My Grandparents' Anniversary

This evening, my husband Dan and I went to dinner. We ran into a business friend who was dining with her husband and his parents who were celebrating their 59th wedding anniversary. They were an adorable couple, he with a twinkle in his eye and she with a broad, friendly smile on her face. They reminded me of my grandparents.

Later, I remembered today was my grandparents' anniversary too. I vividly remember their 50th anniversary. It was a big, dressy affair with all their friends and our family. I was nineteen and in college. Fifty years with one person was unfathomable to me at the time, but I had been around them for nineteen of those years and they had a pretty special thing going between the two of them. Although they are both gone now, I can't imagine their heaven being anywhere but together.

It made me smile to know I had just met two people who shared that special date with my Gran and Pop.

It's Crazy Out There!

By out there, I mean the highways, the malls, the restaurants, the entire world, it seems! I'm not going back out there until after Christmas. At least not unless I absolutely have to venture out to forage or gather food for my tribe. Nope, not going to get caught up in this insanity.

The parking lots at the malls are so full it is impossible to find a space. The amount of gas that is being expended by desperate shoppers trying to park their cars is probably twice the amount they will spend in the stores buying the multitude of presents they believe they must have for all the lucky individuals on their lists.

The highways are clogged (at least in Florida) with all the tourists escaping their inclement weather up north (boy did we fool them this week with temperatures in the 20's!). The tourists, being tourists, don't know where they are going and, because they are on vacation, are in no immediate hurry to get anywhere, unlike the rest of us who are on the clock and living in the real world.

The restaurants, well, don't get me started on them. I happen to live in Paradise. South Florida is so beautiful this time of year and the people who actually live here all the time are appreciative of the tourism for our state but hate to stand in line for hours at a time because of tourists.

My husband had an idea. All the people who live here all the time would have "I live here" cards that would take them to the front of the line in the restaurants they frequent during the lean times of the year when there are no tourists. The "I live here" cards would be given out during those summer months to patrons of restaurants who are steady customers. I thought it was a great idea. Much better than a "groupon" or some similar fish sounding coupon.

Perhaps at this time of year, going crazy is a normal thing to do. For those in business, crazy equals money spent, a good thing for them. For those still in economic distress (a lot of people), it is probably not a good thing. Credit cards come out and money is spent that shouldn't be spent.

The crazy world is doing what it does every single year at this time. It reminds me of lemmings. Those were unusual looking animals (rodents?) who followed each other off cliffs because that was where everyone else was going.

Perhaps if we all stayed home more, planned our ventures out to malls and restaurants better and more importantly, put on our very best behavior and were kind and polite to each other, maybe it wouldn't be so crazy out there and maybe it would be a bit more Merry!

Anyway, that's my plan and I'm sticking to it. Home is where the heart is and it's where I am until after Santa's big retail day. The "reason for the season" they say is because of a great gift given to mankind. Buying presents in stores to obsession is not exactly how this great gift was supposed to be translated. But then, that's just my own personal opinion, me, the person who's staying home. This is where my gifts are, the furry ones, who love unconditionally and the husband who only asks for a hug, a kiss and a hot meal at the end of his long day. In all this craziness, I think we've forgotten we already have all the gifts we really need.

Christmas, Climbing Trees and Cold Weather

It's almost Christmas. You can't open a website online without being informed of the day, hour and minute until the biggest holiday of the year. I'm not a big fan of the commercial side of Christmas. Unless there are children involved, who needs to go out and spend a huge amount of money, cash or credit, on presents.

If I give a gift, it has to be something I know the person wants, needs or would love to have.  But to do that for a huge list of people because you have to is a lot of psychological pressure that is not needed at this time of year. I try to stay clear of the hoards of people pushing and shoving in the local shopping malls. Buying online is a much better, saner idea if you have to buy at all. The less, the better is my motto.

But I did buy myself a Christmas present this year. It's looking at me as I write this post. It arrived from Shanghai yesterday. I ordered it on Monday afternoon at the Apple store and it arrived on Friday. It's beautiful, shiny new and a joy to write on. This is my first blog post written on my new Apple MacBook Pro 17" laptop.

All day yesterday, after taking the new laptop out of the box and setting it on my living room table where I work, I walked back and forth by it, waiting to actually open it for a long time. I knew it was the beginning of a new era for me. As a long time Mac user, (can you say Macintosh SE?) I have evolved along with Apple since 1986. I was actually at the Superbowl in California where the famous Apple commercial aired. I still have the Macintosh Apple seat cushion everyone there received. The Miami Dolphins played the Raiders I think. It was rather overwhelming to be there and my first exposure to Apple is my most memorable moment.

Today I finally opened the MacBook Pro and started it up. Wow. I was so impressed. Wirelessly, I streamed items from my tiny 13" Macbook to the new Jumbotron Pro. I set my computer up within minutes all by myself (don't try this at home, I'm a professional!)
and seamlessly transferred to using the sleek, ergonomic computer. I love it!

So I wanted this blog post to be about the growth of my animal menagerie and their interactions with each other. In this tiny herd microcosm known as my household, everyone gets along with everyone. It's rather unsettling to know that so many disparate breeds and mixed breeds as well as different species can cohabit so easily.

My kittens are now adults. Very large, with glossy black coats, they slink around, acting smug about how they have all taught themselves (with no assistance from me) how to go in and out of both doggie doors. Now I have to refer to these doors ad dog & cat doors. I have one that goes from the house to the porch and another that goes from the porch into the small yard around the back of the house. This gives everyone a safe place to go when I am not here. All my animals are very proud of their doors and how they can go in and out of them at will, with no help from their humans. It makes them very superior animals!

Now that the kittens (I suppose I will always refer to them as kittens because they are my babies) are going in and out of the dog & cat doors, they have become quite brave, running here and there around the small yard and Spot (of course it was Spot!) even managed to end up somehow on the other side of the fence. She was quite upset about that and cried and cried until I finally heard her and let her in the gate. She was very relieved to come back into the house and go to bed in her kitty condo with her sisters.

Cold weather makes all the animals frisky. I think they, like we humans, appreciate the cool air and crispy days and nights as a bit of a relief from the humidity and heat of our very long summers. The horse don't walk from here to there in their pastures, they run, snorting and cavorting. The kittens are now climbing the Maple trees in the small yard. They think they are quite important looking down at me from the firsst branches of the largest of four trees.

I planted these trees when they were little saplings and it's hard to believe that these huge trees are now a virtual playground for three kittens I helped give birth to last March. But now I must close because Spot has decided that she needs attention (of course) and is trying very hard to add her two cents by rubbing her butt across my keyboard. Since this is my shiny new computer, this won't due and so I'm going to finish and give her the attention she feels is due right this very moment.

As she is now fast asleep and purring across both my arms, it seems the wisest thing to do!

Emma's Dilemma (or Whose Dog is This Anyway?)

This story begins with wagging tails. My Wolf Husky, Chaos is escorting a tiny black and white Chihuahua up to my front door. Chaos' upward lifted tail shows how intent she is and the little dog in front of her is nervously dodging right and left while being herded toward my house. I happened to look out the window just in time. Chaos has been known to kill rabbits not much smaller than this tiny little munchkin who, when I opened my door, ran directly into the house with Chaos following close behind her, tails still wagging.

Immediately there was a canine/feline convention. Everyone gathered around this miniscule bundle of shaking fur. I sat down in a chair and she jumped into my lap, collapsing while I petted her and warded off the cats and dogs who were sniffing and checking her out.

My first observations: definitely a Chihuahua, young, female, not spayed, used to sitting on laps and not too upset about other animals. Or is she just a very brave Chihuahua? Chaos was beside herself with pride as she patiently waited her turn to sniff the little girl herself.

