(re)Birth

These lyrics keep going through my head:

“Stop! What’s that sound? The death rattle of this crazy old town. Stop! Where ya been…”

Change is never quiet.

Birth is not quiet.

It is violent, painful, messy.

The impulse to stay in place

and look the other way

accept the status quo

That impulse is hard to fight.

If I can’t even “make” my family see my point of view

or influence their behavior

how can an oppressed people change the conversation for millions?

How can there be people

who think it’s okay to go full force

and murder a jogger in full daylight?

(because there are no consequences)

To end someone’s life? Kill them in their home when they are asleep?

(offer no apology)

To deprive someone of air until they are dead

(while others look on)

It is unbelievable. That this happens in America today

In full sight, without outrage.

Despite my disbelief, despite my reality

It happens. It is. A fact.

So how do we change the conversation?

How do we break has become commonplace?

It is time, past time, to resolve this.

I believe we are seeing the death throes of the privilege enjoyed by those

who are covered by their skin tone and place in society

Who have favorable circumstance

Who break laws and oppress others with impunity

I hear roar of protest

I hear the drumbeat of change

I pray we are witnessing rebirth

And I hope this can be done without bloodshed

It is frightening

and hard to understand why and why now.

But think – a man, most men

cannot fathom how unsafe the world is for a woman

who is seen is prey

All the precautions we take to protect ourselves are illusionary

We are abused and hurt and weaponized

Multiply that 1000 x 1000 x 1000

for people who stand out because of their color

who know at any minute

their lives are forfeit. Who walk a tightrope of fear and hope

That they will live to see daylight.

Who are never allowed to forget

that they are here on sufferance. They walk among us at OUR pleasure

not because they are equal, but at our wish. They are less than.

How angry I get when I am disrespected and minimized. When I am seen as less than

Because of my age and sex

(In that moment I have a powerful urge to kill the one who is killing me)

But I only get a fraction of what others receive

And in any circumstance I have privilege, being white, upper middle class, educated.

This is a long standing battle

built into human nature

the struggle and clawing

for more status. For precedence. And the belief is that only comes if someone else is less than.

It’s not going to go away

and life will not be the same.

The fire is laid and the tinder is ready

for violence, messiness and rebirth.

Revolutions are never neat

And resolutions are hard to find

Anticipation

I read the Lord of The Rings trilogy in about a week.

I was in high school and started The Fellowship of the Ring over the weekend and read it off and on all week, finishing up on a Friday afternoon.

The story, which started a bit slowly for me, suddenly grabbed my imagination and I picked up The Two Towers and read early into Saturday morning. It fell from my nerveless fingers around midnight that night and I snatched up The Return of the King to read just a few chapters to see what happened next.

I spent Sunday in Middle Earth and finished the book after school on Monday. My brain felt three sizes too big for my skull. I took out my contacts to give my dry eyes a break. The only words in my brain were One ring to rule them all, one ring to bind them, one ring to rule them all and in the darkness bind them. My imagination had been captured like never before, and I was dizzy from reading.

When I returned to my body I wondered why on earth I stayed up so late to finish the series. I had deprived myself of the lingering joy of a great story, rolling it over in my mind and thinking about the plot. I hadn’t savored the book. And looming ahead was….oops.

Well, looming ahead was The Hobbit and assigned reading for school and within a few months I received the trilogy as a gift and read them more slowly. But I’ll never forget the feeling of drowning in a book, falling in love with the characters, and letting myself run free in a different world.

That happened to me with with other books and I learned how terrible it can be to start a series, work through it, and then have to wait until the author publishes again. Torture! When the next book comes out the temptation is to devour it all at once, knowing that a yawning emptiness lies ahead when you turn the final page. The terrors of being a reader!!

I am in that situation now. My talented neighbor cowrote a book – The Royal We – five years ago and it was delightful. I bought it in hardcover and then as an ebook when “bonus content” was released. I’ve loaned it and read it and recommended it and loved it every single time. I thought perhaps there would be a sequel. Maybe. But I didn’t want to presume on our acquaintance.

My patience was REWARDED this week when, in exchange for a neighborly deed, she offered me an ADVANCED READING COPY of the sequel. Oh frabjous day! I never expected, I never thought, I was prepared to wait a few months and nab the book when everyone else did.

The book came with delicious chocolate chip cookies.

