Counting my blessings

"Thanksgiving" by Norman Rockwell

I wrapped up my Thankful Thursdays series last week.  I'll let you decide if it was intentional or a miscalculation.  (Before you decide, remember I do hold degrees in accounting and finance.  On the other hand, I'd rather balance a buzzing chainsaw than our checkbook.)

Anyhoo.


The six-week countdown was a good reminder of just how much of my life falls under the blanket heading of "blessings."  But they are/were pretty general in nature, and occasionally I suspect God likes to hear some specific thank-you's from me.  So here's just the tip of the iceberg of detailed things I'm grateful for, from A to Z. Some of these are more profound than others, but really - shouldn't we be grateful for everything we have been given, whether it's inconsequential or completely essential to our life?

A is for Anthony Shea.  Oldest son, owner of Sadie, my beloved grandpuppy.  He was our parenting guinea pig, and seems to have survived his childhood with a fairly well-adjusted outlook on life, and has become a confident, fun and capable young man.

B is for books.  Starting with the Bible and winding my way through cookbooks, Dr. Seuss, my beloved literary giants, even frothy fiction on the beach.  Books are one of life's greatest and simplest pleasures.  The smell of bookstores and books, new or old, the way the spine creaks when you open a book for the first time.  And the way a well-crafted story draws you into it, and makes you feel and think differently when you've finished reading it.

C is for chocolate.  It is and will always be my favorite flavor in the whole wide world.  Creamy milk or smooth and dark - it's all good.

D is for David Brice.  Younger son, and the child everyone would vote as most like his mama in so many ways.  He too somehow survived his "wonder years" under our parentage and has a way of looking at things that is uniquely his own.  Life with Brice will never, ever be dull.

E is for Eden:  my birth family.  My grandparents, aunts, uncles and my parents and brother all bear this name and they surround me with love, and I love 'em back.  Without them, I wouldn't be!

F is for football.  It took me a long time to be able to say I love the game, but recently on a trip home (after another frustrating defeat), the car was filled with football talk about the game and upcoming high school matchups that would lead up to the state final championship. And I realized I was in my element.

G is for gardening.  There is something about watching seeds become seedlings and the smell of fresh-turned dirt in the spring that brings me in tune with the One who created me and everything I see when I'm down on hands and knees, tending to things of this earth.

H is for Highland Heights Church of Christ. My spiritual family.  May God bless every one of my brothers and sisters.  It's not about the place, it's about the people and the faith and hope we share.

I is for ice cream.  Homemade is best.  A hot fudge sundae can cure almost anything, and an offer to slip out for some ice cream can make an ordinary evening rather extraordinary.

J is for Jesus.  He is my savior, my king, my teacher, my brother.  Everything I need to know about living in this world, I can learn from His example and teachings.  Without Him, I would have no hope for anything beyond this life.

K is for kisses from the dogs.  Puppy kisses are wet and sloppy and their doggy breath is stinky.  But they love me and  never tire of letting me know they do.  The trust and unconditional love of a dog is a treasured gift.

L is for Lea.  Many years ago, my husband's family opened their hearts and shared their name with me. My mother-in-law is an amazing and precious woman, my brothers- and sister-in-law are as close as blood.  You don't marry your spouse's family, but I think I got a pretty good deal when I married into this one.

M is for marshmallows. Roasted and toasted, or all soft and gooey floating on hot, hot chocolate.  Everyone's life should include some puffy goodness every now and again.

N is for needlework.  From the time I was a child, the women in my life taught me to use my hands to sew, embroider, crochet and knit.  Admittedly, I am not an artistic person by nature, but with a needle in hand, I can create something useful, soft to touch, and pretty to look at.  I'm grateful to those who taught me, and I've enjoyed teaching others.  It's a pass-along gift from one generation to the next.

O is for the Olympics. For thousands of years, humans have pushed their bodies in order to compete against each other.  Watching Olympic athletes is both inspiring and deluding - they make it look so effortless we sometimes forget how much blood, sweat, pain and tears it took them to reach the place where they are.  But it's a marvelous tradition that has stood the test of time, and continues to challenge us to be better tomorrow than we are today.

