My Lenten Epiphany

It's only in the past few years that I've become aware of Lent. Not having grown up in a religious household, I knew nothing of it as a child. Though I became a Christian at age 12, I have been involved in a denomination which never references the season, at least not that I can recall.

I enjoy hearing what people partaking in Lent decide to give up and why. However, though I've considered it many times, I've never taken part in it myself.

My reason?

Pride.

This is in no way a pronouncement on others who do observe Lent, but I've just known for myself that if I succeeded in the 40 days of abstinence from *fill in the blank* that I would feel... 

...quite proud of myself.

Um, who does that sound like?

Hmmmm...could it be... 

...Satan?

Where's the spiritual value in feeling like Lucifer right before he was cast out of God's presence?

Happily, today I had a Lenten epiphany that has given me a new and valuable perspective. It was spawned by the words of a pastor. He said something to the effect of: "It is good to exercise the 'say-no-to-self' muscle because sometimes it is very important to say no to yourself."

Hmmm...yeah. Lives are regularly ruined when people don't choose to say no to themselves.

Several times a week, I jog, but not because I enjoy it. In fact, I can honestly say (in a very whiny voice) that I don't enjoy it. Sure, there is a small sense of pride when I'm finished with the three miles of bad attitude, but that's not my motivation. Rather, I know it's important to exercise all the muscles involved in the somewhat distasteful process so that they continue to function well. I want to be healthy physically. So, too, do I want to be healthy spiritually.

Remember this guy?

He was the captain of the spaceship in the movie, WALL-E. He was piloting an entire city-sized-craft of people who thought they never had to say no to themselves.

Maybe it's a bit silly of me to reference a fictional work to prove a realistic point, but I thought the movie-makers did an excellent job of showing us in an amusing manner where people who have no sense of self-denial can end up: planet-less, weighing 500 pounds and having lost the ability to walk across a room.


I do believe that I could now observe the season of prohibition for a right reason (and not feel like the Father of Lies afterward).

Will I? And if so, in what manner will I deny myself?

I'll get back to you on that...

;)

Jeet Yet?

I'm up to my earlobes in planning this year's surprise family vacation.

However, don't get too excited (I love how so many people eagerly question us about our trips because they all want in on the big reveal). It's going to be a lesser affair this time around. Additionally, Jeff knows where we'll be staying for one night of the 6 day venture, so he's not completely in the dark like he usually is. The kids, however, are completely clueless.

(By the way, Jeff likes being surprised about the details--everything from where we're going, how we'll get there, who we'll see and what we'll eat. It was his initial casual remark of "surprise me" years ago when I was planning our first official family vacation that started this whole clandestine tradition. What I'm trying to say is that I don't do this because I'm some control freak. My control issues are completely separate from this annual occurrence. ;) )

As I was saying...we're doing a scaled-down version this time around, so when you come here to read about it later on, don't cue your internal drum roll as you click on my blog. Your internal kazoo might be more appropriate.

One of the reasons for a diminished venture is because we think it's time to tour some colleges with the kids. Tobias is a junior this year and Delaney's right behind him in 8th grade. It won't be long at all before they consider where they'll go to school and they can't do that very effectively without being familiar with some universities.

Another reason is that Jeff couldn't get any time off of work in the summer and most of the places we like to go are frozen over until mid-June. (We're a woodsy-lakey-mountainy-kind-of-family.)

Anyway, several people have asked me questions about trip planning and I thought I'd share a few tips. That brings me back to my original question...

Jeet yet?

If yes, were you pleased? If not, is that because you weren't sure where to go to do so? Well, let Trip Advisor help you!

When planning a trip, Trip Advisor is probably my favorite website.

Let's say I know we're going to be rolling through Port Angeles, Washington right around lunch time on day 3 of our trip. I know we're likely to be very hungry because we will have had a cheapo continental breakfast four hours earlier and will have spent the morning hiking around Hurricane Ridge up in the Olympic National Forrest (I wish!). So, I cruise over to TripAdvisor and type "Port Angeles, WA" in the search bar at the top right.

Next, I choose 'restaurants' from the column on the left.

I know that we'll have a long drive to Portland ahead of us after lunch and we probably won't want anything too heavy sitting in our guts the entire way, so I'm thinking Thai food. (Hmmm...when am I not thinking Thai food?) Therefore, I scroll down in the 'cuisine' box until I see 'Thai' and check the box next to it. If you're going to be in a big city, you'll get a list of several Thai restaurants in order of best reviewed to worst reviewed (or not yet reviewed). In the case of Port Angeles, there's apparently only one Thai place.

Click on the restaurant's name and scroll down to read the reviews of customers. Wow, apparently, Sabai Thai is really good. Yay for Port Angelesians.

I like to read several reviews to get a feel for the place. Sometimes people will mention a specific dish that's especially good or they'll warn you that it's a cash only place (which I've learned is important to know!).

If I'm sold on the place, then I'll Google-map from Hurricane Ridge to Sabai Thai so we can easily find it. 