I finished the book I was reading. Checked the due dates on the others. Cleaned up my Kindle library and ate a cookie. Who was I kidding? Saturday night I cracked the spine and managed to close it before midnight. I’m not a teenager any more and can’t stay up reading all night. I’m about halfway through and debating picking it up again to see what happens next or moving onto something more useful, like cooking dinner.

I don’t know how she and her writing partner did it. The plot is so creative and so different than I expected. Pretty much nothing I predicted would happen has happened. It is more than a sequel that ties up loose ends from the first book. The characters are in a sprawling predicament, establishing new relationships and growing in new directions. I am delighted because the sequel is equally absorbing and interesting and engrossing as the original.

I will try not to finish all the good stuff immediately. Try not to end up fuzzy headed and distracted when I return to work tomorrow. Try not to deprive myself of all the deliciousness of a really satisfying book.

Then I’ll give it a day or so and reread the first book for the 5th time and reread the sequel for the second.

And maybe bake some cookies.

Love/Hate

I have an adversarial relationship with my sewing machine. I can’t count the number of times bad things have happened:

the feed dogs suck fabric into the bobbin mechanism
the needle hits a pin and bends and starts hitting the bobbin case
fabric catches underneath and part of the shirt back gets sewed to the sleeve
the thread winder goes crazy and I end up with a big loop of thread poking through the bobbin
- then I have to decide if I should unwind and call it a loss or use it and see what happens
  - (I NEVER use it to see what happens because I know that would be a catastrophe)

Mr. White (he’s a White Blue Jeans machine) has a mind of his own most days, and oftener than not we do not align.

Still, I sew. I am a sucker for gorgeous fabrics, soft and liquid against my forearm. I fall in love with a store bought shirt that finally tatters and I can’t find a replacement so I buy a pattern. I am out of step with the beat of fashion and I think, “I could make this.” And then I buy a pattern and fabric and spend way too many hours pinning and cutting and then Mr. White gives me attitude and we break up.

And yet….I return.

What I’m good at:

–Home sewing – pillows, bolsters, curtains, drapes, duvet cover. I excel at at taking a three dimensional shape and figuring out how to cover it in fabric.

What brings me low:

–Anything with a pattern or precision including clothes, purses, and quilts. I once sewed a quilt patch for a charity quilt that was so misshapen they couldn’t use it.

(I took it apart and put it together maybe four times. The ladies were very kind and insisted I sign the finished quilt. I gave chair massages to everyone during the final push).

What has worked for me:

–As soon as things start going wrong, (I’m on the floor with the bobbin parts in pieces as I jiggle a stuck needle out of the underworld), I stop. I never ‘soldier on’ – in sewing, I quit while I’m behind. I gained this wisdom from a 1970’s era book on fixing your Beetle – the writer instructed that when things stopped going well, stop and have a beer and come back to it. That advice is sound.

Right now I am sewing contoured face masks with a pocket for a nose wire for better fit and a pocket for a reusable filter. I looked at several patterns and thought this was the most protective and would fit the best. I downloaded a template from the interweb and watched the video twice. I went through my stash and found a lot of unused quilting fabric that I bought to make camp shirts (I had a sew-my-own camp shirt kick a decade ago). I also had a fair amount of elastic, pipe cleaners, thread, ribbon…everything you could want to make face masks for the pandemic.

I actually thought ahead this time and decided to make a practice mask from start to finish to see how it went. The designer pegged it as a 30 minute project. It took me over 90 minutes, which included ripping out an edge (unfortunately Mr. White sewed it using a very small stitch and my thread didn’t contrast enough to make deconstruction simple). I stopped twice to take a break and eat some lunch. I found some spare fabric so Mr. White could go full steam ahead on a nice long seam (he likes to go full out). By the end of the afternoon, I had a working face mask. I snapped a picture, sent it to all my phone contacts and posted it on my ‘gram. People loved it.

I woke up and there were questions about “what other fabrics do you have?” and “I need 4”. Very flattering and good for my ego. I have supplies. I could make more. I could SELL them and make money!

