Packing Away Christmas

I finished taking down the tree today.  I put it up December 15, which is early for our house.  I wanted the house ready when family arrived the weekend before Christmas, and that meant weeks of clearing and cleaning and making ready to get the tree up by mid-December.

Today I finished packing away ornaments and rolling up strings of lights.  There weren't many other decorations this year.  We needed space for gathering and eating and sleeping and enjoying the baby.

For the first time in many years there was a baby in the house this holiday season.  What a joy it was!  Every day my grandson was a delight from the time he woke up until the time he went to bed.  His birthday was three days before Christmas, which added to the magic of his time here.  He played with toys that belonged to the generation before him and was delighted with all of his own gifts.  His love of helium-filled mylar balloons prompted all of us to cheer and clap.

This light of my life sat in the high chair while I worked in the kitchen, and we "chatted" and compared notes the entire time.  I showed him how to smell cinnamon and vanilla.  He snacked on Chex cereal while I made cookies and bits of bread when I made French toast.

My grandson and his parents left Sunday for another week in Boston.  They will be back for a brief time this coming weekend.  I don't know when I will see him after that.  I hear second-hand that there are changes afoot in his travel plans in the coming months, so I need to ask about plans and schedules.

So Christmas is packed away for another year.  Who knows what next year will look like.  I know that I am grateful for the time I had with family this year.

And tonight is the eve of a new year....

I have been preoccupied this week with a post written by Carolynn at A Glowing Ember about her choice of a word for 2014.  I wracked my brain but could not remember the word I chose for this year or, to be more precise, the word that chose me.  This afternoon I went into my archives to look and then I remembered.  The word stayed with me for months; I wrote about it in my journal and worked with it until it was literally worn out.  The word was "release."

It sounds harsh, but the word did its job.  By mid-year I had let go of just about everything.  I have heard over the years that life is easier if you "let go" but I have not found that to be true.  Nothing has been easy this year, not my relationships or my marriage or my job or my everyday life.  Not one thing has been easy....

Except my love for my grandson. That is easy and natural and true.

And that I will hold onto forever.

Wait

We had a different kind of Thanksgiving this year ~ my younger son hosted the day in Boston.  We had eight fresh inches of snow on the ground in Maine, but that didn't keep my husband, daughter, and I from leaving early with the turkey in tow.  It was the kind family day the four of us enjoy, which means sharing good food in good company with a board game on the side.

Then I spent Friday and Saturday at home puttering and catching up.  It was much needed.

Monday night I was finally able to reach an oil guy who came highly recommended.  He has installed and serviced boilers and furnaces for 30 years and had plenty of time to talk.  He assured me that the sounds I described are the natural sounds of pipes as they heat and cool in a house that is still settling.  We talked about heating in general and he had some good ideas.  I'm sure we will talk again. 

The ice arrived Wednesday morning.  There were meetings at school and no students until 9:30 so I waited to leave for work.  I am not often in the car at the right time to hear The Writer's Almanac on NPR, but I'm glad I was yesterday.  The poem that Garrison Keillor read was a salve for my anxiety and the message has stayed with me: stop struggling and wait.

Wait
by Galway Kinnell

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don't go too early.
You're tired. But everyone's tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.

I Was Wrong

It has been four weeks since I last wrote and things have gone downhill in every area.

The cell phone problem was never resolved.  Two weeks ago I emailed the co-founders, the CFO, and the VP of Marketing, and I have received no response.  I have composed a letter that I will snail mail to each of them.  My next step is formal complaints with the FCC and Better Business Bureau.  I will never again recommend Working Assets or CREDO to anyone.

At work I am out-talked, talked over, and corrected when I am not wrong.  I have asked to split my duties so I am outside for recess duty for 22 minutes and inside for cafeteria duty for 22 minutes, but nothing has changed and there is no sign that anything will.  The saving grace is the kids, but I need to get back into my own classroom.

The deck is finished.  The railings are finished.  They look good.  Enough said.

This coming weekend I will see my west coast family.  My son, his wife, and my grandson are coming east for a wedding.  I am driving to Boston to babysit and for what I thought would be a relaxing weekend to visit with family.  It has turned into a whirlwind of here, there, and the other place that makes me faint to even think about. It is hard to be an introvert when extroverts are making the plans.  So I will see my grandson for 24 hours and come home.

On Sunday someone said things to me that were disrespectful and inexcusable.  That person knows I will not call them out here because I do not want you to think less of them.  Later, when I tried to talk to them, I was told to leave them alone.  They never said another word.  Okay.  Done.  My life moves on.

I am sad.  

Two nights ago I had a dream about a friend who died nine years ago this month.  It was the night before the anniversary of her funeral, and it was so real that I could hear her laugh.  I miss her as much as I ever did and need her as much as I ever have.

I didn't expect to be gone from here for four weeks.  I thought that things would have to get better....

Two Movies

This evening I came in through the garage when I got home from running errands.  As I stepped into the house I noticed a light on in the family room.  I didn't leave a light on.  I moved in closer and realized the room was lit with the reflection of sunshine on yellow leaves.  The wonder of the moment made me smile.

