Pepper The Wonder Dog

I know what you're thinking, "Oh, another dog story." Well, yes, this is another dog story. But this dog was not just any another dog, she truly was Pepper the Wonder Dog. This story is about one Black Lab with an enormous heart; a heart so loving and dedicated that it would take three bouts with cancer before it stopped beating.  Even after death, she inspires so many of us to always 'fight on' no matter what life throws at us.


Our daughter was about to enter her senior year of high school, and she and some of her friends had planned to have our dog in their senior pictures.  So more people than just our family were devastated when our girl Jeannie, a Yellow (mostly) Lab, at age twelve, unexpectedly suffered a massive stroke and died. I have had dogs almost my entire life. It wasn't very long before I felt that familiar tugging on my heart for another canine companion. So, after some careful searching I located a breeder who had three Black Lab puppies. He was holding "Sam" for his daughter because this little female was, according to him, "quite a handful". But, he felt certain either her sister or brother would be perfect for our family.


My husband, daughter and I made the trip to a small town near Columbus to check out the remaining
pups from a large litter.  The owner had told me to blow the horn when we arrived and for us to go on into the barn where they were in a pen. When we entered the barn, the puppies looked out at us from their pen. They seemed subdued compared to most lab puppies I have seen. Most of the others had been rowdy, playful and well, downright goofy! Once we let them out to get to know us they were more alert, but still something was missing. I picked up the male and held him for a while. He was the total opposite of Jeannie with his dark hair and extremely quiet manner. Maybe he was too different? I switched puppies with my daughter to check out the little female. She was sweet and had soft brown eyes. Then I realized what was missing from these two little Labs...spirit. While they were cute and sweet, they were just not spirited.


I left the barn to go find the breeder who was coming around the corner of his house. Bounding ahead of him was this ambitious black bundle of energy who was teetering trying to balance half of a deer leg in her strong jaws. Sam was indeed a handful! When she saw me, she dropped the deer bone and instead of retreating to her master, she bounded straight to me. And with her ears flapping and her healthy pink tongue flopping around, Sam jumped right into my waiting arms. I held her out so I could get a better look at her. She was a squirming bundle of excitement. Her eyes were keen, her coat was jet black and as slick as a seal's. This was one healthy and beautiful Lab! I put Sam down and we all went to the barn to see which puppy had been picked as our new pet.


This part of the story could go on and on, but I'll cut to the chase.  Although the other two pups weren't a 'fit' for our family, my daughter, my husband and I instantly hit it off with Sam. After observing our interaction, the owner agreed that the chemistry between his already promised pup and the three of us  was undeniable; so Sam came home with us.  It was on the ride home when Sam had her name changed to Pepper.  My daughter wanted her named after a Beatles' song, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. There is an area of Great Britain named Lynley, which is also my daughter's name . So, our new pup's AKC name was "Sgt. Pepper of Lynley". After a few attempts to make "Sarge" fit the puppy, it was obvious that we had painted ourselves into a corner with the dog's name. So she simply became Pepper. A black dog named Pepper; how original. But, it was the perfect name for her. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she certainly put a lot of spice in our family's lives!


In late 1996, I became seriously ill. I was so ill, in fact, that I had to leave my career to undergo many tests, studies and procedures.  Three months after I was retired, my Mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer. And, it was during this time that I found a small lump in Pepper's chest. It felt like a Milk Dud. Shortly thereafter, she was also diagnosed with cancer. Even without treatment, Pepper's cancer just seemed to disappear.


On our last visit to Mom's Oncologist, her doctor found a nodule on my Mom's clavicle. Turning to me, she asked in her soft Philippine accent, "Did you try to palpitate this?" "No." I admitted, a bit embarrassed because she had expected me to be more observant. "Come here and feel this, please. What does it feel like?" I felt the lump and I said that it felt like a Milk Dud. Even as weak and emotionally exhausted as Mom was, she shot me The Look. You know the one where words need not be spoken? She had heard me describe Pepper's tumor with the exact same words. Sadly, less than two weeks later Mom lost her battle with cancer.


