Bob

Bob lives two houses down.  Each and every evening, like clockwork, he takes his dog, Sugah (yes, you read that right), on a walk, counter-clockwise, around the block.  You could set your watch to him.  Sometimes he wears an old Conoco-Phillips ballcap (I suspect he worked for Conoco before he retired some years back).  Sometimes he wears a fisherman-style hat, but usually only when it's raining.  He always wears a button-up plaid shirt tucked neatly into his jeans.

I first met Bob about two years ago, not long after we moved into the neighborhood.  It was almost dusk and we exchanged small talk for a while before he remarked he'd better hurry on home or his wife would worry that he'd forgotten where they lived.  "I think I've got that Alzheimer's, you know?" he casually remarked with a smirk, before saying goodnight.  Since then Harry and I have developed a casual relationship with Bob and his wife, Jo.  We wave, say hello, talk about the weather or the general state of the neighborhood - normal neighborly things, I suppose.

Tonight I was in the backyard on the deck and I looked out front and saw Bob and Sugah sitting out front on the curb.  Worried he had fallen or gotten lost, I walked around front to see what was up.  My wave and "hello" were met by a blank stare.  As I got closer, I said "hi" again and Bob said hello in exchange.  He said he was sitting down enjoying the nice cool breeze with his dog.  I was so glad to see he was alright.  We started chatting and I said hello to Sugah.

"How do you know my dog's name?" Bob said.  I was immediately alarmed by this.  Anyone who knows me knows I'm a dog person, so of course, I always say hi to Sugah when I see him (yes, him).  "Oh, well I've seen his nametag before, so of course I knew his name."  Bob seemed satisfied with this answer and said he figured the whole neighborhood knew Sugah.  He's probably right.  "So where do you live?" he asked.  Uh oh.  Panic rushed over me.  Did I need to go get Jo and tell her Bob was lost?  How could he not know me?  He was practically sitting in my front yard.  "I live right here.  I'm Harry's wife."  "Oh yeah," he said, "I'm sorry, it's so dark out here and it's getting harder for me to see.  I do know you.  And Harry.  I heard him banging on something with a hammer earlier."

I've never been happier to hear someone joke about Harry making noise.  I was so glad that Bob remembered us.  I assume the day will come when he won't, but that day is not today.

Harry told me I should write about Bob tonight.  His grandmother suffered from Alzheimer's.  She forgot her grandchildren and was convinced her husband was cheating on her, so she divorced him at 72 years of age after being together nearly 60 years.  After they were divorced, Harry's grandfather went to his ex-wife's house everyday to drink morning coffee with her.  He brought her mail to her everyday.  Until the day he died.  Like clockwork.  Like Bob and Sugah.

I guess the moral of the story is to appreciate the simple things in life.  A cup of coffee.  A good, long walk.  The feel of a cool breeze on your face. Your neighbors.

A Random Act of Green-ness

A few Fridays ago was Earth Day.  I thought it was the perfect opportunity to try to live a little "greener" as they say.  Last year I tried to garden from seeds and that just didn't work at all.  Apparently I do have enough of a green thumb to get the seeds to sprout, but that was about it.  So this year I figured I'd start with plants and see how that works.  In addition to plants making the world a better place by creating oxygen and all that, I am thinking I can help my own "green" by spending less at the grocery store and growing my own veggies!

I am going to try to container garden - where you grow plants in pots or other containers, rather in a bed.  I am doing this for two reasons: one - the dogs seem to care less about digging in pots than they do in the flower beds, and two - I'm not sure how well the plants will tolerate the HOT heat of Texas, so I might have to relocate them in the yard and that will work much better with containers.  I know the little cards that come with the plants say "shade" or "full sun" but I tend to think that the plants don't always like full, hot, hot, hot Texas sun. 

For all you wanna-be gardeners like me out there, Home Depot has had their vegetable and herb plants on sale, buy 2 get 1 free.  I picked up two "patio" tomato plants (good for container growing, the label says), two strawberry plants, a red bell pepper, jalapeno pepper, and a couple of cucumber plants.  I don't really like cucumbers but have always wanted to make my own pickles.  Weird? I also grabbed some herbs like mint, rosemary, parsley, cilantro, dill, lavender, and a few others.  The brand they sell, Bonnie Plants, is awesome because it also happens to utilize biodegradable containers made out of recycled paper.  You can just stick the plant in the ground as-is, so no pesky trans-planting needed and no trash!  How green is that?  I also grabbed a bag of Miracle Gro organic potting soil and some organic plant food.  Normally I'm not as concerned about "organic" as I probably should be, but if I'm eating it, I don't want it covered in chemicals.