I got my car back Thursday evening.  Annabelle looks good.  The best part?  The auto body shop meticulously washed her outside and detailed her inside.  She smells good, too.  I really missed my car.  Driving is one of life's pleasures.  There are days I could drive for hours.

The cell phone saga continues.  A week ago my daughter emailed back and forth with technical support.  More promises that the import would take just a few more days.  No such luck.  I called last night and after thirty minutes of conversation with tech support and time on hold I told the guy that I wanted to speak to a supervisor.  He transferred me to customer service where I repeated the story for the umpteenth time; that guy said that the situation needed to be resolved, that I was right to be upset.  Then he put me on hold.  When he returned ten minutes later he told me that their tech support was on the phone with the landline provider and that the situation would be resolved within the hour.  Where could they call me when everything was all set?  I gave my number, hung up the phone, and wished I had some way to bet money that I wouldn't get a call back.  I never did.  I would have called again tonight but I left my phone at work, and if this ever does get resolved I need my phone so we can check to be sure it will ring with the new number.

There is a reason to go through all of this with this particular phone company ~ they are the only progressive mobile phone company in the country.  A portion of their profits goes to the non-profit groups that my daughter and I believe in and want to support.  Plus, she gets unlimited free data.  My daughter has done the research - there is no comparable company out there.  This is one way we put our money where our mouths are, and in this case it means we spend a lot of time trying to fix something that may be unfixable.  I will call again tomorrow night....

The installation of railings is progressing, though still not complete.  Every section needs to be constructed from parts and made to fit.  No two sections are the same size.  Rails need to be measured, angles need to be cut, holes need to be drilled, balusters need to be fitted.   There have been problems.  Problems upon problems.  Replacement parts have been procured.  There's a lot of sawing, hammering, screwing, and trying again going on.  Three major wooden posts have taken a beating, so I've been repairing and painting around the construction.  The glow of finishing the deck has worn off, and the railing project has worn us down.  But it will get finished.  And we will be very glad when it is. 

Through all of the busyness and setbacks I have been able to count on the mainstay that keeps me sane:  I have been to five movies since Labor Day.  I have gone on weeknights and weekends.  I have gone with my daughter, with my husband, and by myself.  Some comedies, some drama, some good, and some just okay ~ each one has contributed to my mental health in a positive way.  The two that I would recommend, ironically, start with the death of the father in the family.   

This Is Where I Leave You is a comedy, with a few serious moments, that had my daughter and me laughing out loud.  Tina Fey and Jason Bateman play beautifully off each other, and Jane Fonda is as funny as she's ever been.  The movie is irreverent and raucous, funny and sensitive in all the right places.   

My Old Lady is a serious drama with a few light moments.  Kevin Kline, Maggie Smith, and Kristin Scott Thomas perform as in a play, allowing the story to unfold as it might in real life.  The evening I went I needed to be pulled into something other than what was going on in my life, and this movie was just the ticket.  If you like any or all of the actors in the cast, I don't think you will be disappointed.

Thank goodness for movies.

And thank goodness for all of you who comment here and continue to write on your own blogs.  I read more than I comment these days, but I do read and appreciate that connection to the world more than I can say.  It's easy to get weighed down with the day-to-day routines, irritations, and disappointments.  It helps to be reminded that I am not alone in any of it, that life goes on, and tomorrow is another day.

Thank goodness.

Things In Threes

The saying goes that things happen in threes.  I don't think I'm superstitious, but I counted this weekend and I'm at three.  Fingers crossed that that will do for me for awhile.

First thing:  Almost a month ago I started the process of transferring to my cell phone the phone number that was attached to the house in Augusta for 36 years.  I was told the "import" [what they call this kind of phone number transfer] would take seven to ten days.  We are on day 23 and it's supposed to be in the hands of the most qualified technicians at the cell phone company.  I have spent a minimum of six hours on hold and in numerous conversations trying to get this straightened out.  So far no go.  Worst case scenario is that it doesn't work and that number is lost.  It's true I want to salvage it for old time sake; it's also true that friends who have moved away still call that number when they come back to the east coast. 

Second thing:  Two weeks ago Saturday a woman driving a 2002 mini-van backed into my parked car.  It wasn't a tap.  It was a crunch.  She took responsibility and her insurance will cover all the costs.  It's inconvenient only for me, the one who had the damage appraised and has to take the car in for repairs and will drive a rental for three days.  There was not a scratch on her car.  Isn't that always the way?

Poor Annabelle

Third thing:  The saga of the deck railings continues.  We knew the railings were rotting.  They were made from green rough cut lumber that wasn't properly dried before it was installed and painted.  That the builder used rough cut lumber is why we couldn't find lumber the right size to replace the deck boards, the railings, or the trim boards.  We knew that everything we could see needed to be replaced.  We planned to cover the thirteen short posts with composite post covers... until Ken discovered a week ago that all the posts are made of over-sized lumber, too.  So he is replacing all those posts with pressure treated wood the right size for the covers, which is a good thing in the long run but making the job that much more involved in the short run.  There is a steep learning curve in the first-time installation of a rail system that will last for decades.  Once you know how to do it, when will you need to do it again?

