Nothing Better To Do...

The Career Chronicles Pt. 2

2011-02-18T00:00:00.000-07:00

I have a friend that is a deeply spiritual woman. She once talked me into getting my palm read at a holistic fair. The reading was fun and there were some things that made me perk up and listen a little closer. The part that I've had a lot of fun with was the letter "M" on my right palm. She said that I can manifest my own destiny. She used the example that I almost always find a parking spot at the front of the store when I want one. I didn't think much of it until I explained the reading to my friend Karen on our way to get coffee one morning. The weather was foul and the parking lot was full. I bemoaned our sure fate of sloshing through the parking lot when lo and behold, someone pulled out of the spot front and center. Rock star parking was ours! Now I don't always wish for these parking spots, but when I do I almost always get them.

So when my career crisis recently started in earnest, I experienced a floundering feeling that was new and alarming. I had no idea what to do. I called my friend and asked her for the name of her spiritual guide that we had talked about a while back. I made an appointment for a Tarot Card reading. Now, I was raised Catholic and now a sometime non-denominational Christian as an adult. I find church to be cathartic when faced with various troubling times and sometimes just to feel a part of something bigger. So this was definitely something new for me and I admit I was a bit skeptical (and remain so today).

The reading was about 45 minutes long. We talked about past lives (seriously) and my current situation. She turned over a pregnancy card and I thought I had her; I was certain she was going to tell me I was pregnant. I planned to point at her and yell "HA!", then walk out and call it all rubbish; she didn't. Instead she told me that it was related to my career. The most important thing that came up was when she read my present card as well as my aura (no, really). She said that I am free to choose who I am and who I want to be. I have the ability to...wait for it....manifest my own destiny. (I've wondered since if this is a stock phrase for these folks?) I also needed to take care of myself; set boundaries and do what's best for me. She suggested that I start "vision boarding" my hopes and dreams so that I can make them my reality.

I haven't started carrying around crystals (yet) or made any standing appointments. However I did take away something very important from that reading: confidence. I realized that I had been torn down; constantly second guessing myself and doubting my decisions. I can manifest my own destiny, whether at work or in my personal life. I've been looking into vision boarding and found a lot of helpful articles on how to do it. The trouble I had at first was defining my vision. What in the world do I want to be when I grow up? There is, in fact, a vision board for just that. I'm going to spend a great deal of time deciding what I am passionate about; finding my niche and doing what I love.

I was told at the reading: Find what I love to do and when the time is right, the universe will provide!

The Career Chronicles Pt. 1

2011-02-16T20:34:00.005-07:00

It has been no secret to those that have been listening to my incessant whining about my career lately that I feel I have stalled professionally. Up until two and a half years ago, I would have been fine with packing up all of my cables, disks and various nerdery and staying home with the handful of kids (ok, just two) that I wanted to have. I find it much more difficult to justify being a stay at home mom to two doxie children when I'm still paying Sallie Mae a ridiculous sum of money each month and there are no prospects of two-footed children padding around the house. I decided a year ago to throw myself fully into being a long-term super nerd (like my dear husband).

But really, who am I kidding? I work in IT because Sallie Mae's continual bitching (read: monthly statement) makes me feel guilty if I even so much as browse a college curriculum catalog. So IT it is. But always in the back of my mind there is a little voice that says "Don't do it. There is more out there for you...you aren't tied to anything!"

Recently I've been going through a rough patch at work. I have been fiercely loyal to my employer and felt that I have always done the right thing for the company. When asked for reciprocity my employer balked. I know that business is business; I just don't always see it that way and so I take things personally. So now, when faced with feelings of inadequacy, self-doubt and betrayal I wonder if sticking it out is really the best thing for either party? I also wonder when will I stop caring about what's best for them?? I am all too aware that I hold a mean grudge. Is this something I can get over? I don't know.

And so I do what a lot of people facing looming unemployment in this awful economy do: I feel overwhelmed and desperate. I pray. I wonder if my husband is as nervous as I am even though he won't even bat an eye. I cry. I take medication to deal with the building anxiety. But I am a smart woman that knows she needs to have a plan. So I'm going to give myself a set number of days (I don't know the number yet...2? 7? 30?) to wallow in self-pity, anger and depression. Then I'm going to get real about what I do from here and make it all about what's right for me.

Insanity

2010-12-13T16:53:00.003-07:00

Twelve months ago, I was encouraged by a friend to get up before the sun rose and go to a spin class with her. Exercise was the farthest thing from my mind and had been for a handful of years. But she promised me that the instructor was entertaining, the music was great and except for the possibility of falling off the stationary bike, I had very little opportunity for injury. After a few classes I was hooked.

My friend and I joined the same gym and continued to work out together. We pushed each other well beyond the point that we would have dared go by ourselves. We found that by doing this together we could accomplish more than we could alone. We set a few small milestone goals for ourselves in the beginning; run a 5k and then run a 10k. After running at least a dozen 5ks and a 10k we began to wonder what the next goal would be. We decided to set a big goal that, at the time, seemed simply impossible: we were going to run a half marathon. We signed up for the Rock n Roll Half Marathon in Las Vegas.

The goal was daunting but we continued to encourage each other. There were plenty of mornings that 4:30 came entirely too early and I just wanted to turn off the alarm and go back to bed. But then I would think of my friend, waiting in the dark on her porch for me to pick her up and I would reluctantly drag myself out of bed. Throughout the 7 months we trained there were plenty of times that “life” happened: illness, work, travel, family…you name it. But each time that happened, we knew the other would be waiting to help us get back on track.

I told everyone that I signed up for the race. Everyday conversations invariably turned to questions about how my training was coming along. Four of my friends made plans to be in Las Vegas to cheer me on at the race. This campaign was a way to keep my eye on the goal and at the same time presented an opportunity for accountability. People I knew and loved were spending money to see me finish this race (among other things) and there was no way I was going to let them down!

The beginning of the race was breathtaking and the middle of the race was exhausting. But the end of the race was exhilarating. I saw my friends at the finish line frantically cheering me toward the end. I was wishing that my feet had fallen off around mile 8. My right hip and right knee were in agony. I missed my finish time goal by 50 minutes. I didn’t care about any of that. I was so happy to see those familiar faces and the excitement they contained.

My knee still hurts over a week later so I have scheduled two weeks of no running. It would be incredibly easy for me to settle back in to a routine of sleeping past 4AM like normal people do, sitting on the couch and watching TV. The thought of that is both wonderful and frightening all at the same time! So two days ago, I signed up for another half marathon in May of 2011.

Motivation

2010-10-13T20:20:00.004-06:00

Three weeks ago I hit the wall. It was a big, brick wall lined with Swedish fish and Tootsie rolls. I didn't want to run. I didn't want to swim. I certainly didn't want to get up at 4:30 AM and get my butt kicked by my personal trainer. All I wanted to do was sit on the couch and watch TV.

I knew the race was coming sooner than I would have liked. I knew that even a half marathon was like an exam that needed to be prepared for, not crammed for like so many of my college exams. I knew these things and yet I still phoned in my workouts and came up with many excuses to not lace up my shoes and hit the running trail.

And just when I thought my training plan had derailed for good I saw the email. It was their flight information. She and her husband are coming out to Vegas to help celebrate. No one wants to be there for the race; hell even I am a little skeptical and I'm going to be on the start line. But when I told my friends about the race she booked a flight and hotel room.

I don't doubt that I will face a crisis in motivation again within the next 7 weeks, but this time I laced up my shoes and ran 8.5 miles.

Thanks friend!!!

If I Throw Out Large Technical Words, Maybe She'll Hang Up The Phone

2010-09-27T17:45:00.006-06:00

I think I have a pretty high degree of common sense. Couple that with my 8 years of college (no, I'm not a doctor) I think that I am equipped to learn faster and see patterns quicker than the majority of the population. The upside: I can pick up a skill with relatively little effort. Except swimming and since I'm in a land-locked state and very rarely find myself in a scene from Open Water, I'm not going to worry too much about that.