So far, the cucumbers are growing like weeds and have several yellow flowers popping up.  The tomatoes are doing well, too, and I think some are almost ripe.  The cilantro and parsley do not like the direct, hot sun so I'll need to relocate them.  The herbs seem to do better being kept constantly moist, rather than allowing them to dry out in between waterings.  If they start to get too dry, they all start wilting.  It's been a learning curve, but so far, so good.

I'm really looking forward to being able to walk outside and get fresh herbs and the goods for fresh salsa, fruit salad and pickles right from my backyard this summer.

A day in the life...

The other night, I'm at H.E.B. in the Vintage.  For those of you outside of Texas (or Mexico) that's a pretty darn awesome grocery store.  So cool, in fact, I take visitors there to check it out.  Ask Bethany.  Anyway, I'm in the parking lot, riding this really awesome beach cruiser-style bike with those big old handle bars and banana seat.  It might have had a basket, I don't remember.  It's an eerie, inky black outside, except for a few parking lot security lights and I'm kinda cruisin' around the parking, making figure eights, like it's my mission.  I suddenly make a bee-line for the corner of the lot, next to the exit, and go up this little hill, that I swear was never there before.  Suddenly, I'm riding through thick sludge that resembles green and yellow frosting, though in the shape of blades of grass.  It's really hard to peddle through, but I truck on, because it must be done.  Out of no where, I start to hear a high-pitched, menacing cackle, very similar to the laughter in Call of Duty: Black Ops Zombies.  As I turn the bike, I notice two girls I went to high school loading groceries into a black SUV.  They were a couple of years ahead of me in school, and one of their names escapes me.  They look at me with disgust as I try to frantically get through the sludge.  The laughter and darkness is really starting to scare me.  Lurking just to my left I suddenly spot Biscuit, my brother-in-law's Chihuahua-looking dog who weighs about 10 pounds and has the craziest spike-y dog hair cut you've ever seen.  She has more of an underbite than usual and has three yellow, snarly teeth sticking out of her bottom jaw, almost long enough to touch her nose.  I realize that the cackle is definitely coming from her, although she's being sneaky about it, so the girls don't know it's her.  I'm shaking by now, terrified this little mongrel is going to snatch me up and the girls are looking at me like I'm an idiot.  I can tell they recognize me, but can't remember my name either.  Since they're watching me now, I know now is my chance to escape Biscuit.  I make a break for my right, exiting the parking lot onto Center Street, right across from Rock Springs Honda/Toyota.

Now this is the point where my subconscious and my conscious mash up and I realize something is wrong.  How the hell did I get from Houston to Rock Springs, Wyoming in one turn?  Ah...a dream.  A crazy one. And one that is a sign that my husband has been playing too much Call of Duty.  And one that I had such a hard time going back to sleep after, I felt I had to share it.

Kitchen Update

I don't know how people survive major home renovations.  We got our counters replaced last Thursday and then being the do-it-yourself-ers we are, decided to update a few other things in our kitchen.  Nothing big - just trying to make things a little prettier.  Anyway, we finally got the oven hooked back up yesterday but my sink has been out of commission for 5 days now and it's driving me crazy.  We need to figure out how to hook that drain back up asap!

To be continued...

socks

I used to hate socks.  Like seriously.  I never wore them.  I was a big flip flop and sandal fan, even though I grew up somewhere where it snows at least nine months out of the year.  My feet are always cold so I figured it didn't really make much of a difference if I wore socks or not.  My mom and I used to argue about my aversion to socks often.

Something about being really barefoot makes you feel so reckless and carefree.  Especially being barefoot outside, which I used to do a lot with Raven and Alisa.  Sometimes Alisa and I would chase Raven barefoot through the mud with earthworms because she was the girliest of us all and would freak out - but that's part of another story.

Last week, as I was getting ready for work, I put on my socks first.  There I stood, in all my nakedness - except for the socks, of course - and realized how weird it is for me that I really love socks now.  A few months ago, I was really sick and wound up in the hospital, and I actually sent my husband home to get a particular pair of socks for me and I actually felt better when I put them on - kinda like a kid with a band-aid.  Lately I really like the security of socks.  They are taut, and snug against my feet, and I feel like everything is in its place when I have my socks on.  Maybe this is a sign of growing older, or maybe wiser - I'd rather feel secure and comforted than careless and wild.  Don't ever let me be too old to let my hair down and take my socks off once in a while.

pieces of paper

Paper doesn't cost much.  Everyone has some.  Most of us probably take it for granted.  It is, however, a pretty significant thing sometimes.