P is for polish.  I have a plethora of polishing and cleaning concoctions.  The smell of furniture polish says the house is clean.  Squeaky shiny mirrors and doors let light sparkle and glow.  The simple act of buffing and polishing something from dull and dirty to a soft sheen or high polish reminds me of how God works to remove my rough edges and and dirty spots.  Not to mention, a fresh coat of polish on my toes can make me happy from head to toe.

Q is for Q-tips.  Pure genius.  So small, so soft, and yet so totally useful. And cheap.  Really.  Just try to imagine life without them and then you'll be thankful for them, too.

R is for rainy days.  There is something healing and soothing in hearing rain drop to earth.  It's a cool respite in the middle of summer, a gentle noise that can lull us to sleep.  Naps on a rainy day?  Pure, simple pleasure.

S is for Shelby. Our youngest child and only daughter.  Swimmer girl is a beautiful creature inside and out.  I am humbled by her faith, and awed by her capacity to love and understand others, and her love of God and life. Sooner than I care to think about, she will be ready to strike out on her own, and I can't wait to see how her life turns out.

T is for Tony.  Aka Mr. Official.  And truly, my better half.  God must have thought a lot of me to put this man in my life.  There's so much more I could say, but if you know him, you know why I love him with my whole heart.

U is for uniforms, especially those worn by men and women who defend and protect us.  Since ancient times, soldiers have worn clothing that sets them apart from civilians, and I am always proud and humbled when I find myself standing next to a member of our military, whether they are in their dress blues or whites, or fatigues.  They have stepped up to the line and set themselves apart by their actions and their attire, and they have my undying admiration and respect.

V is for vacations. In my life, I've been privileged to visit from sea to shining sea and quite a few of the places in between.  The thrill of packing in anticipation of a trip, experiencing new vistas and foods, finding just the right keepsake to bring home, and finally returning to our own beds after some time away gives us memories that last a lifetime, and sometimes a new-found perspective.

W is for water.  It's not only what we're largely made of, but it replenishes us when we drink it, invigorates us when we jump in, cleanses and calms children (and adults) before bedtime, and reminds us of God's power and presence when we see his handiwork in thundering waterfalls, mirror-like lakes and pounding ocean waves.

X is for Xerox and X-rays, and all the other marvels of the technological age we live in, where we can replicate anything at the touch of a button, and peer inside our bodies and see babies growing, pinpoint cancerous tumors to remove, and see broken bones that can be made good as new.  We live in a truly amazing era.  And what we know now simply points out how much more we don't know.

Y is for yoga.  It is part physical, creating flexibility, strength and balance.  It's also part mental, soothing and calming with steady breathing and focused attention.  An hour of yoga is an hour well spent.

Z is for the zillions of blessings I haven't begun to list here.  Try to count your blessings, I dare you. They are infinite and they just keep coming, so keep enjoying the life you have and thank God for the the good things He sends your way.  As Harriet Beecher Stowe so eloquently put it,

"Give this one day to thanks, to joy, to gratitude."

Today is the big day.  It starts with the Macy's Day Parade (shout out to Evan O'Neal, who will be marching in it!) and turkey and all the trimmings. I pray for safe travels for all of us going "over the river and through the woods," and an edifying and peaceful day of giving thanks for all we have.

Happy Thanksgiving,

There's never a good time to be a curious dog

After replanting a container the grandpuppy recently mistreated, I thought I could breathe easy.

Not so fast.

Last Thursday, "big dog" was out doing her nightly business and spotted an animal moving in the shadows.  She - being the nosy Nellie type - decided to check it out.  The animal was a pole cat, of course.  You would think that white stripe and odor would tickle a memory somewhere in her dog brain, but apparently dogs have little recall and even less discretion.  So she got skunked for the second time in as many years.

I distinctly recall her first encounter with a skunk.  It was on my birthday two years ago. The spray caught her full in the face.  Happy birthday to me.

That time, I followed conventional wisdom and trotted to the store and bought gallons of tomato juice and doused her.  Then I tried hosing her down outside, followed by a warm bath inside. By the time I called the groomer, the bathroom was a wreckage of water and wet towels, and we were both cold, wet, traumatized and we stunk to high heavens.

At least this time around, I knew better.  (Note to the uninitiated:  tomato juice might work on humans or on a pet with dark fur.  But not on a white dog.  It stains their fur and makes them look like a pink punk-rocker dog.  And it did nothing for her "aura.")