Obviously, you may suddenly feel like eating pizza instead of the Thai food you planned a month prior. Then change things up! I do find it helps things run more smoothly if I plan things out but we don't always stick to it.

Ruing the Day

A couple of years ago, I happened upon a very entertaining blog by a woman who lives somewhere out there in Cyberville. Her posts were witty and full of great photos which she had taken herself. It was good stuff. Additionally, I was impressed by her honesty and straightforwardness. I became a regular reader.


After a while, I began to wonder if she was sharing too much. What she had to say about other people often painted them in a bad light. Of course, I didn't know these people (though I saw what they looked like from her prodigious supply of pics), but lots of people who read her blog did know these people. Her life wasn't a sit-com or a drama where we could all watch and feel fine about our intense feelings for the different "characters". These were real people who didn't have an effective way of answering for themselves if they felt misrepresented.


Anyway, one day I was greatly saddened to read a post in which she referred to her teenage son as an ***hole and a ****head. Now, I don't for one instant doubt that those were the words that popped into her mind when he committed whatever nefarious act upset her so much and I'm not saying there's never a time for her to share that sentiment with a couple of close friends, but to declare it on her public blog?!?!

I am a huge believer in acknowledging reality. I find it vital to think about and discuss many issues even if they are uncomfortable or distasteful.

Not, however, in any situation nor in any manner.

There are times when the recognition of subjects is inappropriate. For example, if doing so will result in an unnecessary burden for the hearer, then what is the point? Also, we need to consider who ought to hear the things we say since it can be very destructive to involve others needlessly.

This notion greatly influences what I write about here. I realize that readers who don't know me well may come here and get the idea that I live a nearly perfect life without trial nor tribulation. That is not at all the perception that I want to give. However, due to the completely public nature of this blog (anyone with internet access can come here, though not many actually do!) I don't lay out all my issues for others to see.

Why?

It's primarily because most of my problems have to do with people and I don't deem it appropriate to fill your computer screen with my own one-sided dirt.

Take my children, for instance. They are wonderful and I love them more than life itself. However, my relationships with them are regularly upsetting. I'm not denying that reality by not including details of these trials here for you all to see. In fact, I often would like to type up some situation because I think it could be helpful to other parents to read about my experiences. Yet, I am very cautious in doing so.

The reason: I value my relationships with my kids and I don't want to jeopardize them. Whenever I include something about my kids (or my husband) here and I wonder if it will embarrass or offend them, I ask them to read it over before I hit the 'publish' button. I ask them, "Do you mind if I share this? Do you feel I represented you fairly?"

Then, according to their answer, I may or may not alter the post.

Again, the issue isn't: "Is what I'm sharing true?" but rather: "Is my sharing of this appropriate?"

Once my kids are grown and off enjoying their own adventures in parenting, I may very well write a book about our previous years together full of lots of amusing and/or distressing illustrations. Now, however, we are still in the midst of it and I don't deem it proper to do so.

Once you have declared something, you can't undeclare it. You can deny it. You can apologize for it. You can even claim temporary insanity...

...but it'll still be stuck in the minds of everyone who heard or read your original proclamation.

A few years back, someone I love very much appeared to be making (what I considered to be) a huge mistake. In my intense desire to keep "Pat" (do you like how I'm using a unisex name to help maintain this person's anonymity?) from making this beyond-a-minor-blunder, I decided to be honest...ferociously honest.

I explained what I saw as a likely outcome on the road Pat was treading. To add credence to the reasonableness of my opinion, I included references to some of Pat's past blunders and present foibles.

It was not a pleasant conversation. It was not a conversation that I wanted to have. I looked and sounded like a first class witch and I knew it.

The only reason why I was willing to say what I said was because I sincerely love Pat and thought that my ruthless onslaught of reality could save him/her from an even more intense heartache than what I was presently inflicting.

Well, my friends, I regret a lot about that situation. Sadly, I believe that I will until my dying day.

Yes, what I said to Pat was true and my intentions were excellent, but those aren't inherently good reasons for saying just anything.

Thank God it was a private conversation. Publicity would have exponentially compounded the problems resulting from my savage dose of honesty.

Now, with all this said, I acknowledge that there is most definitely a time and a place for us to go to war verbally in both private and public settings. We just need to make sure it's the correct time before doing so...

...or there will be regrets.

How to Throw a "Miraculous" Party

Step 1: Have a baby.

Step 2: Wait many years until the baby morphs into a hairy teen with his own unique sense of style.

(This particular former-baby has declared Wednesday "suit day", so each week he dons his top hat, attaches his authentic pocket watch (no, seriously) to one of his thrift-store-purchased jackets and carries his brief case off to school with him.)

Step 3: When the (in our case) Abe Lincoln lookalike is about to turn 17, go here and get a hold of some of these:





(In case you aren't familiar with these, they are comprised of two ingredients: miracle berries and corn starch. Indigenous to West Africa, miracle berries, once eaten, have a surprising ability to affect one's taste buds in such a way that sour things suddenly taste sweet.)

