Oh, my boys

Me: Dammit, Jarvis, don't eat all that goose poop!

Jarvis: Oh, I'm sorry... did you want some?

UPDATE - Another walk

Before the walk:

Jarvis: Okay, let's go! Let's get out the door! Let's head out! Like now, like right now...

Me: Hang on, Buddy, I have to put on my socks.

Jarvis: Okay, your socks are on, now let's go!

Me: I just have to get my shoes on...

Jarvis: Great, got the shoes, now it's Walk Time!

Me: Just a second, I need my jacket...

Jarvis: Oh, for fuck's sake!

During the walk:

Jarvis: How are humans the dominant species on the planet?

Me: What do you mean?

Jarvis: "Oh, I'm a human, I can't go outside without shoes, or I'll hurt my dainty pink feet! It's too cold to go out without a jacket! My human skin is so sensitive!" What's all that blubber for if not insulation?

Me: It's not "blubber"... It's just, you know... cookies are delicious...

After the walk:

Jarvis: Hey, where's my treat?

Me: Since you're so advanced, I figured you could get it yourself.

Jarvis: What?

Me: Yeah, just stand erect and use your opposable thumbs to open the freezer. Oh, wait...

Jarvis: That's cold, man. That's real cold.

Our protector

The landscaping crew was out shoveling and salting. One of the crew was shoveling our walk, all the way to the door. Jarvis was at the window next to the door without uttering a peep.

Me: Um, not a sound for that person approaching?

Jarvis: Meh.

Me: Meh?! What do you mean, "meh"? You lose your shit when someone parks out front and shuts their door.

Jarvis: Well they may be dangerous.

Me: Oh. My. God. They just get out of their car and don't come near the door. This person is at our door with a shovel!

Jarvis: But, I don't need to bark.

Me: Quite frankly, you almost never need to bark at anyone.

Jarvis: This person is good.

Me: What do you mean?

Jarvis: This person is working with me, not against me for your safety.

Me: Thanks for looking out for us, buddy.

It's a Dark Knight

Shawn: Come on, Buddy, it's dark out.

Jarvis: All the more reason to be vigilant. I may not be the hero {insert city} deserves, but I'm the hero it needs right now.

Dog walking: A guest post from Shawn

Jarvis and me on a walk...

Jarvis: Hang on, I'm going to poop.
Me: Okay.
Jarvis: Okay, this is a good spot. Let me just...
Me: Hang on, don't do it there. Come over here a ways.
Jarvis: Oh, I shouldn't poop?
Me: Yes, go ahead, I just didn't want you to do it over there, right next to those people's window. Just do it over here.
Jarvis: I see, no pooping then.
Me: What? No, you can poop, just not over there. Go ahead.
Jarvis: I understand. I won't poop then.
Me: Why are you being like this? I think you're being passive-aggressive.
Jarvis: I don't know what that is. It sounds like a human thing.
Me: Are you going to poop or what?
Jarvis: No need.
Me: -sigh- Fine.

Twenty minutes later, at home...

Jarvis: Take me out, I need to poop.

***

Another walk with Jarvis...

Jarvis: GRRRRR
Me: What's the matter?
Jarvis: I hate those guys so much!
Me: Who? You mean those two dogs, that are like a block away? The ones you've never actually interacted with? You hate them?
Jarvis: SO MUCH!
Me: Why? What did they--
Jarvis: HEY ASSHOLES! YEAH, YOU! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NEVER TO COME AROUND HERE!
Me: Jarvis, they live three doors down from us.
Jarvis: DON'T ACT LIKE YOU CAN'T HEAR ME! IF I GET A HOLD OF YOU, I'M GOING TO RIP OFF YOUR HEADS AND SHOVE THEM UP EACH OTHER'S BUTTS!
Me: They're both bigger than you; I'm pretty sure they'd beat the crap out of you!
Jarvis: DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? DO YOU KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM?!?!
Me: Jesus, Jarvis, chill out! Where did that come from? Look, they're gone now, you can relax.

Jarvis: ~whine~

Me: Now what's wrong?
Jarvis: I miss those guys...

What's in a name?

I found out today that a man who was a big part of my childhood died. He and his wife were friends of my parents and went to the church of my childhood. He and his wife were the creators of "Megala". One of my many nicknames. I decided to go through my nicknames, well, as many as I can remember.

Meg (my first ever nickname since my given name is Margaret)
Megala
Margar
Midge
Peggy
Peggy Sue
Megaroni
Megra
Meggo
Meggles
Megster
That Girl
Megger
Marge
Moony
Babe

#TwoMinutesLove 2018 Edition

November 1st:

I'm going to give this a shot again this year. Inspired by Shawn's flip of 1984's Two Minutes Hate into Two Minutes Love, I will attempt a positive post each day.