Old posts coming out

New posts going in to support Azek rail system

We are lucky that Ken is willing to figure this out and do the work himself.  I can't imagine what it would cost to hire a contractor to deal with all these problems.  I am not much of an assistant, but I offer moral support and help where I can.  We are due for one big celebration when this project is over!

Back To Work

The volume control has disappeared from the task bar on my laptop.  Vanished.  I know it still exists somewhere, but I've looked everywhere and I can't find it.  It will turn up eventually.  In the meantime I have found ways to work around the missing icon by adjusting the volume on each individual show I watch.  This is how I get news and television shows and Netflix, often while I am doing a variety of chores and activities all over the house.  I would be lost without it, so I found a way to make it work.

I had trouble finding the words to write about my new job...

Until I realized it's a lot like my laptop with the missing volume control.

I need this job for a variety of reasons.  First and foremost, I want to be working.  I am an active, intelligent woman with abilities and a lot to offer.  We want to pay down our mortgage, and I need money toward my retirement.  I didn't plan to return to teaching but this is the job I was offered.  The job is not set up the way I would do it, but that is not for me to say.  I need to start somewhere to get back in the classroom, and this is where I find myself right now.  I want and need this job, so I am finding ways to make it work.

Nothing about how the job is set up is intuitive for me ~ not the room arrangement or how materials are organized, not the schedule or the structure of lessons, not the forms we use or all the ways to keep track of the same information.  I have had to find ways for the myriad of things I am expected to do to make sense for me.

A breakthrough came this week when I learned I could set up my planbook any way that works for me.

This is essential.  Teachers are particular about how we set up our classrooms, our resources, our files, our desk, and our planbook, the place where many of us keep track of absolutely everything.  The planning notebook system in place was not working for me but I wasn't sure I had a choice.  It turns out I do and I knew exactly what I wanted: two open pages of orderly boxes with the dates across the top and the times down the left side, with room to write lesson plans and make notes.  The entire week is available at a glance and the amount of space limits what I write to the essence of what I need to know and remember.  I breathed a sigh of relief and put my system in place immediately.  It has made all the difference in the way I keep track of my week.

Slowly I am finding other ways to inject my experience and expertise into my day.  I organize tasks in ways that make sense to me and complete them in a timely manner, which reassures people that I know what I'm doing and can be trusted to do the job.

My duties include 45 minutes on the playground for recess every single day.  For a classroom teacher that would be an unacceptable amount of duty time, but it is the expectation for the position I currently hold.  I immediately fell into my pattern of continually moving throughout the area to always have eyes open to what is happening and to make connections with kids.  I am learning names, which is a challenge without a seating chart or a regular daily context to place kids with their names.  But we are getting to know each other.

My other duty is oversight of dismissal of students who are picked up by someone in a car.  I ask students if they see "their people" as we stand at the cafeteria door and wait for cars to come through the driveway.   After a few days I made a suggestion to the principal about dismissing all students for "pick up" at once instead of one grade at a time.  The next day we tried it and cut the waiting time in half, which is a win for everyone involved.  The students dismissed this way varies each day, but we are getting to know each other.

I am finding small ways to connect with other staff.  Those of us on duty together agree on expectations and rules, and we are learning tidbits about each other.  I asked the librarian if I could eat lunch in a quiet, out of the way corner of the library, explaining my desire for time away from the fray.  She totally got it and said yes.  I have emailed and made plans to meet with the person on staff who knows the most about re-certification, which I need to do in two years.  I expressed an interest in and have received the information about what I need to do to join the union.

The best part about the job is the students ~ third, fourth, and fifth graders.  I haven't taught third grade since I was a student teacher in 1992 and I forgot how little they are.  Without exception, I have always found that kids are receptive if you take them where they are.  It turns out that is still true.  I am having a good time getting to know the students.  If I am willing to listen, I can find out what I need to know to best help them learn.  Kids will tell you everything if you pay attention.

I knew I was going back to teaching a different person than I was when I left the classroom 11 years ago.  There was no way to know if I would be able to bring with me to a situation so familiar all those years ago how I have learned to be now.

Since the first moment in the school I have made a conscious effort to stay present.  I let go the things I have no control over.  My comments are positive.  I focus on what is in front of me and take a walk if I need a break.  Someone else may feel frazzled, but I don't take that on.  I know what I need to do and can do it with intention.  Throughout the first two weeks I have felt calm and capable.

I am tired.  There aren't enough hours in the day to do all the things I have been doing for the past seven years when I am gone from home nine hours a day.  That will have to figure itself out.

This is where I am right now.  It is not the ideal situation but I am finding ways to make it work for me.

The journey continues....                  

Good-Bye Longwood

Yesterday my husband loaded up his van one last time to move the last large bits from my daughter's old house to the new.  Today my daughter and I made our last trip to Longwood to pack up what was left and to say good-bye.  Again and again I walked from room to room, amazed that the house looked empty but wasn't....