Fast forward to last week.  After she spent the night outside (there was a lot of whimpering and whining out there), the groomers gamely took her on first thing in the morning.  God bless 'em - that is a thankless task.  I had them go ahead and clip her down while she was there...might as well get off most of the stinky fur while we're at it.

So now her head  appears about three times too big for her body, and she looks a little alien-esque. But the smell is dissipating quicker this time and neither of us is suffering any long-lasting trauma from another bathing ordeal.

Let's hope there isn't a "Close Encounters of the Third Kind Time" in her future.

Happy tales & tails,

A bad time of year to be a bad dog.

I love our grandpuppy. But the key word here is "puppy" - she's got a full grown dog's body and a puppy's lack of impulse control.

Which explains some carpet stains.

And this.

As bad as this looks, it looked much worse when we first discovered the carnage.

So what do you do when a container goes kaput in late summer?  It's too late to buy duplicate replacements, especially if they were part of a set, like this one was.

This late in the year, the pickins are slim indeed.  If we lived farther north, I'd just call the planter done for the season and put some pansies in it to enjoy through the weeks of fall.  But we live in an area that won't see 30-degree temperatures for another 6-8 weeks.  Pansies won't even be available for another month around here, and my motto is "leave no container unplanted," especially since we don't have much in the way of borders or vegetable garden this year.

Fortunately one of our garden centers still had a decent selection of annuals, including some coleus and begonias, making it easy to make do.  Since the begonias were in a four-pack, I inserted the others in a few other blank spots in the deck containers to try to tie the whole thing together, gave some remaining plants a haircut and fertilized and watered everything.

Now I'm just hoping the dog will leave this one alone and let it grow until the first frost does it in, sometime late in October.  Be good, sweet Sadie.

Happy planting,

Hot DAWG!

According to the Old Farmers Almanac, July 3 marked the start of the 40 dog days of summer and if my math is correct, that means they end today.  (Somebody tell the weatherman, please?)

Until recently I didn't really know why we call these hot, steamy days "dog days" - I just know the dogs seem to spend most of their indoor time these days moving from one cool spot to another on our wood and tile floors.   (Little dog spends a couple days a week over here, where she can romp and stomp and aggravate big dog and the cat until she finally sprawls out and naps along with them.)

Little dog and big dog snoozed while I steamed up the kitchen making pepper relish

Turns out, the term goes back to ancient Romans and astronomy. Sirius (the star) rose around sunrise around this time of year. The Romans thought they could appease his rage with sacrifices and offerings. Bad dog.

Knowing why we call them the dog days won't make them any cooler, so I'll just keep watering the plants and fanning myself and hoping my water and electric bills aren't too outrageous this month.

Stay cool!

While the boys are away...

the girls will play.  (The "boys" are headed to Knoxville for the UT-Bama game.  Fingers crossed we can keep the score close. Or just get on the board. Yes, we have low expectations, so anything we get is a gift.)

So what's on our agenda today?  We're puppy-sitting Sadie, and I was reminded why you don't buy one toy for two kids.  Little dog enthusiastically snagged the new toy (a cat-like tennis ball with rope legs), much to big dog's chagrin.   I think this look and howl can be safely interpreted as "Mom, make her share with me!"

 As soon as we pulled the pumpkin gooey butter cake out of the oven, we girls took "the girls" for a puppy walk at the greenway.  

Now that the pooches are exhausted from the brisk 3-mile round trip, we will leave them to nap and take the gooey cake to a painting class this evening at Faithful Strokes.  Yes.  Me.  Painting. Artistically.  With something smaller than a roller or 2-inch wide trim brush.  Using more than one color.

They promised me anyone could do it, so we'll see...

Happy weekend!

Dog + Dyson = Da Big Stinky

I adore my sweet dog.  She is 80 pounds of gentle playfulness - she sings, she sneezes on command and her Samoyed smile melts your heart.  She's also 80 pounds of beautiful white fur.  We keep her coat trimmed because she is an indoor dog, venturing outdoors only for a little R&R or to hang out with us when we're working around the yard.  But even trimmed, she sheds like nobody's business, as does the resident longhaired Mainecoon cat named - appropriately - Luci (short for Lucifer.)  Notice I'm not singing Luci's virtues...in fact, you can probably hear the crickets chirping in the deafening silence.