What was great about today? Holding a newborn. His fingers wrapping around one of mine. The soft skin that, no matter how much lotion I use, I will never have again. His funny faces as he deals with gas, pooping, and just the overall newness of it all. The wrinkles in his forehead when his eyebrows go up inquisitively. Or, when his eyebrows furrow like something has him mad. The way he was fighting sleep as if it was the greatest fight of his couple weeks of life.

With the world the way it is, everyone should hold a baby for at least a little while.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 2nd:

I was struggling with what today's post would be, which is sad, considering it's only day two. Then, something showed up in my news feed and I had something to say.

In college, I worked at the Perkins in the suburb where I grew up. One of the cooks, Keith, and I got along pretty well. I can still picture his disgusting, grease covered, baseball cap. We worked together pretty often because he was one of the head night cooks and I was often the closer on weeknights.

We would have super deep discussions. He challenged my way of thought. He appreciated books and classics. We went to see Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet when it came out --- all 4 hours of it.

Life went on and we lost touch. Thanks to Facebook, we were able to be in touch. And now, thanks to Facebook, I found out he died this week. He died much too soon. We still had so many challenging discussions and posts left to do. He may be gone now, but he certainly touched my life.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 3rd:

Today's is short. Colorado can have such amazing skies. There bright blue, cloudless ones. There are the yellow, orange, purple skies of sunrises and sunsets. Storms do their share to add to the array. Then there are the skies with a unique twist of combing types. It's never boring and we're very lucky out here.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 4th:

Oh Mila, what laughter you bring to my life.

Mila has been making videos for quite some time in her short life. They are typically done by her teenage sister - scripts, filming, editing, etc. I find them to be so funny, most of the time. She has a twin sister, Emma, who wasn't really into the whole thing. Now, though, she has started to join in and they have a YouTube channel.

If you need a laugh, watch the videos and find some others over on YouTube.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 5th:

As far as I’m concerned, our refrigerator is full of awesome. Our magnet collection is huge! But, I just want to focus on the art masterpieces that have a special place in my heart, as well as the fridge. Some from my nieces, some from when Conner was little, a Valentine I made when I was little and John Blanche sent me, and a Yoda from a little girl thanking me for prints I sent her. They brighten our kitchen in a special way. 

#TwoMinutesLove

November 6th:

The reasons I exercise my right to vote are because of the struggle of so many to earn it for me. Elections may be divisive, but the right still belongs to all who register.

"Amendment XV Right to Vote Not Denied by Race. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude. The Congress shall have the power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation."

"Amendment XIX. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any state on account of sex. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation."

"The Voting Rights Act of 1965, signed into law by President Lyndon B. Johnson, aimed to overcome legal barriers at the state and local levels that prevented African Americans from exercising their right to vote as guaranteed under the 15th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution."

#TwoMinutesLove

November 7th:

So, I need to try to focus on the good that came of yesterday's election results. There is a pretty long list of firsts that came out of the results.

Openly Gay Governor
Lesbian Mother to Congress
Muslim Women to Congress
First Native American Women to Congress
First Female Senator from Tennessee
First Female Senator from Arizona
First Hispanic Woman to Congress from Texas
First Woman Governor in South Dakota

There are so many positives to focus on in the midst of it all.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 8th:

In today's memories feed, a video from 3 years ago that one of my cousins posted popped up. I was really hoping to post the video, but I'm not able to.

One of my cousins is Monica (Monie, as my uncle called her). She has Down Syndrome and is blind. Completely blind from having to have both eyes removed due to medical conditions. She'll be 54 this month. So, at the time of the video she was about 51.

For as long as I can remember, swimming has been a huge part of Monica's life. It could be in Lake Erie; a swimming pool; in the lake at the campground where the family's RV was; absolutely anywhere.

The video is her in a swim competition. Totally unable to see while swimming a race. Think about that. Trying to keep in your lane while blind when others have goggles to help keep their eyes open.

The video isn't long. The race was one pool length. She came in second place. She bobs up and down with one arm in the air, "I DID IT!!! I DID IT!!!" and hugs and wraps her legs around the aid that was in the pool with her.

I watch it and it chokes me up. Not because of Monica's disabilities, but because of what she accomplished. Because, in her finishing, she expressed such a sense of pure jubilation. I think getting to that wall, whether she placed or not, was all she really needed to make herself happy.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 9th:

Today's thoughts are about technology.

When I was young, if you missed an episode of a TV show, you were out of luck until off season re-runs or syndication. Then, VCRs happened, so you had the opportunity to tape a show if you weren't going to be able to watch it when it was broadcast.

Now, we have DVRs; On Demand; and a variety of streaming services. You don't have to miss a thing (almost, I mean, it might not be available on those services).

Anyway, why do I have made love for this technology? When you lose your memory, you can feel like you are out of touch about so many things. One of those things can be your understanding of pop culture.

