Sparkles and Shines

On my sidebar I have a few links to blogs and websites I frequently visit - all representing people I admire in one way or another. Now granted, I started it off because I decided that's what people who had blogs did - they had references to other sites to say "hey, see I know other people and lookeee here I even know how to type in different web addresses, too" but truly this small handful represents many of my favorites (that I've been given permission to link to).

I'm going to add one more: Scott's

I mentioned Scott in a previous post thanking him. Scott's blog or "live journal" began as a life story - like most blogs do - detailing thoughts and adventures - and now it's become the story of a life ending - it's at times raw as he talks about his frustrations, his pain, his bottomless love of his family, and still finding joy and strength in his final days. I've squandered his story as told through his site in that ridiculous hope that maybe if I held onto it tight enough the story wouldn't be unfolding as it is. And as I read "My Baby Sparkles and Shines" - a story about the deep love he has for his wife, Gail - people I've known my entire life - I decided it was time to share while there was still time to share.

The Little Things

Cathedral of St. John the Divine
Originally uploaded by Beth Doughty

Not too long ago I received this e-mail on Flickr:

Schmap East Coast Second Edition: Photo Inclusion
Hi Beth,

I am delighted to let you know that your submitted photo has been selected for inclusion in the newly released second edition of our Schmap East Coast Guide:

Cathedral of St. John the Divine
www.schmap.com/eastcoast/churches/p=14259/i=14259.jpg

[snip]

Thanks so much for letting us include your photo - please enjoy the guide!

Best regards,

Emma Williams,
Managing Editor, Schmap Guides

Ok, so everyone I know is a thousand times better at photography (I'd list them all, but I'd forget someone and then there would be hell to pay - so know that when I say "everyone" I mean in my finest Texas drawl "all y'all" and I'm guessing probably no one (including me) has ever heard of Schmap. This note, despite all of that, made my day for a couple of reasons:

1) I love almost all things Manhattan and this cathedral is one of my favorite stops. When I get those surveys from friends that ask "Name 5 places you'd like to be right now." I always list "somewhere in Manhattan" (right after "sitting naked in front of the TV" because really... naked? Manhattan? one is a little cheaper (especially if no one can see you and there aren't people around) Ok, I'm kidding about the naked. I just like the word "naked" and it's funnier than "#1 - playing on my computer" that just seems lame) - ANYWAY - I don't care whether I'm sitting in a cafe near Washington Square (because I couldn't find a public restroom if the world depended on it and my best chance is to buy another drink at this place), shoving my way out of a subway car near Canal (warning: don't look people in the eye - they go CRAZY - so I'm told) or winding my way around Midtown. Of course, I'd really just like to be walking around the Lower East Side dipping into shops, looking for movies to rent and watch at a friends and grabbing a slice of whatever Ray's happens to be around the corner (Famous, Original, Son of Ray - it's all good in a bad way). I'm pretty easy and there's only so many times you can to Battery Park and say "wow, look at that water - it's like looking at the Gulf of Mexico only this stuff looks cleaner".

2) The picture. While *I* like the picture, I know it was taken with a disposable camera back in the day when my real camera was on loan and had been stolen from a friend's house. Hey, it was cheap - the disposable camera, not my real camera - honestly, you people. AND the fact that on that picture are several ugly blue ink marks in the sky. You see, I had my New York pictures stacked for a long time and that ink represented some clever something written on the back of the picture in front of it. So, here's this not so great quality picture with big ugly blemishes (that wink at me every time I look) and some how it made it into picture list.

(BTW, I also get goofy when people add my pictures to their "Favorites" list on Flickr. I tend to have one of those Sally Fields "you like me, you really do" moments. Hey, I thrive on praise. I need the extra validation - it's an only child thing - not my fault really - genetically predisposed. You should see me get all atwitter when someone says "you don't absolutely suck at writing" - it's a tad disgusting. Of course, I'm easy, but that's neither here nor there.)

Did I mention it's the little things that can make my day?

Father's Day

While some of you have "fathers", "pops", "old mans", "dads", I happen to have a "Daddy". Despite some raised eyebrows because I'm many decades old, this is the name I have always called him and that he answers to, although it sounds more like "daddaa" than "da-dee". (Look, I come by this honestly - my family hails from the South, and I'm not the only old gal out there addressing her father in this way. For that matter, my grandmother went by "Grandbuddi", which sounds like "Grandbudda" and there was my great grandmother "Ol' Mama", so really Daddy hardly seems like anything. Yet still, there are those that treat you like an unsophisticated hillbilly (as opposed to their distant sophisticated hillbilly cousins) and we pity them because they never had Daddy's - they likely had "fathers" and that's a shame. Everyone should have a Daddy.)

A few days ago, I called Dad up (he's "Dad" in stories - hey, I'm not talking to the man, I'm talking about the man - subtle but important difference).

Me: Dad, I heard on the radio there's only one gift that truly shows you care about your father on Father's Day.

Dad: What's that kid? (Yes, I'm still "kid".)

Me: A gift certificate for a CT Heart scan from the Austin Heart Hospital.