Little dog is not so little any more...

Anyhoo, I am the proud owner of a Dyson DC24, which slurps up everything it finds on our hard floors and area rugs.  (With the two resident beasts and the visits from "little dog" Sadie-the-grandpuppy, carpeting would be completely inbearable.)

Before the Dyson, I went through a series of cheap little stick vacs - not as powerful, but lightweight, easy to use and did an admirable job on the hard flooring.  When the most recent one died, and I finally broke over and got the vacuum of my dreams...or so I thought.

Let me preface this by saying I'm no stranger to the concept of cleaning the vacuum; in fact, I think the producers of Friends could have shot this vacuum-the-vacuum scene at my house.

The one major drawback to the Dyson is the difficulty in getting rid of the pet hair smell in between vacuumings - and it goes stale faster than an open bag of Lay's chips at the beach.  I thought it was just me, but after some Googling, I know I'm not alone in having problems with odor in my Dyson.  And when I say odor, I don't mean a little aroma - it's a hold-your-breath-or-you'll-gag kind of stench.  Vacuuming necessitates a second pass through the house with Febreeze or Oust spray, and even then I'm doing the "sniff sniff" test for hours afterward, certain I can still smell the telltale odor of pet hair.

After scouring the web for commiseration, tips and tricks, my next attempt to curb this problem involves a can of pressurized air to clean the cyclone chamber, and then a scented dryer sheet tucked into the dirt canister, after I take it apart and meticulously clean and wash all the filters and the plastic canister of course.    I love my dog, I love my Dyson, I love my dog, I love my Dyson...

Happy vacuuming,

Words we love to hear

On this side of "Well done, good and faithful servant," there are some phrases that are guaranteed to bring joy to our hearts and a smile to our faces.  A few come to mind, arranged in no particular order:

"Happy birthday!"

"Breakfast is ready!"

"Can I have your phone number?"

"You have a new text message."

"Congratulations, graduate!"

"You're hired!"

"I'm going to let you off with a warning instead of writing you a ticket."

"Your table is ready."

"I love you."

"I do."

"Sure we can bump you to first class for this flight."

"Your loan was approved."

"It's a healthy baby [girl] or [boy]."

"Nothing serious - no sign of concussion" (or "no broken bones," or "it was only a baby tooth.")

"We're home!"

"You're in luck:  it's the last one in stock and it's your size."

"Let's meet for lunch - my treat!" 

"Can I have your recipe?"

"Happy anniversary!" 

and...

"Your order has shipped."

If anybody is looking for me today, I'll be busy washing and putting away my new favorite cooking things and whipping up some cinnamon roll dough for a special breakfast this weekend.

But I do have time for a photo update of the pooches.  Here's little dog in one of her calmer moments. 

And here's big dog, sweet as always.

Shades of summer

How can you tell when summer is approaching?  Well, the days get longer and hotter.  The A/C unit on something is going to stop working just when you have your first upper 80s day, ummm....like today on our way home from worship services. (So much for fine Bavarian motor engineering. How DID our forebears forbear without air conditioning?)

Rising temperatures aside, there's just something about knowing you don't have carpool duty in the a.m. that makes Sunday evening stretch out in a leisurely fashion. Other signs of summer?  First swim practice (dryland but still...) and fireflies.  Girls giggling in the hot tub at 10 pm, with their pop music at a decibel level that's just loud enough to cause a mild irritation for neighbors who turn in early, but not so loud so as to result in a patrol car pulling up outside.  Sunday night sleepovers are a SURE sign of summer.

Other signs?  Crisp linen trousers with sandals, with toes peeking out that are tapping out a Morse code SOS for an emergency visit to the pedicure salon. A Sunday afternoon trip to the car wash/vacuum, followed by a driveby at Sonic for a happy hour diet cherry limeade.  Ahhhh, the taste of summer pops and fizzes and bubbles.

The countdown to the start of our all-summer Bible Vacation now stands at just under 2 weeks.  The new songs are recorded and being edited to a CD for copying.  The skits are in the hands of the teacher/actors.  Videotaping of our story lady ("Professor Peabody," with her sidekick "Sherman") has begun..