Thanks to things like streaming services, I've been able to re-watch things from the period I lost. Shawn and I had watched Stranger Things during the year that I ended up losing. When season 2 was going to be coming out, I had no recollection of season 1. I was able to watch season 1 again. It was kind of odd because Shawn would tell me that I had said the same thing or had the same reaction the first time we watched. Apparently my thought processes stayed the same even if the memory of the first time was erased.

We all know technology can be used for ill. But, for me, this is a case of technology being used for good.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 10th:

November is National Adoption Month. I'm not talking about animals this time (but this is National Adoption Weekend for them).

When I started at the rescue, one of my friends was fostering two little boys, brothers in fact. She and her husband walked them through a life in foster care with patience, emotional roller coaster rides, and love. They saw them through to adoption by a family, a family they know. Because friends adopted the boys, Brigitte and her husband are able to continue to watch the boys grow and to walk their lives' journey with them.

Foster parenting and adopting are certainly the most giving and loving paths one may choose to take. It takes a certain kind of love from a special kind of person.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 11th:

Some people, when it comes to fashion, collect purses or jewelry or shoes (fancy, designer shoes). Those are not my things.

I’m a collector of T-shirts and socks and crazy hats. I like to portray fun...when I’m feeling it. There’s something about a Groot hat with a Groot T-shirt and Groot socks that makes a day a bit happier.

Yes, I’ll be 44 in a few months. But, doesn’t a silly hat wearing 44 year old make a better world than a bad combover wearing 45th President?

Pictured, left to right: Silly fleece, Chewbacca, Light-up gingerbread-man (top), Hulk hair and eyebrows (bottom), Grover (top), Bad Hair Day (bottom), and Groot.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 12th:

Today’s post is simple and short.

I woke up to live another day.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 13th:

Today I was standing in line. The guy behind me tells me he’s going to move my hood. I’m weirded out, but thought that it may have been in an awkward position. So I said it was okay.

He read what was on the back of my hoodie. He told me he wanted to see what kind of rescue it was and my hood was blocking the writing.

He asked if it was for animals. Were we saving pets. I told him we were. He said that that’s good work I’m doing.

Sometimes a little awkward recognition can go a long way to make for a better day. #adoptdontshop

#TwoMinutesLove

November 14th:

Colorado was 2nd in the country for voter turnout last week (Next time, we need to try for 1st). Something moved people. People must have recognized the importance of the midterms. This, in my ever so un-humble opinion, seems to show a realization that one’s vote matters. Even though I’m almost as blue as you can get, the franchise belongs to red, blue, purple or any other political color. It is important to use it, important to our democracy (which is a republic, but whatever). So whichever color you voted (I do hope it was blue), I’m glad you did.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 15th:

Today was about catching up with a friend. Checking in with one another is important. "Breaking bread" with one another makes it all the better.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 16th:

Today is about gratitude for fosters of animals. We use fosters for dogs. We also have some for kittens who are very young, bottle feeding young.

We have a really great list of people who are willing to take our dogs. They see a list and pictures of what dogs are coming in and they offer to take them in. No interaction, just their best guess at which dog will work in their environment.

Then, life together happens. The fosters figure out behaviors and personalities that help us find great matches for forever homes. Sometimes the dog and the foster aren't a good match. That isn't ding on the foster's reputation. It just means that the dog's environmental needs aren't in sync with the home environment of the foster. That happens in human relationships, so why not in human relationships with a canine (or other animal).

This probably wasn't worded very well and didn't get my point across. But, animal rescue could not succeed without fosters.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 17th:

Ten years ago I was loading printers; putting in new toner; shredding documents; doing data entry; and making sure people got yard signs all for Obama’s first campaign. Oh, and explaining to people Obama isn’t Muslim.

Also, at the office I met a fascinating person. Someone with a resume as packed as could be with political work, military experience, and so much more. It was amazing to be around him. On election night, he stood on a desk and spoke to a packed office about the significance of the election in political history. He spoke to what it was we accomplished.

A few weeks ago he headed to Cox's Bazar in Bangladesh. To work with the UN once again. He was joining the UN World Food Programme (WFP). He will be spending six months or so heading up the engineering effort as part of the joint Site Maintenance Engineering Project (SMEP).

This project is focused on building better shelter, roads, sanitation, and more. The work is to get 1 million refugees a life of dignity.

Tim and I had very limited real life time together. Facebook is how I keep “tabs” on the many admirable things he does. He, very generously, contributed to a fundraiser my niece was doing to help with an orphanage in Honduras. He did it without even knowing her. I took it as a way to encourage a younger generation to have a broader world view such as his.

Tim, I have the utmost respect and gratitude for all you have done and continue to do.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 18th:

When these two are together, it brings me joy. When Jarvis uses Shawn as a pillow or when they play chase, or tug-o-war, or just when Shawn gives belly rubs, it makes me smile. ❤️ #jarvisismycopilot

#TwoMinutesLove

November 19th:

The brain is a very complex thing.

In 2016, for those who may not know which has to be few since I talk about it a lot, I underwent ElectroConvulsive Therapy (ECT). It jacked up my memory of the whole year. The bulk of the memories I do have are of the people who worked at the facility where I had the treatments.