I made a phone call to our Pet Connection, a group of concerned individuals who help reconnect lost animals and their families. A very kind lady, Lori, came over to the house to check her for a microchip. Surely someone was missing their little friend. But there was no chip. No collar or other identifying marks. This little dog was wandering around in the Farms where she could have been lunch for a hawk, an owl, an eagle or even a mean, large dog. Her bravery amazed me.

The pup succumbed to exhaustion, wrapped in a fuzzy throw blanket on my chair. While she slept, I went to work making flyers and took them to post on the bulletin boards at our grocery store and on my street. I ran an ad in the local newspaper and on websites for the county animal care and control and for lost pets in jupiter.

I was certain my phone would be ringing soon and in the meantime, I made sure she was comfortable and adjusting to the other furry residents. She got along famously with everyone! The cats loved her. Stella was delighted with another black, furry, small animal to play with. Even Sophie was happy to chase the new addition around the small yard.

All my animals turned themselves inside out to accommodate this new member of the pack. Don't get attached I warned them, as well as myself.

I waited for the phone to ring. I checked my emails regularly. Nothing. Lori called to ask if anyone had turned up and I said no. She said she could house the pup if I didn't want to hold on to her until her owner called. I told her it was not a problem and that Emma Jane could stay as long as it took to find her family. I had to name her so she could come when her name was called, I rationalized.

Days turned into weeks and Emma became a member of the family. She went to the vet's, got wormer and a toenail trim (she screamed very loudly and was not a well-behaved young lady). She is about 6 months old and not spayed. So, if I kept her, it would be necessary for that to be taken care of soon!

It has now been three full weeks. No one has called or emailed me to claim this precious little dog. I cannot believe that this little Mexican spitfire with loads of personality and quirky behaviors did not have a loving owner somewhere! Had someone just let her go out in the back of Jupiter Farms, hoping she would find another home?

 If someone calls me now, after four weeks, I will have to restrain myself from being judgmental.

I would say, "Where were you? What were you thinking, not chipping her, not putting a collar on her, letting her run around so she could get lost? Why weren't you looking everywhere for her? Was she stolen from you? Where do you live? What happened to her that she was wandering around in a forest of trees and very few houses? Why weren't you desperately searching for this precious little dog?"

For now, only Emma knows the answers to these questions. It's Emma's dilemma and she's not talking.

What Happened to October?

Well, it's gone. Too fast, with way too much going on. And now we're in November and that's almost over. What is going on? I don't get the "when you get older time goes faster" thing at all. But it seems to be true!

December is coming rapidly. The Keys are looming ahead, one day after Thanksgiving. A week away down south in Margaritaville. Can't say I don't mind that hurrying up a bit. But then, it's just next week and will be here long before I'm packed and ready to go, with the house clean for Krisse to come and stay with the majority of the menagerie! Stella, lucky dog, gets to go to the Keys! She always gets to go. She's the boating dog, the swimming dog and the traveling dog. Just open the car door and she's in and buckling her seatbelt. No, not really, she sits in the back seat and sleeps most of the way down and back. But she's ready to go and insists on overseeing the packing of her belongings, toys and treats!

Early December in the Keys is a well kept secret. It's QUIET down there. The tourists haven't trickled down the blue flanked ribbon of highway (thank you, Woody Guthrie) to paradise yet and we wander around the tiny islands like ghosts in a surreal landscape of peace, silence and wintery sunsets. Sometimes it's even cold! Have to take jackets and long pants, just in case. But then it's fun to walk down Duvall Street with a sweater, mini skirt, tights and high boots. Nothing like feeling cool, both figuratively and literally! Ha!

And favorite restaurants like Rickey's Blue Heaven (Jimmy Buffet's fave and starring in his song, Blue Heaven Rondezvous) and Camille's welcome us like long lost friends because we always come back for their superb menus and atmosphere. Hopefully, the Dessert Restaurant (can't remember it's name) will still be open. Imagine, a restaurant that only serves dessert. Is there a heaven in paradise? You betcha (sorry, Sarah! Couldn't help myself!)

Starting tomorrow, I get serious about packing, about cleaning and getting my life together to go have some fun in a favorite, private paradise, a place I grew up in spending each summer on different keys. I will always find a reason to return there.

While I'm there, I write. The novel I've been working on for so long that it seems it will never end is the job I take on seriously for one week every year. No, it's not War and Peace; not anywhere near as long (or boring, hopefully, to my eventual, potential readers). It's enjoyable and I love my story. I just wish that there weren't so many other fun, distracting things to do because I never write enough or get anywhere near finishing it. But then, that's one of the excuses I use to keep going back. One day the story will be finished. I hope. In the meantime, Margaritaville is calling and I have to take that call.

October

October is my favorite month. There is always a hint of the cool weather to come and the light changes daily as we move into what only true Southerners are aware of: Fall does come to Florida!

October is my husband's birthday. October was my Dad's birthday. It is a time for planting vegetables, cleaning saddles to start training for upcoming rides and cleaning out horse trailers in preparation for travel.

Orchids bloom and roses throw up more blossoms. Butterflies become braver and often land on your hand. Horses grow long hair in hopeful anticipation of cold fronts. Body clipping that hair usually guarantees the advent of cold weather!

Grass stops growing but flowers don't. Sandhill cranes become amorous and local raccoons make raucous noises during the October full moon. Redtail hawks make no secret of their special romantic interest. Brambles grow just to tangle in dogs' coats and horses' manes.

Sunset is a brilliant coral glow sinking slowly into the horizon. October darkness is deeper than the previous summer's night and the enormous October moon lights the sky with an almost sun like glow.

October is my favorite secret; a secret tourists don't know. It is the best month of the year.

My Moon

My moon was in the sky last night, the tiniest crescent of a moon that can be seen each month. It glowed brightly and went down quickly. If I'm not careful, I miss it once in awhile, but not often because the crescent moon has very special significance to me.

On an evening in January of 1981, I had to say goodbye to one of my best friends, a beautiful bay Arabian gelding named Baron. W Baron Gairloch was my first Arabian and he took me on an adventure I will never forget. He did anything I ever asked of him and loved me unconditionally. His trust in me and his bravery and courage made me a better rider and a better person.

His brief but devastating illness at the age of 18 had brought us to this night, the dire diagnosis and the decision that he needed to be set free of his pain and suffering. I had spent the last hours of his life with him and now all that was left was to say goodbye. I touched the softness of his nose and ran my hand up his face to his forelock. He liked it when I tugged lightly on it and I did it for him one last time.

I put both arms around his neck and hugged him closely, breathing in the scent of him. I looked up over his withers to the western sky. Although early, it was very dark. Daylight savings had ended months ago and the crescent moon glittered brightly in the clearness of the night.

I have never cried so hard or so long as I did that night. My vet started the injection that brought him down to the ground, quietly and with a grace that was uniquely Baron's. I turned away as I heard the deep sigh that was his last breath. For hours, I was unconsolable. For days, I was devastated. For months, I was lost.

What came out of that winter evening was a decision that if I ever had a farm, its name would be Baron's Moon Arabians for the crescent moon that lit Baron's way to green, astral pastures. I would never forget my friend and first Arabian horse.

In 1985, I moved to Jupiter Farms where Baron's Moon Arabians became a reality. Since that time, five Arabs have called Baron's Moon their home. BH Bay Flag, a beautiful bay gelding, was the second Arab who came to live with my childhood mount, Rusty, who was 26 years old. In 1987, a beautiful gray Arab mare, Astrolea (Lea for short), came to live with us. She belonged to my high school best friend who let me take care of her and breed her to a stallion I loved very much. I bred her two times to the same stallion, Crimson Zarr, and she produced two beautiful colts, Danzarr Moon, a bay and Merlyn's Moon, a gorgeous chestnut. Crimson Zarr's bay half brother, Gandolf (CC Baron Gandolf), became my distance riding horse while Lea stayed home taking care of the kids. Gandolf was a great uncle and role model for the two youngsters and they grew up as a family unit.