Dad: ...

Me: So, I was calling to find out if that's what you really want.

Dad: Well, not NOW. I already know what you're getting me. Although, I was kind of hoping for a colonoscopy.

Unfortunately, I couldn't find the appropriate gift certificate that truly expressed how I feel about my Dad. I mean sure, there was the heart scan that the Austin Heart hospital assured me was the very best, but Dad already knew it might be coming. And there was that colonoscopy option, but maybe a prostate screen was a better choice... I mean, it's always in the news. Well, not Dad's prostate per se - that would be a bit weird, but prostates in general. I finally settled on a mixed CD (because nothing screams cheese like mixed CDs) of all the songs we used to sing together growing up with maybe an extra song or two. (Note to Charla: Dad doesn't read this. I wouldn't point it out until he gets a package in the mail.) Thanks to Seth for helping me track down one of the songs when Amazon and iTunes failed. I'm hoping he's not too let down since he can't really present the CD to any health care professional and expect too much in the way of service.

To Dad: Happy Father's Day, Daddy! I'm sorry I don't love you enough to get you one of those fine gift certficates. I still think you're alright. I mean, I don't make mixed CDs for just everyone so that's kind of special. The last one was for Mom's funeral and hey, you're still alive. That's noticeable improvement for me in the CD making department.

You're still my favorite Dad, although I'm sure my real father was kind of special, too. You have kind of grown on me.

You know what's great, Daddy? I probably just horrified a few people and knowing that, I'm pretty sure I made you smile.

Your favorite daughter,
Beth

Old Friends

I love all of my friends, but my hats off to my old friends. Those guys who have stuck around for years through good times and bad.

These are the guys that have lost that new friend smell. You don't have to sniff around conversations wondering what they think, whether they voted correctly or feel awkard saying things like "let's go to the movies" "let's go to the mall" "let's go out to eat" or "give me your number" - like some bizarre dating ritual where you're just not going to get lucky at the end of the day. In fact, you've grown past all of that messy conversation and can just show up at their house, kick off your shoes, head straight for their fridge all the while making some low gutteral noises and gesturing - whole conversations can take place without you ever having to make much sound. And with one friend we don't even have to bother with the noises - we can hold entire conversations through facial expressions, which saves a lot of time since we don't have to mess around with lots of words.

And what makes them great is that in a personal crisis, these friends don't have to ask, they just know what you need. They're like extended family only these guys actually know you well (which can be bothersome if they've decided it's time to do impersonations). Ok, that's a teeny tiny swipe for every time someone who doesn't know me begins a sentence with "you're just like... (insert some obnoxious statement that makes you consider sitting on their chest and beating them about the head while asking in a mocking time, "yeah, well who am I like now?" but I digress... rage issues... ahem) and invariably end up dancing on my last nerve forcing me to roll my eyes discreetly (and sometimes not so discreetly but I didn't pounce on them because other people tend to get nervous and upset when you do that at Christmas). If you ran that same line by any of my old friends you'd see them all roll their eyes in chorus. They're also a bit more outgoing than I am and extremely protective, so you might find your way down the path to the losing end of a conversation.

So, a couple of weeks ago I had stitches put in my back. Yeehaw. There were about nine of them - the itchy kind and of course in the dead center of my spine. I needed them to come out, but of course my doctor's office couldn't see me for 5 minutes until another month had passed. Great. You guys are awesome. I sent Julie (the cute blonde that I met my first day of school in Austin way back in 2nd grade) a note. See, she grew up to be a doctor. (Another grew up to be a computer genius, another a tech writer and still another a mad scientist. I grew up to be their charity case. It's the least I could do. Smart people need to engage in philanthropic endeavors and I aim to be that. Everyone should have a purpose in life.) In the e-mail I wrote "how hard is it to pop nine stitches? What do I need?" Now, newer friends would read that literally. How that translates into old friend is, "Hi, can you work me into your schedule and take out these stitches? My doctor failed. Don't make me yank these things. I will if pressed." The note back read, "it's not hard, I've worked you in at 9:30 on Wednesday." GREAT!

I show up after some winking and nodding at the receptionist since I wasn't "officially" on the schedule and they weren't going to see a dime, and I explain to Ju (short for Julie, but makes people uncomfortable when they hear it because the unknowing think I'm making some slur and it's better than Ju Pooh Bear, which you can still call someone 30+ years later if you're drunk and their colleagues aren't around) that my underwear is dead sexy and she probably shouldn't be jealous as I reveal my sturdiest grandma bra and exposed my glorious ode to Mary Shelly on my spine. Julie "ooed" appropriately in admiration which translated to "good God, spend some money and buy something nice, girl." Then popped those guys, gave me a nice bandage and a tour.

And as we were heading out she pointed to the room containing her next patient and whispered dramatically, "guess what? She's NEKKED in there!" which caused us to burst into giggle and hurry down the hall.

And that's another thing I love about old friends (and my cousin Kim who only has to point at me and it will send me into a fit of laughter) - they know you so well, that they can cause you to bust out into giggles over nothing like no one else can.