I never had a bad experience, that I recall. Some nurses were chattier than others. One loved to talk about dogs. Another couple thought I had pretty fascinating tattoos. Many thought I had great socks and t-shirts. My last treatment was Dec. 23rd so the socks and t-shirt were a really big hit.

Anyway, we had a good rapport. Things ended on a high note. I was on the gurney, waiting to head in for my treatment. As I waited, the head nurse was over at the printer and held up a blank sheet of paper. She asked did someone mean to print a blank sheet. I piped up and said something about it being my Christmas Letter and that it was blank since I don't remember anything from the year. People laughed and that's how my ECT experience ended...with laughter.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 20th:

Just after 9/11, Blanchie and I started to give blood at The Red Cross. The last time, Blanchie couldn’t give because her iron was too low when they tested it. So, she sat on the side with the juices and snacks while I finished up.

I got done and joined her. Then I was on the floor with my feet up on a chair, the feel of blood on my face, and no glasses. Next I’m in an ambulance headed to the hospital. I pass out again, get my face stitched up, and off for a CTScan to see what’s up with the passing out because it had to be more than the blood loss. Well, it was mono. It seems donating blood and mono don’t mix.

Some time later The Red Cross wrote me a “Thanks, but no thanks” letter. I wasn’t surprised. But, the letter went on to tell me I couldn’t give ever again because I had some fucked up (my words, not theirs) liver enzymes. I had a sense of relief because I was feeling scared about giving again after the mono debacle.

Years later, The Red Cross wrote me again. They said I could give. There were advancements in testing that meant my liver enzyme issue was okay. But, it didn’t make any advancement in calming my fears. I felt guilty, but my fear was felt more.

Fast forward many years to this summer. There was a shooting of a mom and her three sons not far from where we live. The mom and one son were both severely injured. One son managed to be okay. The third son died. There was a need for blood and a drive was set up. I decided that the world is a fucked up place and kids are dying from senseless violence so it was time to give again.

And I did...with Shawn by my side. I survived - no passing out, no feeling wheezy.

Tonight we did it again. I got an email from Children’s Hospital that they need 20 whole blood donors by the end of the day tomorrow. They were at 3. Tomorrow we couldn’t get down there. I called to see if we could get in today. We could, but we had to pretty much leave right away because of the distance.

We did it. When we got there, 7 more people had donated since the email.

YAY SCIENCE! Because of it you get to do good things, you get to save lives.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 21st:

Jarvis and I were out for a walk. We came upon a couple of hockey sticks leaning upon a fence. They had the tightly, twisted tape spiraling the stick's end and then the tape wrapping over that. And, BAM!, a flood of memories came rushing to mind.

There's the pot of boiling water for molding the rubber mouth guard. Also, heating the stick blade just enough to increase the curve without drawing the attention of the referee. And, the other kitchen memory was the game night dinner of pasta, I distinctly remember cavatelli.

There were the changes from entirely metal blades, to black plastic, white plastic, and clear plastic coverings. Metal cage face masks moved aside for the super trendy Itech. Our local rink went from a chain link fence around it to plexiglass for a more modern feel.

My 3 brothers played. My sister did for a little bit, but I don't really remember that. There were lots of games and I spent lots of time in the rinks. A rink rat, you may say. I kept track of shots on goal for one team. Sometime worked the light behind the goal to indicate a goal was scored. I even worked in the scorer's box filling out the paperwork.

I haven't thought about this stuff in years. Possibly wouldn't have for years to come if it wasn't for seeing those sticks. They aren't important memories, but they make up part of my youth.

No matter how small or mundane a memory may seem, don't take it for granted. Take it from me, you never know when you will lose even the tiniest trip down memory lane. Random things that come to mind may make you smile for just a little while and who can't use some more random smiles?

#TwoMinutesLove

November 22nd:

Thanksgiving always gets me thinking about food. About food memories. I always think about my mom’s stuffing and gravy. Then I move on to thinking about her Yorkshire pudding and her stuffed flank steak and her peach pie. I’m grateful for her recipes so I can get that taste of home.

Today I got to thinking about how everyone probably has a favorite food from their family. Not everyone is a cook, but maybe it would be good if everyone became one for just one thing. Learn that recipe from your mom or dad or grandparents that speaks to you of happiness - become a master chef of that thing. You’ll have the memory in your hands, your hands working on making that favorite thing, and spreading happiness.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 23rd:

Well, this may be kind of an odd one.

I was watching TV and there was a woman with a crazy top on that was all about boobage. There must have been some tape involved to keep those things under control.

Just a little over 16 years ago I decided it was time to give getting a breast reduction another try. I had insurance that was actually going to cover it. I just needed to do it.