Until Lea had to be euthanized at the age of 37, the family was never separated. Even weaning the colts only meant they left the pasture they had shared with their mother and moved in with Uncle Gandolf. There was never any screaming, calling or anxiety because the boys could see their mom and they were calm and safe.

Now, after all these years, and miles and miles of distance rides, awards, ribbons and championships, the three boys are enjoying semi-retirement. Mostly my riding retirement, because when I do decide to go out on the trail, they are ready and willing, very happy to be doing what they were trained and bred to do.

This family of Arabians made my promise to Baron a reality. My farm, my horses, my friends, they are all part of a legacy that began with the courage and dignity of W Baron Gairloch, my first Arabian and the crescent moon, my enduring symbol of loss and renewal.

Summer Heat, Solar Tsunamis and the Northern Lights

Yesterday someone in Oklahoma fried an egg on their sidewalk. Here in South Florida, I think it would be possible to actually stir fry pepper steak on the sidewalk. You know it's hot when the weather app on the iPhone says one temperature but adds "feels like" with a number astronomically higher than the previously stated degrees.

August 3rd must have been a really slow news day in the US because Solar Flares were making the headlines, vaguely hinting at possible glimpses of the Aurora Borealis or Northern Lights in more Southern US areas. I got all excited for a few minutes thinking I might be able to see the Northern Lights, something I'd never seen before, right here in Jupiter Farms. I guess they just meant a bit south of the Arctic Circle. So much for semantics and perception.

The internet likened this particular solar flare to a solar tsunami which we all understand, thanks to the recent tsunami disasters. More personal perception and perspective. The direct benefit of my inability to see the Northern Lights in my backyard was not having to stay up all night waiting for something that was not going to happen here.

Before falling asleep, I considered the solar flare one last time. Will it have any effect on how hot it will be tomorrow? Will it alter the perceived temperature as well as the "feels like" temperature? Will complete meals be prepared on sidewalks throughout South Florida? Or will the Northern Lights chill the flare in its tracks and turn it into some kind of ice sculpture of a tsunami?

Sometimes, slow news days can be an unending source of humor and speculation. I perceive, therefore, I am.

Get a Hand Out or Give a Hand?

I'm not often political, at least in print, but sometimes a little rebellion is good for the soul! Before making comments like this, I put my money where my mouth is—I've enlisted to assist in sea bird clean up if it reaches us on the Atlantic side of Florida. Here's my complaint.


Oil and water don't mix. In order to mix, you have to create an emulsion. Will it be BP or Washington, DC? 
Cajun shop vacs! That's just down home, get dirty, American genius! Holding our hands out and waiting for someone else to fix things is so pre-Katrina.


Why aren't Americans fund-raising for this singular, unprecedented, monumental catastrophe? We've aided every other foreign disaster for decades. Who cares if it was manmade or natural? Since when have we started making those distinctions before reaching into our pockets to help? Since when have we ever depended on Big Oil for anything except higher gas prices unless we are fortunate enough to be stockholders?


9/11 was a manmade disaster. Did we wait for the Saudi government to take responsibility and clean up their mess? Like that was going to happen!


Months have now gone by with heads being scratched, fingers being pointed and hands held out for aid. Giving a hand is what needs to happen and now.

The Ghosts of Detroit

There are ghosts in Detroit City. They are tall, abandoned buildings made of brick and stone. Broken windows form the blind eyes of Detroit's ghosts. Frozen in time and linked forever to the automobile's fading golden age, they stand strangely still.

In another era, red brick homes were filled with families, streets teemed with life. Now, countless neighborhoods of these same houses stand boarded and silent. In an attempt to cleanse its soul, the great city of the automobile expands ever outward, leaving a once loudly beating heart sadly stifled.

Some landmarks I remembered still stood. Newer landmarks had replaced others that had been destroyed. Places from my childhood were no longer part of the skyline. Occasional blocks of restored architecture stood out here and there among the rubble like diamonds in the dark.

The ghosts of Detroit were not unkind. Captured in the golden slivers of a sunset, their windowless eyes reflected cautious optimism. I shared their hope. One day, Detroit would rise again. I promised to return.

Saying Goodbye

Once in every woman's life, we loose our mother. If we are lucky, it is after a long, adventure-filled, exciting and memorable lifetime.

I am one of the lucky ones. My mother had a long life filled with beloved parents, friends, lovers, husbands, children and grandchildren. Florida was one of her favorite places on earth and she lived here for over sixty years. She was fortunate enough to have her father and mother living close to her in Florida and she lovingly cared for them in their old age until they passed.

I lost my mother in October, 2009. Her last wishes were to be cremated and placed in the family plot in Detroit's Woodlawn Cemetery where her mother, father, uncle, grandmother and grandfather are buried.

Last Friday, I helped my mother complete her last journey. She didn't want any memorial or service. With that I complied. After a wonderful breakfast at the Inn on Ferry Street where we were staying, my husband, Dan, my cousin, Shari and her husband John, tucked her in at Woodawn at 11:00 in the morning. From my understanding, her instructions about no service or memorial did not mean we couldn't bring flowers so my brother David sent flowers along with my mother's friend of 35 years, Rune from Sweden. My cousin and I had yellow and white roses we placed on my grandparents' graves. We took photos for those who weren't able to attend the "non-service".

There were tears, hugs and smiles. I had Dan take a photo of me behind the massive Nunemaker headstone just like the one Mom had taken of herself when she tucked my grandparents in at Woodlawn in 1990. I sent the photos from my iPhone as we drove through the cemetery on our way out. It is a beautiful, peaceful place with lots of shade provided by huge oaks, maples and other northern trees. There are monuments and mausoleums, birds, ducks, ponds, squirrels and chipmunks. The birds sing most of the time.

When we left, the sun was shining and the temperature was more like Florida than Detroit. So I guess everyone knew that my mother had arrived and brought her own personal weather with her. She was like that!

It wasn't easy but the beauty of Woodlawn made it bearable. Her final resting place is only far away from me in human miles, but she will always remain near in my heart.

Elizabeth Carol Grill
Forever Young

Friday, May 28, 2010

Things I have Learned about Furniture Shopping

If money is no object, you can pay full price for furniture anywhere in one of those huge warehouse stores. Or you can buy good as new from consignment stores. Get to know the owners of consignment stores. They are your friends. They want business, you want furniture. Cultivate the friendship. It will save you money. You will get better deals.

Never, never make an on the spot decision about furniture. Use your IPhone and take a photo. Take measurements. Go home. Imagine it in your living room, bedroom, etc. Measure space for the furniture, width and length. Imagine some more. If you are still interested, go back and look at it and look at other stuff. Go to outlets, see if something similar would work for you. Be nice to furniture store sales people, they only live on commission. It's a really hard way to earn a living. Also, be firm with them. Some of them are pretty good. Their job is to talk people into things they might not necessarily want to buy. Practice saying no in the mirror a lot before shopping for furniture.

Futons are not furniture. They should be banned from the planet. No furniture made of plastic will ever become an heirloom. (There are a few exceptions to this rule, but not many.) Naugahyde is not an animal. There is wood, real wood, and then there are pieces of wood. Pieces of wood pressed together do not create great furniture. Some Ikea Danish Modern furniture is spectacular. Some of it is not.


Occasionally, you will find vinyl upholstery that looks more like leather than actual leather. Use caution when buying leather. It is everywhere! Not all of it is great. Quality leather is worth its weight in gold. Educate yourself about leather furnishings. It will save you money. Take care of quality leather and it will last forever (unless your dog eats it first!)

As Queen of Consignment Shoppers, I have shared a few morsels of my vast consumer knowledge with you; but not all of my secrets. Happy shopping!

