Addition to the Family

Most people who know us know we lost our beloved Max on June 16th.  He was an adopted dog, we found him at a local shelter on October 5, 2007 and let me tell you - I have never loved a dog like I loved Max.  He was gorgeous, a Rottweiler and German Shepherd mix (or at least that was what the shelter vet said) with the Rott coloring and a Sheperd face and a gorgeous, gorgeous plume tail.

Max was the type of dog I found incredibly easy to spoil.  To his detriment, I know but I literally could not help myself - once I decided I was choosing to not help myself.  He would get up with me every morning and I would make him sit for his cookie and then open his door and as soon as he finished that cookie he was off touring his kingdom.  He'd even sit on the back step so he could, as we always called it, "survey his kingdom."  He had a thick, beautiful coat of fur and the sweetest demeanor I had ever known.  Well...as long as he was dealing with people.  If he was dealing with other dogs, killing them was the only thing on his mind.  We had to keep him away from other animals, always.  He also managed to protect his home turf a few times in the years he lived with us and every neighbor knew to keep their dog away from ours.

It worked.

Then, he got sick and we had to put him down.  We were devastated.  Just...devastated.  Nothing has torn our hearts apart so deeply as having to make that decision for such an incredible friend.  I even commented it was almost harder than losing my mother and I've written several times as to how hard THAT has been.  Besides the obvious differences, though, I didn't have to decide to put my mother down.  I think THAT was the harder part between the two situations and it really didn't matter at the time that it was the absolute best decision for Max.

So - there we were.  No one barking a greeting to us, jumping in excitement as we came through the front door.  No one sauntering through the front yard with that confident assuredness that all was right with the world but he was prepared to take out anything that might want to make it "wrong."  No one tearing through his dog door to get to the squirrels outside, claws clacking across the kitchen floor...

The house was too quiet. 

That was all there was to it.  We needed a dog.  We needed a dog to keep us anchored to the house because otherwise?  It's just a place to sleep.  Don't get me wrong - we have friends over all the time, we have family over, we definitely live in our home but having a dog there while we're gone, someone to come home to?  That made it WORTH coming back home.  It meant if we were going to go out of town, it had better be worth it because if we couldn't take Max, we probably wouldn't go. 

So we started looking online.  Shelter after shelter posting pictures of available dogs.  And one would pop up and we'd "ooooh" and "aahhhh" and say "Now THAT is a good-lookin' dawg."  And after several weeks of that, we decided to visit the same shelter where we found Max.  The first week we went home empty-handed.  There were a couple of dogs we were interested in but one of them had been in a shelter his entire two years of life and had started resource guarding and he had bit a couple of the staff and volunteers at the shelter so he was ineligible for adoption.  That just breaks my heart.  If you could see this dog...  How anyone could walk by his cage and not choose him?  I did not understand...  I still don't. 

There was another one who caught my husband's eye.  He was a white Shepherd/Siberian Husky mix and we were pretty sure there was some wolf in there, too.  He. was. gorgeous.

But...like Shep, he had behavioral issues and they sent him to live at a shelter that specializes in his type of dog, acclimating him to their pack. 

Then there was Joe.  I had spotted him our first week but we spent so much time talking about the other two that we never had a chance to bring him up.  Until yesterday.  Back to N.O.A.H. we went, to see who was new and see who we might consider and no one caught our eye.  Except Joe...  And the staff up there spent about 4 hours trying to make sure we were the right family for this dog.  He has some cattle dog in him, that's pretty sure, but they listed him as a shepherd mix, too.  And he is stinkin' smart.  He's not at all furry like Max but he's whip-like strong.  His thighs are massive for a dog his size.  He's just beautiful.

And sweet.

But we're not letting that sweet fool us.  He'll run the house if we do.  We're working immediately on the ground rules and we've made all sorts of changes from Max.  Obedience classes are going to be coming up pretty quick, too.  We're not messing around. 

Look at this face....

Can you see why we have to be strict from the get-go?  I mean...how does that face not melt your heart?

How I love being a dog family...  He's not Max and that's good.  He's Joe and he's home.  I hope for a very, very long time.

Recipe Fail...

We have an apple tree in our backyard.  We've lived in this house for five years and it has never produced as many apples as it has this year.  So far I've made apple butter and applesauce and my husband made a pie.  Apples have been yummy.

 

With all of this cooking, though, it was bound to happen.  I flubbed a recipe.  I don't know if something was missing from it or if I did something wrong but my beautiful cream cheese apple bread not only doesn't look at all like the picture on the recipe but the center completely collapsed. 

 

 

 

Here's hoping it still tastes yummy but one thing is for sure, I'm not freezing loaf number two and saving it for Thanksgiving!