When Pepper was seven, I noticed another lump in her chest. I leaned down and ran my fingers over it. It felt like a Milk Dud. As our vet examined her and did a quick biopsy for cancer cells, I held her head close to mine and prayed, "Please, God, give her six more months, just six, please!" I wasn't ready to let her go. She was only seven, just entering older in the canine world! The vet reentered the room with his head down. He walked over to Pepper and gently massaged her big Labrador head. Then he looked up at me and just shook his head sadly. "Please God, please?" I was begging. "How long?" I asked. "She has a month, maybe two." "NO!!!" I just held her close and sobbed. I was still begging God..."six months, please?!"


I took her to a local eatery for an ice cream cone. Why not? She should enjoy the rest of her life! So began our tradition of' Pepper's 'ice cream chemo'.  Weekly, at first, then more often as she continued to fight her cancer. As people would meet Pepper and hear her story, they would wish her good luck, offer to pray for her, and offer us encouragement. When strangers would experience Pepper devour an entire ice cream cone in one bite, they would laugh and soon become friends. And, more often than not, Pepper was gifted with an extra ice cream cone, or two. This went on for the entire season the restaurant was open.


We visited the restaurant the day before it's seasonal November to February closing. Since it was cold and there was no line, Pepper was gifted her extra cones by the owners. We all celebrated that Pepper had already passed the six months that I had begged God for her. We all hugged and cried, and I promised to let them know about Pepper. None of us used the word death because we just couldn't imagine life without this special dog. She looked and acted quite healthy, but she had gained a little weight while she had undergone her 'ice cream chemo'. But then, so had I.


When the ice cream eatery reopened in February, I was their first customer. Well, not exactly. As soon as Sue opened the sliding glass window, Pepper jumped up and looked her right in the face. I heard two shrieks of joy and out the door ran Sue and Gail. Pepper practically knocked them down as she jumped back and forth between them showering them with sloppy dog kisses! "How?" Sue asked. The only response I could make was, "Prayers and 'ice cream chemo". It was definitely time for more 'chemo'!


It had been eleven months since Pepper had been diagnosed with cancer. If she could survive this long, why not longer? As the months flew by, Pepper continued to do well. My health, however, began to decline. Pepper never left my side. And, she never missed her 'chemo', although it sometimes took place at home. As another winter arrived, we bid our friends at the ice cream eatery another teary farewell. None of us expected Pepper to make it until their February reopening. But she did. She showed us all about faith and perseverance.


As that year progressed, I began to notice some changes in Pepper. The Milk Dud sized growth on her chest had rapidly grown to the size of a fist. She also had begun to slow down. But, she never missed her 'chemo'! All that season old friends and new friends gifted Pepper with ice cream and love. And, she returned the love, although not quite as enthusiastically as she had the summers before. When  November came, there we were for Pepper's end of the season 'chemo' and very sad farewells because although it wasn't spoken, we all knew that this was Pepper's final good-bye to her wonderful and loving friends Sue and Gail. 

On December eighteenth Pepper celebrated her tenth birthday with her traditional Twinkie and ice cream. She ate the Twinkie a bit at a time, and she didn't finish her ice cream. She had gained a lot of weight over the past weeks, and she had really slowed down. Still, she kept going. She was in her glory on Christmas when everyone was able to make it home at the same time for the first time in a while. Slowly she moved from one cherished family member to another as they lavished love and attention upon 'the family dog'. When all had said their good-byes and gone home, Pepper laid down on the floor next to my feet with a sigh. "When you are ready to let go," I said softly as I stroked her shiny black head, "just let me know. It's OK; you have fought the good fight and have earned your rest." Two days later Pepper came over to my chair where I was relaxing. She put her head on my knee and she looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes, and I knew. In that instant I knew that the time had come to allow Pepper to leave this life with dignity. As our veterinarian administered the medication that would allow Pepper to cross over to that place beyond pain, I held her head in my hands, looked into her soulful eyes and told her that she was the best pet and friend ever, that I loved her with all my heart and that I would never, ever forget her. Her ashes are scattered among the Japanese irises under a pretty Japanes maple tree in our backyard, and her soul runs free forevermore.

As A Boy Transitions Into A Man

This is the first article that I ever had published, written in June 1992. As my son's Halloween birthday approaches, my thoughts naturally turn to him. I reflect on the child, adolescent and young man he has been. When I say that he rarely gave his Dad and me reason to worry, it is the absolute truth. On the other hand, we learned some distressing news years after the events. The one common aspect of our relationship has been his wicked sense of humor. Oh yes, and that he is a writer. He, however, has had an actual book of prose poetry published and many poems in many, many magazines. To know him is to love him, and to watch him move forward into his life's destiny was very bittersweet. This is my first published story.