It was an extremely emotional experience. The idea of feeling free from the burden my breasts had been was overwhelming. I found a surgeon who walked me through the experience. He was a gentle man. The compassion he showed me helped more than he can ever know. He went to bat for me when my company's short term disability insurance wasn't going to get me the time off that he deemed appropriate. He was amazing. His surgical skills were top notch. His bedside manner was on par with them.

Obviously surgical skills, diagnostic skills, etc. are so important in the medical profession. However, compassion and gentleness play a part in treatment and healing. If you are able to find a medical team that encompasses all of those things, you are better for it.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 24th:

Once again, I found myself struggling with what to write. I started to think about work friends. Work friends are different than friends or family, but just as important to the passage of time we call life.

I was out walking Jarvis and, as often happens, I started to think. I've been missing my work friends. Missing our weird lunches. There have been McDonald's Diet Cokes and my regular Coke because give me all the calories. Sometimes fries would be added. There's been La Croix, but I won't touch that. Then there are "Meg Sized" pieces of cake. Throw in some avocado. Maybe some Gouda spread/dip from Costco is in the fridge. How about some Nearly Naked Popcorn? Or, on days which are all the things, we order ALL the appetizers from Old Chicago because Tuesdays are a thing, a horrible thing.

Enjoy your work friends and the quirky things you may share with them that aren't like the things you share with anyone else.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 25th:

Today is going to have to be simple.

Find something positive from the day.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 26th:

Animal videos. How awesome are animal videos? There are funny ones, heartwarming ones, unfortunately there are heartbreaking ones (for the sake of this post, we'll ignore those).

Videos with dogs or elephants or maybe even both get me all the time. Sometimes even cats might bring some smiles. Sharing animal videos is one of the high points of the internet. If you're feeling off and meh, an animal video might be just what you need.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 27th:

Today's positive thing is the end result of the events at Walter Reed. With the conflicting reports that led to confusion, the positive thing, in the end, is that there was not really an active shooter.

Now, get your shit together folks.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 28th:

You know what doesn't happen enough lately? Well, at least to me it isn't happening enough.

Laughter. Almost-pee-your-pants-and-hyperventilate laughter. It's so powerful. It helps so much when the shit is hitting the high speed proverbial fan. When there's a ringworm outbreak at work, you have to have a sense of humor. When there's another mass shooting or just the daily news involving the motherfucker "running" this country, you need to run toward humor and embrace it.

So, here you go, some humor. It isn't gut splitting, but it's funny.

Baby is unsure on his feet and steps on trunk from r/babyelephantgifs

#TwoMinutesLove

November 29th:

Every one should have a Blanchie. Even better than having a Blanchie is having a Blanchie who texts. And, I was glad to have my Blanchie today since I was feeling all kinds of yuck. Texting with Blanchie is like that proverbial box of chocolates in which you never know what you are going to get.

#TwoMinutesLove

November 30th:

I was trying to figure out what note on which to end the #TwoMinutesLove post that made up November. Then, my memories' feed had a post from 3 years ago that seemed pretty good. This isn't the entire post, but the part that I found worth repeating.

"I try to make people happy. I don't mean this in the 'people-pleaser' way. I'm talking about bring a smile to someone's face, let someone know I'm thinking of them. Sometimes, it's a post, an e-mail, others it might be just a little something to say, 'Hey, I saw this and thought of you.' So, I try to do what I can to counteract the yucky parts of my day, the horrors of the world in which we live."

I still try. Maybe I'm not as good at it as I used to be or should be, but I hope I haven't become so consumed with myself that I don't express even a bit of thought towards another. Perhaps when I have more money I will be able to give a physical representation of my thoughts for others. In the meantime, just know that I wish you happiness.

Until next November...

#TwoMinutesLove

What's in a name?

So, Shawn and I started watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. The main character, Mrs. Maisel (obvi), is named Miriam, but goes by "Midge". This got me thinking about a neighbor when I was a kid. This old man a few doors down called me "Midge" for some reason.

I started to think about all of the nicknames I have accrued through the years. It all started with "Meg". l didn't know my actual name was "Margaret" until I started school. Of course attendance was taken and I was like, "Watchu talkin' 'bout, teacher?" Of course, it sucked because I had to learn how to write an 8 letter word instead of a 3 letter one.

So, as far as I can recall, here's the roll. This assumes the obvious names of "Bitch", "Asshole", and the like.

• Meg
• Margar
• Peggy Sue
• Megger
• Megala
• Meggles
• Midge
• Megaroni
• Meggo
• Megra
• Mag
• Moony
• Babe
• Mommy (for Jarvis)   

I think there are more, but I don't know.

Jarvis, the reluctant...hero?

So, just a little description of the neighborhood to help with the story. We live near a retirement/assisted living/ nursing home/rehab facility compound-ish thing. We also live amidst a paved trail system. The two things come together when the trail goes along the back of the patio homes portion of the old people village. Shawn and I refer to it as "the retirement home path". So, the north side of the path buts up against patio homes and the south side is next to grass, trees, benches, and a waterway. At a certain point, the patio homes end, there's a space (probably two car widths) and then the start of a series of garages.