Memories of how the yard has changed but the neighbors out back never did~

How much I still like the oak cabinets and kitchen floor we picked out in 1985~

The ivy in the 15-year old bathroom tile reflected in the original medicine cabinet~

The hardwood floors I stripped myself and hand-rubbed with linseed oil~

The bookcases Ken built with a friend that perfectly fit the den~

The oak door we refinished and returned to the front of the house~

The crimson king maple that was Ken's first Father's Day present~

I know every inch of the house, every ceiling and floor, every wall and door, every shingle and piece of trim.  I am grateful for the years spent there and the memories I take with me.  Thank you Longwood, for everything....  

Second Verse

There is a 2nd contract on my daughter's house.  People looked at it mid-week and made an offer the same day.  It took a bit of back and forth, and by the end of last week the papers were signed.  Their financing is already approved, so it might be that by the end of September everything will be settled.

I think the term is guarded optimism.

Ken pressed his over-sized van into service this weekend to move items too big for an Outback.  We were all exhausted Sunday evening but when we looked around it felt like the end is in sight.

I am officially back to work this week.  There are "professional days" Wednesday and Thursday.  Students return next Tuesday.  It feels odd not to be in my own classroom, making bulletin boards and organizing class lists and preparing lesson plans.  On the other hand, the parameters are clear and I will give 100% within those limits.  I welcome the chance for a new experience.

Second verses do not need to be the same as the first....

Moving By Outback

At the last possible moment the sale of the house my daughter has owned for seven years fell through.  Just three weeks before the closing the buyer lost her financing.  The realtor was stunned; every inspection had been done and the house was ready.  My daughter had to decide if she was going forward with the purchase of her next house.

Experts were consulted.  Numbers were crunched.  Adjustments were made.

My daughter decided to take the leap.  Last Thursday she closed on her new house.  The move south began.

Originally movers were going to move everything.  Changes in timing meant that wasn't necessary.  She and I have been packing for weeks and started carting boxes by car as soon as she had the keys to the front door.  We each drive a 2012 Subaru Outback, which can hold a considerable amount of stuff.  A three bedroom house with a full basement holds a lot of stuff, so we started one box at a time.  Almost a week later it looks like we are making progress.

My daughter wisely hired a Maine-based company to move the furniture and chest freezer.  She and I dismantled every bed and emptied every drawer.  We literally had every piece lined up and ready to load.  On Sunday three movers arrived and loaded the truck in one hour.  On the other end they unloaded every piece and safely placed it in its new home in one hour.  It was a pleasure to watch them work and worth every penny.

The work of emptying the old house and making it shine continues.  The realtor has kept his promise to actively pursue the sale of my daughter's house.  Showings continue.

I believe the house in Augusta will be sold to someone who will appreciate it like my family has for 36 years.  That house took care of us from the first day until now.

My daughter's new house suits her and the new neighborhood is a good fit.  Her commute is half of what it was.  She and her pets are settling in.

My daughter has found her new home.   

Threads Of Memory

When babies were born and families were young, threads of a friendship started more than three decades ago~

A braided rug was handed down from one friend to another~

As children grew and families changed, the threads grew worn~

Now repaired and good as new, the braided threads of memory will soon warm my daughter's new home~

Decked

We have known for years that we needed to rebuild the deck on this house.  The first couple summers Ken dutifully power-washed and stained the boards but sun, heat, and snow take a toll on low-grade wood no matter what you do.  We offered the boards to a friend who needs a temporary deck solution and he politely refused; he said our boards are in worse shape than the ones he removed from his own deck.  We didn't take offense but felt vindicated in what we've known all along.

Two years ago we started the research needed to learn all we could about the variety of decking materials now available.  I am glad we waited because in that short time new composite materials have been developed and we are pleased with our selection. 

It's a big job.  All the old boards have to be removed~

The first section measures 36 feet long by 10 feet wide

TimberTech Earthwood Evolutions Terrain has boards the exact length we need~

Boards in 16 and 20 foot lengths will fill the space

Fascia boards along the edge will also need to be replaced due to water damage~

Upper boards were not properly painted before installation

It took several hours to interpret detailed installation instructions~

At the start Ken strategically positioned planks to work from

 After the first few courses the work moved along more smoothly~

Ken's using a hidden fastening system

 After four weekends there is a lot to show for all Ken's hard work~

Looking toward the backyard

Boards in the porch area need to come up so work can begin there~

This space is 20 feet by 8 feet

It felt good last night to survey the progress so far~

The railings need to be replaced, which is another story

Pollen, leaves, and acorns are all welcome~

The raised grain feels good on my feet

Trust Your Cape

 Obstacles.  Decisions.  Blessings and disappointments.

Life happens.

Years ago I was lucky enough to attend a concert where Lyle Lovett, Johh Hiatt, Guy Clark, and Joe Ely all performed on stage at Merrill Auditorium, one of the nicest concert venues we have in Maine.  Songwriters all, every bit of music was amazing.  It didn't matter whether it was familiar or heard for the first time, every song delighted the audience.

One song stands out when I think of that concert.  It came to mind tonight....
 