~ Soon my child will be leaving home, not for a week at camp, not for a weekend at a friend's house, but perhaps forever. He isn't the first child ever to grow up and move on to his own life, but he is MY first child to leave our nest called Home. And like every mother before me, I find myself marveling at what has happened during those preceding years and how they have passed so quickly.
   The image of his first uncertain tiny steps is still vivid in my mind. For the past five years those steps have developed into a sure and successful approach that precedes soaring high jumps that challenged the high school record and will assure a promising future in college sports. Most recently those long mature strides directed him across a stage where a diploma was placed in his hand, giving him one key of many to the doors to his future.
   When a small child, he had a passion for learning and would come home from school excited about the day's activities. Throughout the years there were Honor Rolls, The Olympics of the Mind, Challenger Classes and advanced courses in school. Our home became a refuge for creatures great and small, from dogs and cats, to lizards and a ferret. Sentimental and kind-hearted, the eventual passing of these beloved pets caused him to redirect his career goals from veterinary medicine to some other work involving animals.
   In Junior High School he was introduced to the world of track. Although he hated having to run laps, he would do whatever was necessary to build his strength and improve his skills as a high jumper. I remember his excitement when he jumped 5'8" to capture his very first 1st place finish in his initial varsity track season. Despite illnesses and injuries, he would finish his high school track career with a very respectable 6'6" personal record. He wore his much-deserved "Varsity M" jacket, with his nickname "Sky" embroidered on it throughout high school.
    To gain some insight into what we parents refer to as "the REAL world", our son worked part-time   during a portion of his junior and senior years, and the summer in between. He didn't like the way his jobs sometimes interfered with his social life, but he couldn't resist the lure of that cash. His reaction to the deductions for Social Security, taxes, etc. was pretty universal---initial shock and disbelief, then resolve. Through school, sports and working he has acquired a wonderful group of friends. They come from a variety of backgrounds and heritages but share one important bond. These are well-rounded, polite, and respectable young adults. During their visits to and stays at our home, I have come to know and really care for each of my son's many friends. As they enjoy this last summer of their ending youth together, I hope that they will always remember how truly special these times have been.
   In September our first-born will leave home to begin college and his adult life without our day to day involvement. He will make decisions about his future and he will have both successes and failures for which he will ultimately be responsible. In the end, he will have a unique and wonderful life because he has prepared himself well with the skills learned from experience. May he and all our sons and daughters live happily everafter.
.

Lunch With Our Grandson Sam

Want to have fun? Go to lunch with you granddaughter or grandson at her or his elementary school. Poppy and I had the opportunity to do this just today, and it was an interesting adventure! For starters, grandparents had two choices: a) purchase a school prepared lunch, which we did, or b) pack your own healthy lunch and juice, which we should have done.  We bought chicken(?) (I've never seen gray chicken meat before) nuggets, and it didn't actually tastes very much like chicken, either; nonetheless I ate a few pieces before I put the rest on Poppy's plate. The mashed potatoes and gravy were delicious, as were the Mandarin orange pieces. Both Poppy and I agreed that the vanilla fat-free milk was a little strange tasting; perhaps if we had tried the chocolate instead...? But, Sam and I liked the Cinnamon Goldfish so well that we shared two packs of them!

Then we had a few minutes to visit Sam's classroom and see his desk. It is a newer school, well appointed, great staff, extra classes in the arts, very, very up to date and impressive. The Principal was rightfully proud of his school which is an Ohio School of Excellence. Moreover, he was friendly and appropriately close to the students. We left feeling confident that this school is well-equipped to meet the special needs of our grandson's special condition. Sam's Tourette Syndrome won't hold him back in this well-equipped learning environment. He is just another one of the kids!

Somewhat quiet during lunch, Sam was quick with the hugs and kisses when it came time for us to leave. He didn't seem the least bit embarrassed that his Grandma was a bit older, heavier and slower than most of the other grandmas. He understood why I couldn't climb the long, wide stairway that led to his art classroom. Poppy accompanied him up there and that was their time. Lee was grinning from ear to ear as he bounded down the stairs. Looked like Poppy may have gotten a hug or two himself!

