Down to the Last Dog

We may be down to getting the last dog we will ever own after Molly dies.

Oh, there might be two more, depending on how long the dog(s) live, as well as how long we live.

Molly is nine, and hobbling pretty badly. She's having surgery on her gums Friday. She has seizures. Maybe she will make it to ten, but I doubt she'll see eleven.

We have talked about the next dog. We are probably going to get another Bull Mastiff. They are  not as hard to take care of, being a "door mat" dog.

They live around ten years.

That would put Husband at seventy-six or seven. Will we want another dog to take care of by then? I don't know.

And cats: well, if Eli lives 20 years, I'll be seventy-seven. Will I want another cat?

See, I can't imagine living without a dog and a cat.

But then again, I could have never imagined talking about seeing the end of my life in terms of the number of dogs I might live long enough to own, either.

Do you think about this when you are even in your forties? Probably not.

It makes me sad, thinking I might be at a point in my late life where I feel I can no longer take care of a dog and/or cat.

Because they have always taken care of me.

The Elbow's Connected to the...

Man, I got something bad wrong with my elbow. Of course, it's my right one, so there is no way to rest it very much.

I believe it's called Tennis Elbow, which is odd, since the only time I've played tennis was the one time when Husband and I were dating (1984) and he offered to teach me how to play.

That was a bust, because he kept rolling around on the court laughing.

I've never been what you would call graceful.

I think it should be more like Firewood Elbow, because it all started when it snowed and we had a nice fire and I couldn't leave it alone. I kept putting wood on the fire. The pieces weren't heavy, so I knew it wouldn't hurt my back if I was careful. I would pick the wood up with one hand, (I have big hands), reach my arm out straight, bend a little and put the wood on. I did this several times.

That was in February, and my elbow just keeps getting worse.

I asked the chiropractor. She said, "Hmmmmm. Why don't you get the massage therapist to look at it."

I asked the massage therapist and she did more than look. After she tried to kill me by elbow methodology, (which actually helped, briefly) she said I might try heat. (Ice hadn't helped)

Neither did heat.

I asked my internist. She said, "Hmmmm. Why don't you get your neurologist to look at it." (I'm also having numbness in two of my fingers, which has suddenly turned into pain today.) I see him week after next. Maybe he can  help, if my elbow doesn't fall off before then.

I have also tried Arnica with ibuprofin, Glucosamine Chondroitin + MSM, Blue Emu, Power 10 and some other stinky stuff, plus Eye of Newt.

None of that has helped. But I will say since I used Eye of Newt, my vision seems to be a tad bit better.

And why is it when you have an owie, you manage to bump it into everything? I don't recall hitting my elbow much until now.

I am trying  hard not to feel sorry for myself, but I do find myself thinking how badly I really needed something else to be wrong.

Next thing you know my gizzard will get infected. Then what?

Home Alone

I am almost never home alone. Husband is retired (as am I), and Daughter goes to school locally and lives at home.

But today, Husband is gone out of town and Daughter is gallivanting, as youth are wont to do.

I opted to stay home instead of go with Husband, which is a rare thing. But going to the movies last night sort of did me in, and I thought it would be nice to have some of that alone time everyone is so in awe of.

It's been pretty nice, actually. I've eaten when and what I wanted (but I'm hungry again), I've done a little cleaning (very little), I've played scrabble on line, I've worked on my novel and right now, as soon as I finish this masterpiece, guess what?

That's right.

I'm taking a nap.

Is That My Phone Ringing?

Private Caller, Unknown Name, 1-800, Out of Area...

I am SICK AND TIRED of these phone calls....they either want my money or (as of late) want my vote.

"Hi! I'm William Dogood. I am running for fill in the blank and need your vote!

Of course I want good health care! My family will have great health care if you elect me! (Sorry about your family's health care, by the way).

Of course I believe in good paying jobs! I'll have a great paying job if you vote for me!

Freedom of religion? Sure, why not! No matter what!  Right? Isn't that the right answer? Just be sure and lock up your wives and daughters first!  Ha ha!