The Cape
   by Guy Clark, Jim Janosky, Susanna Wallis Clark

Eight years old with a flour sack cape tied all around his neck
He climbed up on the garage, he's figurin' what the heck, well
He screwed his courage up so tight that the whole thing come unwound
He got a runnin' start and bless his heart, he's headed for the ground

Well, he's one of those who knows that life is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold your breath and always trust your cape

Now, he's all grown up with a flour sack cape tied all around his dream
And he's full of spit and vinegar and he's bustin' at the seam
Well, he licked his finger and he checked the wind, it's gonna be do or die
And he wasn't scared of nothin', boys, he was pretty sure he could fly

Well, he's one of those who knows that life is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold your breath and always trust your cape

Now, he's old and gray with a flour sack cape tied all around his head
And he's still jumpin' off the garage and will be till he's dead
All these years the people said, he was actin' like a kid
He did not know he could not fly and so he did

Well, he's one of those who knows that life is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold your breath and always trust your cape
Yes, he's one of those who knows that life is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold your breath and always trust your cape

Sing A Song A Sign

I came late to compact disc player ownership.  I had a fine record collection and didn't think those small shiny discs would ever replace vinyl.  I held out as long as I could, but the time came when the music I wanted to buy was not available on vinyl because CDs had indeed caught on.

It didn't take long for me to see why CDs were so popular ~ an entire "record" would play with one touch of the finger.  I was soon a fan.  I didn't have to stop painting or cooking or washing windows to turn the record over halfway through.

Imagine my amazement, years later, when we purchased a CD player that held five discs.  With years of practice I have perfected use of the shuffle mode that plays songs from the discs at random. I pride myself on my ability to "mix" music so that the artists and songs complement each other and provide hours of enjoyable listening.

My daughter enjoys a lot of the same music I do.  When she visits, she will sometimes put a mix together.  Other times she starts the music that's already in the player, and tonight that was her choice.

My daughter's last twenty-four hours have been busy.  It is one thing to make plans; it is something else altogether when everything that needs to happen falls into place all at once.  Someone made an offer on my daughter's house last evening, and it's only been listed for four weeks.  Today she made an offer on a house that was listed just yesterday.  And now things need to happen at warp speed....

So tonight's mix of the music of John Hiatt, Maia Sharp, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Van Morrison, and Alanis Morissette was just the right sound at the end of an overwhelming day.  We had a meal of delicious leftovers and plotted all the possible things to do next with no way to know what tomorrow holds, much less what next week looks like.  My daughter and her dog said good-night and as I heard her car door close, Alanis Morissette came on the stereo.  It was too perfect for me not to share.  It really "is that everything's gonna be fine fine fine."  

"Hand In My Pocket"
by Alanis Morissette

I'm broke but I'm happy
I'm poor but I'm kind
I'm short but I'm healthy, yeah
I'm high but I'm grounded
I'm sane but I'm overwhelmed
I'm lost but I'm hopeful baby
What it all comes down to
Is that everything's gonna be fine fine fine
'cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving a high five

I feel drunk but I'm sober
I'm young and I'm underpaid
I'm tired but I'm working, yeah
I care but I'm restless
I'm here but I'm really gone
I'm wrong and I'm sorry baby

What it all comes down to
Is that everything's gonna be quite alright
'cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is flicking a cigarette
And what it all comes down to
Is that I haven't got it all figured out just yet
'cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving the peace sign

I'm free but I'm focused
I'm green but I'm wise
I'm hard but I'm friendly baby
I'm sad but I'm laughing
I'm brave but I'm chickenshit
I'm sick but I'm pretty baby

And what it all boils down to
Is that no one's really got it figured out just yet
'cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is playing the piano
And what it all comes down to my friends
Is that everything's just fine fine fine
'cause I've got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is hailing a taxi cab

[Harmonica solo]

Itchy

Last week started hot and humid.  I don't mind the humidity as long as it comes with high temperatures and sunshine.

Since rain was predicted later in the week, Monday was the time to tackle some much neglected outdoor chores.  I worked awhile.  Then I washed up good before I walked down to the road to get the mail.  On the way I pulled a few weeds from the lower flowerbed, a spot that has been turned over and fertilized so many times that now flowers and weeds share equal real estate.

Once back inside I took a long shower, proud of what I had accomplished and sure I'd get back outside in a day or two to finish weeding.  I had a good crop of mosquito bites but that's par for the course.

It was all the washing up that saved me.

By Tuesday afternoon I realized that the welts on my right wrist and hand were not bug bites but the result of a run-in with poison ivy.  Through years of camping and yardwork I've never had poison ivy, but my daughter confirmed my suspicion that evening.  The secret was not to scratch, which spreads the rash.

That night I started soaping up with Fels-Naptha soap, which I happened to have in the laundry room.  I slathered soothing cream on any spot with a hint of rash and wore socks on my hands to sleep.  I was able to sleep until the early morning hours when I got up to rinse and repeat. 

Wednesday I made a baking soda poultice, held in place with plastic wrap and rubber bands, and that offered more relief.  I was able to sew and iron with a sock on my right hand.  What a sight I must have been.  There was baking soda dust throughout the house as the paste dried, but that was a small price to pay.

Thursday I mixed vinegar with water and kept it in the refrigerator.  I soaked paper towels with the mixture and applied it to the rash, which was thankfully beginning to look better.  I was lucky that I realized what I had gotten into before the rash spread and I was covered in itchy welts.