On the way home we discussed how much Sam is growing and learning and making his way in life, Tourette Syndrome and all. He is very bright, gifted in art (like his Dad and his Poppy), has a love of nature, music and acrobatics. He's a Boy Scout, has earned a higher level belt in Karate, swims and climbs walls. Actually, there isn't much Sam can't or doesn't do. He's eight and great! And he is a blessing to his family!

 

Requiem For Three Charlys

At first I didn't see it. I was putting away clean towels in the hall bathroom. As I turned around I saw it, a small black dot in the corner behind the pedestal sink. I guessed it to be a spider, yet I wasn't quite sure. It didn't move, so I did. Once I got close enough I realized that it was, indeed, a spider. A tiny one at that. There was no web, just some dust and a narrow space between the floor and the bottom of the baseboard, where the corner occurs.

Suddenly the little spider began to retreat. I stood still, as I meant it no harm. After a short time, she disappeared into the narrow opening in the corner. I finished my task of putting away the laundry and forgot about the spider which I had, for no apparent reason, named Charly .

For awhile Charly and I would keep a respectable distance between us whenever I would be in the hall bathroom. Charly would venture out from the crack in the corner slowly; an inch, then two. Each time I would largely ignore the little spider because it basically stayed in the corner. It was so tiny that I found myself singing and signing "The Teensy Weensy Spider Climbed Up The Water Spout" whenever I saw it there.

After a few weeks, Charly appeared to have grown a little bigger, and a little braver. I really have little knowledge of scientific matters, as I studied sociology and socializing. So, to me, Charly was a girl, and a timid one at that. " Sit in the corner Charly, while I take care of bathroom business," I would command. Even while I would wash my hands in the sink, she would sit there obediently.

Then, late one night, while I was in the loo, I noticed Charly right where she always was, in her corner. Something didn't seem right. I ventured closer to Charly and then I noticed that all of her little legs were tucked under her little body. She didn't try to move as I approached her. I realized then that Charly was dead. Surprisingly sad, I used a tissue to pick up Charly's Eensy Weensy Spider body and looked at it. What had happened? Of course! I had sprayed the hall bathroom and the utility room with an insect poison after seeing one too many of those creepy bugs with a million legs.

At first I was wracked by terrible guilt. Then I remembered the dreams I had about Charly growing and hunting me down through the hall closet, into our bedroom, climbing up the footboard of our bed, then climbing right up my oxygen tubing and into my nostril. Dear God! It was horrifying, even if it were only a dream. Well, that's all over now. Charly left via a swift-moving toilet current to her burial at sea, sort of.

For a while, everything was peaceful and quiet. Then one night a few weeks later I walked into the hall bathroom and stopped dead in my tracks. There on the edge of the basin was another spider. It was not an eensy weensy one, either! The Second Charly was a little too close for comfort for me.  As I reached to get lots of toilet paper (Why are you always out of tissues when you need them most?), I saw an even larger spider trying to climb up the side of the bathtub which is, fortunately, quite slippery. Instictively I covered Charly Number Two, or was it now Number Three? I quickly tossed Charly Number Three (Yes, that was chronologically correct.) into the loo and flushed him off to eventually join poor Little Charly.

Eww, did I ever need to wash my hands! That's when I remembered Basin Charly who had been there just a few minutes before. I turned around and Charly Number Two was nowhere to be seen. I looked around behind the toilet and saw a larger space between the baseboard and the floor in the corner. It certainly could be an escape route for a speedy spider.

That spider had witnessed the execution of Bathtub Charly. They appeared to be the same kind of spider as Charly, the original Charly, that is. What if they were her parents? What if Charly Number Two were off somewhere plotting her revenge? That corner where she had probably escaped is on the other side of our master bathroom wall. It would be easy for Surviving Charly to simply crawl over to our bathroom. Once there she could quickly make her way over the bathroom floor, onto the bedroom carpet, climb up the bedpost, scurry up the down coverlet, up my oxygen tubing, and crawl into my nostril. I would awaken just before Revenge Charly bit me, sending me into anaphelactic shock due to my severe allergy to insect bites. I would be unable to wake my husband up in time and he would find my dead body next to him in the morning.

No. I'm allergic to spider bites, right? That's why I sprayed the master bathroom thoroughly after I had seen Eensy Weensy Charly. One afternoon, a short time later, as I was running the dustmop in our master bathroom, there behind the toilet I found Charly Number Two with her legs tucked neatly beneath her lifeless body. I picked her up with a tissue and sent her off via the master throne to join Spider Number Three and Baby Charly wherever they awaited her. Then I scrubbed my hands, put new tubing on my oxygen tank, inserted the nasal cannula into my nostrils, layed down and took a long, peaceful and dream-free nap.