The House I Grew Up In

The house I grew up in is empty. It has been for sale for six months now. Three weeks ago, everything changed. Someone made an offer. For these times, any offer is a good one. It actually wasn't a bad one and the decision to sell the house was made.

Today, for the last time, on Mother's Day, I visited my childhood home where I had lived until I was 21 years old and where my Mother had lived since she built it in 1949. Although the house was empty, it spoke to me on this last day of my ownership.

Everything in the beautiful backyard was blooming. The roses, the Bird of Paradise, the Crepe Myrtle, the miniature Bottlebrush, the Hibiscus and the many other exotic, tropical plants and flowering trees my mother had collected and lovingly planted over the years seemed to be dressing for the occasion.

For the last six months I'd been their sole caretaker. I fertilized, trimmed and cut back what had become a jungle of unrestrained growth. My Mother had been ill for a long time before she died and her greatest regret was not being able to sit on her patio and enjoy her orchids and flowers. She missed her backyard very much. I tried to bring it all back to how it looked when she was able to see and appreciate her masterpiece of blooming trees, shrubs and beautiful flowers.

Thursday, a couple will sign papers and the house will become another family's home. I did everything I could to make the house sparkle and shine for when they arrive. A "Congratulations on Your New Home" card and a bottle of champagne is waiting on the counter in the kitchen. The grass has been cut and a weed-eater has trimmed even the most errant weeds and tall growth.

As I walked through the house one last time, I thought of all the memories it held for me. I said goodbye to each of the rooms I have loved as long as I could remember. If I were the new owners walking in for the first time, I would be pleased with what I would find. I hope their dreams will come true and they make many memories to cherish.

I am sad but hopeful. The last chapter in my Mother's life will be completed this Thursday by end of day. I think the time I spent over the last six months removing my Mother's possessions and caring for and maintaining the house allowed me to gradually let go, finally realizing it would eventually become another family's home.

There had been many unusual, natural signs this last week that led me to believe I was moving in the right direction.

Mom's variegated red and white Amaryllis had bloomed in the front planters. Her Bird of Paradise, which had not bloomed in a very long time, produced four tall, stately flowers that came out to say goodbye. I brought three of them home.

There are two gardenia bushes in my own backyard that have never bloomed before this week. Dozens of blossoms still cover the bushes as I write this story. My very last spring lily will be fully opened tomorrow morning. It is a majestic white flower that stands three and a half feet tall.

Set in twin terra cotta pots, my Mother's Crown of Thorns are in my garden now and they are huge with healthy, multicolored flowers. Also in my garden, her Dessert Rose, damaged in the earlier frost, is now coming back and there are tiny buds just waiting to open. I brought home a piece of the huge Staghorn Fern Mom was so proud of and it has settled in well under a water Oak in proper shade.

I have my Mother's orchids. They hang on my porch, in the trees, in my vegetable garden and all around the small fenced yard behind my house. They are very happy where they are and blooms are still coming out since they've adjusted to regular care. I have two Gumbo Limbo trees started as cuttings from the big tree in Mom's backyard. My blog is named for the Gumbo Limbo pictured above that lives in my Mother's backyard.

I will mourn the loss of the home I knew so well. It was a part of my family. But I wish the new inhabitants all their future enjoyment and memories. I know whenever I happen to be in the area, I will drive by and see what will always be my childhood home. It is an old friend and I will miss it.

Thursday's closing will also be a final goodbye for my Mom. Her home was so much a part of her. Everything in it was a separate piece of the story about her varied and interesting life adventure. I know she would be pleased with the end result. As I closed the door, I felt she too was closing a door, leaving the place she loved to a new family as she moved on to her last great adventure.

I turned the key in the lock for the last time and tried not to cry as I whispered goodbye. I think the house smiled.

May 11, 2010

My Saturday Night Date with an Old Boyfriend

On Saturday night, April 3, I met an old boyfriend in Miami for the evening. He and I go way back. I was 13 and he was 23. I was pleased to see he looked great for his years. I immediately remembered the reasons why I had fallen in love with him so long ago.

And that was before he started singing to me. He was always a performer. We had that in common. He actually got me started playing guitar and singing. But this night was his. It was a memory I will always cherish.

You see, my old boyfriend is probably yours too if you are of an age and remember the British invasion of America by the famous Beatles. My old boyfriend's name is Paul. Actually, to those not intimate friends, he's Sir Paul McCartney. Although we had known each other for most of our lives, it was the first time I had actually seen him in person. This was one evening in my life that was worth the wait.

He was in Miami at the Sun Life Stadium. That's where he sang to me. There just happened to be a lot of other people there too. Apparently, he is very well known. But last night, it was really just Paul and me. He sang all my favorite songs, the ones I know all the words to and I sang along. Everyone else did too.

The thing about Paul's music as well as the music he made with the Beatles is its ability to touch all people everywhere. The words, "and in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make" began and ended the evening which consisted of three or four encores, each of which was more fantastic than the one before. I lost count, caught up in the beat, the words and the emotion from the crowd around me.

I hadn't been to a concert in a long time. Until last night, I felt I'd outgrown the craziness and dancing, the standing up all night and the wildness of these gatherings. I'd been an avid concert fan when I was younger but recently it seemed I could no longer relate to the crowds.

Last night proved me wrong. I was thrilled to be there, to watch, live, on stage, the first real heartthrob of my adolescence. He sang the love songs I knew by heart and danced to at proms and parties. He looked almost exactly like he had more than a quarter of a century ago. His music reached out, touching the hearts of everyone there.

The message resounded throughout the arena as we all sang "Give Peace a Chance." John would have been proud of us. Our singing raised the invisible roof of the stadium.

There were massive pyrotechnics, stunning fireworks and the final finale of a massive cloud of pink soap bubbles released over the departing crowd. It was spectacular while being personal and intimate. He let you into his life, remembering his good friends, John and George, now gone from us. He did this in joyous song, not with maudlin recollections. He made us smile while we remembered them and the legends they were and are forever.

And, in the end, he told us to go home, because until we went home, he couldn't go home! He played for three hours and then some without a single break. Oh, yes, there was one costume change which he noted while taking off his Sgt. Pepperish jacket, rolling up his shirtsleeves and snapping his thin black suspenders into place.

His band made him shine. He hit all the high notes and reached into the depths of our collective memories. As I left, I thought about when, if ever, I would see him again. Will he still be playing "Yesterday" when he's 74 or 84? Will I be in a wheel chair by then, sitting on the ground level with all the other elderly "baby boomers" who still remember the words to all his songs?

I made a promise to myself Saturday night that whenever my old boyfriend comes to town from now on, I will be in the audience to see him. Secretly, I will know he's really singing just to me. Paul, you made my evening, you made my year. I'll be back. Thank you for the music. Please don't ever stop!

If "the love you take is equal to the love you make," when Sir Paul McCartney finally leaves our world, he will take most of the love he has helped to generate with him and that will truly be a sad day for all of us.

BEATLES (PAUL) FOREVER!

iThink, iLike, iPad

The iPad: I haven't touched it, seen it or used it yet. But since 1985, I've been a Mac user and for twenty-five years, Apple has never, never disappointed me. Well, maybe a tiny bit... MacTV, Mac Mini (?), E-Mac. But not much. I've owned a Mac from practically every generation since the Mac SE. My original tiny computer is packed away in my closet. It still works, still says "Hello" and "Goodbye" when you turn it one and off. That's pretty phenomenal when you think about all the throw away PCs out there. Then there was the Performa series, the 8600, the G3, G4, and lions, tigers and snow leopards, oh, my! Well, not lions (at least not yet!), but you get the picture.