My office looks like Oriental Trading and Hobby Lobby are having a gangster-style turfwar, with props, posters, craft supplies and lists of to-do's stacked everywhere, I'm not sure who will win that one, but I know the ending won't be pretty.

It's a given the next few days will fly by in a dervish of frantic last-minute scheduling changes, the insane scramble to get everything moved in and set up, and making the rounds so everyone knows where they need to be, what they're supposed to be doing, and when they need to be in place. Flyers to the Christian school elementary kids before the last day of class?  Check.  Postcards to last year's attendees in the mail and a registration table up and running?  Check and check.

Hearing stories from teachers whose students can barely contain their excitement at the upcoming kickoff? Priceless.

The real question is, will this domestic dilettante be able to squeeze in much quality time in the kitchen between now and then?  What about time for Scadie-sitting?    Pedicure, even?  That remains to be seen.

No coffee outside this a.m.

I woke up to the pitter-patter of raindrops, so no moseying around on the deck with a mug of liquid sunshine this morning. As I pulled out of the drive this morning, I was informed we were under (another) tornado warning.   Fortunately, no tornadic activity came to pass.  After the rain, I thought I'd slip out and get a few pictures, just to remind myself what these things looked like when I first planted them.  Then I can see what they look like after I tend or neglect them for a while!  Here are the three pots that survived another winter, decked out with some purple pennisetum grass, fuchsia-colored geraniums, coleus in various shades of pink and red, some twinspur, gold creeping jenny and purple oxalis (the small pot has a clump of diamond frost euphorbia that will hopefully turn into a billowy mass of white flowers.  Now to find four additional planters to arrange around the deck's entrances, find plants to complement but not duplicate and of course, take care of all summer.

The sidewalk between the garage and deck is flanked with coral bells (technically Heuchera and some Tiarella, and maybe even a few X Heucherella tossed in for good measure), along with hostas, from tiny 'Kabitan' to tall blue 'Elegans' and a couple 'Guacamole' types that are large and getting larger, now in their third year in their new homes.  But once the coral bells are done blooming, the foliage gets a little boring (serenely so) and so I added some window boxes along the deck to introduce a little color on the way from the backyard to the deck.  This year's lineup includes a yellow/purple torenia, a purple-y calibrachoa (theoretically both should trail over the edges), some purple heliotrope in the middle for good smells, lobelia to fill in all the rest.  Looks like my cocoa fiber cutting needs a little fine tuning.


As I was snapping pictures, I realized a Clematis I planted (and forgot about) finally scrambled up the arbor on its own and is swathed in flowers right now.  I fed it this spring when I was weeding and mulching the bed so hopefully it will continue to grow and develop a nice sturdy root system - maybe next year's blooms will cover the entire arbor!  For now it does add a nice punch of color if you approach the yard from the side.  The oakleaf hydrangea is almost ready to let loose with her annual display of blooms. (Then it will be time to tame the beast once again...she quickly gets 8-10 feet tall and wide if I don't take the pruning saw and loppers to her annually.)

Last week's menu was in an uproar...again.  One of these days life will settle back down (no need for a laugh track there...I know that's worth a chuckle from those who know me.)  But I am eager to use the revamped grill this week, so I'll see what I can find for some innovative new meat or veggie flavor pairings and update the chalkboard with something more than a wish list.



In the meantime, I have a big dog/little dog picture I snapped last week when Scadie came to spend the day with us.  When it was her feeding time, I figured I better give Spice a little food as well, just to prevent an outbreak of WWIII in my kitchen.    I figure I should probably take pictures regularly...otherwise she'll soon be out of the puppy stage and growing into those massive paws of hers. A better shot would have been when I took them both for a walk, although I would have needed a third hand to hold the camera, since they don't walk at exactly the same pace.  I hope this Sunday afternoon finds all our family and friends enjoying a  peaceful day that God has made, whether the sun is shining or the rain is replenishing the land where you live.  And if you have any inspired ideas for container pairings, please drop me a note.  With four to fill, my biggest fear is that they all start to look identical, or they clash hideously.

Really random pictures

Last weekend was a busy one:  Saturday was another workday in preparation for our Summer Bible Vacation at Highland Heights  and our 2HERS group held a mother/daughter luncheon for us moms - don't they look great?

