shorten the dangling part of the extraneous bud so there is no longer a risk it will yank the other one from my ear, which might then get caught on my earring, possibly ripping my earlobe in two.  

Not only that, I’ve discovered another awesome benefit.  If I use that little slidey part to keep the earbud cords short, all I have to do when I get to the gym is slide it down and I’m ready to use both of them.  I don’t have to worry anymore about losing my balance and falling off the elliptical while I’m untangling cords.   Because falling off the elliptical machine would make me look pretty stupid.  But not as stupid as I’m going to feel when I find out you all figured out the reason for that little part years ago.

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I Think My Ears Are Sprouting

Bartholomew Cubbins Met A King

The other day Abby sent me an e-mail asking if I knew my blog profile said I was a daughter.  I thought it was funny that she didn’t think of me as a daughter.  It didn’t enter her brain.  In her mind, SHE is the daughter and I am the mother.  After I thought about it, though, I realized thinking of my parents as somebody’s son or daughter had never entered my brain either.  I never thought of my dad, who I once (but only once) defied by refusing to call home and tell him what I would be doing after a high school football game, as a son.  That night when he, normally in bed well before 10:00 p.m., was waiting up for me, alone, in the living room, at midnight, I definitely did not see him as somebody's son. 

When I was a gangly, awkward kid who had bottled up and buried experiences I didn't want to remember, my dad married a woman who brought order, warmth and security into my life.  But it didn't occur to me she might be somebody’s daughter.  She was my mom.  Actually, she was my life-saving super mom.  Unfortunately, as much as I wished for it, she never did put those super powers to work and transform me from the nerdy kid who spent Saturdays at the library into one of the cool kids who spent their Saturdays downtown or hanging out at the local burger joint.  I guess maybe she was a smart mom too.  

So I can understand how Abby doesn’t think of me as a daughter.  But we are all daughters or sons.  Some of us just happen to also be mothers or fathers.  And as sons and daughters and mothers and fathers we are watching out for, and taking care of each other.  And it’s not necessarily the fathers and mothers taking care of the sons and daughters.  Just ask my Dad how much he loved having me take care of him after his knee replacement as I forced encouraged him to do his physical therapy exercises three times a day.  Ask him how thrilled he was to receive the shoestring with beads I’d made so it would be easy for him to count his repetitions after I’d gone home.  Unfortunately he’s not “here” for you to ask him.  But I’m pretty sure I know what he would answer if he was.   He would say, “Thank you, Cathy.  That was very thoughtf  …”

What was that, Dad?  What’d you say? ... I'm not quite catching it ... 

Was ... days ... ntil ... yo ... lea ...!
 

Anyway, I’m sure he enjoyed the beads and I was happy I could be there for him.  And my “help” during his recovery gave us a chance to see another side of each other; just like Abby will now also see me as a daughter, not just a mother. 

I answered Abby’s e-mail to me about my blog profile with this response:

“I AM a daughter, goofball.  Unless Grandma and Grandpa just painted a face on a volleyball and stuck arms and legs in it.” (Which now that I am reading it back to myself makes absolutely no sense to me.)

To which she answered:

“I KNOW THAT, silly, but you don't spell it: daugher”*

And now she also sees me as an idiot.

*which I have fixed.  Thanks, Ab.◦

Bartholomew Cubbins Met A King

Shadow

Goodbye girl ...

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Shadow

7.74596669

When my father turned 60 he was surprised by a belly dancer.  Last week (January 5^th to be exact) when Dean turned 60, I gave him a flashlight.  I think, by his reaction, he was surprised too.  That’s not to say it wasn’t a very nice flashlight.  It shines 150 feet into the darkness and “produces a brilliant combination hot spot and peripheral beam” but still … it was just a flashlight.  It didn’t have quite the same dramatic effect as a belly dancer with light flashing off the undulating discs attached to her costume.  What he didn’t realize at the time, however, (because he can be somewhat oblivious) was that I’d been scurrying around like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off trying to plan a surprise 60^th birthday party for him.  

In times like that, being “blessed” with an oblivious husband can be a good thing.  The few days before his party went like this:

TUESDAY AFTERNOON – after a four hour drive from the airport

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I’m not going to work this afternoon.  I’m going to use my vacation time to stay home and clean the house (for seven hours even though I’ve just spent four hours driving home from Denver after saying goodbye to Abby & Jorge) because it’ll distract me from feeling sad (but really it’s because my house is a total garbage dump from two weeks of non-stop fun and I have people coming for your birthday party in four days.”)

 Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

_____________________________

TUESDAY EVENING

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I bought new rug pads for the kitchen rugs today so they won’t slide anymore (which I’ve been talking about buying for three months but finally did today because I’m planning your surprise birthday party and I need to keep the environment safe for brittle bones and slower reflexes.”) 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I also bought a new rug for the front door today because the backing on the old one was turning to dust and leaving more dirt than it was catching (and because I’m having people over for your birthday party and that rug is an embarrassment.”) 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “Oh, and I replaced all the burned out light bulbs (which have been burned out for weeks or months because I have people coming over for your birthday who probably would prefer to see the rugs they will no longer be slipping on.”) 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

____________________________

WEDNESDAY – LATE MORNING

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “I don’t want to be at work.  I’m leaving early.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “#!?#!!”