I find that this trait many times leads me to impatience and a short fuse with people who don't necessarily have the cognitive skills that 457,000 hours in a classroom has afforded me. Having to nearly bite my tongue off most days, I try to count to ten when I feel my fuse start to go. And to make sure that I am fully aware of this flaw, the technical customer service gods conspired against me today.

There are few things that can irritate the bejeezus out of an IT manager: large scale service outages that you have no hope or possibility of ever controlling (service level agreements? What's that?) and dealing with other nerds on the phone for long periods of time. Today I was lucky enough to experience both at the same time.

Oh, you say that my hosted server that serves up a software portal to 350 people "locked up" in the middle of a script and therefore never fully booted up? Tell me again what multi-threaded means?

One, two, three...

Oh, now I get it, this hardware lock up happened three days ago and you thought you'd just wait around to see if it ever came back up? Riiiiight.

...four, five, six...

So how's about this, Douche-Canoe, how about you replace the hardware right this instant because I'm out of patience seeing as I've been on the phone with various versions of you for the past 6 1/2 hours?

'KThanksBye.

Of Foxtails and Bitches

2010-09-10T19:48:00.004-06:00

Paulie Walnuts is a soft wirehair dachshund and with the exception of his occasional grooming, has required very little monetary upkeep. Recently his ear had been giving him trouble; he would scratch the inside until it bled. Constantly. He had a lot of wax in that particular ear so I just figured we should pick up an ear cleaner and give him a few shots of it. I asked the husband to call the vet to recommend an ear solution. The vet tech recommended that we come in instead. Paulie is one of Dr. R's favorites so bringing him we figured was just a way for him to see Paulie after a long absence. When we walked in to the office there were three other dogs there plus several whimpering animals that we could hear from the back room.

In the middle of the waiting room was a giant white fluff. She was a Great Pyrenees named Smidgen. She was in town for a dog show but wasn't feeling her best. The "bitch" (the co-owner's label, not mine) only had her picture taken before heading to our vet's office after a referral from someone at the dog show. She laid on the ground panting and looking rather sad. Another patient was a black pug whose owner had just moved to town. They came home at lunch to find a swelling on the side of Rafiki's neck the size of an orange. Terrified, they found Dr. R in the phone book and brought her in. Howling in one of the rooms was a less than one year old bloodhound. He was upset about something but Paulie was curious enough to poke his head into the room and make him howl even more.

When it was Paulie's turn Dr. R asked us to hold him and briefly talked about the great new ear solution that he would give us for Paulie's ears. He looked into Paulie's right ear which was healthy and pink. He didn't look into his left ear for long before he pulled a tube out of the drawer next to him and said, "He has a foxtail in his ear." I was confused and he showed me the tube - in it was what looked like a bunch of small, thin dried leaves.

The good news was that he could remove it and the bad news was that Paulie would have to be knocked out. So Dr. R gave him a quick shot from a syringe in his shoulder to calm him. We took Paulie to the waiting room for about 10 minutes for the doggy-valium to take effect. They brought another syringe out with some stuff that looked vaguely familiar and then took him into the back room. A few minutes later, Dr. R brought out the offending seed that looked like some kind of insect. He offered it to me as a souvenir and I declined. They cleaned him up and while still sedated, brought him to me to hold while he came to. He couldn't hold his tongue in and was totally out of it. He eventually started to come to - looking like he was watching a tennis match as his head bobbed from side to side. After 30 minutes of watching him slowly come out of his drug-induced haze, we took him home. Our story had a happy ending thankfully.

But during those 30 minutes of waiting we saw some not so happy scenarios play out. Smidgen, the bitch who was not feeling like her usual peppy 10-year-old self had an x-ray taken to see if she had possibly eaten something that she should not have. The prognosis was bleak: this sweet, giant cotton ball had a massive abdominal tumor. They didn't think she would make the car ride home to Illinois. Her days had been reduced to hours and her other co-owner would be flying in to say goodbye tomorrow morning. The vet tech and Dr. R exchanged looks that made me think tomorrow's flight could be too late.

As we were leaving, Rafiki was being taken into the backroom to test a salivary gland for the cause of its swelling. I recognized the fear in the owner's eyes and felt terrible for her.

I am sitting here on my couch with a sweet little yellow fluff in my lap; warm and sweet and still very much out of it. I am thankful that we didn't have to make any hard decisions today.

Day 4

2010-09-09T16:23:00.002-06:00

Dieting is the worst! On the rare occasion that I buy them, I could have a box of Ho Hos sitting in my pantry for months - MONTHS I tell you! - and not be tempted to devour the entire box while sitting on the couch watching Jerseylicious. But the minute I start a diet I can't thing of anything else. Ho Hos, chips and french onion dip, Swedish fish, tootsie rolls, Doritos. You name something with high fructose corn syrup and/or a calorie count higher than my daily recommended intake and I HAVE TO HAVE IT. NOW. One thing I have decided to not give up however is my beloved McDonald's sweet tea.

At only day 4 the training has been intense. Core training started this morning at 5am. My instructor (captor...whatever) is a delightful woman who, although at least 5 years older than I, looks like she could wrestle (and beat!) an entire football team at the same time, all the while prepping for a strut down the catwalk in Milan. The workout she had planned for me this morning left a ringing in both ears, light headed-ness that made me question whether I just had my ass handed to me or was taking shots of tequila and a soreness that settled into my bones within an hour of finishing.

While I would love to go on and on about the past four days of training and dieting I ca no longer lift my arms up to continue typing.

Kickstart

2010-09-04T00:05:00.003-06:00

Ninety days of hard-core training start on Monday. Long gone are the days of I-might-be-able-to-hit-the-gym-right-after-I-eat-this-delectable-package-of-HoHos-....-forget-the-gym-these-HoHos-are-awesome. My schedule will consist of healthy diet, long runs, lots of laps in a pool and countless hours on a bike. If I don't drown in said-pool (or die of embarrassment from the grotesque one-piece "sport swim suit"), my short-term goal is to finish the Las Vegas half marathon in December under 2 hours, 30 minutes. I have the gear, I have the ability (I'm pretty sure) and I have the desire. Oh and did I mention that I also have a birthday coming up?

I will be 36 three weeks from tomorrow. This is not a momentous milestone by any means to most people, but a long gone memory came to me about 9 months ago in a cold sweat panic; I recalled my first trip to Colorado many (many, many) moons ago. It was then that I fell in love with the Centennial state and ultimately decided my fate. The decade or two that passed between that first visit and my eventual move was dotted with bad habits and a body so disheveled it was barely recognizable. And so it was that I had long forgotten the promise I made to myself all those years ago.

But here I am, 4 years out from the deadline I set to scale a mountain in what has been described as "a treacherous series of switchbacks through a Martian-like rock-scape". Starting at an elevation of 6,295 feet runners climb up the side of the mountain for 13.32 miles to an elevation of 14,110 feet. And then back down again. This Pike's Peak marathon fills up all 800 spots in less than a day.

Can I do it? Well, I have a lot of work to do to prepare and relatively little time to do it. But I want to stand at the bottom of that mountain and tell my young, irresponsible, unsure and confused self from way back when just one thing: this life is not a dress rehearsal - make each day count! (I might also mention not to try the at-home hair highlights.) With that I will head to the medical tent to have the wounds sewn, the breaks splinted, pull the oxygen mask to my face and wheel myself to the nearest bar.

My Phone Updated!!!

2010-09-02T17:09:00.003-06:00

Things I love about the latest Android update on my HTC Incredible:

flashlight app
App Sharing
WiFi Hotspot
Voice Commands
~~the way my battery drains in a fraction of the time it used to~~
~~Facebook returning errors every time I try to update the news feed or notifications~~

That is all. (so far)

Waiting For a Reset

2010-09-01T10:17:00.003-06:00

The "What if...." and "If only...." conversations with myself had finally stopped popping up anytime I would see a cute stroller or a Pottery Barn Kids storefront. And then I watched Away We Go. It's a good movie. And funny. Until the soul-crushing moment that this was spoken:

"....I wonder if we've been selfish. People like us we wait till our thirties and then we're surprised when the babies aren't so easy to make anymore and then every day another million fourteen year olds get pregnant without trying. It's a terrible feeling...."