Step 4: Invite your former-baby's friends over to celebrate his beginning of another year and to bewilder their taste buds.

Step 5: Prepare a tray of consumables.

WARNING: The following step is absolutely VITAL.

Step 6: To avoid confusion (and a possible police investigation), as party goers arrive, pull their parents aside. Explain to them what miracle berries are so that they'll understand when their child later tells them that you handed out pills with the promise of a really far out time.

Step7: Gather around the table and pass out the tablets.

Step 7: Pop them pills. Let them dissolve slowly, trying to contact as many of your taste buds as possible.























Some people won't like the taste of the tablets.

           And others will.















Step 8: Once the tablets have dissolved, dig in.

Enjoy some lemon, rind and all, now as sweet as candy.



Taste the sweetest blueberries you've ever had burst in your mouth.


















Sample the dill pickle slivers, but ONLY if you're a sweet pickle appreciator (which I am not).



Step 9: Once the bounty of the sample tray is spent, fling open your fridge and kitchen cupboards, searching for other edibles that might prove interesting.

Drink mouthfuls of apple cider vinegar like it's punch. Try a little dot of honey, sweet enough to make a whole hive of bees jealous. Sip hot sauce (but not straight from the bottle).

Step 10: Assess the party and decide how you'd do things differently next time.

If I did this again, I would provide more sour things to sample like rhubarb, limes, raw cranberries (not craisins), kumquats, etc. I wouldn't bother with non-sour offerings like cheddar cheese, bell peppers and mustard because there wasn't much difference in the taste of those.

This was fun. However, we all agreed that although there was a definite effect, none of us would describe the experience as anything close to miraculous. Admittedly though, it's unlikely that many tablets would be sold if they were called "Pretty Cool Berry Tablets".

*Note: Steps 1 and 2 are not mandatory in order to throw a "Pretty Cool" Party, but we're glad they were a part of the preparation for ours.

The Unintentional Liposuction Procedure

There is a spectrum of mortification on which all of our shameful experiences fall.

Some instances are embarrassing but you can laugh about them almost immediately (like when you're putting groceries away from your reusable market bags and you find a pair of underwear clinging to the inside of one as if it was desperately trying to survive the laundering process and thought itself safe there and you wonder if the box boy was blushing whilst bagging up your bread and mushrooms).

Other occurrences are so embarrassing that you internally (or even externally) shudder every time you recall them (which you try very hard not to do). In fact, the word "embarrassed" isn't adequate. Extremely "distressed" or even "emotionally damaged" are more apt.

And then there are the things right in the middle which are genuinely embarrassing and you really hope they never happen again, but you can sorta kinda laugh about them...eventually.

One of those latter experiences is that with which I shall now regale you.

A few years ago, I was on a team of women from my church fellowship who were going to Romania on an outreach. We were going to work with disadvantaged Roma (that's the PC term for "gypsy") children and put on a one day women's conference. In order to raise funds needed for said-trip, we offered to clean houses in exchange for a donation toward our cause.

Let's just say that on this team of house cleaners, I was not the MVP. Nor, at the end of the season, was I likely to be awarded the "most improved" trophy.

You see...I hate cleaning.

Don't misunderstand. I'm not a sick slob. My home is fairly tidy and devoid of clutter and any mess which is sticky, stinky, crunchy or slippery is cleaned up immediately. However, if the mess is of a dusty, linty or even somewhat grimy nature, it will probably be there for a while. Sometimes a long while.

And when I do clean, I have a sort of good enough attitude.

*swipe* *wipe* *primp* *fluff*       Uhhh...yeah, that's good enough.

So, as you can imagine, I was a bit nervous about cleaning houses in the name of Jesus, so to speak. Can't I just edit some term papers in the name of Jesus or even bake some homemade rolls? Those are endeavors I can excel in but cleaning?

It's not that I think I'm too good to clean. Rather, I know that I'm no good at cleaning. I don't try to do a crappy job--it just comes naturally.

Anyway, I warned the other ladies that I don't have a good cleaning eye and that if they saw something I should scrub a little harder or sweep a bit more thoroughly then they should feel free to tell me.

We arrived at one particular house and I was given the job of vacuuming for which I was very grateful because it's kind of hard to screw that up.

Or so I thought.

There I was, vacuuming away in one of the two living rooms, trying to suck every last misplaced particle off of the carpet when I felt the roaring appliance bump into the base of the coffee table.

Now this wasn't just any old dinged up wooden coffee table. By the looks of it, I think the homeowners purchased it at a garage sale in Vatican City. In fact, the pope himself may have propped his feet up on that very table.

You see, it was similar to these:























When the vacuum bumped into the coffee table's base, it wasn't just a wooden leg it hit. It was a cherubic leg and horror of horrors...

...there was a big chunk missing from the thigh!