I will add though, that as much as I love Julie and as smart as I know she is, I still wouldn't have her as my doctor. I mean, you can ask your friends to do a lot, but "squeeze my boobs" or "you free for a pap smear" still crosses that friendship line.

(And I bet you guys just remembered why you were enjoying my little writing hiatus.)

Sage

As you can see, Sage survived. It was a miracle. First there was the uneventful yet some how perilous car ride (which involved a major "singing" protest). Next was the whole cleaning, IV-ing, and teeth extracting. Then more terror fraught car adventures and finally the food denial. "No Sage, I realize you're hungry and GET OFF THE COUNTER... now where was I, yes the vet said GET OFF THE COUNTER - no, he didn't say that - you know what I mean. Anyway, you eat at 6. Yes, I know you were traumatized. Yes, I SEE the bandage. You're very pathetic. OFF... COUNTER... NOW!" I think Sage got it into her head that the yellow bandage must be the thing she's been missing all these years, the security card, that would give her permission to parade around on the kitchen counters.

Before we actually left the vet, we received a couple of gifts - a bill (woo hoo! according to the total, they weren't doing this out of the kindness of their hearts... well, they were, but they wanted a little something to sweeten the deal), some antibiotics (which always put a smile in my heart when I see them, because really nothing beats giving medicine to a cat - except maybe hammering your toe with a sledge hammer) and this gem.Now, I know what you're thinking. I had those exact same thoughts. The "WTF?!" feeling that kind of hangs out there as you stare at the pictures in morbid fascination - like a train wreck or that time someone explained that you needed to hit the "green" button on the copier that said "copy" in order for it to print. Anyway, I figured it was only fair to share regardless of what you're actually thinking. Hey, who am I to deny my friends a close-up look at my cat's teeth? I guess their intention was to give me the opportunity to say "ah HAH, you guys DID clean her teeth" but really, I'd rather sign a form that said that I waived my rights for proof and was completely willing to open her mouth myself if I thought there was something hinky. The graphics, while lovely (I'm personally at a loss on what frame would work the best to show these photographic treasures off - something that says "Mommy's lil Kittums" perhaps? I mean honestly, how does one choose?), weren't really necessary. I mean, I had been at the vets when he said "look at her teeth" and I nodded in a fashion that I thought conveyed "GADS! Let's yank some teeth!" Maybe there was actually something lacking in my wide eyes, the wincing and my agreeable nod and he said, "ok techs, she's going to need a picture - intubate the cat so she thinks we put Sage under. Get a shot of that tube. Good work, now let's Photoshop some crazy colors in there so she gets the point that this was necessary." And really, if they had to take the picture, I would have preferred the other side - where the little pulp florets were and where they actually took out teeth so I could have something to show my friends.

If you'll notice, there's a little fountain bowl in the picture with Sage. (There may have been a fountain bowl in the other picture, too but it was an extreme close-up, you see.) It turns out that Sage is dehydrated. Yes, despite two bowls on the floor that are filled 2-3 times a day, Sage isn't drinking. I think I know the reason, which is basically Sage is completely disgusted by the dog so she'll wait until we're using the sink and nose in to get some water. Of course, I didn't realize that was her only source of water. The vet suggested purchasing a "serenity" fountain. Here's the thing. I'm not exactly a serenity fountain kind of girl. I appreciate that other people like them, but a tiny waterfall on my desk isn't going to help me find inner peace, which is probably why my epitaph will never include the words "serene". But I was willing to go buy one for Sage if it meant she'd drink water. Off Kendra and I went in search of one of these fountains and didn't have a ton of luck. The whole time I'm picturing something cheap and plastic with hideous fake plants and maybe a few rocks and I'm wondering if cheap plant runoff is ok for the cat to ingest. Finally, Kendra suggests going to the pet store where I ended up with the "Drinkwell". Ok, it's probably even tackier looking than the worst looking serenity fountain, but I can stomach it more AND it has a little bowl. Let me just say that once it was up and operational, Sage was in HEAVEN (which lasted about 2 hours since she had to be at the vet's the next day and couldn't have food or water for 12 hours - kind of a cruel trick). Of course, now Hodi is disgusted and refuses to eat up there, because it just wouldn't be any fun if the whole pet family was happy.

Now see, that's like TWO updates in TWO days. It's like I'm on a roll!

Morning Antics

Ok, so I'm woefully behind on posting. I have no "real" excuse, but I have some amazing half-baked excuses that work for me. (See, they work for me so I'm not sharing, you might go back to the whole "half baked" thing, which is a little judgemental. I'm a little hurt, actually.)

In 2 minutes, I get to wrestle a cat into a crate. She's the one animal in the house that is completely against car rides and crates and without knowing it she's already planning to sing all the way to the vet - which is "singing" more in air quotes, which is the way I "sing", too so I really shouldn't complain.

Little Sage has to have some teeth pulled. It seems the pulp in both a molar and one of her canines has escaped the tooth and is seeping to make these painful little florets. Poor thing. And like a good cat mom, I'm blogging trying to pass the time away before I load the little hollering princess with claws up.

Wish me luck.