Today I made four more masks – two for my honey, one more for me, and one spare. Mr. White was grumpy, but I opened a conversation, thanked him for his work, gave him a couple practice runs full steam ahead and he settled down. The fabric was unruly though – one of the masks has a wonky lining. I don’t know why – I used the same template, the other ones are fine, but it went wonky on me. Mr. White messed up the staystitching on one and when I turned it inside out there was a cave that required excavation. More unpicking of stitches. It took me about 3 hours to do four masks. And I am spent.

My husband said the results were impressive and he thanked me repeatedly for doing the work. I wrestled with my perfectionist tendencies and decided to take the win. They are functional and the mistakes are not terrible. The next batch (if there is a next batch) should be better, go faster, be easier.

I not going into business with these. To be honest, they are priceless – I am using my limited skills to make protective gear for people I love. The going rate for a mask on the street is $5.00. At that price, I’m spending at least that in materials not to mention time. I will probably donate my fabric stash to someone who is making items for local healthcare workers.

It might be different if my skills were better. I’d love to be a COVID19 warrior, sewing to save the world. But life is too short to stay in a frustrating relationship. I’ve been knitting scarfs for soldiers in my spare time and that is soothing and easy. But Mr. White and I, well, we go way back and I’m not sure we will ever be besties. I see a breakup on the horizon.

Notes from the lockdown

It’s Sunday, not even 3 days into the “shelter in place” order that went into effect in L.A. So far, I am doing fine. The last time I was “out” out was Thursday morning, to my physical therapy appointment. I was last at a store a week ago Friday. I’m walking around the neighborhood, cooking, cleaning – might as well write.

After my store visit I came home and told my man (MM) that he is now in charge of foraging. He has agreed without hesitation. He has a strong protective bent and we both know who has more tolerance for lines and silliness (I was going to say stupidity but that seems harsh). Silliness in terms of stores not posting directive signs – This way to add to your Toilet Paper hoard and This way if you just need some bell peppers. Silliness in term of completely full parking lots. Of small children holding paper towels to get around the limits. Empty store shelves. That stuff.

I, meanwhile, am the at-home logistics officer. I like to cook and enjoy being creative with leftovers. (I just wish I could recreate some of my inspirational leftover dishes, but they never taste as good the second time around). I’m extremely conscious of not wanting to waste food and of planning meals that will incorporate ingredients on hand. It’s triage meal planning. Do I really want to use 5 cups of flour on Irish soda bread or should I use the box mix of Beer Bread in the cupboard? How can I sneak in more vegetables? Answers: not yet, yes, throw some spinach into the soup.

We are fortunate – our tap water won’t kill us and we have a whole house filtration system so we’re good for hydration. We had a decent stock of hand sanitizer. We have enough TP and paper towels for few weeks. We have home projects to work on together and we’re really good under pressure so I think we will weather this okay.

In other news:

Arti the rambunctious teenage cat veers between utter obnoxiousness to warm purring sugar. He has developed a talent for identifying my bathroom needs before I do. Within a few minutes of his sugar I inevitably have to disturb him for a bio break.

Louis the former show dog (but still and always a champion) is bravely hanging out in the hallway so he can keep an eye on us. He is a frequent target of Arti’s boredom and they haven’t worked that out yet. We break up any bullying and give the cat a time out when needed.

Fiona, who has been featured in this blog, is getting home based physical therapy and massage (really, not just pets; I’ll post a photo next time she’s in session). She alerts us to intruders on the sidewalk and heaven forbid a delivery person should come to the door! The dogs still get walked twice a day which is beneficial for us all.

MM and I just celebrated his birthday with lobsters – not an essential store trip, but it felt essential to our emotional well being. I used 13/4 C of milk to make a lemon pudding cake. He feels special even if his birthday present (Peter Sagall at the Soraya got cancelled).

And me? I’ve got chicken Avolegomo soup planned for dinner (lots of lemons around here) and I’ll make the beer bread to go along. I’ll sneak some spinach in there too. Tomorrow I’m planning an Ina Garten recipe of pounded and fried chicken breasts on a bed of fresh spinach. I spent some time reorganizing one shelf in the linen closet and put away the pile of completed books on my nightstand. And I’ll write. See you soon.\

Be Aware, Prepare!

I took the bus to work this morning.

There is just something about public transportation that I find so freeing.

Once I’ve boarded and gotten settled, all decisions are out of my hands. Heavy traffic? I’m on the bus. Road closed? I’m on the bus. I’ll get to my destination when I get there. My only job is to get to the stop early or on time and then if something happens, it’s not my problem. I get comfortable, close my eyes and let someone else worry about the traffic. I’m good.

