Mirror, Mirror

I have never been one of those girls who spent a lot of time in front of a mirror. “Pretty” wasn’t a big deal growing up, “smart” or “athletic” was. Before I retired I spent only enough time in front of the mirror to make sure there was no lipstick on my teeth, my skirt wasn’t tucked into my underware and my hair was tamed as much as seasonably possible. I can’t remember the last time I actually looked in the mirror without focusing on just one specific part of my body.

Today I stepped out of the shower (sorry about that visual) and came face to face with me by accident. Holy cow! That was scary. When did I get so old? The internal me is still about 24. She is the face that I wear in my head all day. How shocking to see my mother looking back at me.  Wait, no, that’s an insult to my mother who was a beautiful and well kept woman even when she was much older than me.  It’s no wonder people keep telling me I look tired!

I don’t really want to look 24 again if for no other reason than it would make me look silly next to Pap. But I can do better than this.  It’s time to quit fooling around.  I need to eat more vegetables and drink more water.  I need to step away from my sedentary hobbies and jump on that treadmill.  Overhaul my wardrobe, make a trip to the hairdresser.  Yeah, that’s exactly what needs to happen.

If none of that works…there’s always plastic surgery.

Ridiculous

Pat Robertson is one scary dude. Did you hear his statement that the people of Haiti brought this earthquake on themselves through a deal with the devil? Arrogant, self-righteous, mean spirited, cold hearted…I can’t think of enough adjectives to properly label this biggoted, ridiculous man. More shocking than the idiodic statements made routinely by Pat Robertson, is the christian broadcasting company that continues to let his venom spill across the airwaves.

I have to agree with those who’ve been saying that since he knows so much about this “deal with the devil”, HE must be the devil.

Beware of Retirement

My punishment for retiring before I’m technically old enough to leave the work force is I’m lacking the aches, pain, lack of energy or desire to rest possessed by most people who give up the 9 to 5. As a result…I’m hopelessly over committed to all kinds of things that pay nothing because, well, I’m home. Pfffttt…

More interesting, at risk of this becoming a dog blog, is the status of our new kids, Walker and Iliana. She’s overcome her fear of anything outside a cage remarkably well and now that we’ve got her bulked up a little it was time for the long overdue dog grooming.

She’s the one in the pink halter collar. Walker, while well adjusted in most areas, is a big baby regarding getting his hair cut. He’ll spend the next four or five days pouting.

Iliana, on the other hand, regarded the whole adventure like a day at the spa.

Even though she did her best to jolly Walker out of his post haircut blues, our boy prefers his “surfer after an especially gnarly wave” look over this military version.

Men. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t throw ‘em into the snow and tease them out of pouting.

Another Auld Lang Syne

It’s impossible to get excited about a new year when I look outside and see this. Winter has come so early this year.

My New Year’s Resolution for 2010 is not to make one.  Not very original, but better than the alternative: (1)  I’ll forget that I made one  (2)  The pressure of living up to some good intention like saving my money, getting more exercise or losing weight will send me over the edge into blithering insanity, or (3) the fact that I’ve added one more requirement to my over-scheduled life will tick me off in the morning and I’ll get all rebellious and cranky. 

While absolutely NOT a resolution, this is the year I get the shelf of plays and short stories edited and shopped around.  Hopefully I’ll remember.  Zoloft is readily available….

My Christmas Wish

My Christmas wish this year is that everyone will know the happiness and joy that comes with this special season and carry it with them all year long. Here in my small town the need for holiday help was unprecedented and the community stepped up and filled that need. But people are hungry, cold or lonely the other twelve months of the year too, so I wish that all of us will remember to generously give to our food banks, clothing closets and shelters all year long and not just at Christmas.

Have a blessed and safe holiday season. I’ll be back on the 26th.

The Demons Among Us

This little face belongs to Iliana. Forgive her messy hair, we’d just come in from the snowy back yard  when I snuck up on her and snapped her picture. She’s afraid of cameras, small children, fast movement…and a host of other things she’s never seen before. Sweet little Iliana was born in a puppy mill and then used as a breeder for at least five years. We aren’t sure if she escaped or was dumped in the parking lot where Pap found her on a rainy day earlier this fall, but what we have discovered is that she was probably kept in a cage for her entire life.

Of all the heinous creatures that share this planet with us puppy mill owners and pedophiles are absolutely the worst. This little girl was riddled with every kind of bug and worm, wasted down to skin and bones, and then had her hair hacked off with what appear to have been gardening shears. For that alone her previous owner should be flogged. We haven’t had her trimmed properly yet because she’s still so thin and scared of everything. How you could do this to any dog is beyond my understanding, but to enslave this dog is nothing less than demonic.