This iPad doesn't have a camera, a phone, a lot of things are missing. But it does have the inimitable Apple state-of-the art style, function + the promised intimate relationship potential. Apple knows the reasons why those items were left out and are positive the iPad is destined to do great things in education, communication, literature, music and movies. It is the next step in Apple's quiet revolution. They continue to change the way we see the world. And they constantly strive to bring the world closer together. It's working!

As a long time Mac user, I have a certain advantage.  Quite some time ago, I discovered Apple has always done its Beta testing through their release of prototypes. This enables them to obtain feedback through actual users' hands-on comments. Back in the early days, a smart Mac user waited until the second or third generation of a new desktop or laptop series. The middle of the three models in each series was usually the best bet. That worked for me every time I bought something new. I didn't want to be a beta tester. I wanted the added bonus of having the bugs worked out for me by other unsuspecting and less observant geeks and nerds.

It's the same with their hot new iPad. They are flying out of the stores. Everyone wants to be the first to hold one in their hands. People stand in line to have their shot at the next new thing. Not me. I'm waiting. Two or three generations down the road, the iPad will have come into its own and I won't have to stand in line to get it. I hate lines!

I like the iPad. I haven't even come close to one yet. When I finally do, I fear it will be love at first sight. But I'm putting off the inevitable for as long as possible. When they finally get it right, iSee, iLike, iBuy, iPad (3rd generation!)

For now, iWait.

An Apple/Mac/i-anything user!

All Things Ebay!

Where have I been? Who am I? Where do I begin! I sell/bid, therefore I am. ebay that is. Wow. Have been immersed in an entirely parallel universe. Who would have thought? Well, I guess someone did. What genius, what simplicity, what you can find in ebay world is endless, limitless, OMG!

I'm hooked. I've got a lot of inventory and I am divesting! Whew! It's amazing. Anyway, it's the reason I haven't been writing. What I have been writing is great text to sell my stuff! So far, I've sold three things. And I'm getting more and more on site. What a great way to have a yard sale that no one has to come to your house for!

Ebay people are polite, quick to respond to questions, quick to ship your winning bids and quick to rate you either as a seller or a buyer. It's a nice parallel universe. And I'm learning a lot.

Anyone have anything they need sold? I'm watching ebay videos and reading tips and even an "Ebay for Dummies" book that is pretty good.

I have to go to bed now because my eyeballs hurt from staring at my hopefully selling items (and looking up things and watching cool stuff to see what it sells for) all day. It's just plain addicting!

Other items: Kittens are now three weeks old (tomorrow). They've doubled in size and are actually getting coordinated. They can leap and land on top of each other and walk in straight lines. They change and improve daily as to what they can do. The cage is going to get really small really fast. I am lucky enough to have been loaned a great cage that is tall and has levels so they will be able to climb as they will be doing really soon. It also has a hammock or two to go inside and I'm sure they'll have some fun with that!

The kittens are all spoken for. Originally, I had 4 people wanting 3 kittens, but it is now 3 for 3. It is going to be the hardest thing I do to hand them over to their new "parents". I will miss them because they have been so much fun.

Momma Cat (Noche) is staying with me though. She's really getting to like me. She loves to be petted and she's still the very best Mom any kittens could hope for!

Good night!!!

Soaring with Eagles

I'm sure you've seen buzzards circling high up in the sky. They are coasting on the thermals, their keen eyes and nostrils sensitive to any problems requiring nature's equivalent of haz/mat/crime scene clean up technicians.

I see them all the time, often swooping down low, casting their shadows across the yard like the smoke monster in Lost. Occasionally, a few will land in a dead tree in the back pasture where they can scope out the road and canal to the north. This annoys the dogs who bark obsessively at these seriously unattractive, bald-headed carrion hunters.

Until last week, I never really looked up in the sky when local buzzards were playing in the thermals above the house. Saturday, the phrase "soaring with eagles" took on an entirely new meaning for me. Eagles? I'm sure you're wondering why, all of a sudden we're talking about eagles, the symbol of our country, those beautiful, enormous, white headed, white tailed patriarchs of the winds. We were discussing buzzards.

Here is the connection. The other day I discovered eagles often soar with buzzards. I happened to look up as a shadow crossed the yard. The buzzard who caught my eye had a white head and a white tail. I looked again at this huge bird and realized I was watching an eagle as he circled upward into the sky, surrounded by a dozen buzzards.

I learned a very important lesson. Always look up. Even though there are buzzards in the sky, you may just spot an eagle if you look hard enough.

Moving Along...

It took me a long time, but I'm on a roll. I've got 15 stories posted and lots more to tell. This is actually fun! I want to thank anyone and everyone who has taken the time to read my work and let me know you haven't fallen asleep yet (or maybe you are just being kind and supportive...) I really appreciate it!


If you started reading at the beginning, I've gone back and placed some photos in the stories and will be placing more. I believe a picture is worth more than a thousand words and these photos are much better than my text.


Thanks again! Carol


For those of you who don't know what a Gumbo Limbo Tree looks like, it is in the sidebar of the blog but here it is again a bit bigger so you can see how beautiful the tree really is. This tree grew from a tiny stick cut from another tree and is still growing and looking wonderful in my Mother's back yard. I have two trees that were grown from it (two more tiny sticks) and they are getting big here at home.


Welcome to:

Under the Gumbo Limbo

Stories My Mother Gave Me

I grew up in Lake Worth, a tiny dot on the South Florida map, south of West Palm Beach, and west of the magical isle of Palm Beach. West Palm was created by Henry Morrison Flagler in the late 1800s for the workers who built the crown jewel of his empire: Palm Beach. 

Flagler was an eccentric railroad tycoon who masterminded the Florida East Coast Railroad, the first overseas railroad that ended in the tiny island bastion of Key West. Unfortunately, this railroad also ended in disaster after losing a harrowing battle with the hurricane of 1935. The remains of that railroad can still be seen on the drive down the Florida Keys, that is if you are not actually driving on the railroad bed itself.

Flagler also developed the nineteenth century equivalent of modern day Sandals getaways in the Florida cities of St. Augustine and Palm Beach. Eccentric is a kind word for a man who, after the death of his first wife, chose to marry an extremely young woman.

As a Lake Worth native, I have my sources. Growing up in a tiny town compared to the magnificent city of the gods known as Palm Beach gives a person a certain perspective and valuable insider/outsider knowledge. 

I was always aware that I did not live on Palm Beach. I say “on” because it is an island. I lived on the mainland. Anyone not living on the island aspired to be on the island as much as possible and would do anything to achieve that goal. That included selling clothes in the shops on Worth Avenue, waiting tables in the many fine restaurants on the island or modeling clothes for international haute couture designers with storefronts on the "avenue". To me, Palm Beach was always a place to explore, nothing more.

During the season, my mother was employed part time by Saks Fifth Avenue. She woke up,  got dressed in ordinary clothes every day, left my brother and I with our housekeeper and drove to Worth Avenue to work.

She modeled the latest of Saks' New York and French fashions during afternoon lunch at the famed and infamous Everglades Club. Once the scented perfume of Palm Beach had filled her lungs, she became obsessed and mesmerized by the island's allure. 

Between the hours of 11 and 3, the lunching hours of the rich and famous Everglades Club members, my mother and several other aspiring models strolled gracefully and unobtrusively around linen covered tables set with silver and crystal. A Saks director explained each outfit and the models discretely showed attached price tags to anyone who bothered to ask.

Bits and pieces of my mother's outfits came home with her. Some were paid for outright, others pilfered from clothing and shoes strewn across the floor of the first floor dressing rooms. As an accomplished seamstress, she was able to create exact copies of the clothes she modeled during the week. For the rest of her life, clothing and fashion were her favorite vices.

My mother's design obsession required multiple trips each week to Sally’s Fabrics, a sewing and material Mecca for Lake Worth shoppers. The center of our town consisted of two streets that went opposite ways. Lake Avenue had the best antique stores and galleries and continued over the bridge to the beaches of South Palm Beach. Lucerne boasted the best dress shops and secret dining nooks. These were the places my mother was drawn to whenever we were downtown.