  

So Much For The Golden Years

Well, today is a typical late summer or early autumn day in SW Ohio. Dreary, rainy, and yes, depressing. So, of course, I am off anti-depressants right now. In the past several weeks I have been trying to find one that will work for me long term. I have had some relief from anti-depressants, but after a while they just don't seem to work any more. Several months ago I agreed to try the one I sarcastically call 'Vitamin P'. Before trying it, I talked to all the people I know who are either on it, or had been on it in the past. My best friend in Georgia was ecstatic about it. "I love, love, love it!" she gushed. "I will take it until the day I die!". OK; that was a pretty good endorsement. I called my cousin who also said it helps her and she is on it now, as is her husband. Another good point in its favor. A close relative was on it at one point in her life when she was suffering from an eating disorder. She thought it helped, but hasn't felt the need for it in many years. That encouraged me the most because she doesn't feel the need for it now. A limited run on 'Vitamin P'; that sounded just right.

So, I went on this little magic pill. After several weeks, I asked my husband if he could tell a difference, because I really didn't. He said that he did. So, I called my doctor and said I wanted to increase the doseage to the next level (I had been started on a very low dose) because if 10mgs. was good, 20mgs. must be better, right? And, for a while it was. Then something happened, and it didn't help anymore. I told my PCP that I wanted to go off 'Vitanim P' because "it isn't helping me anymore". She told me to stay on it until she could come up with another suggestion, and I agreed.

She has been suggestingfor a few years that I try counseling , but I refused. Being married to a therapist, I thought that he could make it better. But, there are some issues that your spouse can't help you with because your relationship is just too close. Say I was angry at him. That's not going to work because he can't be objective, and neither can I. After a few more weeks, I finally agreed to try counseling. My PCP suggested a woman whom she was very familiar with and thought would be a good match for my personality. Reluctantly,  and more than slightly sceptical, I agreed to give it a try.  

At the end of our first session, I wanted to kick myself for resisting therapy for so long. First of all, I was totally comfortable with this woman. Nearly my age, but in much better physical health, we found that we had many opinions, philosophies and likes in common. We both have cats who are very challenging to live with, yet we choose to love them. Our political views are totally alligned. We find certain types of people challenging, too. And, we choose to dislike them. We could talk for hours, but that one hour of counseling goes by very quickly. At the end of it, I have had several moments of insight for which I am deeply grateful. I'm learning how to confront some of the unpleasant aspects of my life and hopefully work my way through them so I can leave them behind me. I would go to see her daily if my insurance would pay for it! I encourage others to try therapy if your life seems overwhelming or you have feelings of sadness or unhappiness that you can't conquer on your own.

So I am presently not on any extra anti-depressants, just the one that cured twenty years of migraines. I am in the throws of yet another sinus infection which will most likely turn into another bout of bronchitis, I have extremely severe joint pain, a little kidney distress, mild anemia, insomnia and, of course, the depression that comes with this all-too-familiar misery. I will see my PCP in a couple of days and will undoubtedly walk out her door having had more blood drawn, with a handful of new Rx's, and an encouraging pat on the back. I may be a litttle down, but I'm not out. I am, however, getting very tired. My 'Golden Years' are actually brass, and they are tarnishing quickly. Please! Somebody toss me the brass polish...Now!

It's Late September And I Really Need To Be Back In School...

I recently went to my PCP. We made some changes and are hoping for the best. I went off one medication, and decided not to restart another until I see just how bad my pain is without it.  Also, my PCP prescribed a new med for mild pain :| and a stronger one for more severe pain. :) We are approaching my depression :( from a couple of different angles. I tried the much-touted 'vitamin P' to no avail. Reducing my constant pain is what helps me the most.
 
I am going through baby-sitting withdrawal with all three Grandies in all day school this year. I am especially missing my regular Wednesday's with Q and lunches at McD's. On the up side I have lots of free time. I am also working on my sleep hygiene and trying to break the bad habit of staying up too late (note the time of this post) and sleeping too late (I got up at 2pm today...shame on me...). I am on oxygen at night to try to give my heart some help.