When Pap brought her home and handed her to me wrapped in a towel, she curled up into my neck and went to sleep. She didn’t weigh as much as a tea cup, every little bone clearly defined under her fur. It took us two days of constant feeding for her to stop worrying that the bowl would ever be empty and eating until she threw up. She wasn’t house trained, leash trained or familiar with toys. She wouldn’t stop pacing through the house until we borrowed a dog crate and put it in our bedroom with the door open. It broke my heart when she went right in and layed down with her face on her paws.

We are several months and many visits to the vet past those dark days and Iliana has gained some weight, taken possession of half the toy basket (Walker was delighted to share with her) and now sleeps on our bed. She loves to run around outside and is doing much better at remembering THAT is where we poop (instead of under my dining room table.) Her progress isn’t really the subject of this post though.

Every time I find something else that scares her, or points out that she spent one third of her life in torture, I wish that there was some magical cosmic fairness fairy that would do to these puppy mill owners exactly what they’ve done to these dogs either by design or neglect.

Slippery and Elusive Time

What is it about getting older that time slips away like so much water down a drain? Here it is almost Christmas and my last visit to the blog was in the beginning of summer! Eighteen months out of the traditional work force and I think I’ve finally quit freaking out about “filling the void”.

Summer was filled with grandkids, gardening and working on a play for Christmas. Fall was filled with cleaning up the mess after a summer with grandgirls, auditions and rehearsals. Now here we are in winter. The Christmas play is just memory. The girls are back with their mother and looming in my personal future is a baby shower (Princess) and a wedding (also Princess), the spring play and a new venture.

Missed you all.

Another Art Walk Just a Memory

One of my favorite things about living in a small town is that simple events are big deals and everyone comes out to support them. We wrapped up our eleventh annual Art Walk this past weekend.
Even in this rural area, every area of art was represented. Five published authors, two musical groups including chamber music, classical piano and down home folk/country, every kind of artist from oil painters to pencil sketchers. Quilters and sculpters, jewelers and actors…everyone respecting and appreciating everyone elses form of art.   Considering this is a town of less than 2,000 people, we have an amazing amount of talent.  Because I just can’t accept such a thing as coincidence, I have a theory for this phenomena that is totally unscientific.  

  This town started out like most other settlements in Ohio as just that, a settlement.  But we were settled by a savvy businessman who quickly started a lumber business, then began working the coal mines and shipped in all those people necessary to keep all that business going.  We are farming on clay here, so it wasn’t long before people were making pottery to exchange for food at the general store.  Pottery so popular it shipped out of here by the train load.  Time marched on, and somebody painted something on a piece of pottery to make it different from his/her neighbors.  That is where the unusually high concentration of artists comes in.  This was a pottery town in it’s prime.  In their boom days they needed many, many decorators so people who had that ability moved here, had families and by the time the potteries began to fail…I’m sure every household either had a painter living there, or had someone with a painters DNA coursing through them.  I imagine that explanation would also work for the abundance of truly beautiful people who populate California.  If you consider that the most beautiful people from every state flocked to the coast during the early days of the movie studios then ultimately failed as actors but stayed, married each other…ta dah, beautiful population. 

That’s my theory, I’m sticking to it.

Unconditional Love

As a mother, I’m familiar with unconditional love.  It is  the stony hearted person that can pick up a newborn baby and not feel like they’d throw themselves into the path of a speeding semi-truck rather than have this tiny child feel one moment of pain or sadness.  But even that all consuming love is trumped by the love of this dog for me and Pap.  Walker is my almost constant companion.  If I feel like sleeping, he’s sleeping.  Should I suddenly decide to take a run around the block, he’s all about it.  He has a basket full of toys, and full run of the house.  But none of that really matters to him.  He just wants us. 

I knew I was over scheduled last week when I came home from an appointment and found him sleeping on my pillow with one of Pap’s shirts between his paws.  Now that is just sad.  The difference between this dog and any one of my kids who may have been missing me is he was more delighted that I was home than mad that I’d been gone.  People are never that forgiving.  We can learn a lot from a dog.

Retirement is not for Sissies

Thanks so much for keeping me in your loop y’all! I’m sorry I dropped off the planet with no notice since March…holy cow, March????? All I can say in my defense is that retirement is not for sissies. 

Updates since then:  Pap managed to land that job he was interviewing for.  I’m still writing for the paper.  The Pirate play was a hit.  I managed to get the garden in, pick up two part time bookkeeping jobs and start writing another play.  Two of my short stories were rejected…this is a weird world nowdays.  I suspect that the editor for one of my stories is barely out of high school.  Her comment on a story about a woman with alzheimers was “ewww, this is creepy”. 

Mother’s Day rocked.  All the kids and grandkids made it home, we had nice weather and tons to eat. 

As you can see, we are girl heavy in the family and yes that is a Christmas wreath still hanging on the house.  Pap and I gave our ladder to one of the kids and we’re both too short to get it down.  The two handsome men in this picture are my one and only son (in the glasses), and my new son (Prince to my Princess) with the hat. 

This weekend is our annual Art Walk downtown.  

Okay, I’m all caught up and I’ll be around to see all of you post haste.