Little flakes of white plaster littered the floor. My stomach lurched.

What should I do!?!?!

First, I sucked up all the little white bits of carnage, careful not to inflict more damage in this accidental case of liposuction.

Mental mayhem ensued:

I wasn't being careless or rough! How could I have busted that thing so easily? People shouldn't own furniture that can't withstand a little bump from a vacuum. What do I say? Do I say anything? I have to say something! But this is ridiculous! I wasn't being careless or rough! How could I have busted...

If I was already uneasy at the idea of doing a crummy cleaning job, I was now thoroughly distressed.

By the end of our cleaning time, I had determined to admit to what I had done, so I pulled one of my friends aside and confided in her. She practically held my hand as we approached the man who had hired us to clean his home.

Standing before him, I looked up into his face (he was very tall, his eyes at least an entire foot above mine so I felt like a naughty second grader confessing to the principal) and said:

"I'm so very sorry but I damaged your coffee table while vacuuming."

Well, that's what I intended to say. Unfortunately, I only got about four words in before I began to blubber like a baby, rendering my speech nearly unintelligable.



(I don't cry very often, buy when the urge strikes, it is nearly uncontainable. In books, you read about the hero or heroine expertly controlling their facial muscles and tear ducts in spite of their entire family just being dragged off by wolves or some equivalent trauma. Not me. I knock a chunk off a plaster thigh and fat tears start slipping down my trembling cheeks while my voice squeaks out in barely decipherable Morse code.)








 


 Somehow, the words "broke", "vacuum" and "table" must have been discernible.

The man looked down at me with such care and concern in his eyes that I lifted my arms and said,

"Hold me, Papa."

Okay, not really, but he was really cool about it as he calmly suggested that we go look at the damage.

All of my cleaning friends, the man and myself made our way into the living room where I shamefully pointed out the afflicted heavenly limb, my eyes still dripping.

"Oh, that?" he said, waving his hand. "You didn't do that. My daughter did that months ago."

What?!?!


I'm innocent?!?!?

It actually made sense. The missing piece was a good inch long gouge and there hadn't been any chunks on the floor, just the little flakes which I must have bumped loose.

Although the moment had turned to one of immense relief, I was still horribly embarrassed and additionally now felt rather stupid.

Since that day, I haven't seen that guy once and (although he was very kind and I do wish him well in life)...

...that's fine by me.

Quite the Selection

So this is probably what we're going to have to choose from, huh?

             

Or

Seriously?

Phooey.

Reeking Realities

Relationships with others are some of the most rewarding experiences we have as humans. Unfortunately, they're also some of the most confusing and painful.

Years ago, I crossed paths with a woman whom we will call Laura. My heart really went out to this lady. She was the mother of a boy about Tobias's age, 7-ish. "Zack", was intelligent and willful and she had the difficult task of raising him alone.

I genuinely wanted to be a help and blessing to this woman so when she suggested we get the boys together I was ready to do so.

It didn't go so well.

I'm not one of those moms who is blind to her own children's faults, always blaming the other kid, but it didn't take long for me to deduce that Zack's presence was hard to enjoy.

Many times I overheard Tobias tell him, "Stop that!", "Don't do that!" "You're gonna hurt it!", etc. (These weren't statements I commonly heard coming out of his room when he was playing with other companions.) Zack's response? Laughter and a continuance of the undesired behavior.

I understand this kid had a difficult row to hoe. His father had expressed no interest in being involved in his life and his mom was trying to figure out how to provide for all of his physical necessities in addition to the emotional and intellectual ones.

If it had just been me having to deal with his less-than-winning personality, I would have stuck it out longer. Being an adult, I can remind myself that hopefully the good from the relationship is outweighing the bad.

But how much should I expect my kids to endure? 

The third or so play date was the final straw. Just before Zack arrived, Tobias informed me that he really didn't like playing with him. Of course I want my kids to learn how to deal with difficult people, but forcing them to play for a few hours with someone who disregards their feelings constantly is above and beyond the call of duty and since my kid was expressly telling me that he'd had enough, I couldn't ignore it.

"Okay," I told him. "Just get through today since he's already on his way and then you won't ever have to play with him again and I'll keep an eye on him to try to keep him in line."

Soon after, Zack arrived.

Tobias told him to stop doing things. Zack laughed. I intervened.

*loop*

*loop again*

Toward the end of Zack's time with us (envision me staring at the oh-so-slow clock), the kids went outside for a while.When they returned, Tobias came in first at a normal speed. A few seconds later, Zack rushed in, laughing. (That should have been my first clue that something bad was afoot.)

Within seconds, I heard a loud noise and Delaney (who was 4 at the time) began bawling.

I rushed into the front entryway to see her grabbing her arm. "What's the matter?"

"He shut the door on me!" she wailed, pointing at a simpering Zack.