And then getting home – I can’t stay late because I have to catch my bus. Whoops, gotta go – don’t want to miss my bus.

The bus helps me manage my stress and relieves me of decisions for just that period of time. I am grateful for the option to take the bus and let go.

Faith can be like the bus. For me, having faith is not optional. I absolutely believe in God and require His presence in my life. I have free will and can choose to follow His precepts (or not) – but my life is so much better when I do. My faith is foundational. When it is strong, the bumps and hurdles in life don’t affect me as much. I can deal with them more easily and I don’t need to worry about every little thing because I know that I am in His hands.

When I take the bus, I have to prepare – carefully pack my bag, ensure that I have adequate funds or a valid ticket, bring the good travel mug that doesn’t leak, wear shoes that will let me walk the last quarter mile. I question my faith preparations – am I reading my bible app, going to church regularly, praying and seeking His guidance? Did I leave myself enough time to make the journey and am I carefully listening and studying to ensure that my armor is on and I’m ready to meet the day? If not, I tell myself I will do better tomorrow. The consequences of ignoring God are not as immediate as a 90 minute drive to work.

But they are far more dire.

I guess it’s trite, comparing my bus ride to my walk of faith.

Both make my days and nights easier and provide space to think, to breathe, to be intentional. My life is blessed and I am truly grateful to be aware of my options. I choose what makes me better. It’s past time to put God above the rest.

The Perfect Gentleman

I was team cat, through and through. Dogs were foreign territory, unpredictable lickers who got underfoot and drooled all over your hands. NOT a dog person.

But I married a man who loved dogs and when it came time to bring a dog into our lives, we chose corgis. And our first corgi was perfect for someone who was by no means ready for a dog in her life.

He came from a breeder in Arizona and was 7 months old. He could’ve been a grand champion except for one small testicle that descended, saw the world, and retreated. She had experts and amateurs searching for that ball like it was the Ark of the Covenant. By the time he stepped off the plane, this dog had been probed by experts.

His name was “Pinafore, for Pete’s Sake” and he responded to “Petey.” His red and white fur was soft and his demeanor was a bit anxious, but he politely trotted out to the parking lot and rode home in the back seat with my husband crooning endearments into his ears.

We renamed him Jeeves. And what a gentleman he was.

Loving, soft, beautiful corgi. The cats were a bit intimidating, but he learned to avoid them and gravitated towards us like a flower to the sun. I read up on puppies, dog training, monks training dogs, positive reinforcement….we both took him to obedience class and he won a handsome first place trophy at the last class. He sat, stood, stayed – all this was revelatory to me because my childhood dogs did none of this.

One day I got home from work, let him out to do his business, and collapsed on the couch with a migraine. All I wanted was to disappear. At some point I opened my eyes and met his gaze. He was patiently sitting in front of my face.

I put a hand out and patted his head and fell back. When I reopened my eyes he was still there.

I could not get rid of him. I just wanted to retreat, and he just wanted to comfort. By the time my husband got home I was mildly hysterical “I have a migraine and the dog won’t go away! What does he want?”

“To love you. That’s all.” He joined me on the couch and greeted us both.

“I gave him love. I petted him and talked to him and he wouldn’t go away”

“Why would he?”

“Cats go away if you give them too much attention.”

“He’s not a cat. He just wants to love you.”

The two of them took a walk and I took some medication and a few days later realized that we now had a sociable companion who wanted to hang out and be part of whatever we were doing. I would never have another migraine without the comfort of loving brown eyes, soft fur and scratchy stubby legs. Jeeves was a perfect first dog. He melted the bars around my heart and made room for all the rest.

/dsh

Authenticity

My dad used to say “too soon we grow old, too late we grow smart.” I can relate to that. I’ve spent a lot of my life in a self-centered haze, not thinking about other people and what they might think of me or measuring my affect on them. But a few years ago I took a few steps back, and then a few more, and then decided to change the way I relate to the world. One of my actions was to live more authentically and to be more transparent about how I feel.

I started reaching out to people in my life and explicitly telling them what they mean to me. I’m more open about what I need in our relationship and if someone is unable to meet my needs, I’m adjusting my perception of our friendship and moving on. (I’m not denouncing them or cutting them out, I’m adjusting my expectations).