And that is why I am at work today looking like I've gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson (pre-ear-biting days of course). My eyes, all puffy and red, still fill with tears when I dare to let my mind do anything other than read through lines of code and write user manuals.

It's days like these that make it hard to believe that it ever will be any easier. When the tears dry, I will reset my "Days Without A Breakdown..." counter back to zero and start again.

Whew!

2010-08-13T10:35:00.002-06:00

After a quick stab with a syringe and aspiration onto a slide, it turns out his lump was a fatty tumor. When we received the diagnosis, my husband gave me a self-satisfied smirk..."I told you so." I ignored him, picked up my little man and nearly wept with relief. He's only 6 so we had "the talk" that night. I think I saw some comprehension in his eyes when I told him that as a little dog the expectation is that he lives to be at least 26. And that is non-negotiable.

Little Doodle Dog

2010-08-07T09:42:00.002-06:00

When I first saw him, he was sleeping quietly in a corner filled with cedar chips. I was being used as a jungle gym by one of his pen-mates, a miniature pinscher that I'm pretty sure was hopped up on liva-snaps and rawhide. I watched another couple pick up a yipping, strangely-colored miniature dachshund with a broken tail from the same pen. He was more lively than his sleeping litter mate. That's when I peeked over the edge of the pen and saw him. He was sleeping in a little round circle, nose to tail - the position that has come to be known as the "cinna-bun". He cracked one eye to see who would dare to disturb his slumber and, I would like to think for both of us, it was love at first sight.

He lifted his head and his cheek had been stuck into a "smile" of sorts. The owner told me to pick him up. I felt bad to wake him but I reluctantly picked him up. He was blinking back the sleep and trying to lick my face. I played with his little quarter sized feet, felt his little velvety floppy ears and pet his shiny black and tan fur as he fell back to sleep in my arms. Not less than 15 minutes later, I was in my car with "Baby" in a small plastic dog carrier, a bag of puppy food and a few toys. The whole way home I kept asking myself, "What the hell are you doing?! A dog? Are you ready to take care of a dog??"

"Baby" kept his generic name for three days until I came up with the right one: Indy. Indy was a really good puppy and much better at training than his new owner. I tried crate training but it didn't last. I didn't want to make him cry, so after 3 hours the first night he ended up curled up in a cinna-bun on my pillow. He slept through the night - and almost always has except for an unfortunate experience with Benedryl.

His puppyhood was quite an experience. He ate too much rawhide bone once and ended up in the hospital with a stomach blockage. It was heartbreaking to see him in a hospital cage with an IV drip and drugged up until the rawhide passed. Then he developed little blisters on his eyelids that I was told could make him blind. After a trip to the local university vet school and some eye drops, I found some pet insurance. He has allergies that my vet told me I could treat with Benedryl. He spent hours doing the Indy-500 around the house before collapsing in a heap the next morning and sleeping for about 36 hours. That's when my vet informed me that he has a strange reaction to it. He might as well have been dropping an eight ball and hitting a rave that night. Needless to say, he no longer gets Benedryl.

At his one year checkup everything was fine until the vet asked me how long he had a little bump on his side. She asked me if she could do some testing because it didn't look "right". It turned out to be a form of skin cancer. I was shocked. He was scheduled for surgery a short 4 days later. I brought him home with a result of "clean margins", a t-shirt on to keep him from licking and biting out his stitches and a large incision. Two more surgeries were held over the next couple of years to remove very small tumors. He was a trooper and we like to tell people that he won a knife fight when they invariably ask about the scars. Since these scares, we have been diligent (overly so maybe?) about checking out every little tiny thing that pops up on him. And yes, sometimes my emergency visits to the vet turn out to be nothing more than piece of dirt for example. Don't judge.

The past five years have been rather uneventful compare to his first one. He has endured two moves to new homes, the loss of a bigger older lab sister, the arrival of a little, noisier dachshund brother and the arrival of a bigger, younger lab/basset sister. He has had some teeth removed because his oral hygiene is sorely lacking. He is a bit spoiled and I'm not sure he knows that he's a dog. (I'm not about to tell him now.)

The travel that I sometimes have to do for work takes me away from my husband and fur-kids for weeks at a time. The return is just as sweet each time when they see me walk through the door though. This last return home I picked him up so that I could cuddle him and that's when I felt it - golf-ball sized lump behind his front leg. It doesn't seem to bother him and so I'm very hopeful that, as my husband claims, it is "nothing". We find out on Monday. In the meantime I have been curling up with my little cinna-bun and preparing him for another possible knife fight.

What the....

2010-08-03T20:05:00.001-06:00

How can it possibly be August already?

It's About Time

2010-01-18T06:52:00.004-07:00

Let's start out by taking a walk down memory lane, shall we? Crank up Springsteen's Glory Days, because here we go:
I've been an athlete for as long as I can remember. Way back in elementary school, I played every sport they had because if I didn't our class wouldn't have enough people on the team to scrimmage against the other area Catholic schools. Basketball, volleyball, cheerleading...I did it all. Fast forward to Middle school where I replaced the cheerleading bit for track. Just before the foray into high school, on a whim, I decided to fore-go the volleyball tryouts and join the cross country team. There were two reasons for this: 1) there were no tryouts, therefore no chance at rejection (my 14 year old self had terrible self esteem) and 2) my sister was already on the team. We pushed each other to great success. Pictures of us, in our navy blue running tights and bright orange running shorts (gross!) show the lean and lanky (well, I was lanky - she was a little more vertically challenged) figures. We looked like q-tips with our big poufy hair and bean pole bodies. And right here is where we cut the music and fast forward 20 years.
After a decidedly long absence from exercise outside of walking to the fridge and back, I have decided that I have had enough. A friend of mine is diligent - nearly obsessed - with being fit. This woman can cut carbs and not kill people after two days. She participates in athletic events that make me cringe. She encouraged me to start working out with her. Thanks to the ignorance that was afforded to me by being lazy for 20 years, I said ok. Her favorite activity is spin class. Riding a bike? Sounds good - that's what I would do when I was injured in my running days. It can't be too hard, right? WRONG!
My first spin class was like a bad dream. I didn't have the right shoes...when I saw people clip-clopping around the room in their biking shoes, I realized I was in over my head. The first time I tried to stand up as the instructor screamed at the class, I nearly fell off of the bike. My toes went numb. The computer on the bike was telling me with very scientific numbers that I was a lazy piece of crap.
I have been to 6 spin classes now and I am happy to report that after finding the right teacher - and by "right" I mean that he walks around the room, screaming in a very lovely British accent and plays music that makes me long for the days of dancing in a club with a drink and cigarette in hand - I am having a much more positive cycling experience. While I knew I was no longer the boundlessly energetic bean pole I was 20 years ago, I was shocked at the horrible tricks age has played on me. My joints hate me. My body - thanks to my non-functioning thyroid - refuses to sweat. While this might sound like a gift, after running a fever for the 24 hours it took my body to cool down on its own, I can tell you it's not. A combination of long-term laziness and that damn thyroid again makes my resting heart rate look more like the temperature in Death Valley at noon in the middle of summer. It took me all of 4 minutes into the workout today to get my heart rate up to 190. After the instructor's initial disbelief, he told me to "turn it down a half turn, sit down and pedal it out" until I got back to the 180s. I have to turn off the upper limit alarm in order to keep going without a shrill piercing beep telling me that the heart rate monitor is relatively certain I am having a heart attack.
It's all coming back to me now. The grueling multiple-mile workouts in Cross Country that, when I put forth just a tad bit of effort, I could do without batting an eye. The killers in basketball that I hated. I don't remember feeling this sense of lungs coming out of my body and exhaustion so deep that it takes all I have to drive home after class. In spite of all of this, I feel good. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never be as good as I was but I can certainly be better than I am now. I have a goal in mind: I am going to run the Bolder Boulder 10k this Memorial Day (barring any injury) and want to finish having run the entire way. It doesn't seem like much, but it's about time.