There you have it; our stage.

Last week, Jarvis and I were on a routine walk on the retirement home path, heading east toward home. We could see an old lady staring at something by the split rail fence near the garages. As Jarvis and I get closer she says, "This must be yours." I look and there's a little, white dog just hanging out. So, obviously, I have a big dog on a leash and I'm heading toward a roaming little dog, it must be mine. Dog parenting for the WIN! I told her that it was not and kept on our way with Jarvis' poop in a bag on the way to the poop station.

Then, an older man comes from the other direction and I hear, "Certainly, this must be yours." Again, her theory gets rejected.

DAMMIT! I can't do it. I can't keep going. The dog must be rescued; the owner must be found. We head back. I try to find something to hook Jarvis' leash to so that he secure while I go play some kind of  canine savior. Once Jarvis is hooked, he loses his shit and barks like the goddamn Mailman is trying to do his job and deliver shit.

Meanwhile, I head over to the little dog. I'm not good with breeds, this one looks like it took a frying pan to the face a la "Tom & Jerry" and is forever pissed about it. It also has a tail the stands up and strands of hair hang off of it, kind of like the ribbons on a May Pole before they are May Poled.

I pick this light weight, white, ball of fur up. I'm not sure he's even ten pounds. He gives me the evil eye. What the fuck? I'm trying to find his fucking home and he's so ungrateful.

While all of this is happening, I'm hoping for a large number of seniors who are hard of hearing to living around there because Jarvis cannot get his shit together. I look over and he did some kind of twisted flip without actually strangling himself. Resting bitch (I know, Oscar is a boy dog) face is shaking and growling at Jarvis. I sit down on a curb near Jarvis hoping he might shut up because the dog is not a threat to him. I'm looking at Oscar's collars and I try calling the licensing office. It is a recorded, pick-a-number menu. I decided holding the dog and Jarvis barking are not making this phone call easy. Then, I decide to go to the apartment building hoping for a front desk with a receptionist who can take over for me. Me walking away brings Jarvis' desire to be recognized and hear to the next level. I get to the apartment and there is no front desk and you have to be buzzed in. I don't think a random buzzing to some apartment tenant is going to get me anywhere.

I go back to Jarvis; back to curb sitting; back to collar tag looking. Oscar's "Oscar" tag has two phone numbers. One didn't work. The other went to voicemail so I left a message with my phone number. There I am with Jarvis chained up and barking and a small dog giving me the stink eye. I unhook Jarvis and he wants a piece of Oscar. He's jumping and Oscar is growling while giving Jarvis the death stare. I'm trying to get Oscar to higher land (aka my upper body) because Jarvis wants an ass sniff and a piece of the angry little devil. Fuck me! Jarvis pulls out a tuft of hair. Then another tuft. I get Oscar almost on top of my head while using my other hand to try to choke up on Jarvis' leash so he can't jump high. And, while all this is happening, while Jarvis is jumping around me, there is a bag of shit in my pocket!

I'm almost in tears while also wanting to laugh thinking about what this must look like. For a moment, I think, well, I'm going to have to bring Oscar home and wait for the call. Then I realize, how the fuck am I going to walk home with these two and then what am I going to do with them once I get their. UGH!!!

Finally, I decided it would be best to walk around the senior village and hope for someone to know or own this dog. I didn't pay attention to the name on the voicemail so I call back and get the lady's name. We're walking along, the three stooges, and Jarvis' gets one more tuft of hair!!! Then, there is a woman out in front of her home. I asked if she knew the woman from the voicemail. She did and told me she was in the home next door to where I was. She said something about how it must be Oscar or....I stopped her and said that it was, indeed, Oscar.

Jarvis and I take Oscar to the door. The woman was asking him if he got out again. She mentioned that he did spend a night in jail once. That was about it. I kind of expected a bigger thank you, but I guess if this is a pretty routine experience, she has become hardened to the ways of appreciation.

Maybe Oscar is trying to get away from something and maybe that something has frozen his face into a permanent expression of hatefulness and inner rage.

It's like a needle in a basilic

I just got back from getting some routine blood work done. It's just another part of having a mental illness. Things like levels of some of my meds in my blood are monitored. Today, I won the HOLY FUCK, I HATE THIS award by having 6 vials drawn.

Being tattooed, I'm sure some of my other inked friends can relate, people don't understand how I have issues with blood work, blood donations, and IVs. Well, here's the story. When I get a tattoo, I don't even see the needle of the tattoo gun. Well, most of my pieces are on my back, but the pieces on my forearm I could watch. Anyway, we're not talking about a long, thin, metal, tube being shoved deep in my vein. I don't have to fear the way I move my arm or hand because an IV all up in there. Then there's the awesome experience of blood work and blood donations where my freaking blood is being sucked out of my body. I DON'T need to see that. NOPE!