Of course, Sunday was Mother's Day, which we spent traveling back and forth to Lebanon (long story - let's just say my husband and his mama had a failure to communicate regarding schedules.)  Then it was back for evening services and home again, when I agreed to watch Scadie (pronounced "Sadie" - the c is silent) while the guys grabbed a bite to eat.  Suddenly the sweet sleeping princess puppy turned into an ornery and over-stimulated hyperactive bundle of energy racing back and forth through the house.  Didn't see that coming.  She tormented the cat and dog repeatedly by barking shrilly at them.  They're both way too old for that nonsense, and the looks they gave her said as much.  So she then proceeded to try to rip into everything she could get her sharp little milk teeth into.  When I left to get our daughter from a youth event, the mini-me had the big dog's one-and-only chew toy all slobbery. Which didn't make anybody too happy as you can see.

Hey, sweet husband of mine, do you suppose we can get down the missing trim in the background?  I don't notice it until I take a photo and it shows up, along with the smudge on the wall where the big dog likes to roll around and put her muddy paws on the wall.    I won't complain too loudly - he's commuting back and forth to Ashland City each day, helping supervise the mucking out of the offices.  A decidedly unpleasant job, made worse by the start time (6:30...tomorrow will be even earlier.)

And while I was downloading the other weekend pictures, I happened to come across this one I snapped of the cat the other day, when she was posing as mantel art.

She was quite good for a while up there, and then she got bored with the pose and down she came.  Of course, when I took the shot, she gave me a baleful glare to let me know she did not appreciate the attention.  Who knows what really goes on in the walnut-sized cranium of hers?  It turned cool on Monday, and we actually turned the heat back on for a couple days.  Today was warmer and tomorrow should be downright hot.  Back to A/C I guess.  Maybe the garden will soon be dry enough to actually plant...

Big news: we're grandparents!

Well, not really - but until our children decide to settle down with a spouse and have real children, this 9-week-old bundle of fur will have to do. Last night, our oldest son adopted a "baby" - a pure white husky that looks a lot like our Samoyeds when they were puppies. As of yet she has no name, so we just say "here, pooch" when we want her attention. If anyone has a suggestion for a name, we're all ears (and so is she, as you can see in this picture.)

Our own dog wasn't too keen on the interloper's appearance this morning, but after a few minutes, they seemed to decide they could get along. They both agreed it was fun to play in the grass this morning, although having short legs meant "the pooch" got her belly tickled by the grass, which is nearly as tall as she is. She spent most of her time hopping instead of walking or running.

And like all good "grandparents" we immediately volunteered to watch "the baby" while Shea worked today. And like all new parents, he has called to check on her. So far, her routine is romp, stomp and nap (and a bathroom break thrown in for good measure.) Something tells me the rest of the day will be much of the same, plus food.

Let's hope my wool rugs are safe from puppy messes...which do tend to come with puppies. The cat is simply wondering what she did to deserve two dogs drinking out of *her* waterbowl, and skulking around with a bigger-than-usual scowl on her face.

3.75 @10.54 min/mi = tired to the nth degree

I should have just sucked it up and ran the last 1/4 mile, but my legs and feet (and back!) were tired, so I stopped short of my goal. Whimper, whimper. But it did feel really good to get in *almost* 4 miles this morning. And I'm finally hitting a good stride - just a few more clicks and I'll be at 10 minutes/mile. I'll never be the fastest runner in the world, but I'm zeroing in on a respectable pace, all things considered (like my advancing age, the relatively short length of time I've been running, how seriously I take it, etc.)

The local weathermen are predicting a snowfall of epic proportions tomorrow. Histrionics to boost ratings, probably. But along with everyone else in the southeastern U.S. (and parts of the Midwest), I will be hitting the grocery store today and hoping the weather holds up so we can make it to Perfect North tomorrow night without incident.

I guess I should stock up on potatoes while I'm grocery shopping - the pooch has decided she's soooo hungry she is willing to steal potatoes from the pantry and gnaw on them when I'm not looking. This morning, I nearly tripped over a spud lying on the floor near her second bed (yes, the princess has two beds.) It had doggy slobber on it, so it had to be her. (Plus she just looked guilty. And hungry.) Dieting is fit for neither man nor beast, it would seem...