Embracing my weeping daughter, I informed Zack that he was not to shut a door if he knew someone was coming in directly behind him. I would have been more upset had I known then what time would tell: later, two long thin bruises, one on either side of Delaney's upper arm, emerged, revealing exactly where the door and its jamb had brutally sandwiched her. He hadn't just shut the door on her. He had slammed it and this wasn't a flimsy inside door; it was a heavy duty front door.

I felt horrible. Her delicate little four-year-old humerus could have snapped between the big solid wooden door and its unrelenting jamb.

Did I hope to be an encouragement to Laura and to provide a fun, safe place for her son, Zack? Absolutely. I genuinely cared about them and wanted to be "Jesus's hands", so to speak, in their lives.

But at what point does reality make that impossible?

I didn't want to plunge my own son into miserable positions in which he grew to hate the very mention of the name "Zack" and I certainly wasn't willing to sacrifice my daughter's physical safety.

A week or so later, Laura stopped by and asked when we could get the boys together.

Now I'm all for fobbing people off when it's the best option, but sometimes being honest and direct is better.

(What? You don't know what fobbing someone off is? Yes, you do.

It's when you answer someone's party invitation with, "Oh, sorry. We're not going to be able to make it." instead of with, "Do we want to come to your party so we can witness you drink way too much and make a complete idiot of yourself in front of everyone present like you did at your last party? I think we'll pass."

See, you've fobbed people off many times.)

Well, I knew that since Zack and Tobias wouldn't be hanging together anymore this was probably a time for straightforwardness even though my knees started knocking as I faced this woman.

As politely and warmly as I could (though I'm sure both were completely lost on her 'cause who wants to hear what I was telling her? It's the stuff of which nightmares are made.), I told her that Zack seemed to have a difficult time knowing when to stop and that he had bruised Delaney through being too rough so the kids weren't going to play together anymore.

That was honestly one of the most difficult statements I've ever made to anyone because I knew it was going to break her heart. But what could I do? Continue to throw my kids under the bus of Zack's disrespectful and somewhat dangerous behavior? No way.

I never mentioned to anyone who knew them what had happened (aside from my husband) although I was tempted to cover my own butt in case she, in her pain and sadness, was telling people tales about me and my kids.I knew that informing others would just throw fuel on a fire that I wished had never started in the first place.

I didn't befriend this woman in order to school her in harsh realities. That's just what reality eventually required of me, much to my dismay.

Not long after that, Laura and Zack moved away. I recently heard from someone the good news that in the last nine years, Zack has grown into a polite young man. Laura probably still feels hurt at the thought of me and my family. That truly saddens me, but I still have a heavy-hearted conviction that I handled the trying situation properly.

While relating to others, we need to accept the fact that sometimes, by doing the right thing, we are going to inadvertently anger or hurt them deeply even though that's the last thing we want. We need to remember that we are going to be misunderstood, misrepresented to third parties and that we can't make everyone happy all the time.

In the words of my dear friend, Shari, "I don't have control over what others think or say about me. I can only control what I do and say."

These facts really stink, but it's better to accept them and move forward knowing that God knows the truth behind what happened and what your intentions were than to flail around trying to create something that can't exist.

Knowing that I am innocent before God (which often requires me to do some serious soul-searching and repenting) is the greatest peace I've found...

...and I'm very pleased to affirm that it's available to everyone. (Romans 5:1)

Yes, I AM a Snob...

...at least I am when it comes to spelling, grammar and punctuation.

I admit that fact with much fear and a bit of trembling because now, of course, any time that any one of you sees an error on my blog you will snicker at my self-righteous failure. But go ahead, snicker away. What's the fun of noticing snobbery if you don't mock it?

However, I feel I must speak up about something since this season is rife with a specific spelling/punctuation error. Perhaps I should have said something before the Christmas cards were sent, but hopefully anyone learning from this post will remember for next year.

The issue at hand is the tricky little act of referring to one's family in the plural form.

Par example:

With much love--the Smiths

or

With much love--the Smith Family

The above signature samples are correct.

If you thumb through that stack of Christmas cards on your kitchen counter, I can pretty much guarantee you'll see multiple examples, like the following, which are incorrect:

With much love--the Smith's (The presence and location of the apostrophe indicate that there is only one Smith and that some object possessed by said-Smith to which you were about to refer has been forgotten.)

and

With much love--the Smiths' (Here at least more than one Smith exists, but there is still a forgotten possession.)

If you're one of those lucky few whose surname ends with an 'S', you have even more things to keep in mind as you sign off. For example, Mrs. Jones would write:

With much love--the Joneses (Yeah, I know it looks a bit odd, but it's correct.)

or

With much love--the Jones Family

Don't let one of those rascally apostrophes sneak in there:  the Jones' 

or even worse:  the Jones'es

Names that end in -ch, x, or z also require an -es for the plural, thus:

the Crouches, the Nixes and the Martinezes are all correct.

I could go on with a few more tips regarding plural possession (such as: "We're going to the Joneses' house." <-----correct because the Joneses possess their house), but I'm sure this is already turning out to be the most boring post I've ever posted. (At least, I hope it is!)