I’m also working on discernment and how one person may talk the talk but someone else is actually walking the walk, and THAT person is my ride or die partner.

I recently went to a retreat and came out with some revelations. You probably already knew about this, but they stood out for me in a fresh way.

Everyone wants to be happy – this rocked me. I know people who are profoundly unhappy and they hang onto that with every ounce of strength. Do even those people want to be happy? I guess they do. I suspect that life experiences have soured their perspective. Some may have given up. But deep down in their core they do want happiness. It just doesn’t look that way from the outside. How can this alter my behavior and demeanor?

Since I can’t change anyone’s behavior or outlook, I need to focus on MY behavior and outlook. I can put my thoughts and intentions toward a different outcome and that will change my demeanor and behavior.

There was a woman in our class who wanted to know if she should TELL the person about whom she’s meditating that she is doing this – and our instructor said she could, if she wanted, but it really wasn’t necessary. The point being that you can only work on yourself and you can’t change someone else.

I just had a milestone birthday and I was clear in my own mind how I wanted to celebrate. I had a lovely party with an eclectic group of friends old and new. And in the process, I received some lovely tributes. One person completely surprised me by their behavior and I thought – wow, it’s true. I changed my outlook and expectations and moved out of my comfort zone and we have moved into a brave new country. That gives me hope for the future. I will bravely step out and be authentic, present, and honest. I have no idea what that will look like and I expect surprises!

Be still

I am in SUCH a state! My mind is traveling a million miles an hour, my body has numerous aches and pains, and my breath is rapid and shallow. I’ve been like this for a few weeks and it’s making me crazy.

What am I doing to alleviate it?

I am LEANING INTO it, opening new web pages, playing video games, scarfing chocolate, gossiping with coworkers, snapping at my husband and dogs and wishing I could firebomb the office that just asked me, AGAIN to triple check that their data is not in a particular database.

I know better.

I work at home on Thursdays and that Thursday I was fully into the craziness – I had a spam call from the energy department that they were shutting off our power because we didn’t pay the bill. The bank called about a different issue with our checking account. My manager told me to “hold off” on some projects that she specifically assigned on Tuesday so they would be done by Friday. My blood was boiling and my brain was shooting flames. How to handle this? I could not lean in any farther without falling over. So I let myself fall.

I slipped slowly off my chair and sank to the floor. Took some deep calming breaths all the way into my belly. Felt the brush of soft fur against my left foot as a corgi moved in on me. Put a quiet palm on her shoulder when she started pawing at my shin.

Thoughts: Why are you acting like this? What is triggering you to be so reactive? Why do you think you need to get out ahead of things and control everyone’s actions? Where is your good sense not to mention your faith?

My faith. Because I am a Christian. And I do believe that God has plans for my life. And that everything will be okay. Every day I try to step out on faith (my challenge is to step slowly and make sure it’s right before leaping into the fray). And yet here I am being tossed and turned, body battered, brain exhausted, sleep a distant memory.

The refrain begins: I am a failure….stop that right now. I am human.

And it’s really really easy to get sucked into the outside world. Elections and Impeachment and homeless people in our neighborhood and traffic and corruption whatcanido? Howcanihelp?

A thought drifted into my mind: “Be still and know that I am God” Psalm 46:10 (had to look it up). Be still —

When I lean into the stress, when I get high on the cortisone, when I stuff down my feelings – that’s when my body and mind break down. Be still. Observe. Let the frenzy happen around you and wait for direction. Listen to your heart and soul. Know that I am God. There’s some faith right there.

I can’t control the world, but I can help myself. Deep breath release tension soft corgi fur.

Lean into THAT.

Let there be light

The distress call was clear – “Mom needs a new lamp”

and the followup – “her lamp broke I will replace it”

then – “they don’t make it any more”

finally – “can you bring out your old lamp on Saturday”

And mom herself “I think I need both of you”

I shifted into Fix for Mom mode. That’s my primary role these days. I’m not just a daughter, I’m second in command of her quality of life.

Saturday was clear and sunny. I found my “old lamp” in the garage – it was missing a shade and a lightbulb, but it could be rehabbed. Loaded it into the SUV and set out. It was a clear November morning – the best season of all in Los Angeles. The San Gabriel Mountains rose to north and the road was clear. Got up to a steady 70 mph and hit cruise control. Looked like this was gonna be an easy run. I should have curbed my thoughts – the traffic gremlins were put on alert.