I was never interested in sewing, antiques or clothes. I was a reader. My own personal Lake Worth Mecca was its elegant public library. Built of marble with high ceilings and antique wooden furniture that looked like it had come from the Spanish Inquisition, it was my favorite place in all the world. 

In this literary mausoleum, varnished teak newspaper poles were attached to the latest Lake Worth Herald and West Palm Beach newspapers. The poles enabled the elderly news mongers to read them without actually holding the messy newsprint in their hands as they perused the current news. It also saved them 10 cents.

On my frequent visits, I made my way around the old men who always smelled like cigar or cigarette smoke and headed for the Young Adult Literature. By the time I was twelve, I'd read almost every book in the entire section. The stories I read transported me from an ordinary world to wonderful lands of adventure, heroism and romance. The books I read while growing up created an avid interest in research and writing. My mother's colorful life gave me an unlimited and unending source of stories. She always encouraged me to write. She confidently sent me to the best schools she could afford where she knew I would eventually find my way to becoming the person I wanted to be. For her generosity, her sense of adventure and her lust for living, I will always be grateful.

This story is dedicated to my mother, Elizabeth Carol Nunemaker Hubman Gammons Grill Allen, a strong, charismatic woman with many husbands and a multitude of talents. For me, she will always be forever young.

The Things I Wear

I often wear my father's brown suede jacket to keep me warm outside and my mother's sage chenille bathrobe to keep me warm inside. I wear my step-mother's anniversary ring and my grandfather's burgundy Chinese robe. I wear my dad's flannel shirts, several pairs of his warmest socks, two of my mom's favorite nightgowns and her vintage costume jewelry. I set my table with my step-mother's silver and my grandparents' two sets of china. I have a chain and pendant my grandmother once thought she lost and found again in a pocket of her purse. I was with her that day. The look on her face was priceless. I will never forget it.

I found an old set of brass wind chimes when I cleaned out my mother's house. I took them home and hung them in the wind. Every time I hear them chime it's as if she's speaking to me. I'm glad they found their voice.

I have a file of all of their birth and death certificates. I am the keeper of all they were because they are gone. Their treasures keep me close to them and them close to me.

Every single day, I wear their love and memories in my heart.

The Case of the Very Fat Shop Cat

Dan's new Shop Cat (new only because the first Shop Cat now lives here at home with us-see bottom photo) is a dainty, solid black feral female that had slowly become really rotund during the last three or four months (left photo). One weekend, as a favor, I examined her from as close as I could get and decided this couldn't be a pregnancy because it had gone on too long. 

What could it be? My thoughts ranged from a tumor, severe parasite infestation, FIP, etc., etc., etc. Concerned, Dan trained Shop Cat to eat her meals in a kitty carrier and, at a pre-arranged time, he caught her so I could take her to our vet. I had been told this was a wild, feral cat! She occasionally let people pet her but was skittish and distrusting. I'd petted her once or twice prior to that day so I was expecting the worst. She didn't like the carrier and let us know it.

I put her in the car, transported her to the vet and talked my way into a waiting room so she didn't have to sit in the lobby with DOGS.

I took her out of the carrier and wrapped her in a towel so she wouldn't be scared. To my amazement, she cuddled up to me and started purring. I'm a sucker for cats who purr. Yes, I know, most cats purr. We'd lost our oldest cat last year, a Russian Blue named Arthur Ashe. The thing I missed most about him was his peaceful, loud purring. (But I digress, that is another story for another time). 

By the time the vet stepped into the room, Shop Cat and I were in love.

Doc performed an exam as we discussed the potential possibilities of the cat's round, tight abdomen. He checked for worms, listened to her heart and even shaved her belly to see if she had been previously spayed. She had not. She handled the shaving like a pro. 

She was negative for worms, had a strong heart beat and pulse, good gum color and all the right vital signs. The only thing left to do was an X-ray. The tech wrapped her in a towel and carried her out of the room.

Another tech brought a portable x-ray screen into the exam room and set it up. That's when I started to get worried. I'd just fallen in love with Shop Cat and now she was going to have some serious or exotic, terminal malady. Doc came back and explained that even though the X-ray was a little dark, the problem was clearly visible. 

In the background you can hear an imaginary drum roll along with gasps of surprise!

The dire diagnosis was—wait—are you sitting down? Shop Cat was ready to give birth in about a week! Perfectly outlined in the X-ray were several not-so-tiny kittens.

This was quite a blow for the great Sherlock Holmes of veterinary technician diagnosticians. I was right but I was wrong. My original assumption was correct. More people were feeding Shop Cat than anyone knew. That was the main reason she started getting fat. This was a few months before she found herself in a family way. 

I'd never considered this possibility because she'd been hanging around the shop since Dan brought the previous Shop Cat, Ashley, home to live with us. Everyone thought Shop Cat was one of those unfortunate cats who'd once been loved, taken care of and spayed, then left, lost or dumped. During the time she'd been around the shop, the black cat had never had any kittens. (Explanation: Shop Cat 1 is named after Arthur Ashe because she's a Russian Blue—but that's another story...) 

After Doc congratulated me and wished me good luck, I carefully tucked Shop Cat into her carrier and drove back to Jupiter Farms. Before I reached home, I'd already named her Noche (night in Spanish). She's going to live with us. After she has her kittens and they're weaned, she'll be making another trip to see Doc. She's going to be spayed so this kind of situation never happens again! Oh, and by the way, DOES ANYONE WANT A KITTEN?


Photos:
Top L: Shop Cat 2 aka "Noche"
Bottom Right: Shop Cat 1 aka Ashley

... _______________ ...

Update: The next day at work, two of Dan's fellow employees said they wanted a kitten and they haven't even been born yet. Not bad for a very fat shop cat!


Second Update: (3/15/10) The kittens are 1 week old tonight. They are healthy and happy and Noche is the best MOM. There's still one kitten unspoken for? Any takers? Photos will be posted soon. Right now they are little black blobs against a background of a black mother cat!

My Adopted Greyhound, Skipper, AKA Anchor Man

Honestly, who would bet on a greyhound named Anchor Man? He was not fast enough for the dog track but fortunately he ended up with Greyhound Pets of America instead of being euthanized as the majority of non-winning greyhound athletes are, even today.

A few years after moving to the Farms, I volunteered with the GPA to work with any difficult or unadoptable greyhounds. Normally, greyhounds quickly adapt to normal life and rapidly become couch potatoes enjoying soap operas and sleeping on beds. Occasionally, a dog will have some trouble adjusting and need a little persuasion and understanding. That's where I came into the picture.

Skipper was a very tall, lanky, stunning black and white male greyhound. He had been adopted and the home didn't work out. Requirements for adopting greyhounds are simple. All you need is a large, fenced in yard for them to run, a lot of love and understanding, dog food, toys, bones, treats, a couch and a bed to sleep on and a little more love, just for good measure.

When I brought him home, Dan said he looked like Ben Johnson, the Olympic runner who was disqualified for using steroids. Skipper's hind thighs were huge. He was muscled and quick. Our two acre, fenced in yard was a quick 10 second zip around the fence posts.

The first thing we found out about Skipper was that he didn't know either of his two names! He had to learn who he was. This became problematic several times in the first few months when Skipper decided our front gate was a starting gate and took off after an imaginary stuffed rabbit. I had to chase him with the car because I couldn't keep up with him on foot. To resolve this issue, we attached a leash to the gate and whenever we opened it and Skipper was outside, he dutifully stood on the leash until the gate was closed. Eventually, Skipper learned his name. After that, he learned to come when called. Dog treats and cookies worked well. After that, Skipper was never late for dinner!