Saturday night was the first night I slept through without waking with the urge to scratch.  Today I feel almost back to normal.  I had acupuncture this morning, and she gave me herbs which will further speed along the healing.

A quick look from a distance tells me that there's more poison ivy in the flower bed, which I can identify now that I know what to look for.  Seeds must have blown in from elsewhere because this is a new problem close to the house.  I need to get that poison out of there before it spreads or anyone else gets exposed.  Showers are predicted over the next few days and that may be the best time to get that job done.

If you're looking for me, I'm the one covered from head to toe in protective clothing, hat, gloves, glasses....

Every Day Is New

I was totally absorbed for twelve days.  I lost track of time and let everything go except spending time with my grandson.  It was heaven.  I had to soak it all in because it will be months before I see him again.  He turned six months old while he was here and there was something to learn every day.  He got very good at rolling over~

We practiced sitting up~

Grandad introduced him to the tractor~

He decided eating cereal wasn't so bad as long as he could hold a spoon~

Life was so busy that sometimes he needed a power nap~

I remember why I love having a baby in the house and why I don't regret a moment I spent with my own children.  Everything is new.  Every moment matters.  It all changes so quickly....

He's Here!

My grandson brought his parents for a visit.  It's his first visit to Maine, and he arrived just in time for Father's Day.  Here's Kenneth with his dad and grandad~

There has been a lot of laughing~

And talking~

Playing with toys~

And general merry making~

There is no downside.  It's all good.  We have another ten days of this gaiety.  I will be back with more pictures soon.

Where It All Began

Ken and I moved to Maine in May of 1978.  I had visited the state three times before we moved here, and while I was delighted with my new home state I wanted a home to call my own.  I casually started looking at houses in July, and then we got serious and started checking out neighborhoods.  It wasn't long before we found the perfect house, as in we walked into the kitchen and knew it was the one.  We moved in the first weekend in October, less than five months after we moved to Maine.

Over the years we painted and papered, remodeled and repurposed.  I knew every inch of the house because in one way or another I had had my hands on every wall, ceiling, and floor.  The house changed as our family grew.  We would briefly consider moving and then decide there really was no reason to - we liked our home and the neighborhood.  The house was a big part of where our life began as a family.

We lived there for 29 years.  Our move to our current home wasn't as much a decision as it was a series of circumstances that lined up and worked out just right.  We started looking at real estate on a lark and by chance found the next perfect house for us, as in we walked in and fell in love with the place.  It was February 2007, the same month our daughter found out she would be moving back to do her residency just a mile from where she grew up.  She wanted to buy our house, and a local bank worked with her to do just that.  The house has taken care of her just like it took care of our family all those years.

Our daughter has lived there for 7 years.  She would rather not leave the house or the neighborhood, but her current job is located 80 miles away, that's 800 miles on the road every week.  She looked at houses in communities a more reasonable distance from work but didn't find anything that fit the bill.

Or didn't until Tuesday May 27.  Out of curiosity she and I took a look at a couple houses in a planned community less than an hour from her job.  Bingo.  Thursday that week she talked to a realtor about putting her house on the market, and he thought it had a good chance of selling if she could get it ready as soon as possible, like in two weeks.

Remember when I wrote here that life was good but busy busy?  That's because the Wednesday between the Tuesday of-the-looking and the Thursday of-the-decision-to-sell was the day I got the call for a job interview for the following Tuesday.  Why not have an interview in the midst of helping my daughter get her house ready to sell?

Tuesday evening after the interview was when I took myself to the movies.  It was the calmest two hours I have had in the last two weeks.

Yes, it's only been two weeks.  We worked hard and we got it done.  As of yesterday, exactly two weeks after the realtor's visit, my daughter's house was listed for sale.  In the words of a friend who looked at the listing online, the house looks clean, refreshing, bright, light, and organized.  High praise indeed.

This hasn't been an easy decision for my daughter.  The neighbors are friends who have known her her entire life.  It's hard to think about not having a connection to a place we've loved for 36 years.  It's also exciting to think about her having a place that's all her own where she makes new memories.

My daughter said it was okay for me to share what's been going on.  We hope the next announcement will be that someone walked into her kitchen and knew it is the perfect house for them.... 

Seeking Peace

Let me start this post with a few words about my favorite find among the used books I bought in California.  The book is Seeking Peace by Mary Pipher.  The subtitle is Chronicles of the Worst Buddhist in the World.  I hadn't heard of the book before that day in March.  In my mind Mary Pipher was an insightful, talented, successful psychologist, researcher, teacher, and writer.  She had it all.  I thought this book must be about how she achieved that success, and the subtitle was probably written in jest.

Then I read the inside flap.  "In 2002, Pipher experienced a meltdown."  Well, that was a surprise.  Flipping through the chapters it became obvious that this woman, whose work I have revered since my first reading of Reviving Ophelia in 1995, faced the same challenges that so many of us do.  By all appearances she had it all, but inside she was hurting to the point where she could barely function.  It wasn't until she stopped being what everyone else expected and asked herself who she was and what she wanted that she began to heal.  Pipher shares honestly and openly the challenges she faced and the lessons she learned.  I don't think she knows any other way, which is one of the things I like so much about her writing.