Hate Mail

2009-11-18T21:21:00.003-07:00

Dear new black shoes:
I hate you. Before you get all weepy and start asking "why?" let me just finish because I plan on telling you exactly why. There were plenty of shoes that I could have taken home that day. But I saw the way you looked on the display among the others. Your fake croc pattern, 1 inch heel and mary-jane strap caught my eye. I thought you would be a good sensible shoe that wasn't frumpy. So I chose you. After I unpacked you at home, I should have known that there was going to be trouble when I tried to give you a gel insert which you refused to accept...so I left it out. Against my better judgment, I took you on my trip anyway.

By the time I was dropped off at my hotel I would estimate that we took roughly 150 steps all day. My feet were already starting to hurt. I walked the block to my conference location so that I could register. I then crossed the street to eat lunch. It was at that point I had to call in reinforcements. I had to call my husband so that he could locate the nearest drugstore. Sadly, three blocks later I was nearly in tears as I purchased multiple boxes of every foot salve, blister pad that promised relief. By the time I returned to my hotel room (after getting lost from the blinding pain) I was sure my feet were broken in multiple places.

I have spent a fortune in the first aid section of the nearest drugstore multiple times (which is 3 blocks away mind you). I'm missing a Black Crowes concert because of you. I could be listening to songs that take me back to the days immediately after high school spent being consoled by a dear friend after my first breakup listening to Thorn In My Pride. Thankfully I more closely associate the music with that friend than the ex. But I digress. For as much as I was looking forward to hearing one of my favorite bands, the thought of walking the one block to the concert triggered a panic attack. And so instead I sit here in my hotel room with mangled feet watching tv. I most likely will be leaving you here in the hotel when I pack up and leave....because I hate you.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

2009-11-15T20:53:00.005-07:00

I finally made a visit to a salon after an 18 month boycott. (Going gray gracefully is total crap.) In order to support my local markets I made an appointment with a local hairdresser. She was only a couple of years older than me which is something new. I figured this out when we discussed the prospect of new hair color and never once did she point to the cherry or grape kool-aid colored hanks of hair on the board. Before I settled into the chair for the long process of all-over hair coloring (my hair is deceivingly voluminous) I made sure I grabbed a stack of the most recent magazines.

Two and a half hours later I walked out of the salon and my head was still swirling with all of the new information that I picked up. It wasn't the latest reality show/celebutante tantrum/political scandal - instead I listened to some of the juiciest gossip and hearsay this side of the Continental Divide that put those magazines to shame. I listened as woman after woman entered the salon sat in the chair behind me and began pouring out blistering stories that make your daily soap operas pale in comparison. No one paid much attention to me listening intently as I sat in the chair, slunk down so the vertically challenged colorist could reach the top of my head.

I didn't really mean to eavesdrop - it just sort of happened on its own. After the second customer started sharing the story of a woman that caught her husband cheating and subsequently poured hot grease on his nether-regions...I couldn't stop myself. My ears perked up as the story ended with "charges of spousal abuse" and "hospitalization with penile debridement every 4 hours". At that moment I knew I had to pay more attention.

I soon learned stories of why a restaurant changed its name ("sounds better, charge more money"), the latest high school student drug scandal, who was losing their home (this went on for a long time because the customer was getting a perm and seemed to be overly aware of the financial health and status of the majority of the town), the political problem that created the aforementioned foreclosure and then the subsequent divorces and spousal cheating that followed.

Every Sunday I feel like I need to scour the local newspaper for the latest happenings and news. I very rarely learn of anything that I haven't already heard about from friends, neighbors or co-workers. Perhaps the journalists of this little paper should spend more time getting their hair done?

The Spotlight

2009-11-09T20:51:00.008-07:00

I tried out for the high school dance team my sophomore year. A friend of mine on the dance team agreed to choreograph a try-out routine. She worked tirelessly going over simple dance steps time and time again. I spent hours upon hours in her basement while she patiently waited for me to "get it". My friend was too nice to tell me that I was not getting it. Instead, she drew pictures (!) of the routine for me to study. A few weeks later after waiting in the wings for my turn onstage, I stumbled and stomped my way through what in the hands and feet of a more talented and coordinated person, would have been an impressive performance. Before the second step-ball-change, the flashbacks of a similar humiliation in grade school flooded my brain.

The girls in my fifth grade class were all a part of our cheerleading squad. We would practice our cheers to recite along the sidelines at the boys' basketball games as well as practice a routine to perform at halftime. I clearly remembered coming to practice after a few days of being out sick from school. I was made to perform the halftime routine by myself in front of the entire group to make sure I "got it" since I missed the last two practices. My palms became sweaty and my eyes filled with tears. I remember being filled with shame and embarrassment when I couldn't get it right.

It was clear that I had forgotten that little bout of humiliation in fifth grade and so 5 years later I set off to do it again. It was after that second round of failure and embarrassment that I finally realized that my talents lie elsewhere - somewhere far, far away. I focused my time on athletics; more specifically, running. I enjoyed it because a) I was pretty good at it and b) it was not performed on-stage. While coordination was not my strong suit, I had just enough to play basketball - it seemed only natural considering my height. But running was where I was most comfortable. I made it a point to avoid the spotlight whenever possible - and so my choice of events was no accident because really, who watches the two mile anyway?

One of the local dance studios here performs two recitals each year with its students: one at Christmas and one at the end of the school year and I try to attend them each year. There are numerous televisions show that focus on dancing that get recorded every week so that I don't miss one. A friend of mine is a member of a ballet company that performs, among others, a Nutcracker performance every year that is a joy to watch. I follow these because they are good at it and they are on stage. I sit along the sidelines, enjoying the show and being relieved that I'm only watching.

Slow Your Roll

2009-09-25T21:08:00.007-06:00

My birthdays have begun to arrive with ever-increasing frequency. I always wanted them to come quickly - I could hardly age fast enough. I wanted to hurry up and graduate from high school so I could hurry up and graduate college so I could hurry up and get married so I could hurry up and have kids. And yet that's not how it happened.

Some changes in my grand plan were in my hands. (I am much happier with a career in technology than I ever would have been in elementary education.) And others were out of my hands. (When I finally decided that I did indeed want to have children, it was not to be.) And yet I am the person I am today because of those fractures in my lifetime map.

So what lies ahead? I have no idea. I can make choices that can determine it somewhat, but my future is still laid out in front of me in a shroud of mystery. I know it's vastly different than I imagined it 20 years ago. So I have stopped trying to predict it and started to enjoy the ride.

All I ask is that the speed limit be reduced.

Oh Miss Manners, Wherefore Art Thou?

2009-09-14T23:17:00.009-06:00

Whatever happened to manners? Was there a cataclysmic event that erased the lessons learned from our mothers and kindergarten teachers? Maybe we just all need a bit of a refresher course? Here is a by-no-means-complete list of 10 basic manners that can be found on any grade school wall:

Don't interrupt. I'm speaking therefore you're not. When I'm done speaking you may be able to do so. (Once you've mastered that task, try listening to what I'm saying while I'm speaking instead of building the response to what you could not have possibly just absorbed in any way shape or form because you were too busy formulating said response.) When I say something that fires you up, if the situation allows, please take your time while explaining to me why you disagree. (Please refer to #10 for more explanation.) If the venue is not one where you are able to air your differences, keep your mouth shut.
Don't call names. Does this require an explanation? *sigh* Why should you not call names? Because it's not nice and could hurt someone's feelings.
Always greet people properly. Handshake, eye contact, clear speech. Simple enough even for those of us that are socially inept.
Say "Please" and "Thank you". If someone gives you something, "Thank you". If you want something, "Please". Let's go a step further: Would you say it in front of your mother? If not, go ahead and substitute: fiddlesticks, heck, gosh, dang...you're catching my drift right?
Clean up after yourself. Case in point: Clean up your water mess all over the bathroom sink so that I don't leave the restroom looking like I should be investing in some Depends.
Maintain good sportsmanship. Line judges, referees, officials of all sorts are just doing their job to the best of their abilities. It doesn't matter if you are playing in an Open or pretending you are 20 years younger than you really are in your rec league softball games...you play the game. You shake the hands of the opponents after the game. You refrain from yelling at the officials. You refrain from throwing punches at the opposition.
Take compliments courteously. A thank you will suffice. Avoid protests it only makes you seem disingenuous.
Entering/exiting manners. Hold the door open for someone entering behind you. Let those people exiting an elevator off first. When you're driving in the car, and people are trying to cross the street/parking lot/wherever...let them go first, especially if the weather is bad.
Perform proper table manners. Elbows off the table - I still wait for a backhand to knock my elbows off the table 30 years after the first time it happened. I don't know why this is a rule, it just is...so comply. Chew with your mouth shut, don't slurp, don't reach, don't shovel.
Last but not least: respect differences. Why is this one so difficult? It is the absence of this fundamental manner that leads to many of the lapses in the rest. Just because you disagree with me does not make you right or me wrong. Deal with it.