The verdict from the orthopedic surgeon was that my right knee needs replaced, sooner than later. (Note to everyone at the hospital where I had my left knee replacement last year: I am no longer spaced out on the meds that almost killed me, and I promise not to try escape this time. Well, I'll try my best not to try to escape or make life miserable for you this time. It's up to the doctors to watch what they give me!)

As much as I love autumn, I dread winter with its dreary days and short periods of sunlight. I suffer from SAD then and that it's something I'm just going to have to tough out. It's sort of like how I'm just trying to ignore that pathetic picture of John Boehner that is always on the right side of my fb profile page...Yuck! So, rather than dreading the coming of winter, I shall celebrate the beauty of autumn when it arrives next week.

Next week I will also celebrate thirty-nine years of being married to the most romantic, loving, gentle, hilarious and patient man I know. It hasn't always been easy, but it's always been worth it. He's just like that feeling you get about twenty minutes after you take a Xanax and/or Vicodan. Ahhh, I'm feeling better already!

I'VE GOT THE GROCERY SHOPPING BLUES

I hate to go to the grocery store, don't you? I'd rather go to the dentist every day than go to the grocery once a week. Both of these outings raise my blood pressure and lower my cash on hand. At least you can get insurance to help cover the cost of your dental expenses!

Before I make that dreaded trek to the grocery, I take careful inventory of our needs for the household. I visualize the layout of the store in my mind, then I write out my grocery list according to where each item is located within the store. I do this so I can quickly push that cart down those aisles, in sequence, acquiring my goods in the most timely manner possible, thus shortening the length of my torture.

Sounds like a great idea, doesn't it? It would work, too, if there weren't a few inevitable complications. The stores in which I shop must have at least a hundred or so shopping carts. The cart I choose will always be the one that's wheels decide to go in four opposing directions at the same time. Oh no; it doesn't start out that way. No! This occurs after I have too many items to carry in my arms, when I still have twenty-five more items to find, and when I'm a good half mile from where the shopping carts are kept. I have no choice but to slow down as I try to control the cart that wanders more than my mind, which is a lot!

Even if I luck out and get a cart with excellent alignment, there are always additional obstacles between that check-out counter and me. You know who I mean, don't you? Yes, those people who feel compelled to hold family reunions, PTA meetings, national conventions, whatever, in the middle of grocery store aisles. There must be much more suitable places for their gatherings than in these spaces that are roughly five feet wide. (Get out'ta my way!!!)

Eventually I survive the maze and make my way to the frozen foods section, my last stop before heading for home plate, the check-out counter. This is where things always get a little tricky for me. Because these are some of the heaviest and most expensive items, I often spend a little too much time trying to make wise selections. By the time I leave this area I have usually gone over my budget, smashed my bread, and my ice cream is beginning to melt.

At long last the end is in sight. I say "in sight" because there are usually several carts between the cash register and me. This wait gives me ample time to do a number of things. First, I try to figure out if I have enough money with me for my purchases. Once assured I'm not over my limit, I can settle back and relax a little. An avid people-watcher, I find this the perfect place to observe human nature. Check-out lines run the gambit from friendly smiles and tabloid readers, to grumblers, near child abusers, and all-out riot-evokers. As the line slowly moves along, I reshape my bread and wipe up the trail my melting ice cream is leaving behind.

Monday was a beautiful day where I live. After weeks of hot, humid, still days, we were rewarded by Mother Nature. The temperatures were in the upper seventies to low eighties with low humidity and pleasant breezes. By mid-afternoon I knew what I wanted to do. I called my husband at his workplace and asked, "How would you like to go for a nice evening sail?" "Would you go, too?" he asked. " Yes, I'd really love to," was my surprising answer. I haven't gone sailing much for the past couple of years because of the chronic pain I have from Fibromyalgia and arthritis.

Had I been bleeding profusely from a severed artery, he couldn't have arrived home any more quickly. I had filled our water bottles and changed into clothing that would protect my delicate skin from the sun. He had the outboard motor and other necessary gear shoved into the back of his SUV in record time, so I hurried to get into the vehicle. This is a major procedure for me because it sits much higher than my little car. After a few attempts I was finally seated, strapped into my safety belt and we were on our way to a nearby lake.