In fact, if you're still reading this, you're probably as much of a grammar/punctuation/spelling freak as I am and therefore didn't learn anything new.

Everyone else is already logging back on to Pinterest.

Happy New Year!!!

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Have you ever had such a positive customer service experience that you wanted to sing a company's praise from the cyber-rooftops? 

 *Ahem*   *mi-mi-mi-mi *

Let me begin this merry tale by saying: I heart gemstone jewelry.

Not the super expensive kind. Personally, I don't want any thing that can fit in my hand but costs more than my monthly house payment. What if I lost it? Yikes!

I don't remember how exactly I stumbled across semiprecious.com  a year or so ago, but I'm glad I did. Their abundant display of handmade pendants, bracelets, rings, etc. makes me drool every time I click on for a visit. Now, whenever Christmas or my birthday or whatever upcoming-Aimee-gets-a-gift-from-Jeff day is rolling around, I go to semi-precious and put a few things on my wishlist.

This week, a bracelet that I ordered arrived in the mail.

Gorgeous, no? Actually it was even prettier "in person" because I could see how skillful the silver work was and how clear the lovely carnelian stones were.

There was only one problem. The gems were considerably more orange than I had expected. Orange is about the worst color for my complexion. I can honestly say that I have never owned a single orange article of clothing in my entire life. So holding the bracelet in my hand, even though I saw how beautiful it was, I knew that since I had nothing to match it with, I'd never wear it.

I felt lame calling the company and telling them this, but I did.

This is where the amazing thing occurred. Laura-of-the-Office took my call and assured me that they wanted me completely satisfied with my purchase, so she'd give me a refund or allow me to exchange it for something else.


I knew what I hoped to exchange it for, having already seen this little beauty:



However, I had bought the first one on sale for a bit less than what the amethyst bracelet cost. I told Laura that I'd be happy to pay the difference, but she brushed that aside.

"'Tis the season," she said.

Well, alrighty then!

This happy little once upon a time isn't the first positive experience I've had with semiprecious.com, just the most surprising.

They have a lot of sales. I'm on their email list so they let me know when prices are coming down. In fact, I don't think I've ever paid full price for anything there.




One example is my purchase of this bit of chalcedonic loveliness:

The original price was $34, but somehow I got it for $13! I swear I did nothing illegal or improper to accomplish this feat of commerce, yet I feel a bit guilty about it, nonetheless.



(Hey, Anup Pandey, if you Googled yourself or your business's name and therefore have stumbled upon this inconsequential little blog o' mine, please enjoy this happy customer shout out. I love your hand crafted jewelry and I genuinely hope your business prospers. This bit of free advertising for you (I think I can guarantee that 4 whole people will read this post--Christy will read it for sure) is not a shameless ploy to get free goods.

However, Anup, if you would like to give me a discount on item # 1039 then I certainly wouldn't mind. It would add a touch of class to my slightly hairy, very unmodel-like wrist.)

Our Sweet Little Debutante

Ever since Bruiser's departure, Duncan has spent a lot of time parked at the back door, staring through the glass at us.

All day long.

Even after I've just taken him for a 3 mile run and fed him breakfast, he'll still just sit there with those dreadfully pleading eyes, his ears perking and head tilting at our every movement.

The poor, manipulative darling is lonely.

It's funny to me that he didn't do this when Bruiser was alive. You'd think his loneliness would have been a factor for years because, frankly,  they never really liked each other that much. I mean, they didn't actually fight. They just sort of...coexisted.

Duncan tried often to engage the old "cur"mudgeon in play, but Bruiser would rather just be left alone, thank you very much. And he clearly resented the little bossy upstart of a puppy's obvious bid at Alphaism, even though he never really exerted any claims of his own.

Anyway, now that his crabby elder is gone, Duncan needs a friend.

(Surely when I hinted a few posts ago that we were considering getting another dog from the shelter, you must have known that the end was nigh for our one-doggedness.)

I figured that during our weekly volunteer time at the shelter, Delaney and I would keep an eye on the dogs that seemed like a possible good fit for our family and (perhaps more importantly) a good fit for this guy:

I knew the qualities I was looking for:

a) It would have to let Duncan be the Alpha (or our backyard would not be a pleasant place) but we wouldn't want it to be too timid either.

b) It couldn't be too small or fragile since it would be an outdoor/garage kind of a pet.

c) We didn't want it to be overly furry because we all have better things to do than sweep up dog hair.

d) It couldn't bark at every gust of wind or bird.

e) It needed to be athletic enough to keep up with Duncan on walks.

f) It needed to be trainable.

And of course it would be nice if:

g) It was soft and sweet.

Keeping all these things in mind, I took note of the available dogs and waited to see if anyone else would swoop in and adopt them. If they did, then great because my main desire is that the homeless doggies get a family.

If they didn't get adopted, then we'd look at them a little closer...