 

 

 UPDATED:  I did an online search and came across the recipe on this blog and realized as soon as I read it what I did wrong.  I didn't "fold" the flour, etc. into the wet ingredients.  I mixed them.  That gives me hope...I should be able to do it again and get it right!  Here's hoping.  And...we did go ahead and try one of the loaves and the taste is AMAZING!!!  I will definitely be trying this again and trying to get it right!!

National {fill in the blank} Day

I LOVE a good party.  I love planning them, I love all of the work that goes into putting them together, I even love cleaning up after them.  If I could, I'd plan parties ALL the time.  I came into that love a little late, though and so "event planning" wasn't the career for me but I sure can see myself doing it.

One thing is for sure, I don't need an excuse to throw a party but I sure do love it when one is handed to me.  What I've decided, though, is I need a "party calendar" - one that shows me in advance what the "National ________ Day" is and when it's happening.

For instance - September 18th - National Cheeseburger Day.  September 19th - National Talk Like a Pirate Day.  September 26th - National Pancake Day.

Who knew?

There HAS to be something out there - somewhere - that shows all of those "National" Days, right?  All I need to do is find them all, put them together in one place and then start planning parties around the ones I like.

I mean - who wouldn't love to talk like a pirate all day?  Or eat pancakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner?  Who wouldn't love to celebrate with a ginormous, juicy cheeseburger after a hard day at work...

Anyone know of any other FUN "National" Days?  When and what?

Sharing Opinions

A friend of mine posted a comment on Facebook today.  She was talking to someone who shared an opinion regarding my friend's "liberal" views on child labor in other countries.  The woman stated "I don't even have TV... I love how all you liberals automatically spout off things you know nothing about. Also...those "poor children" who have to work for pennies per day are happy to have those jobs to FEED their families. When do gooders like yourself go in and stop companies from hiring those children and poor people... Many times they starve because that was their ONLY source of income."

First, I have to say - I'm not a fan of name calling.  Probably because I have done it far too often in my life and it usually has disastrous results.  What I've realized is those words come out of our mouth, usually without thinking.  We don't even look at what we're saying as "name calling."  The term "do gooders" in her comment wasn't meant as a compliment, though.  It was a sneaky way to tuck an insult into the middle of her point.  That by itself would be enough to turn me off from listening to her.

The second thing I want to point out here is where she states "you liberals automatically spout off things you know nothing about."  Yeah - there is that name calling again but more importantly, she stereotypes AND makes an assumption about my friend's knowledge base.  Is she certain my friend doesn't know what she's talking about?  Does she know for an absolute certainty my friend has never talked to any of these "poor people" who "have to work for pennies per day?"  Probably not. 

This woman wasn't trying to make - or disprove - any kind of valid point.  Instead, she attempted to make my friend feel foolish, stupid and ignorant.  I'd be curious to ask her if she was part of her debate club in school.  If she ever had any kind of class on building a constructive argument.  I'm not against her having a view different from my friend.  This country was built on allowing differences of opinion.  I sometimes wonder, though, if we haven't strayed so far from being capable of stating a persuasive argument that the only way we know to share a differing opinion is to denigrate the person who doesn't agree with us.

That doesn't state our case at all persuasively.  It instead creates antagonism toward each other and then nothing is heard.  It's how feuds get started... and wars... 

I disagree with this woman on many levels but that isn't what I'm talking about today.  That would require a post all of its own, a lot of writing and re-writing and I'm not going there this morning.  What I wonder, actually, is what would happen if we called people who spoke that way to us on the carpet?  What if we asked them, politely, to back up what they just said?  How would that woman have reacted if my friend had asked her, point blank, what proof she had "those poor people" ARE happy to "work for pennies?"  What were the statistics, who had she talked to, what had she read?  Also, I would have probably asked her how she was so certain my friend didn't know what she was talking about.  How in depth had this woman gone into my friend's experiences to make such an accusation? 

Don't get me wrong - this wording is quite antagonistic and I realize that.  I'd probably word it exactly as I've written it but smarter people than me could definitely figure out a way to say it more diplomatically.  If they chose.

Say what you want about Jesus (and some of those comments would probably require a blog post of their own, too) but you can't argue too much with his methods of teaching.  He was incredibly persuasive often because his way of teaching involved asking those he taught a question.  He didn't lecture.  He didn't name call.  He didn't denigrate those who were listening to Him.  He "astonished" the Pharisees and scribes because He taught as one with authority.  Even those who sought to kill Him had to admit He knew what He was talking about and in those days, that wasn't so easy to do.  They didn't have college level classes on line in those days...  People then sat at the feet of teachers for years, learning all they could.  How did He gain and maintain such authority?  By teaching in such a manner as to be respected.  He made people think for themselves, rarely giving answers - just answering questions with more questions.