I really had forgotten how good it feels to glide across the water solely under the power of the wind against the sails. I had forgotten how much more fun it is than roaring up and down the lake in one of those huge, noisy, power boats whose motors have to drown out any meaningful conversations anyone on board them might try to attempt. And those jet skis? Really??? It doesn't look like a good time to me!
I can only imagine pounding across the water, motor blasting while one's rear is smashing onto the seat with every wave that it hits. Fun? I don't think so.

As the sun sank slowly in the west, we knew our evening sail must end soon. We had enjoyed not only the soothing motion of the boat on the lake, but we actually talked more than we have in ages. It was a rare moment in time for us. I honestly hated to see the sail end, and I told my husband so. I also told him that, like the sun, parts of me are fading fast. I am vainly aware of the fact that, while I was never a beauty, I have aged. His response was to take my hands in his and quote William Butler Yeats:

               "When you are old and gray and full of sleep and nodding by the fire,
               Take down this book and slowly read, and dream of that soft look your eyes had once
               and their shadows deep.
               How many loved your moments of glad grace and loved your beauty with love false or true?
               But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the beauty of your changing face."

The last line was delivered with a cracking voice and tears of sincerity, and received in the same manner. It was such a romantic gesture, from such a romantic man; the man with whom I have shared the past thirty-nine years. It's true that it hasn't always been 'smooth sailing' for us; but, ah, when we're on a good 'run'....           

GRANDKIDS TRUMP SLEEP

Another late night. I couldn't fall asleep until 4 am. It seems that bronchitis has hit both my husband and me at the same time. Fortunately, he sleeps when he isn't feeling well. Unfortunately, I have a terrible time falling asleep when I fear that every breath may be my last. So, I gave myself a breathing treatment around 2 am. Then I waited for that 'hyper' feeling to subside. After an hour, I took my sleep-inducing meds, hooked myself up to my oxygen machine, and I slid into bed. Since I had no plans for the next day, I decided I'd sleep until noon, at the earliest. Drifting off took much longer than I had anticipated; the last time I looked at the alarm clock, it read 3:45.

Before going to bed, I had watched a segment of House Hunters in which a young Irish man had decided to move to Bulgaria to live with his girlfriend who was in college there. In the end, he not only was able to find a suitable lodging for the two of them, but he also opened his own Irish Pub. I love Irish people! I love their country, their spirit, their rugged good looks and their wonderful soft accents. I am noting this because it is the only possible explanation as to why I dreamt that I was Irish. True, there is a certain amount of Irish blood that runs through my veins. My maternal grandmother was often referred to as "very Irish looking", and I have often been told that I resemble my grandmother.  But, in me dream I was Maureen O'Hara in 'The Quiet Man'! I had a lovely little cottage with beautiful flower gardens surrounding it, a cow, some sheep, and of course, a herding dog. My hair was bright auburn and flowing freely around my face. I was so happy in Ireland!

Someone was playing music. It wasn't Irish music, either. It was annoyingly familiar, too. It was...my cell phone! I awaken and snatch it off my night stand. It is 10 am. "Hello." I sound neither Irish nor nice. My daughter is at the other end of the line. "Your grandchildren, all three of them, want to come visit their grandparents!" "When?" I am trying to pull myself up in the bed. "How about in forty minutes?" I am now fully awake. "You have Sam and Zoey, too?" "They stayed all night. They've been up for hours." I am excited to see the three of them together because that doesn't happen very often anymore. They are all busy with one activity or another. "OK, honey; see you then!"

I shake my husband until he grumbles at me to leave him alone. I tell him that the kids are coming over to see us.  Suddenly he is awake and out of bed! As I shower, he runs the sweeper to eliminate as much dog and cat hair as possible, on such short notice. I'm brushing my teeth when I hear The Unholy Trinity burst through the front door. "PawPaw!" "Hi Poppy!" they shout. "Where's Mom?" My daughter sounds exhausted. I walk into utter chaos. What a wonderful and heart-warming site! Unexpectedly, Sam is the first to approach me. He wraps his arms around me and shyly gives me a soft kiss. In four months he'll turn nine.  He is entering that stage where public displays of affection aren't cool. Well, I'll take them while the taking is good! "MawMaw!!" Quin flies into the room, and me, followed closely by Zoey. Hugs and kisses all around, then they're off again.

Lee is in the floor, on his hands and knees, playing the role of the bucking bronco. Then, when the bucking bronco runs out of steam, the party moves to the backyard. Our Yellow Lab is in heaven! She loves the little ones and they adore her. Frisbees, kids and the dog are flying around the yard! I watch them while I make three 'snack packs' for them to enjoy after they go home. Truly, my cup runneth over with love!