Well, since October, there has been a sweet little girl that fits all of my discerning criteria and as of two weeks ago no one had shown interest in adopting her. It's kind of hard for me to believe considering some of the other dogs that have been flying off the shelves.

She is so precious. She has natural "Cleopatra eyeliner" and very soft fur. She's compliant yet playful. Surprisingly, she has a very low, resonant bark, making Duncan sound like Mike Tyson.

Two Wednesdays ago, we took Duncan down to the shelter to meet her, wondering if they'd get along or not. At first it was as awkward as any blind date is likely to be. She was a bit shy and he was somewhat tense, but within five minutes they seemed at ease in each others' presence. They ran around the play yard and seemed happy enough. Duncan was definitely the dominant one and she seemed fine with that.

One weird thing was that Duncan began drooling profusely and, by the way, it was not normal drool. This stuff was foamy and thick. None of us had ever noticed him doing that before in the two and a half years we've had him, but get him in the presence of a pretty girl and strange things start happening.

Once she passed the vital test of getting along with Duncan, I felt pretty good about bringing her home. The next day, Delaney took some treats and a dog clicker to see how trainable she was. One diced hot dog and several clicks later, she was sitting on command and started lifting her paw when told, "shake". Better and better.

With Jeff's blessing, I signed the papers last week. The shelter held on to her for a few more days in order to spay her.

Yesterday, we brought her home :)

She and Duncan hadn't seen each other since that one time at the shelter. It was so sweet to see her pad right up to him and lick his nose. And yes, he started drooling again.

Last night as I was looking over her papers at the kitchen table, I noticed that her breed had been guessed at as a Labrador/Golden Retriever/Great Dane mix.

Great Dane! I laughed outloud and told Tobias who was nearby.

"Yeah," he said, "but it only shows up in her bark."

*Heh heh heh*

So now, that brings us to the amusing quandary of choosing a name.

While naming a pet, you don't have to be careful and considerate like you do while naming a kid. Feel free to saddle that animal with whatever oddity strikes your fancy because whether you choose "Gladys", "Pepper" or "Emperor Zurg", there won't be any therapy bills. (Unless you're one of those people who visits pet psychics and doses their pooch with Xanex, which I am most definitely NOT.)


My first idea was "Poppy" because a) it's cute b) poppies are one of my favorite flowers and c) she's almost the color of the California state flower.

Jeff would have none of it.

He also nixed my next few ideas: Hattie, Dora or Molly. He said they were all too girly. I reminded him that the dog is female, after all.

He had a suggestion of his own. Since before we were married, he has wanted to get a dog and name it...

"Dog".

Yes, you read that right. (I was glad that when Tobias was born, Jeff didn't suggest that we christen him "Boy".)

I pointed out to him, that in addition to being very dull, his name of choice wasn't technically appropriate since male canines are "dogs" and females are actually called...

...never mind.

So, I went to the internet to search for names that weren't too girly and that hopefully described her in at least some regard.

I wanted the name to pop audibly so that when she heard it, it wouldn't easily mesh with all the other jumbled words falling out of our mouths. (For example, "Sarah" is an audibly subtle name whereas "Bridget" is not.) I mean, it'd be nice if she could discern something as important as her name. See what I mean? ------->



Hmmm...think, think, think.

"Dulcie" means sweet. "Nati" is humble.

No and no.


"Rowan" got me all excited because, meaning "little red one", it describes her perfectly. However...I don't really care for the sound of it.

 "Pyrrha" (Greek for "red") is kind of cool and definitely unique, but it just didn't seem to fit her. "Rorie" means "red" as well, but it's kind of hard to say.


I really loved "Tilda" but Tobias said he would refuse to call her that because he disliked it so much.


Finally, we found something that three of us could appreciate. (Jeff had pretty much given up at that point.)


Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present to you our very own...


dear...

sweet...






                                        Elka

Kisses:



Here's a shot of her "eyeliner":






Welcome to the family, sweet girl!

Us

We usually do a family photo shoot every second Autumn.

Here are some of this year's results.





Here's the "Did we just get caught making out?" shot:



Here the guys are climbing on stuff...again:



This one was taken whilst Tobias was making a smart remark. (Check out the acerbic curve of his ever-lippy mouth.):



And here we are reacting to his snidery:



Although I doubt we'll ever be able to outdo our zombie shot of two years ago (scroll down to the bottom of the linked post to see it), we did pose "Romanian" style. You see, Romanians don't smile for photographs. Yes, I'm serious.



Very serious.   

I must say that the severity of Jeff's face is a bit over the top. The rest of us look simply modern-day-Romanian whereas Jeff looks positively communistic.

We also took a number of other shots which I shan't be sharing online. If you really want to see those photographic evidences of our boorishness, feel free to ask next time you come over to our house, but I wouldn't dare post them since they're perfect fodder for websites such as awkwardfamilyphotos.com . (If you've never been there, check it out. It's kind of like PeopleOfWalmart.com, but with more of a homey, warm, how-in-the-world-did-I-end-up-in-this-family sort of a feel.)