Perhaps it's time we stop trying to force others to swallow our opinions.  Perhaps it's time we converse in questions and with a sense of respecting another's thoughts - even if they are completely wrong.  Respect does not mean agree and does not mean condone.  It means treating others as we want to be treated.

Yup...that one is biblical, too....

 

Ovarian Cancer - Our Journey - Post 14

You know what I realized this morning?  It's the 21st of September, there are technically 9 more days until the end of the month and from here on out, my posts would be talking about the end of Mom's life.

I can't do it, folks.  I can't write about ovarian cancer for 30 straight days and maybe that's a good thing.  It'll mean being creative next year.  Maybe I'll do 30 days of how to use teal instead... Or... 30 days of how to live and DO what's on your bucket list, don't wait.  I don't know.

I just know I can't write for 30 days about the saddest year and a half of my life so far.  And you know why?  Because life isn't about death.  It's about living.  It's about living even if you DON'T have a terminal diagnosis.  Talking about that balloon festival trip brought up so much for me.  So many things I had thought about when Mom died but let time do what it always does - distract me, derail me, shift my focus.

See - before Mom got sick, I fought hard against human trafficking.  I did everything I knew to do to bring awareness of that horror to everyone I came in contact with and I knew my stuff, I'll tell you.  I knew the stats, I knew what was going on where and I knew who to talk to to get involved.  I knew I wasn't going to play some dynamic world-stage kind of role in that fight but I knew what my fight was.

Then, Mom was diagnosed and suddenly God said - focus here.  So I did.  I focused on Mom and our relationship and everything I could to make family as right as I could before she died.  I did learn I'm not the best diplomat in the world but I already knew that.  I learned I still needed to practice humility.  I'm not so good at being humble.  I learned I don't always have to be right but that I really, really like it when I am.

And I learned that we all have an "end" date and we don't know what it is so it's best to live each and every day as if today were that day.  I believe in heaven and my faith tells me I get to live there when I die but it also tells me that not everyone I love here will join me.  You don't have to agree with me but this is my blog so I'm not going to argue it.  It is a part of my faith and that's that.

I had the privilege of staying with my mother through her last weekend.  I gave her her last bath, I carried her from her bedroom to the dining room where the hospital bed was set up.  I gave her her last dose of morphine that Saturday night.  I found her at 4:30 AM Sunday morning, pretty quickly after she had passed.  Other than that, everything that happened that weekend stays with me.  I won't share it beyond saying the business of dying isn't at all glamorous, or quiet or easy.  The images I carry from that last weekend have robbed me in many ways - of my mother's "real" voice, how a "real" hug from her actually feels, even her laugh... I can't remember the sounds of who she really was.  All I can remember are the sounds from that weekend. 

There is that side of it but then there is the other side of it.  The side that says I was capable of being there.  What happened that weekend took a strength I had no idea I had - because it wasn't my strength.  This I know, with everything I am, if it weren't for God holding me up that weekend, I would not have made it through.  Remember that conversation I had with the nurse about my ex-husband during my son's birth?  She was oh so right - there is nothing worse, in my experience so far, than witnessing someone you love with all of your heart going through excruciating pain and you can do absolutely nothing to help them with it. I could administer morphine, I could wipe her forehead with a damp, cool cloth but she had to die without my help.  I couldn't do that for her. 

But God could and He could strengthen my hands, my back...and my heart... to get through those last 3 days. 

As time has passed, the memories from that weekend have not faded.  They are as clear to me as if they happened last weekend.  What has happened, though, are other memories are coming back.  It's as if they ran from a bully for a little bit, until they realized that bully really has no power.  Mom died that Sunday but she is not dead.  She is with Jesus.  She didn't end so much as she walked through a door.  I just had to close and lock it behind her.  Once my memories started to believe that (ok - that's poorly written but I hope you know what I mean), they could come back.  Tentatively at first but now?  Now it's like a flood.  Honestly, I still can't remember her real voice or her real laugh - but I can see her, the real her so I pray those sounds come back to me eventually, too.  I keep saying I need to watch videos of family gatherings so I can hear her again but so far, I haven't been able to do that very much. Not yet.  I know I'll get there, though.

So - I end my posts on ovarian cancer here.  Maybe somewhat in defiance.  Ovarian cancer won't go away just because October 1st happens.  My mother won't come back to life because I share memories of her here.  So...in defiance I stop.  I stop trying to hold onto something I can't get back.  Instead, I think, I'll turn a corner and see if I can figure out how to give it all a new look.  A new hold...  Sweet, beautiful memories of an amazing woman who I was blessed and am honored to have been able to call her Mom.