I have had (and continue to have) my fair share of moments defiling this list and I won't go into details (in this post anyway). These are pretty standard rules of etiquette - even my dogs were supposed to learn some of them. Maisie has become very adept at her greeting and entering/exiting manners. Paulie has excellent table manners. Even Indy is more than willing to accept any praise lavished upon him.

In the eternal words of Miss Manners herself: "...if you behave in a way that offends the people you're trying to deal with, they will stop dealing with you...."

*cation

2009-09-08T21:27:00.002-06:00

My Vocabulary Lesson:

Staycation: Taking time off of work but not leaving the general vicinity of your home. Activities include: sleeping in, eating too much, surfing the couch and cable channels, maybe the occasional day-trip to towns nearby. Most likely taken for dentist appointments and doctor's appointments. Laptops and/or blackberrys are nearby and the risk to work is high.

Vacation: Taking time off of work and leaving the area. The Out of Office Assistant is turned on to direct all inquiries to someone else for the time being. These breaks are almost always out of the country ("Sorry, no cell service/internet connection/sobriety!") and are always too few and far between. Coming back from these feeling relaxed, recharged and sometimes hungover is a given.

Oblication: Weddings, funerals, births, graduations, milestone birthdays...etc. The key to feeling relaxed after these trips are to set aside at least a small amount of time to do something that is not obligatory: a night out with long-lost friends, meals at your favorite restaurants and naps!

Yes I Am THAT Person

2009-08-31T15:25:00.003-06:00

It has taken great acts of self-control to avoid perusing the strollers, the car seats and the cute little holiday-themed footy pajamas at stores. I have moments of weakness where I'll bring home the cutest outfit that I just HAD to buy. After a few moments of contemplation and dirty looks, shame soon overtakes me and I put the outfits in a box at the back of a dark closet.

But this weekend, I crossed the line. The BIG line. I purchased a bike trailer. It has a little sling-type seat with two five-point harnesses. It has a rain guard and mesh windows. Heavy duty velcro strips lock the flap doors in place. It's lightweight and super-cute. It was difficult to maneuver out of my garage at first, but I eventually got the hang of it. With great care I pulled out blanket after blanket to line the trailer. I even put little treats in the pockets on each side so there was no fighting. I packed a veritable picnic for them to consume once we reached our destination. I loaded them up, donned my helmet and pulled out of our cul-de-sac, two little hot dogs in tow.

See? I told you that I was THAT person. I have sometimes carried my dogs around in purses (he was tiny). My house is dominated by the boys to whom I will be serving as long as they are around. I have purchased those goofy Halloween costumes and made the boys wear them. I purchase toy after toy for them to destroy (hubby thinks I should just let them eat money but I don't think it would be nearly as fun as a loofa dog). But this latest foray into the dogs-as-children world of merchandise was a disaster.

The screaming began shortly after I was 50 yards from home; shrill, eardrum splitting shrieks of pure horror. So I pulled over and put my hand inside to pull out a treat that I was saving for the ride home. No dice - in fact I received a nip on the hand in their desperate attempts to flee back home. A few neighbors started coming out of their houses to see what all the commotion was. Embarrassed, I smoothed out the velcro and started pedaling furiously toward my destination.

All along the way, it sounded as if I was toting a traveling tornado siren. They never calmed down and they never let up; I became worried that their incessant digging at the mesh windows would cause a rip that they could escape from. In the half mile trek to the park, we set off every dog along the way into a barking frenzy. My dear hubby, who was biking along with Maisie at a nice leisurely pace, conveniently dropped behind us far enough so that no one knew he was with us. Once I came to a stop...silence. In fact, I could walk the bike along the way and they were fine. But as soon as I started pedaling they went crazy.

I was hopeful that after an hour or so of running around at the park they would be calm on the way back. But they were just as bad on the way home. I pulled into the garage and let them out; I was exhausted. Indy immediately jumped out of the trailer. Paulie jumped out only to jump back in right away. He sniffed around and then laid down. Looking at me with the defiance that I've only seen in dachshunds and a handful of toddlers.

I'm not ready to give up yet. While they've hated every stupid costume I've ever made them wear, they eventually give up and resign themselves to the fact that I will put them in clothes occasionally. I have the same hope for the trailer.

The Newcomer

2009-08-21T01:49:00.004-06:00

After the untimely passing of Indigo, our black lab, the average height in our house dropped considerably. Gone were the days of fencing off the kitchen so that our four legged friend would not counter surf for goodies while we were gone. The large bags of dog food started lasting for months instead of weeks. Indigo was a shedder and no matter how often she was brushed, groomed, even vacuumed - our house had a constant layer of 2-3 inch black fur everywhere. It drove me nuts! But soon the fur finally disappeared. And so the baby gates, large bowls, gargantuan leash and lint brushes were packed away deep in the dogs' closet. The vertically-challenged boys eventually came to an agreement that they would share the duties of the King. The transition was tough for them and the agreement was not immediate. Except for the occasional dog fight a serene quiet and cleanliness settled over our house. And I liked it.

But then I forgot. Being dragged along like a rag-doll on the leash, expensive medications, the never-ending fight to keep her off the furniture (and out of my bed!), coming home to find pieces of our fence chewed all to hell as well as our dogs missing, entire meals being pulled off the counters and devoured...yeah, that was all long forgotten. The irritation of having dog fur everywhere was not even a fleeting memory. Thoughts of the constant drooling that only big dogs can manage (gag!) had faded.

I know that my husband likes big dogs and he knows that I do not. Two little 10-pounders was my idea of the perfect set. But when I saw that longing in his eyes as he played with Ruby - my brother's basset/lab mix - the idea was formed and the madness began. It was a compromise: a medium-sized dog. I found her online at a shelter in Kansas. I have to admit, she was pretty darn cute. And so I made the call and arranged a trip to bring her home.

Fast forward to two months later. The volume of fur has broken my vacuum cleaner. (The replacement part won't be in for another week and I already have the shakes.) The boys have finally started to forgive me for bringing Satan's dog into their home. The counters must all be cleared of anything that even remotely could be ingested (she's much taller than I imagined she would be) and all doors shut. She has separation anxiety so badly that her new cage looks like it was dropped from a vehicle at 70 mph. And although her cage sits under the basement stairs in the laundry room, I'm still waiting for the inevitable citation from the men in blue for a noise violation because she barks that loudly. Also it turned out that she was sick - some nasty contagion that could have killed the little ones and she was heartworm positive. She doesn't realize how much bigger she is than the boys - or maybe she does! - because to "play" she runs at them full speed and body checks them so that they roll about 5 feet. Indy set the ground rules very quickly and so she doesn't bother him much. But I think it's hard to take Paulie seriously anyway, so he bears the brunt of most of her "playfulness". (This triggers that mama bear instinct in me and makes me so mad.) The large bags of food now last for 3-4 weeks instead of 3-4 months.

The memories are all rushing back to me now and it's too late. Maisie will be 1 year old in a week and so I'm settling in for the long haul because it was, after all, my stupid idea. My husband is so happy - he spoils that dumb dog like you wouldn't believe. I've thrown my hands up when it comes to her discipline...it's a losing battle. It's also hard to convince him why my rules are different for the boys vs. this 50 pound monstrosity. But they are very different. In fact, I told him, we all need to get used to Paulie and Indy not be classified as dogs anyway. They get up on the furniture, they sleep in my bed, I take them places when I can and I even make them homemade treats on occasion.