More than once this book had me in tears.  So many feelings and experiences felt familiar to me.  I was reading her words while I was letting go of things I have too tightly held onto for too long.  Like so many women our age we had to learn how to take care of ourselves as grown-ups.  I, too, have mentally gone back to the little girl I was and said, "You are not alone.  You will be okay."  I am continually amazed and grateful when I hear someone else's story and realize I am not the only one who has had this experience.  It is a gift when the story is as sincerely written as Seeking Peace.

It is against the backdrop of reading this book that life began to shift in a big way for me.  I stopped trying to make things right.  It finally sank in that I am not responsible for anyone else's happiness.  I don't cause others to be angry, unhappy, or depressed, and it's not up to me to figure out what I need to do or be to make them feel better.  I can be myself, and if someone doesn't like that, oh well.

I didn't understand how important this realization was until I noticed I had periods of time when my chest didn't hurt.  When was that and what was happening?  It was when I felt comfortable with myself.  The more I say how I really feel and do what works for me, the less I feel stymied and stuck.  Not everyone appreciates my new found state of being.  Oh well.  It is too late to go back now.  I am feeling better, and I like who I am becoming.

Then one evening I got a call from a friend.  She'd heard from a mutual friend about a job opening.  They both encouraged me to apply.  The position was an Ed Tech, an assistant teacher of sorts in this part of the country.  It would be a good way to get back into teaching.

After all that has gone wrong in my job search over the last seven years [peruse the "Job Search" category if you are curious...or don't...it's depressing] I take nothing for granted and do not assume I have a chance of being hired until I hear the words "You have the job" which has only happened once for a short-term period.  I stopped writing here about the jobs I have applied and interviewed for because the repeated rejection was humiliating.

My first reaction to hearing about this job was "Why would they hire me?"  Then I thought about what I have to offer and how I had nothing to lose.  I would apply and see what happened.  I could only put myself out there and wait.

I was called for an interview.  Okay.  I got my hair cut and wore a favorite purple blouse.  Afterward I felt good about the meeting, and for the first time in seven years I did not second-guess anything I said.

Yesterday morning I was offered the position.  I said yes!  I will be teaching reading to third, fourth, and fifth graders in a school a half hour from where I live.  I will learn all I need to know about current reading curriculum and standards, which is necessary to teach in elementary grades.  The Title 1 teacher I will be working with has invited me to visit on Friday to get the lay of the land, and she has secured time for me to be trained this summer.  This fall my day will have a start time and an end time, with no work to carry home.  There's a stipend for one three-credit course, which will also help me with recertification hours.  Since I will be working in a school system I will have access to people who know what I need to do to meet current qualifications to return to classroom teaching.

I am so excited!

Teaser

I have one last book to share.  It is my favorite of the bunch, and that's saying a lot because I like all the used books I bought during my trip to California in March.  It's non-fiction by an author whose work was central to the work I did for my first Master's Degree, and I am embarrassed to say that I didn't know she'd written a book on this particular topic.

That said... I cannot do justice to this book tonight.  You know the saying "When it rains, it pours?"  Well, it has been pouring raindrops of goodness the past two weeks.  The days are full and productive, and the results have been gratifying.  Things are shifting and lining up, and it all feels good.

The book review will have to wait a day or two.

I will be back tomorrow to share good news.

A Thousand Mornings

I took myself to the movies tonight.  It was a day among days when life keeps happening, in a good way but busy.  I wanted a quiet couple of hours to be someplace away without the hassle of packing and traveling.  The movie provided an elegant escape.  I recommend Belle, a perfectly paced story of true events in England more than two hundred years ago.  The lead actress Gugu Mbatha-Raw is a pleasure to watch.

* * * * * * * * * *
There are two books from California still to write about.  For today I picked the one that slows my heartbeat and gives me a moment to pause with each reading.  I've never met a book of poems by Mary Oliver that I didn't like, and this book is no exception.  A Thousand Mornings (2012) was a delightful find; every time I pick it up I see something new, sometimes in a poem I've already read. 

I thought this evening about why Oliver's poems strike such a chord with me.  She doesn't gloss over the hard stuff.  She writes about all of it, the real parts of life that bring us joy and sadness and all the feelings in between.

Because the beating of my heart is ever present these days, I selected this poem to share~

A Thousand Mornings
 by Mary Oliver

All night my heart makes its way
however it can over the rough ground
of uncertainties, but only until night
meets and then is overwhelmed by
morning, the light deepening, the
wind easing and just waiting, as I
too wait (and when have I ever been
disappointed?) for redbird to sing.  

Last Times

For some life events, it's hard to know before it happens when the last time will be.  I didn't understand this when my children were little.  I had three so it seemed that there would always be diapers to wash, sippy cups to hand off, one last time to nurse. Then one by one things happened for the last time...  except I didn't know it was the last time until it was.  One day the diaper pail stood empty and those lint-free cloths turn into window-washing rags.  The third baby stopped asking to nurse, so I honored his decision and stopped offering.  The sippy-cup lids sat in the dish drainer for days because the toddle now wanted his cup to look just like the big kids' drinking glasses.