So, not all needles are the same.

The holly, jolly, holidays

Yesterday, as I lie on my gurney getting prepped and readied for my head zapping, the head nurse was over by the printer. She pulled off two blank sheets of paper. She jokingly asked who was printing blank paper. Well, I piped up and said that it was I and that it was my Christmas Letter. I said it sums up all that I remember about 2016. It just needed my signature.

That little ECT humor was a pretty big hit with everyone who was in the area....everyone who was fully conscious, that is.

I hope my skills have improved

So, I've found some old stuff that I wrote years ago. I decided it wasn't right to keep these gems to myself. Here's a little something from sophomore year of high school. I scanned it in from the school's literary magazine, "Ventures".

Then I found this short, short story from my senior year in college. It is actually 20 years old this month. I keyed it in because the versions I had were a draft with mark-up and the published version. I did not like the editorial changes that were made to the published one. It's funny to look back, especially since this was before area codes were required. 

8-6-2-7-3-5-1

A Doral burns in the ashtray, releasing more smoke into the room than he ever takes into his lungs firsthand. He sits in "his" chair, a recliner that is worn to fit him perfectly, unlike his clothes. His once-white tee-shirt reveals his distorted belly button and all the t.v. dinners that were eaten but not tasted. As he watches one of many television shows that will fill his lonely evening, he decides it's about time to find that blasted piece of paper.

His hand reaches toward the table next to him, just past a can of warm, stale, Old Milwaukee. "There it is," he says, as though anyone is there to hear him or even help him look.

He adds the racing results to the rest of the thrown-away money piled on the floor. "Now it's time to think about this chance," he says to the crumpled paper he holds tightly in his potatochip greased fingers. He looks at the numbers, 8-6-2-7-3-5-1, and asks them, "You brought me luck once, can't you do it again?"

The question takes him back to the first time he saw those very numbers on a crinkled piece of paper. Actually, it was a cocktail napkin. That was thirty years, eighty pounds, and a full head of hair ago. He was new in town, looking for a neighborhood bar to make a place for himself among the regulars. As he took a seat on a stool at the bar, he watched to learn all he could about the customers at "The Eight Ball". The bartender gave him a napkin with his bottle of Budweiser. He thought the napkin looked strange but didn't give it too much thought. Then, he began to look for some of the typical bar top, chewy pretzels. When he looked down, he noticed that the napkin under his beer wasn't ordinary after all. He read what was scribbled on it, "Call me sometime, 862-7351, Barb." His first instinct was to pretend he didn't notice it because who knew how many others had the same note with their drinks? Then, he decided to look around. Maybe he could figure out who she was. After a few glances around the joint, he gave-up, put the napkin in his coat pocket, and walked out. Since Barb didn't approach him on his way out, he imagined how she looked and what her voice was like for the entire walk home.

His apartment was strange to him, and he felt lonely walking into the emptiness. The loneliness made him think about Barb even more. He decided to give it a shot. "Heck! I'm new here, and it couldn't hurt to meet someone." He went to bed, figuring he would give her a call sometime the next day.

He worked up the courage to call her and dialed 862-7351 from memory. The phone number had been on his mind so much, he couldn't help knowing it by heart. As he dialed, he thought about what to say. "You. Me. Tonight. 'The Eight Ball'" was an option. His rehearsal time was cut short when she picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?" she said into his ear.

He stalled for a minute. The voice on the other end was not the voice of the Barb that walked him home in is imagination. This wasn't good or bad -- it was just she.

"Um, Hi. I was given a note last night at "The Eight Ball." Was it from, you?" he forced himself to reply before she could have the chance to hang up on him.

"Yes, it was from me, but I don't want you to think I make a habit of doing that type of thing," she said in response to the question he asked her -- and the one on his mind.

That was how it had all begun. They had dated for a year and were engaged for another. Their wedding was exactly two years after the night Barb wrote the seven numbers on that napkin. The marriage had lasted twenty-one years. He couldn't help thinking about the day those years together came to an end -- when his good luck and his wife walked out the door one morning and never walked through it again.

The music from "The Big Seven" lottery drawing snapped him back to his pathetic present. He's back in "his" worn-out chair with cheap cigarettes, bad beer, and lost chances around him. Now that she's gone, he sits in another lonely apartment, looking at the 8-6-2-7-3-5-1 in his hand, and says to the woman no longer there, "Maybe lightning can strike the same place twice, and maybe your number will bring me luck again."

 The End

Well, that's enough memory lane for now. Maybe I'll get the mood again since I have come upon so many writings.  

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

A wee bit of a laugh

For a brief change of pace, I thought I'd take this moment to reveal the wee bit of humor I have toward my illness.

I have an alarm set on my iPhone for the two times of day when I take my pills. The song I chose for it is The Rolling Stone's "Mother's Little Helper". Now, I may not be a mother, but the pill popping theme is relatable, in a kind of humorous way.