I'll admit it - as guilty as I only sometimes feel about it - I'm not a big fan of the new dog. I've come to this conclusion: I'm not a "dog person" like I always thought I was. There are other dogs that I love of course - Charlie my labradoodle nephew, Mason my min pin nephew, Zoe my mini schnauzer niece - but I'm not around them as often as I'd like and that is probably why I still love them dearly. I'm relatively certain that I am just an Indy- and Paulie-person. And that suits me just fine.

Good Times Had By All

2009-08-03T14:12:00.002-06:00

I have never been much of a concert-goer. I prefer studio tracks as opposed to the incessant ramblings of drug-addled rock stars that seem to forget their own music halfway through a song and end up singing a completely different song by someone entirely other than themselves. Add a dose of being shoulder to shoulder with drug-addled fans - some of whom clearly sprinted to the concert from six miles away. Directly from their job on a sheep farm. Where they have been pulling a 72 hour shift with no time for a shower. (Yes a-hole at the latest concert I attended, I'm talking to you - grab some Lever 2000 on your way back down the hill.) You can throw in to that mix my ever-advancing age-related grouchiness (I haven't always been this way...so shut up) in general. But there are a few bands that I like enough to endure the messy, grimy, smokey filth of a concert. Last week, one of those bands came to a town near us.

It was pouring down rain on the ride to this latest event. Sheets of rain I tell you and so I stopped at a Target on the way to pick up an umbrella for me and a poncho for the hubby. In those 10 minutes in the store, the rain stopped. (This to me was like all those times where my hair was not cooperating and so I made an appointment for the next day to have it all chopped off and wouldn't you just know it...my hair is straight out of a magazine the day of the cut.) And as soon as we arrived, it was looking like we would have clear skies all night long. Wrong!

The venue at this particular concert is breathtaking to say the least. And I'm not just talking about the view. No, I thought I was going to have to lie down at least three times on the hike up to the entrance. The worst part is that it doesn't look bad. So as we start out, I'm chatting away with our friends, making jokes and talking about our upcoming vacation with them. About a quarter of the way up, I had to stop talking altogether and concentrate on getting my oxygen level back up to at least 90.

The concert started on time (!) and the headlining band was the first on the set! The opening band (can you call them that if they don't actually open?) came out after the first song and so began a night of nearly 4 hours of great music with a ten minute intermission. The band seemed lucid this time (1 out of 3 times now) and it was truly enjoyable.

The rain started again in earnest about 15 minutes into the concert. I started scrambling for the umbrella and threw on a poncho. Soon though I realized that I didn't care about the rain. It was THAT good! So good in fact, we didn't even notice at first when we all became enveloped in a cloud of smoke so thick that it was hard to see that the people directly in front of us were passing a huge joint amongst themselves. And so we stood there rain soaked, watching and listening to one of our very favorite bands on the side of mountain, while the skies poured down on us. It never did stop raining until we left. But oddly enough, none of us cared.

Vindicated

2009-08-02T10:42:00.009-06:00

There was a study done that drew a connection between hair color and aversion to dentistry. More specifically, the presence of the MC1R gene is the reason that red-heads have an aversion to dental work. This gene produces melanin, which gives color to skin, hair and eyes: red hair (somewhat check), pale skin (check!), freckles (check!) and blue eyes (check). While I don't have Bozo/Annie/Sideshow Bob colored hair, there is still a lot of red in my hair. I finally feel more than a little vindicated and much less like a big baby.

You see, I have always hated the dentist. I imagine that some of you are nodding your heads in agreement...but let me just stop you right there. I don't just have your average aversion to having your teeth and gums scraped and the so-called "pinch" from the occasional shot of novocaine. The drive to the dentist makes tears spring to my eyes. I start to sweat profusely and my blood pressure goes through the roof. You know those bite-wing x-rays where they put those little plastic things in your mouth to take x-rays of specific teeth? The moderately rough edges that dig into my mouth make me cry. My gag reflex kicks in whenever I smell that same smell from the flouride treatments I would endure as a child. I still clearly remember hanging over a sink, with too-big mouth trays full of poorly flavored flouride gel with some other poor child (typically my sister) at the sink next to me. I would rest my head on the faucet willing the timer to go faster.

It seems that any one of my dentists (and there have been many!) never fully believes me when I explain my higher-than-average anxiety related to dentistry. He pats my shoulder and gives me the same platitudes that he offers to any normal person. I've grown tired of trying to explain to the dentist that I'm not, in fact, a typical patient that is comforted by those inane comments.

It could be that I have just been through more traumatic dental events than the average person. A quick run-down of these events are:

My bottom front baby teeth didn't ever come out on their own. The adult teeth that should have pushed them out just grew in behind the baby teeth. I ended up have all four of them pulled. (I was truly horrified to hear that my little niece has just gone through the same thing.)
I didn't just get braces. I had oral surgery after the spacers were put in so that a hole could be made in the roof of my mouth. A post was attached to a tooth that had embedded itself in my sinus instead of growing downward. For the next two years, that tooth slowly was pulled down and in place by the metal that had taken up residence in my mouth.
While the details are still disputed around this event the end result is still the same. I caught the business end of a flying folding chair the day before my braces were put on and shortly after that hole was installed. I lost the lower half of my front tooth which was then embedded in my lower lip. The scar still shows when I'm wearing certain shades of lipstick. The tooth chips on a regular basis and is in constant need of patching. The option for permanent replacement makes my eyes tear up - titanium post screwed into my jaw?...yuck and no thanks.
I've had two root canals. The first one I had a single shot of novocaine that didn't help at all. The dentist continued despite my protests. The pain continued for nearly three days after the 2 hour procedure.

I have explained these events to my latest dentist - who seemed to genuinely want to hear why I didn't come to the dentist more often. Instead of the usual routine and script, my dentist made the comment that those dentists were sadistic and that he would be different. While I am still skeptical I feel a little more trust than I've ever felt before.

As my next appointment quickly approaches I find thoughts of why I should skip it creeping up in my mind. Thankfully, my husband is aware of the appointment and will make me go anyway.

To Do List

2009-07-30T19:24:00.008-06:00

I stare down my list of un-finished, un-published blog posts with the same dismay I have for the pile of books that I need to read (I'd have to locate my glasses first and that's just too much work). I cringe at the sight of the drool and black fur all over the hardwood and tile just long enough to catch a glimpse of three long dogs gleefully zipping around each other barking and carrying on (did we really need three dogs again? Certainly not...totally my bad for even suggesting it). I look longingly at my sewing room with oodles and oodles of projects scattered about (by the time the kids get their "army-", "pirate-" and "princess-" themed quilts, they can give them to their own children).

In disgust, I stare at my piles of dishes (I know that opening the dishwasher right next to the sink is too much so how about throwing me a bone here and running just a smidge of water before it fossilizes?), piles of laundry (the clothes are coming out smelling worse than they did going into the washer so I dare say it's time for a replacement). And while I'm staring down a pile of work that never gets done in a standard 50 hour work week, I try to come up with the justification for being a stay-at-home mom to three dogs. I look forward to that day that Sallie Mae, Bank of America Home Loans and other various creditors no longer have a healthy interest in me maintaining a somewhat lucrative career. While I haven't found a calendar that goes out far enough in which to mark that date yet, I remain hopeful.

While taking stock of all of my unfinished business I have decided to will myself to finish something. Anything. Laundry and dishes didn't make the cut for obvious reasons. I don't think I remember how to quilt anymore. So here I am. I'm back and I'm going to make myself have "nothing better to do" more often.

Pack Wars

2009-01-23T20:01:00.004-07:00

We received a call on Wednesday to let us know that Indigo's remains were available for pick up at her vet's office. Her ashes still remain at the vet today and most likely will remain at her vet for a while longer. Although the events of the past week I think are a harsh reminder of just how deeply her absence is felt.