I sailed along the 134–>210 freeway and as I approached Glendora well ahead of schedule I felt an itch. There was time so I took a detour and stopped at Tuesday Morning to see if I could find a new replacement lamp. I enjoyed a pleasant 20 minutes browsing and buying things I didn’t need but did not find the item in question. As I paid for my purchases I asked….they showed me a small stash…and I triumphantly carried out a brand spanking new floor lamp with the “natural daylight” bulb.

I felt good. I felt GREAT. Loaded that baby into the vehicle, snapped a victory photo and shared it on social media. I was the bomb.

Fate never hesitates to pop your balloon when it’s riding high on pride. I decided not to retrace my steps to the freeway but to forge a new path. Without a map. I passed “Compromise Lane” (has to be a story there) and found a freeway on ramp but it was in the middle of an interchange and headed in the wrong direction. I exited, reversed course, drove by instinct….and missed it again. Pulled a U-turn and tried to find the right road. Turned around in a parking lot and 20 minutes later made it onto the 57 south. My balloon trailed sadly in my wake.

My time advantage had vanished and I called to change my ETA. Exited the 71 at the wrong place. Got back on the freeway and back on track. My mood was flattening out.
A brief return of good fortune when I located parking. Hauled the lamp to the third floor, pulled it out of the box and started assembly. I did not read the directions because I didn’t have my specs and the apartment was dim. I inserted part A into part B and moved right along.

There were two working floor lamps in the room, and Mom was in her usual chair, reading, so I wondered why a new light was needed. But I was committed to my Fix for Mom mission so I tamped down my doubts as I connected the components.

I made light conversation while I tried to get the base attached to the pole. Mom was fretting about her ability to use the lamp because her favorite on/off device wouldn’t work with it. I demonstrated the rocker switch (no twisting, no pulling) and she insisted she only wanted a light with an on/off cord. Feeling like Anne Sullivan, I placed her hand on the switch and showed her that a gentle press would turn it on. Another would turn it off. On. Off. I was confident she could manage this. She was not.

Time was wasting and I knew her blood sugars were dropping. It looked like I would need those directions after all so I put everything down and announced that we would finish it after lunch.

We collected reinforcements on the way to the restaurant. The city was having a parade, which hosed the traffic but we made it. The blood sugar crisis was avoided. Things seemed to be back on track.

But, delays. We had to swing back to my sister’s house for a forgotten item. Then back to base to finish the mission. Parking was difficult so I had them go ahead. I caught up at the elevator in time to hear Mom asking if she could just use the light she had and keep the new light as a backup. My sister asked her why we were doing this exercise if she had a lamp that already worked. Silence.

My sister sees better than I do, so she did the heavy mechanics and we wrestled the new lamp into place. It has a long flexible neck so mom can adjust the height and angle. Lo and behold, she was able to reach the on/off switch. Operation New Lamp was completed. In summary:

–The reading lamp was broken at the base and was wobbly but still worked

–It’s not made any more

–The new lamp was bright but didn’t work with the light switch for the old lamp which was perceived as a problem

–The perfectly good floor lamp across the room would not do for reading

–It was designated for the housekeeper

–The reading lamp with the wobbly base and preferred on/off switch took its place and put on a timer so it would turn on automatically

–The timer was suspect because it wasn’t going on/off at the correct time despite the end of DST

–Meanwhile a different lamp was delivered to my sister’s house as a backup for Mom

–My old lamp is still in my vehicle

–We now have three superfluous floor lamps and I have two extra light timers

But there were other problems.

The timer for the old lamp wasn’t working correctly – the light went on mid-afternoon and turned off before bedtime. No one could figure out the digital timer. We dug out an analog timer and set it for standard time since the clocks would be switching back. I stuffed the new timer into my purse to get it off the premises. “Take the old one too!” my mom urged. I added it to my pile.

Meanwhile my sister started clearing out the kitchen – stale food, empty plastic water bottles, empty shopping bags. We opened a new 12-pack of water and twisted off the lids for easy access. I set out the fall holiday decorations and put the Halloween items away. My sister found an unopened 12 pack of water and shook her head.