WEDNESDAY EVENING

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I bought too many rug pads so now that I’ve finished baking your birthday cake and making the sauce for the manicotti for tomorrow’s birthday dinner, before Bed, Bath & Beyond closes I’m going to return a couple of them (and then I’m going to rush to the party store to buy the plates and napkins that say ‘you’re 60’ and hide them in my trunk because you left work early today so I couldn’t do it after I left work because that would mean I would get home later than normal and you’d wonder where I’d been.”)

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Right now?”  

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “Yes.” 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.” 

________________________________

THURSDAY -- LATE MORNING 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “I’m taking the afternoon off.  It’s my birthday.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “#!?#!!  Leslie, Dad took the afternoon off – again – so I need to take vacation time so I can buy the birthday beer but still get home at the same time I usually do so he’s not suspicious.  But I can’t sneak anything into the house because he’ll be there.  I’m worried if I leave beer in the trunk it’ll freeze.  Can I bring it to your house?”

THURSDAY EVENING – Birthday Party With Family

Lucky Daughter: “Dad, my birthday present for you is a father/daughter afternoon on Saturday.  I’ll pick you up around 3 p.m.” 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “Dean, please accept that flashlight as a token of my esteem.”

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  blank look

____________________________________

FRIDAY MORNING

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “Dean, I’ll be out of the office for a couple of hours taking the cats to the vet to get their shots (but not really.  I'm just afraid you’ll decide to leave early again today so I’m using vacation time to buy the veggies and last minute party stuff and take it home and put it in a cooler with ice and hide it in my sewing room closet.”) 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy: “Okay.”

 ____________________________________

SATURDAY MORNING 

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I need to have Abby tell me how she makes the stuff she cleans her stainless steel stove with.  If I ever buy another stainless steel refrigerator I’m going to make sure it’s not the kind that shows every fingerprint (and why don’t you think it’s weird that I’m rubbing away furiously at this fridge and the stove at 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday while you’re making pancakes? Or that I’ve been following behind you all week picking up every bit of food you drop on the floor when you’re cooking and/or eating?  And why haven’t you noticed that I put the Christmas decoration bins back above the garage even though there are still some decorations up in the house?  Or that I actually cleaned the guest bedroom and bathroom which I almost never do unless I know guests are coming (which I know are but YOU don’t)?  Or that it’s Saturday and I’ve put on makeup and straightened my hair which NEVER happens on the weekend?”)

SATURDAY AFTERNOON 

3:07 p.m.

Lucky daughter takes Dean for the father/daughter afternoon and then the whirl of preparation begins.   Our good friends from Denver, Larry & Heidi are waiting in the wings. 

Larry drives off to the grocery store to pick up the pounds of meat and cheese, the mountain of croissants and the cake I’d ordered earlier in the week.   He brings it back and then drives to Leslie and Ryan’s to pick up the beer. While he is doing that,  Heidi and I are frantically cutting and laying out vegetables, meats, chips, and condiments, while I babble like a crazed birthday planner who is trying to prepare a surprise birthday party for her husband in three hours. 

 

What about the cucumbers?  Round slices or spears?  I don’t know…I don’t know…what do you think?  Spears?  Round?  Will they want them on their sandwich?  The round would be better on a sandwich, right?  But round wouldn’t be very easy for dipping.  If they want to dip they’ll want spears.  Round?  Spear?   And what about the meat?  Rolled or fanned out?  Oh…Heidi, your veggies are laid out in very nice rows and they’re all neat and precise.  My peppers are just a pile of red and green and orange.  Maybe I should straighten them out.  Should I straighten them out?  Cheese.  What about the cheese?  Rectangular platter or round plate?  Rolled or flat?  Not rolled, right?  Flat is better.  Condiments?  Where are my condiments?  I know I had squirt mayo and squirt miracle whip and mustard and olives and pickles.  I can’t find them.  They’re not with the other stuff.  Crap.  Did I leave that bag in the trunk?  Shoot.  If I did it’s probably frozen.  Do you think Larry’s still at the store?  It’s not in the trunk.  I’ve looked in my sewing room closet and the cabinet twice.  I can’t find them……..oh, wait.  They’re at Leslie’s!  I remember.  I bought them the day I bought the beer and I left them at Leslie’s!  What time is it?  Oh, man.  I’m never going to be ready….

And I wouldn't have been if it wasn't for Larry & Heidi's help.  If it wasn't for them all the party guests would have been grabbing deli meat and cheese from bags and cutting their own veggies.

SATURDAY EVENING

6:00 p.m.