Indy and Paulie lounged around the house all day on Saturday. Never once did they ask to be fed or entertained. They laid in their various beds and blankets, lazing away the entire day. We were both surprised and shocked by their despondent behavior. Not so the next day though - a big change is in the works inside the house pack.

On Sunday evening, we were watching television and the dogs were playing around as usual. They seemed to be back to their normal selves - demanding in sharp, piercing barks to be played with and fed. Indy, as part of his anxious nature, likes to lay on his various beds and put as much of the corner of the bed in his mouth and suck on it like a pacifier. (Strange & gross, I know, but he's just generally very weird.) Paulie wanted Indy to play with him so he walked over to Indy, playfully barking and hopping around. The atmosphere changed as soon as Paulie was right next to Indy. Indy snapped at Paulie and grabbed a mouthful of fur. Paulie, probably shocked that Indy was so irrational, snapped back at Indy's neck And the war was on!!

I jumped up to grab Indy while hubby grabbed Paulie. In the ensuing chaos, Paulie latched onto hubby's arm. At that point, it was just me trying to separate them. Finally I pried them apart. Hubby was left with a menacing looking wound on his arm. It took about 15 minutes to calm them both down. It seemed my hubby was the only one with injuries to speak of. They've done this before - twice in the two years they've lived together. So this was not an extremely shocking event. Usually, Indy has a mouthful of Paulie's fur and Paulie has some flesh wound buried deep in his fur and then they forget about it quickly after.

Fast forward to three days later - they are at it again. This time they are fighting over the possession of a squeaky toy...of which there are two in front of them. After we pry them apart this time, Indy has a hole in his lip and a mouthful of Paulie's fur. We've been diligent about keeping them apart when possible and removing those items that instigate the fights but we're ready for the battle to be over. After twice in one week, it's time for one of them to submit and roll over.

Our Sweet Girl

2009-01-16T18:17:00.005-07:00

Indigo was put to sleep tonight. Today was a bad day for her and believe it or not, that helped us. Last night, she was happy as a clam when our friends came over to bid her farewell. Again with the hopping and circling!! The thought of what we had planned for tonight overwhelmed us with guilt. Today though, she was moving slower and had trouble breathing. She didn't even want to eat! She finally relented and ate the pot roast dinner I made for her. (Hey, don't judge me. We loved her THAT much!)

The entire staff at Indigo's primary vet loved her dearly. Indigo was always happy to go there too because she was showered with so much love and attention. They were so sad to see her in her current state. When she saw her, Dr. Robin assured us we were doing the right thing. Knowing how much she loved Indigo, that made us feel better too.

Dr. Robin asked that we bring the two wieners to the appointment. She said that it would help them process their loss. (I saw that. Yes, I saw you raise your eyebrow when I said that. But it's okay - because I did the same thing when I heard it.) The idea was that they knew where she was the last time they saw her, so they wouldn't keep searching the house for her. Paulie was very attached to Indigo. Indy, whether he knows it or not, owed Indigo a debt of gratitude for keeping him company during the years when his separation anxiety was unbearable for him. So we packed them up too.

When we arrived, Dr. Robin explained what would happen and what to expect. They put in an IV and then set her on the couch between us in a soft-lit, calming room that seemed like a living room in someone's grandparents' house. There were no surprises...except at how quickly the second drug worked. She was given a sedative first to calm her and that seemed to do absolutely nothing. Then we gave the go ahead to give her the second drug - the "measured" overdose. She pushed the drug into her IV. Seconds later, Indigo rolled onto her side and was gone. Dr. Robin checked with her stethoscope and confirmed what we saw happen right in front of us.

Paulie sat on the back of the couch above her. He jumped down next to her, poked her with his nose, licked her a few times and then jumped down and was ready to leave. Indy was curious, but just sniffed and then joined Paulie at the door. But nothing can describe seeing the love of your life breakdown when confronted with the absolute loss of his best and closest friend of 11 years.

Three Feet in the Grave

2009-01-14T11:49:00.009-07:00

Indigo went into atrial fibrillation recently - her heart pounds relentlessly out of rhythm. She pants incessantly so it used to be hard to feel her heart rate...but now, you can SEE it. I found myself zoning out in a daydream/nightmare about what creature would soon be busting itself through her side like something out of Alien - it was THAT dramatic. We put her on another medication (yes, that's 6 now) to reduce her heart rate. It won't return her to sinus rhythm, but she won't feel like she's just run two marathons in a row at a full on sprint either. We're are now at the point that you never want to be when caring for a sick patient...."keeping them comfortable".

She had her appointment with the cardiologist yesterday and that's when they told hubby about this new problem. I was at work in a meeting so I had to miss the appointment. But I called after my meeting and he was still there. We had two options: 1) more medication or 2) more medication plus putting her under and shocking her heart back into rhythm. This shock treatment is temporary they said, it would most likely happen again. Of course the third, unspeakable option has always been lurking in the background, waiting to attack - euthanasia.

It's hard to explain to those that don't know her Indigo's general disposition. So for those of you that have come to know Marley of Marley and Me (book or movie) - that's our dog, only she's black. She is impervious to pain...oblivious to the impending doom. I left work early to meet hubby at home to discuss our options. On that short drive, I prepared my speech about how we need to put her down because she's not going to ask us to. (I should write down this speech, because I will need him to read it to me someday when the wieners have three short, stubby feet in the grave.)

When I walked in the door I took a deep breath, prepared for the worst. But there she was just spinning around acting like a puppy, absolutely excited to see me for no reason whatsoever. She obviously didn't see my true intentions as I came in the door - carrying a large scythe wearing a black cloak with a hood. I decided against the speech. Really, how could I sit there and lobby for putting her out of her misery as she jumps and spins around like a two year old?

It's going to have to happen in the next couple of days. I don't want her to die alone at home while we're at work from a heart attack, I know that much. But I'm going to feel terrible taking this oblivious, happy dog to the vet only to be put down. *sigh*

Happy Birthday Furface!

2008-12-03T09:07:00.005-07:00

Little Paulie Walnuts is 2 years old today. Paulie is a purebred, wirehair miniature dachshund. My husband purchased him from a breeder in California as a wedding gift to me. I wanted another dachshund - there was nothing wrong with the one I already had, mind you, doxies just lend themselves well to groups. I really wanted a wheaten female to name Saucy after my favorite childhood book, but there were none available. Instead, the breeder told my husband that she had a wild-boar male that was "very sweet". She was partially right.
Paulie came home to us the day before we returned from our honeymoon. Our in-laws picked him up and kept him the first night. They also were watching Indy (our black & tan doxie)...who was "not very nice" to the puppy. As you might be able to see from his picture above, he had some blonde fur, with a wirey overlay of black and red...true wild boar coat. He was very sweet...the breeder was right about that. But what we soon discovered after a botched first haircut was that he wasn't a true wild-boar-coated doxie.

The groomer was instructed to cut (by hand!) the knots out of his fur and then just give him a trim to remove the fuzzies. What we received back a few hours later was not our multi-colored boy - instead we received a VERY blonde boy with the softest, curliest blonde fur. He was a wheaten! Granted, he was shaved and had to look like a dork for about 3 months while his fur grew out...but it's still blonde today. He has some black fur on his ears and tail, so he's not a true wheaten...but close enough.
We were batting around a few names for him before he came home. When we finally got him home and saw the little silver wisps of fur above his ears, we knew that we had to name him after our favorite Sopranos character - and so Paulie Walnuts Gaultieri Funk was official.

He is very attached to Indigo and loves to play with Indy whenever he'll let him. Both older dogs tolerate him - but to my husband and I he is a sweet clown of a dog and we love him so much!

Indigo

2008-12-01T18:03:00.005-07:00

Today was an emotionally taxing day. We picked Indigo up at the ER this morning, fully expecting to have to put her to sleep. Instead, Dr. Lehman told us that Indigo did really well, the diuretics worked and that she ate as much food as they could put in front of her this morning. That relieved all of us. We were able to get an appointment at 10am with a cardiologist at the vet school.