I also found a pillbox that makes me chuckle. Some my find it offensive or sacrilegious, but it has made me smile. See the pills in Jesus' hands? Come on, it's funny.

Now back to my regularly scheduled anxiety induced nausea. 

 

And now for something completely different

Today's post is an attempt at lightening things up around here. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that it is written by someone else with a sense of humor. It's written by my husband, Shawn. He sometimes writes little stories about his excursions with our dog, Jarvis. Here's his latest piece:

Jarvis and I walk past a women [sic] walking her two tiny dogs. One of them is not at all happy to see Jarvis.

Tiny dog: YOU GOTTA LOTTA NERVE SHOWING YOUR FACE AROUND HERE! I'M GONNA KILL YOU, THEN I'M GONNA EAT YOUR BODY, SHIT IT OUT, EAT THAT SHIT, AND THEN SHIT YOU OUT AGAIN! HEY, DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME! I'LL RIP YOUR THROAT OUT! IF I EVER SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN, I'M GONNA SUCK OUT YOUR EYEBALLS...

Through all of this, Jarvis doesn't say a word. He just looks straight ahead, pretending not to hear. The little dog keeps it up until we're out of sight.

Me: What was that about?
Jarvis: Hmm? Oh, heh, yeah... we, uh... we had a bit of a misunderstanding once.
Me: What kind of misunderstanding?
Jarvis: Well, I may have mis-read a few signals...
Me: You humped him?
Jarvis: Vigorously.
Me: But he's tiny!
Jarvis: And I have no balls. I can't really be choosy, now, can I?

In the meantime...

It's been awhile and I'm still trying to figure out what I want to write about for a new post.  In the meantime, enjoy this picture of me looking like a little kid at the grown-ups' table.

Picture this

A few months back, I was headed into the building where my psychiatrist has his office. On the walkway to the building, I stopped and took a picture of something that struck me funny on one of the benches. Saved the picture to post later with some funny caption.

Later, I was listening to NPR and this episode of All Things Considered was playing. Listening to the idea that taking pictures so often and so readily may be creating false memories got me thinking.

There was a time when I really wrote more than #hashtags and 140 characters and snarky comments. When I first moved to Colorado in 2005, I would write emails to folks back home about my new life. They would be detailed tales of adventure...well, maybe adventure is a bit dramatic.  Anyway, people would respond with compliments on how they could envision everything I said because of the way I wrote it.

What does this have to do with memories and pictures and a shrink's office and a radio show?

When I was writing those emails, I had to draw from my memory. I didn't have a smart phone and couldn't send emails, texts, or post to Twitter and/or Facebook in the moment. It wasn't until I got to the computer that I could get the experiences out to others. This all made memory so important.

Then, I got MySpace and Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and an iPhone and whatever the hell else made me able to just post crap at will. I'd take a picture, write a caption, post it. What more do you need? No taking time to absorb details; to make a mental image; to then translate to words for others to read.

So, back to the picture I snapped outside of my sanity-meds-prescriber's office. I deleted it, but I haven't forgotten it.

A few months back, I was headed into the building where my psychiatrist has his office. On the walkway to the building, I caught a glimpse of something that made me chuckle. A few concrete benches are around the outside of the building. On one of the benches was a small container of Activa yogurt. It was opened and had a metal spoon with it and sitting with the sun shining upon it. I know, YUM! I laughed because in my mind I was coming up with an explanation for why it had been abandoned. As we've all come to learn from Jamie Lee Curtis, Activa aids in digestion, helps make you regular. Well, perhaps a little Activa went a long way for the person who left it on the bench.

As I walked in the building and passed the hallway to the restrooms, I thought of the poor soul who must have been in one of the stalls.

Oh my, I did this...YIKES

So, we've established my weird sing-to-myself & Jarvis habit.  Well, I can't believe I'm about to admit to AND post my latest creation which came to me this morning:

I've got the toe of the camel

And you're gonna see me pull

Sorry, Katy Perry...

Sing, sing a song

I know some of you have been graced with the sound of my singing.  It is angelic, no, demonic.  Well, I'm no recording artist.

Anyway, I have a tendency to make up songs.  I'll sing to our dog, Jarvis, about what we're doing.  "We are going to go for a walk and you are going to pee and poop and behave yourself then we'll come home and you can have a treat and some water and a nap or we'll play or maybe a bath..."

But wait, sometimes the songs aren't just me getting my sing-song creations on.  There are times when I change the words to known songs.  These can be even BETTER!!! Here are a couple I've come up with:

"I know you have a little ketchup in you yet.  I know you have a tablespoon left." Which I sing to the tune of Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work."  I know, I know, I should be ashamed of myself.

Here's another GREAT one:

"Acrobat Reader" in place of "Paperback Writer" by The Beatles

I haven't done anything full-length.  You're letting out a great, big sigh of relief, I'm sure.  It's all in fun and part of embracing my inner-goofball.  I learned it from a song on "Sesame Street."