I've traced my hands on colorful, construction paper.  I practiced my handwriting and multiplication on wide-ruled notebook paper.  I passed notes in class and I typed book reports on paper.  I took the written driver's license test on scantron paper.  I got to walk across a stage with my friends to get my paper high school diploma, not long after I received college acceptance letters on university letterhead.

My first paychecks were paper.  My college diplomas, too.  And my marriage license.

Today marks the first anniversary of my marriage to a wonderful man - my best friend and partner in the world.  The first anniversary is the "paper anniversary".  I think that's pretty fitting for yet another fantastic milestone in life.

Now it's time to see if that wedding cake is still any good...

Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all

After you experience a significant loss, people will always tell you that time heals everything.  Anyone who truly knows me, knows that I don't sugar coat things, so here's the ugly truth - some wounds might heal, but will still scar.

Nearly five years ago, I lost my mom to a battle with ovarian cancer.  It was very quick.  I remember getting a call from my mom on June 20, 2006 telling me that her doctor had found a mass and they were going to run more tests.  On July 21, she was gone.

In my short time on this earth, I have experienced a lot of loss.  I have lost dogs, grandparents, classmates.  But nothing can prepare you for the sudden loss of someone so close to you.  Particularly since most of my friends were just turning 21 and going to bars and clubbing - living carefree - and I was helping to make funeral arrangements.

The purpose of this post is not to depress or upset those reading it.  I have a friend - who I used to be quite close to, but unfortunately life has sent us down different paths and separated us a bit.  This friend recently lost her father, not long after having her first child.  I can't even begin to imagine the range of emotions that she has dealt with in the few months.  I have reflected over the last few weeks with hopes of giving her some insight, wishing I could shed some wisdom on her.

The funny thing is, death is such an incredibly personal thing.  Everyone deals with it differently, though I have noticed everyone does seem to go through the stages of grief of which you hear.  It's hard to give advice to someone about something so deep.

I enjoy talking about my mom - remembering the movies we used to watch, how we used to fight about curfew when I was high school, what she might doing right now if she was still here.  I cry every time I hear "The Best Day" by Taylor Swift and put my mom and me in the song - but that's okay.  I think it is so important to remember and honor her memory, even if it's not always easy.

Out of all bad, must come good, and in this case, the good is education.  Before my mom got sick, I had heard of ovarian cancer, but didn't know much about it.  After her death, I took comfort in learning everything about it I could.  I researched on the internet, read books, and talked to doctors.  I make sure to tell the women I know that ovarian cancer does not have glaring symptoms.  They can be easily overlooked or brushed off, which is why it is so deadly.  Through my studies, I learned that ovarian cancer and breast cancer can be directly linked, and a mutated gene can cause them.  Since my mom's mom had breast cancer, it is possible my sister and I could be carriers of this gene.  I have looked into genetic testing, but have not quite reached the point in my life where I am ready to carry through with that.

This year we had a birthday party for my mom - something I am hoping will become a tradition.  We released teal balloons (teal is the ovarian cancer color) with handwritten notes those who knew her attached to the balloons.  It was wonderful.  I would like to get to the point where we can volunteer as a family at the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center, or do charitable events like The Race for the Cure.  Though we have memories, I think it would be so much better if good for others can come out of our loss and we can help others through trying times.

The advice I can give to my friend - and to anyone else - is to take your time.  Grieve the way you want. Talk about your loved one and remember them.  Take time to be angry and to wonder "why".  But most importantly, move on with your life, and live in a way that you know would make your angel proud.  Living your life does not mean you are forgetting, it means you are living the dreams of those who have left you behind only to watch over you from heaven.  Remember that there will never be a day you don't think of who you have lost - and that's okay.  It's okay if you need help, or need to talk to someone.  Reach out to those around you, whether they be friends, a spouse, family, or a counselor.  Be grateful, everyday, for the blessings in your life.  Love is all around you.  Perhaps it is the laughter of your child, a hug from your husband, or a text message from your stepchildren.  Notice the good and important, and try not to dwell on the insignificant.  Cry, if you need to.  Try to laugh more.  There is no set date for "getting over it" and you will grieve in some way or another for the rest of your life, but that does not mean life is over for you.

Time does not necessarily heal all wounds, but you will get stronger...that, I can promise.