Guests arrive. 

  

6:13 p.m. 

Text from Lucky Daughter:  “how much longer?” (because Dad is being a real pain.  He wouldn’t let me take him to the art museum because he ‘has a membership and can go anytime’ and he didn’t want to go the art gallery or the art store or just about everything I tried to do with him.)

6:20 p.m. 

Abby and Jorge have “joined in” on Skype.  I’d been watching through the peep hole in the front door for the Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy’s arrival but then I got distracted and wasn’t watching when Lucky Daughter pulled up.  So when Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy walked in nobody was ready.  And then he went the opposite way I was expecting (even though I should have known better) so he walked in on a bunch of people milling around visiting and drinking. 

But he was still surprised.  So surprised that he stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, mouth open, staring.  He was speechless almost as long as he was when he opened the flashlight.

And that was my real gift.  Even though I still think the flashlight was pretty cool.

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7.74596669

Arrggh! I Be Needin' Food!

There has been a lot happening in our neck of the woods in the past few weeks, not the least of which was Christmas and all that it involves.  There was a harrowing ride to and from the airport as well as ...

cookie frosting ...

figuring out how to transform the transformer ...

cooking ... (for recipe go here)

gift opening ...

relaxing ...

and of course, the expected eating and eating and eating, and, well, more eating.  

As I “forced” myself to eat more and more cookies and breads and candies and wine and trifle and pie and the occasional token carrot, my body did what it had to do to accommodate the cornucopia of foodstuffs I was sending down my gullet.  It (specifically, my belly) stretched to make room.   After weeks of this endless eating I’ve begun to worry I will be forced to shop for larger clothes and the only thing I hate more than shopping is … well, there’s nothing I hate more than shopping.  So I’ve  taken drastic measures.  I tied my wrists to a chair.  I tied my wrists to the arms of a chair and yelled “stop!”  Sort of.  Actually, I whispered it to myself.  In my head.  This morning.  I tied my wrists to the arms of a chair and whispered “stop!” right after I opened my desk drawer and ate some of the candy I’d stored up “in case of emergency.”

Non-stop eating was important but it wasn't the only activity keeping us busy.   We also participated in the popular sport of winter driving.   Abby & Jorge flew from the tropics of Ecuador and landed in a blizzard just before the airport was closed.  Our normally four-hour trip to the airport turned into a six hour drive over ice and snow.  And the usual four-hour trip home took over seven, not counting an unexpected overnight stay in Cheyenne because the interstate closed partway home.  

I took my job as navigator very seriously on this drive and kept Dean alert to all driving hazards by ceaselessly reminding him to “go slow…take your time…don’t rush…slow is good…let the idiots pass…they’ll end up in the ditch just like the other 11 cars we’ve already seen…”  We all really wanted to be home but it was probably a good thing the interstate closed because staying in Cheyenne also gave Abby’s tongue time to heal in preparation for the next day when she got to listen to me “help” Dean again.

Even with the heater blasting in the car, Jorge spent most of the time on the ride home like this:  

But it only took a few days for him to transform  – like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis – and take off the coat he had been wearing inside the house.

After that, the possibilities were endless.  Before we knew it he was out in the cold and snow shredding and sledding with the best of them. 

If you want to see videos of the action you can go here.

Of course all that “skiing” and sledding worked up an appetite which resulted in, yes, even more eating. 

The expansion of my belly over the past month or so has been a bit disheartening.  It’s hard to ignore a protruding belly, which means I’ve been spending more time thinking about why it’s become larger and flabbier which reminds me of cookies, and cakes and pies and cheese and pretty much all kinds of food (except vegetables) which makes me hungry, which causes me to reach for those cookies and candies and cheese, which is why I finally had to tie my wrists to a chair. 

Gosh, I hope all this talk about food hasn’t ruined your well-intentioned “eat healthy” New Year’s resolution and sent you running to the kitchen where you are now squirting chocolate sauce into your mouth.   If you are slumped in the corner, chocolate dribbling down your chin, don’t despair, because you too can utilize my wrist-tying-food-limiting technique.  But before you do, here’s a tip:  using ribbon to tie your wrists is the most comfortable.  However, if you are out of ribbon, a plastic grocery bag twisted into a rope will substitute nicely.   And if you prefer something more secure, I just happen to know where you can get a fine pair of handcuffs.  

Wait a minute.  You didn’t REALLY think I tied both my wrists to the arms of a chair did you?  Of course I didn’t do that.  It was only one wrist.  It’s pretty much impossible to tie both wrists to separate chair arms without any kind of help.  And if I asked for help, that would mean I was admitting I had a problem.  And I don’t.  Just because I have perfected the “one-armed-sneak-food-and-eat-undetected” technique is not an indicator that I need a food intervention.  Although it does mean I’m dragging a chair behind me everywhere I go … which is causing some issues with the walls … and it’s scaring the cats …

I need a smaller chair.

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Arrggh! I Be Needin' Food!