One includes me grossly amused by something. Apparently, when I'm  moved to hilarity, my throat has to swell to twice its normal size in order to allow passage to my hearty guffaws. It's not pretty. In fact, it makes me want to never laugh in public again.

Another one was the result of our fabulous photog, Veronica, continuously telling Jeff that he needed to actually smile instead of look constipated. Thus, we decided to actually take a shot wherein we all exhibited our best my-gut-is-presently-granite look. Again, not pretty.

In a couple of pics, the width of my hips is especially appalling, so those are no-shows, obviously.

Halfway through the shoot, Jeff caught sight of a couple of trashcans and had an epiphany. Thus was born the final photo which I will not launch into cyberspace. It involves Delaney and I standing beside the guys who are both thigh-high in their very own metal trash can.

After us ladies moved out of the way there commenced, of course, a game of bumper trashcans, the evidence of which I will post:

Yay!!!!!!

Guess who has a home!!!

THIS guy ----->


(I love his floppy lips. :) Oh, and look at how dinky my hand looks on his neck. He is truly an awesome creature.)









Last week, we learned that Moses had just had his troublesome bits removed in preparation for his departure from the shelter. We could tell he didn't feel quite right. He just sort of stood next to us in his kennel, leaning his boulder-sized head against us. That's what having parts removed will do to you for a day or two. So, he won't be siring any little Leviathans or teensy Goliaths in the future, but...


...Moses has a family! Woo hoo!

(I hope they have a big shovel.)


*deep sigh of contentment*

My Little Pony

Okay, so it's not my little pony...

...but it could be yours!

That's right, this huge hunk of equine beauty is available for adoption.

What's that, you say? It's a dog? Oh, I see that you are right...sort of.

Meet Moses:

Isn't he gorgeous?

He has a very sweet disposition and the entire time we were with him, he didn't try to eat us once!

Is it his name that keeps you from wanting him? You can always change it.

If you'd like, you can rename him "Seabiscuit":



 Or you can call him "Fezzik":

Even "AT-AT" will suffice:

I won't guilt you too much though, because I'm certainly not volunteering my backyard for his minefield. I heart Moses, but alas...he is too much dog for a 5'4" girl like me.

Don't think you can handle him either?

How about this sweet girl with whom Delaney is cuddling?

She has the softest fur and such pretty eyes.

Or how about this little dumpling?

I was near her for quite a while and she didn't yip once. Honestly.

For the last couple of months, Delaney and I have been volunteering at the local animal shelter. While there, we go into the kennels and pet the dogs, just trying to show them some affection. Then, the better behaved ones, we take for short walks around the grounds. We leave reeking of dog and checking our shoes for poo, but somehow happy, too.
 
Like much of life, it's a very bittersweet experience. There are so many homeless dogs.

It's difficult. Some days we leave without having walked all the pups we wanted to walk, but I have to keep reminding myself that it's better to do some good than no good.

Better some than none...better some than none...

A bit of news cheered us last Thursday. Several of the dogs we've come to know have been adopted in the last two weeks.

In fact, we walked this very gentle girl...


...and shortly after we returned her to her kennel, she was taken out and put in the back of a van to go to her new home! This was especially sweet news because when we had taken her to the play yard, all she wanted was to be petted. Some dogs run around investigating, but she planted herself right next to us and nudged our hands with her nose if we stopped. Now she has someone to rub behind her ears daily. :)


















Another dog, Buddy, was adopted a couple of weeks ago. (I wondered if he'd ever make it out of the shelter since he was less attractive than many of the dogs there.) Well, the director informed us that he now has a home for life because shortly after arriving at his new home, he encountered an intruder who was trying to enter the house through the bathroom window. The valiant Buddy bit the guy.

Go, Buddy!

So there are happy stories, but I'm especially concerned for Moses. I mean, look at him!



Most people who mosey down to the shelter to pick out a dog are going to think like me and realize that he's just a bit more dog than they're willing to sign up for.

Hey Christy--How does Macy feel about fellows who are tall, dark and handsome? (Just kidding! Please still be my friend.)

Delaney and I took pity on the poor dear and did dare to take him out on a walk. The leash we attached was merely a token of what activity we were attempting since it did us no good. A slight lurch forward almost resulted in a trip to the ER to fix my face. A guy who works there saw me, resisted the urge to laugh out loud and  proceeded to show us how to complete the job without injury. In order to do so we had to flank him and grab his collar. Sadly, we have no photographic record of this feat since all of our hands were a bit preoccupied.

The next day, we took Jeff to see Moses.

Jeff was actually capable of walking him without help and without grasping his collar.

Go, Jeff!

Since Bruiser's passing we have enjoyed the benefits of having only one dog to tend to, but some of us are thinking along the lines of getting Duncan a companion. Probably at some point in the near future, some especially precious pup will worm its way into our hearts, keeping us awake at night with memories of its pleading eyes.

Stay tuned...