Another thing we learned was that Skipper didn't know how to play. Our four other dogs at the time were our alpha female Wolf Hybrid named Chari (short for Carcharodon carcharias or Great White Shark) and a Shepherd Collie mix named Lump, who was my sweetest dog of all time. Then there was Dump, Lump's look-a-like as a puppy, a female Shepherd Collie mix who grew up to look nothing like her mentor, Lump but inherited her personality. Speedo, a male Corgi-Sheltie mix rounded out the furry troupes. I found Speedo at a local feed store. He had a severe hookworm infection and was so scared when I picked him up to bring him home, he went perfectly stiff in my arms.

Lump and Dump were our original two dogs when we moved to the Farms. Chari came shortly after when I heard that a young man was desperately trying to find a home for his Wolf Hybrid because he'd had to move and leave her with friends. I'd always wanted a Wolf Hybrid so I talked Dan into meeting her. Dan walked down to our front gate when the young man brought Chari to meet us. By the time they had walked back to the house together, Dan was already talking about putting some weight on Chari. From that day, she belonged to Dan.

Later Speedo came to us and now Skipper had joined our pack. Chari and Lump were old enough that they simply tolerated the newest addition by acknowledging his presence. The younger pair, Dump and Speedo decided Skipper was cool, especially when he ran fast. They began their friendship by trailing behind him wherever he ran by many horse lengths. Daily training saw them get faster and faster. Speedo especially enjoyed the challenge of trying to keep up with Skipper so eventually we gave him the title of "Fasted Short-Legged Corgi Mix in the World."

Skipper settled in well. After learning his name, he had to learn how to play. The reason Skipper didn't know his name was because, in the racing greyhound business, it wasn't necessary. He was a commodity, a product that either ran fast and made his owner money or was eliminated. Greyhounds aren't really allowed to play at all. They are taught to run. Occasionally, they are trained to run with other dogs, but the dogs are usually muzzled and running is the only game they learn.

Watching Skipper learn how to play with Dump and Speedo was fun was great entertainment. He was the tallest dog of the pack and when he wasn't running he wasn't exactly graceful on his long, thin legs. The one thing Skipper did know was respect. He never hurt either of his new friends and he always relinquished the ball or bone to them. There wasn't an aggressive bone in his body.

After about a year, we realized that the huge, muscular thighs were gone and Skipper just looked like an ordinary fit young dog. He was five years old and his Ben Johnson look had obviously been caused by the steroids used in racing greyhounds at the time.

I took Skipper to obedience school. My friend Kathy enrolled her Irish Wolfhound, Bear and the two dogs became great friends. They graduated at the bottom of their class and accepted their awards with nobility. Both dogs learned how to sit, stay, heel and come. They weren't class superstars but they learned.

It wasn't comfortable for Skipper to sit. It seemed unnatural to him so when he learned to sit in class, it was a miraculous feat. Normally, my greyhound was stretched out like the Sphinx or in fast forward motion. Oh, and one other position—on his back, with all four legs stretched out, usually sound asleep. This was his favorite and he practiced it daily in Dan's favorite Lazy Boy recliner. It was a Kodak moment. Skipper's tail draped off one side of the recliner and his head reposed on the armrest. His body twisted and turned to fit in the seat and he was on his back. His eyes were closed and he was in heaven. I never had the heart to make him get off the furniture.

Skipper shared his life with us for four years. He was a canine Pinocchio, a wooden, emotionless animal who came to life and became a real dog. He had a huge heart and was loving and loyal to us and to his fellow dogs. When the end came for Skipper, it came with the diagnosis of bone cancer. He was in terrible pain for a few hours. When he began to cry, we called our vet who came and examined him. We all agreed he needed to be relieved of his pain and it was done quickly.

His Ben Johnson steroids had not helped him win money at the track and they were responsible for shortening his life. We all missed him terribly. One day, we were sitting on the porch and all of a sudden, Speedo leaped up and started to run. A dirt bike was coming down our road headed for the empty lot next door. The bike would drive down our fence line and when Skipper was alive, he had always been at the front post ready for them when they got there. Then, his greatest joy was leaving them in his dust as he raced to his imaginary finish line.

Dan and I watched as Speedo caught the bike at the front post. Then "Fastest Short Legged Corgi Mix in the World" stayed out in front for most of the run. His mentor would have been proud. We had buried Skipper at his front post starting line. As I watched Speedo racing with wild abandon, I had tears in my eyes. I think Dan did too. I will always be thankful that I wagered on a greyhound named Anchor Man. I made a bet that he could become a real dog and he truly was a winner for me.

Don't Break the Elastic!

My good friend sent me such a great email about the poet Maya Angelou that I'm posting it here instead of writing today. It's an interesting read and I hope you get as much from it as I did.

Don't Break the Elastic!

On her 70+ birthday in April, Maya Angelou was interviewed by Oprah. She was asked what she thought of growing older. She said it was exciting and that she'd learned a lot of important things.

I've learned no matter what happens or how bad it seems today, life does go on and it will be better tomorrow.

I've learned you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage and tangled Christmas tree lights.

I've learned regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life.

I've learned making a living is not the same thing as making a life.

I've learned life sometimes gives you a second chance.

I've learned you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw some things back.

I've learned whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision.

I've learned even when I have pains, I don't have to be one.

I've learned every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.

I've learned I still have a lot to learn.

I've learned people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

If you do something good today, something good will happen.

If you don't, the elastic will break and your underpants will fall down around your ankles!

I decided I didn't need to take any chances on MY elastic breaking! I put this on my blog for everyone to read!

It's a Good Day When You Can Help Someone

I took my husband's parents, Mom and Dad, out to two banks, to the hospital to get yarn so Mom can make baby hats, booties and blankets for the babies in the hospital and to Walmart. It was a fun day.

Both Dan's parents are in their 90's. They are sharp, funny and like to get out and around but they don't drive any more. They call and let me know when they have some things to do and I take them wherever they need to go.

It's a good feeling being able to help out when people need you.

February 21, 2010

Today was a sobering day. I drove out of the Farms and headed into town. I like going down the farthest road west because it is so quiet and pretty. Everything was fine until I came to Indiantown Road. There had been an accident. It was a motorcycle/vehicle accident. I had to pull over because there was no way to get around all the cars. A motorcyclist was laying beside the road and people were working on him, doing CPR.

I realized I had a sheet in my car and grabbed it, thinking that if the man was in shock, he needed to be kept warm. As I walked up, I asked other people to step back so the men had room to do what they were doing. I covered the man with my sheet and stood back out of the way. Some people were directing traffic, others, concerned, were asking what they could do. Several 911 calls had been made and within five minutes a sheriff appeared. Right behind him, we could all hear the sirens coming.

When the paramedics arrived, there was nothing that could be done for the man. He was gone. All the people there were visibly and deeply upset.

The officers and firemen put up crime scene tape and the rest of us backed our vehicles up and moved out of the way, finding our way out on another street.

I felt so sad that on such a beautiful Sunday, this man had gone out to enjoy the day and was now dead. My husband Dan is a motorcyclist. It made me think about his safety. He has ridden most of his adult life and has been in every state, including Hawaii on a motorcycle. But it just doesn't seem safe here any more.

Back on Indiantown Road, I drove into town to pick up my mail and run some errands, still thinking about the accident scene I had just left. I also began to think about the letter that waited for me in my post office box.

For several months, I had been communicating with an adoption agency in Jacksonville, FL. I was adopted as an infant and my mother had given me my adoption papers a long time ago. She was always OK with the possibility that I might want to find out about my birth mother but, for some reason, I never did.

After my Mom died in October, I started thinking about looking into it and wrote an email to a wonderful lady who helped me by doing tons of research. Waiting at my post office box was a letter she had written me providing the "non-identifying" adoption information I had been waiting for.