We prepared to take our leave, but first:

“You need to call the eye doctor about your eye” my sister said.

“I will, but I have an appointment in February and it can wait.”

“No, your vision is changing so you need to let him know and see if he wants you to come in”

“Did you know that my new insurance pays for glasses and frames which is great!”

“So you’ll call him tomorrow?”

Oh I can’t call him tomorrow. I see the chiropractor in the morning”

(me) “What about the afternoon?”

“I have things to do in the afternoon”

“like what?”

“Things.”

“Call him Tuesday?” my sister coaxed

“I’m not sure….”

“I don’t want excuses, I want you to say you’ll call him”

(me, sotto voce) “can’t you call him?”

“I’ll call him.”

“On Tuesday?”

“Yes, on Tuesday”

I returned my sister to her home and we applied alcohol to our nerves. As I hit the road home I congratulated myself on mission accomplished. We had two new action items: the failing eyesight and how to pay for a new medication which is not generic and is hella expensive. But the lamp was installed.

On Sunday she thanked us and told us the new timer wasn’t working correctly.
On Monday she said the new lamp was wonderful and she could see really well.
No word on the Tuesday phone call.

Thursday update – doctor has been called but the light timer is still a problem. There have been daily reports. Not my mission, thank goodness!

My First Corgi

Her name was Amy. She was short and sweet and so darn cute. Amy lived on a farm in Washington State and she had a great life.

I met her while I was on a college tour for grad school. UDub was high on my list and since I was in the area, my folks arranged for me to catch up with Cousin Clare who had moved to the state years before. What do I remember….

The dark grey pavements of Seattle

Spending a couple nights in the dorm on campus

Touring the program with an official of some sort

A delicious and filling pastrami on bagel sandwich

Feeling like I could definitely make a home there

Then up to the border. My cousin and I chatted easily and she told me all about the cows who lined the road “belted”, Jerseys, Guernseys….(this passed for entertainment in the sticks). She and her partner lived in a half built farmhouse with a beautiful stained glass window that they made. I hung out, read, met Amy, walked the property, petted Amy, read some more, visited a few tourist sites, fell in love with Amy, took an amazing bath in a freestanding claw footed tub in the unfinished upstairs part of the house, admired Amy, asked myself how this cutie pie could be of the same species as the terrible Pepper and Ginger, and generally had a great time.

I did not attend the UDub library school for a variety of reasons – expense being one of them. The Pacific Northwest called to me and my life would be so different had I heeded that call. Instead I went to a one year program in Denver that offered me a half tuition scholarship, moved back to Los Angeles after graduation and got on with my dog free life.

A decade later my husband and I were ready to move out of our townhouse and into a house house. He was firmly Team Dog and pro-Dalmatian. His childhood dog was a liver spotted Dal from a “backyard breeder”. Lady was biddable, sweet, loving, and everything a boy could want in a dog. I was braced to be a Dalmatian household, right up until he told me that our tiny backyard was not suitable for the breed. My face fell and I was desolated – we had purchased a house that denied him his dream.

This did not, however, mean that we were to remain a cat only household. We discussed other breeds and decided on an Airedale. His family owned one when he was born and there were good stories about that dog.

Someone suggested we go to a dog show and talk to breeders, so off we went. We found an Airedale breeder and she was kind but firm “This is a great dog, but, it’s the puppy from hell. It will need exercise, lots of training, and lots of attention. If not, it will eat your furniture and cabinets and make your life miserable.” We enjoyed meeting her dogs but as we walked away I whispered to Les that I did not want a puppy from hell.

No Dalmatian. No Airedale. What next?

I spied three golden faerie dogs across the way “What about a corgi?” I suggested. “Corgi? They have super short legs.” “But they reach the ground” I quoted (from Anne of Ingleside), “C’mon.” We introduced ourselves to the breeder and she gave us permission to meet her dogs. Les knelt down and they swarmed him. He laughed in delight as he tried to pet them. They were wiggling and shaking and putting paws on his knee and he tumbled to a sit and felt the corgi love. Happiness. Corgis are happiness.
We left the show and I shared my enthusiasm for the breed. He started researching the breed and began the search. A few months later we drove to the airport and met “Pete,” a young corgi who was on the show circuit until an unfortunate incident. We renamed him “Jeeves” and began our personal corgi journey.