We took her from the ER directly to the Vet School at CSU. Because it is a teaching hospital, we sat there for about an hour and then went through the initial interview and workup twice. They wanted to do an ultrasound on her heart. They asked us to leave her there and they would call us when she was done. About 4 hours later, we got a call. When we went back, they had us pay the bill - which included 5 new medications: three diuretics, an ACE inhibitor and an inodilator. She also has to stay on her thyroid and blood pressure medication.

The doctor confirmed last night's diagnosis of late-stage, severe congestive heart failure. With these medications, the average life span is 6 months. We are going back on the 11th to follow up with this doctor and see if the medications are working. If they are, we will be watching to see when her kidneys start failing. When that happens, it's time to put her to sleep. If they are not working, euthanasia will have to happen sooner.

We had to change her prescription dog food too - she no longer needed a kidney protection diet, just low sodium. The doctor said to cut out the treats - so "no more hot dogs or cheese". Chris and I both laughed at that...she would be so happy if those were her treats instead of dry, yucky milkbones on rare occasions. We bought a (much cheaper) "senior diet" dog food at the local pet store chain. We also purchased some wet dog food to entice her to eat more. Tonight though, we celebrated by giving all three dogs a dinner of wet dog food mixed with their dry food. Everyone was happy - Indigo was back and it was definitely cause to celebrate!

A Somber Homecoming

2008-11-30T18:02:00.007-07:00

My husband and I finally pulled into the driveway today from a great drive to and from Indiana. We took the doxies with us because 1) they are small and don't mind the drive and 2) they are just naughty enough to make people not want to watch them. Indigo, our black lab, stayed behind with our friends.

Indigo was returned to our house today around noon to await our return. We pulled up with the two boys and when we walked into the house, she mustered up enough energy to raise her head. This was not the usual circus we were used to. She had been feeling a little badly before we left. She had a bad cough that her vet attributed to kennel cough (I was suspicious of this diagnosis). Even after a round of antibiotics, the cough persisted. She usually has a voracious appetite. Lately though she can barely eat enough to sustain a little wiener dog.

So while we were unpacking and letting the boys get used to being home again Indigo laid around, not moving much. When she got up to follow me into the kitchen, I looked at her and felt sick to my stomach. The normally svelte, hourglass shaped dog looked like she swallowed a basketball. When we left for the trip, we commented on how skinny she had gotten. Now here she was, barely moving and looking like a hot air balloon made of black fur.

I immediately thought the worst and called my sister-in-law (she's a vet tech). She told me to take her in immediately. I called Indigo's vet's after hours answering service and received a call back in about 15 minutes. He also insisted we take her to the emergency room. So we packed her up quickly, leaving the wieners barking and anxious.

After about 3 hours, we received the news we dreaded: Indigo has congestive heart failure. Her chest and abdomen are filled with fluid because her enlarged heart cannot keep up. Her heart rate was around 190. We left her at the hospital tonight in hopes that a diuretic treatment will reduce the fluids and help her feel a little better. Her prognosis is poor though - we know that. The ER vet was talking months instead of years. We are lucky enough to be within 10 minutes of one of the best vet schools in the country. Our instructions are to contact a cardiologist at the vet school for an appointment first thing in the morning.

Separation Anxiety

2008-10-17T13:02:00.005-06:00

My dog Indy, a black and tan miniature dachshund, is a bit of a drama queen. He doesn't always show it now that he is almost 5 years old. But when he was a puppy he would cry and whine whenever he even suspected I was leaving. When he realized that I was not coming back for a while, he would scratch at the door and scream (I'm not exaggerating) until I came home. To prevent costly tickets from the local Police Department, I would have to get ready for work in the morning, get Indy packed up and to his "daycare" location before I went to work.

For the past three years though he is relatively calm whenever I or my husband leave the house. It could be that he is older, or it could be that he has two siblings to keep him company. Paulie - our wirehaired miniature dachshund - has never been one to care when we leave, he just wants a treat. Indigo waits for us to leave so she can get up on the couch without having someone yell at her to get off. Indy will curl up on the couch in his favorite blanket, or on top of a pillow if it's too hot, and start snoozing long before I've shut the door.

This morning while I was getting ready for work, one of the dogs took advantage of the fact that I didn't shut the bathroom door all the way. I assume this was Paulie because he is obsessed with being in the bathroom with me at all times...nowhere else, just the bathroom. Once Paulie opened the bathroom door, Indy and Indigo followed.

Paulie started to unroll the toilet paper, while Indigo laid down on top of the vent. Indy knew I was in the bathroom, but because I was in the shower, he didn't see me. This must have set off an anxiety attack because while I was rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, the shower curtain moved quickly. Waiting to see some stranger with huge knife ready to carve me up, I instead was met with a shocked and now wet little black dog at my feet. He quickly realized his mistake and struggled to exit the shower. I helped him out and watched while he shook himself in disgust and walked back out of the bathroom.

After I was done getting dressed, I went out to the living room to check on him. He briefly looked up at me as if to say, "Let's just keep this little faux pas between the two of us. No one else has to know." He buried his head under his blanket again and went back to sleep.

I love that dog and sometimes, I don't know which one of us is more attached to the other.

A Mighty Wind

2008-07-11T15:06:00.010-06:00

A tornado ripped through our little town of Windsor, Colorado in May. I was at work when the tornado struck - it passed directly over our office. I knew once the tennis ball sized hail started, that the weather meant business. As I tried to safely shut down our servers, I saw a huge truck outside our window being lifted into the air. Servers be damned, I joined the others in the office bathroom for about 10 minutes. Once I thought it was safe enough to leave, I raced home praying the entire 3 blocks that my dogs were not swept away.

While others were not so lucky (see my pictures here), we only lost two trees and part of our fence. Our roof needed to be replaced as well as other very, very minor casualties. During cleanup, our dogs found the new jungle gym of trees to be a source of constant entertainment as well as a means of escape.

Indy would try to jump over the top....

...and Paulie would try to tunnel underneath.

Can you see his little furry butt in what is left of the tree?

Those two guys make me laugh most of the time. Every morning I spent chasing them down the street freshly out of the shower because they had found a way out of the mangled fence yet again, I can assure you I was NOT laughing.

Panda jerks. CUTE panda jerks.

Confirmation

2007-07-16T18:34:00.000-06:00

My suspicions that Paulie Walnuts is part beaver may have been slightly confirmed this weekend. My husband, Chris, and I took the dogs swimming this weekend. Indy was not really excited about the water, but he did use it as a reprieve from the 100 degree weather. Indigo spent most of the time in the water. Paulie was pretty amazing. He jumped in several times to swim out to my husband. When he was about 6 feet from where he could reach (essentially the shore), you could tell he kind of panicked. Chris picked him up and let him rest for a moment. So when he went to swim back to shore - keep in mind he was only 6 feet from shore - he got lost! He started swimming in circles...getting more and more panicky. Chris had to rescue him.

While his swimming was really strong which is VERY beaver-like, I don't think that getting lost is very beaver-like.

What A Wiener....

2007-07-10T13:37:00.000-06:00

My husband and I are the proud employees of three dogs: 2 purebred wieners and 1 honorary wiener (born a Black Lab).
Indigo is our Black Lab who likes to surf our counter tops. I challenge you to find a friendlier, hungrier dog than our Indigo-girl:Indy is our black and tan doxie. (The funny thing is, my husband had Indigo and I had Indy before we met. So as confusing as it sounds, we really didn't name them the same on purpose.)
Indy is a grouchy little man. At 3 1/2 years old, he is very active. He climbs trees, eats whatever Indigo pulls off of the counters, and bites his little brother.

Our third master is Paulie Walnuts. Paulie was a wedding gift. My husband and I named him in honor of our favorite Sopranos character. He had silver hair streaks just like Paulie Walnuts. He is a funny little guy. His personality is kind of Doxie-ish, but he's such a clown. I just can't help but laugh whenever I see him.

I have my doubts about Paulie being purebred. I think he's actually part beaver. He plays in the water and loves to eat wood. I think if we had a stream near our house, he would be building dams in his free time.