I opened the envelope and read her cover letter. I decided I would go to one of my favorite breakfast places and, while waiting for my order, I read about the people who were related to me by blood.

It was a curious sensation. I read about my mother, my father, my grandmother, my older sister, aunt, uncle, grandfather and great grandparents. There were general descriptions of height, weight, eye and hair color and some of the things they liked or were important to them. It was like discovering a new planet.

When you are adopted, you always feel you don't really know who you are. I had great, loving parents, grandparents and a wonderful adopted brother. But there were deep personal questions, a haunting mystery I had always wanted to pursue. Today, I received the first clues to that mystery. I discovered I have family that I never knew. I want to find anyone I can locate. I want to meet them, talk to them, learn all about them and hug them. It is now my personal goal, my mission, my quest. Today was a sobering day.

Later, on my way home, my brother David called me. For more than four months, we have been living through all the complications and intricacies a parent's death involves. This has included attorneys, trustees, trusts, wills, putting our childhood home up for sale and all the minutiae that entails. It has been a long, difficult and emotional journey.

My brother was checking in, giving me an update on what was happening with the trustee while I updated him on the (non) sale of the house. As he said goodbye, he mentioned that today was the fifth anniversary of his accident. I felt embarrassed because I had not remembered. We always say "I love you," when we say goodbye on the phone. We are the only ones left now of our immediate family and we are close. After I hung up, I thought back  to what had happened five years ago. 

I remember driving for 13 hours to Winston-Salem, North Carolina's Wake Forest University Baptist Medical Center. My brother had been taken there after he fell three stories at a construction site. David's mother-in-law had called me to ask me to come to the hospital because the doctors didn't know if he would live or die.

On the second day after his accident, David was placed in an induced coma because, when he was conscious, he would thrash around and become agitated. His spinal column had been severed. The next day at noon, after I had seen David for the first time, the doctors told David's wife, Christy and I that they wouldn't know anything for sure for two days. We were only allowed to visit in ICU for 15 minutes every four hours. It was the most difficult two days I've ever experienced. Christy and my brother have a beautiful, two year-old daughter, Ellie. Christy's family and friends were at the hospital the entire time, supporting her or babysitting Ellie while Christy stayed near the hospital. Boone, their home, was more than an hour and a half from the hospital.

Christy and I stayed at the same hotel. We slept there and spent most of each day at the hospital for 9 days. At the end of the two days, the doctors told us they held some hope David would recover but he would be a paraplegic. We concentrated on the first part, the part about recovering. Later the reality of what being a paraplegic meant would eventually sink in for all of us.

On the tenth day, I had to go home. I never saw my brother conscious or was able to talk to him the entire time I was there. Christy kept me up to date by phone. We didn't tell my mother until we could give her the good news that David would most likely recover. It was difficult for me to tell her over the phone but she handled it well. She was not able to travel and it was very hard for her to sit at home in Florida wondering what was going on with her son.

My brother did recover. He learned to manage his handicap, drive again and helped take care of his daughter while Christy worked. My brother is a fine man who has accepted what life has given him and made it work. It has been tough on him, his marriage and his world but he gets up and lives every day the very best he can. I am immensely proud of him and privileged to be his sister.

Sobering is an appropriate word for a day in which I witnessed a death, gained new insight into who I am and remembered the anniversary of my brother's most devastating, life-changing event. Lots of prayers will be said tonight. Some of them will be for a man I don't even know and my new family people I have never met. But my fondest prayers will be for the bravest man I know, my brother David.

Stella, Queen Corgi Mix

Stella was born in April, 2000. She had a brother named Riley. The two puppies were adopted from a feed store in Palatka, FL by two of my dearest friends, Adele and Stacy. One weekend in May when I went up to Salt Springs to visit them, they showed me the two puppies and I fell in love with both of them. Riley was my favorite but he had already been spoken for by Stacey's son, Chase. The other pup, a female, didn't have a name. I asked why they had gotten two puppies and they told me one was for me.

I was scheduled for breast cancer surgery that June and the last thing I thought I needed was a puppy. Having just gone through a difficult puppyhood with Chaos, my wolf-hybrid who was just starting to become a well-behaved one year-old, the thought of housebreaking another puppy while recovering from a mastectomy and possibly more chemotherapy did not excite me. But over the weekend, I couldn't help but fall in love with the pup. I told my friends I would take her home with me and bring her back two weeks later. I knew she needed to be wormed and given her first shots and wanted to help them out because they needed to do the same with Riley and money was tight.

That is how the little Corgi-Sheltie mix puppy came into my life. On my way home, with the pup on the front seat next to me, wrapped up in a borrowed blanket and sound asleep, I decided she needed a name. That was my first mistake. When you actually name an animal you are officially responsible for them for the rest of their life. At least that's the way I believe it should be. As Saint Exupery said in The Little Prince, "You become responsible forever, for what you have tamed."

So I thought about my friends, who had decided I needed a puppy while I was recovering and realized the perfect name for her would be Stella, a combination of Stacey and Adele's names. Now that she had a name, I tried to figure out some way to tell my husband we had a new puppy. I knew that would not be as easy naming her!

When I arrived home, I told him Stella was just going to stay with us for a few weeks until I had to go back up to Salt Springs for an awards banquet. The poor puppy needed to see a vet and I thought I'd help the girls out by getting her first shots and having her wormed.

For my last selling point, I suggested it would take my mind off the upcoming surgery at the end of June. Dan is pretty easy when it comes to animals. That's a good thing because, over the years, I have brought a lot of animals home to live with us. He told me it was fine as long as I was going to take Stella back in two weeks.

I figured by the end of two weeks, Dan would be as in love with Stella as I was. And I wasn't Stella's only fan. Chaos was thrilled to have someone to play with her. At one year, Chaos was pretty big even though it would take her another two years to fully mature. Stella was small and Chaos towered over her, but she was one tough puppy.

Whenever Chaos got too rough with her, Stella would grab a mouthful of Chaos' neck fur and just hold on. Chaos never hurt her but she spun her around quite a bit. Stella was tenacious and brave. She never let go. They were instant pals.

Stella did go to the awards banquet with me but she also came back home to live with us permanently. Dan softened a bit toward the end, constantly asking if I was still taking the puppy back until the day I was scheduled to leave.

"I'm taking her up to Salt Springs but I'm bringing her back," I told him. "The girls want to see her and I want her to go with me. But I'm going to keep her. Chaos loves her and so do you!"

Dan just nodded. He had known all along this was going to happen and secretly thought Stella was great. He just never made it easy for me.

After the surgery, I found out why my friends had insisted I needed a puppy. She really did help me recover faster. I had responsibility plus I had a pal to lounge around with until I felt better. The most interesting thing I learned about Stella during my recovery was that she was a true nurse dog.

Some dogs take care of other dogs but they take care of people too. If there was any unusual sound out of me, Stella was there in an instant, checking up on me and making sure I was OK. She did this from a very early age and has been my nurse for her whole life.

I've had several surgeries since then and Stella always took care of me. Any time I was recovering or sick, I became her number one priority. She takes her job very seriously to this day.

If I'm cheering at some athlete's win or catching my breath at a terrible skiing fall while watching the Olympics, Stella's head comes up and she looks anxiously in my direction. She's still taking care of me. 

Stella is the only dog I've ever had I didn't choose myself. Although I didn't know it at the time, Stacey and Adele knew that little puppy was exactly what I needed. I will always be grateful for their intuitive and loving gift.

I have to go now because it's time for bed. Stella is a little older now and she likes to get her beauty sleep!

(This story is in memory of Riley, who was not fortunate enough to have as long a life as Stella. We all miss his wisdom and his kindness.)


Photo Credits:
Stella and Carol by Stacy and Adele
Stella cruising the Keys in her Boston Whaler by Carol Clark