With that said, though?  Please don't ignore the message of these posts.  Ovarian cancer is a silent disease.  It masks itself as other issues that women ignore until it is too late.  Remember what I have said - Mom walked around for SEVEN YEARS with stomach issues, bloating issues, gas issues.  SEVEN YEARS she was told it was in her head.  And even though she was staged 1c, she didn't make it 2 years, let alone the 5 "average" for someone diagnosted at her stage.  Don't ignore the signs, no matter how small they may be.  Go.  Be your own best advocate.   

Now, I'm going to resume life in my "new normal."  God bless.

Ovarian Cancer Facts - Post 5

A few statistics:

1.  Approximately 204,000 people are diagnosed with ovarian cancer each year.

2.  Ovarian cancer ranks fifth in cancer deaths among women.

3.  The importance of an early diagnosis:  The prognosis for survival of 5 years or more for a woman diagnosed at Stage 1a to Stage 1c is 80-90%.  A woman diagnosed at Stage 4 is just under 12%.

4.  The percentage of women diagnosed early?  30%

Source

Ovarian Cancer - Our Journey - Post 13

We often hear people say don't put things off, don't procrastinate.  Tell someone you love that you love them, don't miss an opportunity to do that.  We've heard a thousand stories that drive that point home and I'm jumping ahead in the story a little bit here but this is mine. As I've been writing these posts, a lot of memories have come flooding back. Most of them are still hazy but some of them are incredibly clear. Those that are clear are sometimes painful.

 

Every year in Walla Walla, WA, there is a hot air balloon festival. It's not huge but it brings hot air balloons from all over the area and a few from out of state. My favorite part is the night glow. Balloons circle up and when the sun sets, they all fire up and the glow is breathtaking. The patterns and colors on those balloons are lit from within and it's gorgeous.

 

When I first moved out here I was fortunate enough to experience it one weekend. From time to time, Mom and I would talk about planning a trip over for the balloon festival. She so desperately wanted to see all of those balloons in one place and to experience that night glow show I talked so much about. 



We planned on getting a hotel, hanging out together, enjoying the balloons, the food, the craft booths... For many years it simply wasn't in my budget. To be honest, I don't know if it was always held over Mother's Day weekend but at some point we realized that was when it was held and while my grandmother was alive it was a bit tricky for us to plan on going. Nan couldn't travel like that anymore and Mother's Day was important to her. It always made us laugh - she would treat us to brunch. On Mother's Day. The oldest mother in the group, our matriarch and she treated us on that day of all days... But it was important to her.

I digress. It was, ultimately, why we never went to the balloon festival. Then Nan passed away and while it didn't occur to us that first year, it did finally sink in that we should go. So for three years we talked about it and in that talking, Mom was diagnosed. That changed things a bit. Suddenly it became urgent but then again, not so urgent. In all of Mom's treatment, we let too much time go by that first year - we couldn't get a hotel reservation and there was no way Mom was sleeping in a tent. The second year I wish I could remember what happened but I can't and so whatever it was, we didn't go that year, either.

Finally, January, 2011 we thought about it with plenty of time and made the arrangements. We were going with a few of my friends and we set it up so that Mom & I would have a room to ourselves if she were able to go but if she weren't, there wouldn't be an extra room.  We talked about that trip and talked about that trip for months.  Mom seemed excited but now?  Now I think she did that to avoid disappointing me.  Remember how I mentioned earlier Mom in tune with God, knowing He was going to call her home?  I'm fairly sure on some level she knew she wasn't getting to Walla Walla but at the same time, hope lived on and she might have thought "maybe..."



We were headed out on Friday and I talked to her briefly on the Tuesday before and it was then that I asked her and she said 'I don't think so.'  And that was that.  The end of a dream.  A small dream, mind you.  In the grand scheme of things, for all of the stuff I was able to do with my mother, not going to the balloon festival was fairly minor on the list of things we couldn't do but still...  It was another dagger, driving that point home.  Mom was dying.  Dying.  She would be gone.  Not here.  I couldn't call her, I couldn't ask her what she was up to today...did she want to go...  I couldn't ask her how to make her pork chops and I couldn't lose her lasagna recipe (again) because I wasn't going to just be able to call her and ask her.


Even as I sit and type this, I can feel it.  Inside.  It starts in my gut and wells up until it's so huge and so much pressure from the inside that I feel like if I don't scream, I'm going to explode.  I know God's plan is perfect and I know He didn't make any mistakes in calling her home but still...  Mom???  Why did He need Mom then?  Why so young?  Why so early?  Why so soon??? 


Going with her to the balloon festival wouldn't have changed the hurt in losing her.  It would mean one less regret, though. 


By the way - that scheduled trip?  The Walla Walla Balloon Festival 2011?  May 13-15, 2011.  Mom died on the 15th.


Don't put off until tomorrow...