The right to bear arms? Everyone deserves two arms!

So, don't forget: Vote for Will Dogood. The name says it all.

God (or allah, or buddha, or the universe or  nothing at all!  Ha!) bless.

Company's A'Coming!

Well, actually they came. And they weren't really company.

It was Husband's Baby Sister and Husband's Baby Sister's Husband. We hadn't seen Baby Sister in way over a year, and I've lost count as to how long it's been since we saw her husband. I think it's been over four years, or close to it.

They live in Alabama (don't hold it against them - much -), but travel a lot. They were in Africa for almost a year, returning just before this past Christmas.

Anyway, as  you may have noticed if you live around here, it was cold and blowing snow all day. I had a cast iron dutch oven full of homemade vegetable soup, a pone of cornbread, and a roaring fire in the fireplace.

We talked, ate, laughed, and warmed ourselves with fire and soup.

They didn't stay nearly long enough. There was more family to visit.

Husband's Baby Sister gave us a gift of a small, carved, wooden bowl from Africa. It is quite beautiful.

But their visit was even more so.

Sometimes, days are close to perfect.

Their visit made this one close for sure.

Pandora's Box

Imagine, if you will, a woman who holds a small box in her hand.

Inside the box is an oval shaped, beautiful container with an inscription of a famous, expensive brand name, gold against the pristine white.

She sniffs the container, enjoying the faint scent of the yet to be opened oval, knowing an expensive item such as this would never be hers except by gift.

Simple, yet elegant, she looks forward to using the new bath powder after her shower.

Removing the lid, she slits the clear plastic, replacing it with a screen. Then she puts the puff back on and gently shakes the box.

BAM! An explosion! Lots of powder everywhere, the stuff raining down like sifted snow. She turns her head to keep from breathing it into her lungs, and closes her eyes.

Imagine her surprise, when upon opening her eyes, she is surrounded by fairy dust instead of bath powder.

Miniscule, sparkling particles fill the air, landing on every surfurce in a ten mile range. The sun, shining through the window, highlights their brilliance, as they float in the air like electrified dust motes.

They permeate every crevice in the room. The grout between the floor tiles. The indention of the sink drain. The molding. The lightbulbs.

Her skin. Every inch of her skin.

Not to mention her hair.

And it won't wash off.

The next time you see me, you won't have a hard time finding me.

You'll see the sparkle a mile off.

Bookworm

I admit it. I am a bookworm.

I have been a bookworm since I started reading. I was, really, before I could even read. I knew in my heart that's what I was, and I yearned to read so badly I could taste it.

I loved the book "Hiawatha", which was really a poem "The Song of Hiawatha", by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Of course, at age five, I didn't know that. Someone had taken the poem and put it in a child's book, illustrating it to look like a children's book.

I wanted it read every night. My mother got so sick of it, she hid the book and claimed she had no idea where it was.

Where is DFACS when you need them?

The first book that struck awe in my heart was "Winnie the Pooh", sitting innocently on the library shelf. I was in second grade. The book was 161 pages, a veritable tome.

I loved it. And I have loved big old books ever since. The bigger the better!

Some of my favorite big books: "Winter's Tale" by Mark Helprin, "Outlander" (and the rest that follow) by Diana Gabaldon, all the "Harry Potter" books, by J. K. Rowling, "The Stand" by Stephen King. The list could grow fat, too, like the books.

I actually have a list of very good books, so that when friends say, "Can you recommend a book to me?" I not only can, I do.

A friend and I were talking about books today, and we ahhed over many a book and many an author.

There are some authors that simply rise above the rest. Their writing is better than other writers. Craig Johnson comes to mind, whose first book is "The Cold Dish". You need to read his books in order, as they are about the life of a man. I understand they have been made into a TV show. I've not seen it. Don't want to mess up my books.

If you have a book that's the best ever, let me know.

I'm always open for one more friend on the shelf.

In fact, I can hardly wait!