Wonder Woman...Not!

If one could accomplish her goals just by throwing her weight around, I would be a power to be reckoned with. I am a full-figured woman with an agenda, well numerous agendas actually. So when I set a goal, I expect to accomplish it, no matter what. If push comes to shove, I'll put all of my weight behind, or in front of me, and push or shove, for all I'm worth!

  

There are a multitude of projects around our house that I have asked my husband to complete. He calls it "nagging".  We women know, however, that it doesn't become "nagging" for 48 requests or 48 months, whichever comes first. So, when I calmly request, for maybe the tenth time, that he take out the trash, I am offended when he snaps, "Will you please stop nagging me?" At least he said please. "I don't think it's nagging when the trash is climbing out of the can," I point out. Besides, it hasn't even been a week, let alone 48 months.

So, empty the trash already, I'm thinking. I wait for him to put down the remote and pick up the trash can while I am doing the dishes. He doesn't move from his position on the couch where he is entranced by some 1950's movie about giant ants taking over the world. "What about the trash?" I  risk being yelled at again. No reply; he just turns up the volume on the television. I finish putting the dishes away, wipe off the counter tops and toss my paper towels in the general direction of the trash can. Two can play this game as well as one, my dear. I leave the kitchen and head down the hallway to the bedroom. Just before I close the door I hear a sound. It's coming from the kitchen. Oh my god, he is taking out the trash! I'm smiling as, I close the bedroom door behind me. Take that, giant ants!

A Day In the Life of a Professional Patient

I have a doctor's appointment. at 12:45 today. I arrived there at 12:45.  "Your appointment was changed to 3:00." "I can't be here at 3:00, because I'm having mammograms at that time at the hospital!!" OK. I reschedule the PCP appointment and head towards home. WHOA! I pull over and call the hospital to see if they can move my exam up. Can I be there by 1:30? "I will be there by 1:30; thank you!" My PCP's office phone is off from 12:30 until 1:30. I sign in at the hospital and sit down. It's 1:30. I call the PCP's number and they answer immediately. "Would you please put me back in at 3:00?                             


It's 2:00 and I'm heading back towards my PCP's office. So much time to kill... I drive through Wendy's and order a large lemonade. "$2.49???" I now have a bucket of lemonade and sticker shock! I haven't had anything to eat or drink today, it's 90 degrees outside and... sip, sip, sip. I drive to the PCP's office and sit in my car and down a third of the over-priced lemon water.


Suddenly people start arriving and entering the building. "Oh no you don't! I have the 3:00 slot and I'm here at 2:30, half an hour early!" I hurry into the office, sign in and take a seat. Suddenly it's 3:00 and I'm still in the waiting room. So much for arriving early. I'm reading People magazine at 3:20, and after all of that sipping, my bladder is about to explode! I visit the loo. Much better.                                 


Back in the waiting room patients come and patients go, but I'm still here. At 4:00 I go to the glass window and ask the receptionist if they have forgotten me. Deer in headlights look. "Um...you're next." I worked in health care all my adult life and I know what that means. I sit back down, sip my lemon-tinged water, and read another People magazine. Several minutes later I am escorted to Exam Room #2. As the nurse begins to tell me to leave my things in the room and come out to be..."I'm not in the mood to be weighed today!" OK. My blood pressure and pulse are surprisingly excellent, considering my frustration level. I sit there with another People magazine because "Doctor has one more patient before you." "Of course she does!" And Jennifer Aniston has a new boyfriend... yawn.
                                                                                      
Finally my PCP enters the room visibly exhausted, but apologetic and extending her hand. I have a paper full of thoughts and questions. Had I not had to wait for so long, I might have skipped a few of them. However, there is much to discuss, so we begin. She never cuts our time short, bless her heart.


At 5:15 I pour myself back into my steaming hot car and call my husband. He is just leaving his office. I surprise him at the exit door, and I whisk him away to a nearby Italian restaurant for a leisurely dinner and conversation. Afterwards, I drop him off at his SUV so he can go to the gym. I open up the sun roof, crank up Classic Vinyl on Sirius Satellite, resist the urge to slip my Juke into Turbo, and head home singing loudly and putting health care out of my mind, until tomorrow.