We then moved to a time of predictable last times in our family.  Moving through the school system, learning to drive, and graduating from college fell nicely on life's timeline.  We could predict ahead of the event that it would be the last.  I enjoyed those "lasts" because I had time to prepare for them.  I liked the chance to anticipate what would happen, how, and when.  Plans were made in advance, and though we stayed flexible and details might change, the central event was a celebration from anticipation to completion.  I was a happy mom.

Yesterday Ken and I traveled to Boston to help our youngest son move.  We anticipated that it could be the last time we helped one of our children physically move from one place to another.  Each of our three offspring is grown up and gainfully employed, and they have all the possessions that come with a professional life.  Ken and I are in good shape, but we are realistic about how many more times we can heft futons and solid wood bureaus down three flights of stairs, into a truck, and up three more flights of stairs.  We moved our commitments around and our son changed his schedule so Ken and I could both be there yesterday to be a part of this "last time."

We arrived in Boston and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with our son.  Then he delivered his surprise:  for the most part he was already moved.  There were a few boxes we could easily walk from the old apartment to his new abode, and after that he had tickets for us to attend a Red Sox game at Fenway Park.  It was a wonderful surprise.

It caught me off guard because I was prepared for another "last."  I continued to find reasons for us to walk between the two apartments because I wasn't ready for the experience to be over.  Then it was time for us to get on the subway to get to the game, and since we had so much free time we made plans to meet our son for dinner before we got on the bus to head home.

It was a delightful day.  Ken and I talked on the way home about how proud we are of our children and how lucky we are.

It will have to be okay that we can't always predict the "last time."

Lean Toward The Sun

Late last fall my friend Ruby gave me a dozen tulip bulbs.  They were a gift to her.  She wasn't sure she would still be in her cottage in the spring to see them bloom, so she gave them to me.  By then it was cold and the ground was partially frozen, but I had one barrel that still had diggable dirt, so I planted the bulbs there~

It has been pleasing to watch these tulips unfold.  In the rain this week the blooms closed up~

The next day they opened full in the sunshine~

Beautiful inside and out, they lean toward the sun~

Several weeks ago my daughter and I talked about how it's easy to write before and after big life events happen.  The anticipation and planning are fun to document.  I enjoy looking back and reflecting on what transpired and what I've learned.  We agreed that it's when you are in the middle of transformation that it's hard to write to share.

As I have written before, I am working to break old habits and patterns, and that includes not sharing the same things over and over again.  The internal work is grueling.  What's different this time is that I have made room for emotions to come to the surface to be felt and worked through.  Finally.  It has helped to read journal entries and posts here from three and four years ago.  I will not go backward.  This time I have enough momentum to propel myself out of the cycle and into a new space.  I don't know where I will wind up.

Wherever it is I plan to lean toward the sun....

The Beginner's Goodbye

There was one novel among the used books I purchased in March.  It's fitting that it was written by Anne Tyler because I often find her books by accident.  I don't absolutely love everything I've read by Tyler, but her Back When We Were Grownups is an all-time favorite of mine and a book I return to again and again, which I wrote about here.

Tyler's book I found for $3 in California is titled The Beginner's Goodbye.  The book is a hard cover, published in 2012.  Did the reader not like the book enough to keep it?  Was it a gift, or did they just run out of room on the shelf?  By the time I've made the decision to buy a book, especially a hard cover, I am fairly certain that it's one I will keep for a good long while.

The Beginner's Goodbye is a keeper.  The book jacket gives away more of the story than I think necessary.  The opening line of the book is really all you need to know:  "The strangest thing about my wife's return from the dead was how other people reacted."  That line tells you that the story is about a man whose wife dies and then comes back to visit.  And the strangest thing about that is other people's reactions?  I either want to read that story or I don't.  I did and I'm glad that's the way I decided to go.

Last fall I became increasingly uncomfortable with the topic of death.  Within a short time span three women I know lost their husbands.  Too close for comfort.  Too hard to think about, yet too real to be ignored.  I needed to find a way to think about the topic without dissolving into a mass of panic.

This book is fiction, and maybe that's why it helped.  Tyler created characters that are quirky and feel real to me.  If I met any one of them in real life, I'd like to get to know them.  They don't say everything the right way, and sometimes feelings are hurt.  They do things that others may not understand, and they may not be able to explain themselves.  Life is messy.  It follows that death is, too.

I like the idea of making a mistake and getting a second chance.  I'd like to think of myself as a  beginner, knowing I have time to learn how to do it better. 

An Issue Of Our Time

Almost twenty years after the fact I remember hearing the news about the accident.  I taught in the school district but didn't live there, so I didn't know the high school student who crashed his car and lost his life.  My co-workers couldn't understand how this happened - the student wasn't drinking; there were no cell phones in those days; there was no other vehicle involved; and he was alone in the car.  What caused him to lose control and crash into a tree? The police investigation revealed that he was distracted when he reached for a CD.  It wasn't called "distracted driving" then, but that was the first time I heard of a concrete example that being distracted while you are driving can cost you your life.

My friend in New Mexico knows more about distracted driving than she ever wanted to learn.  Her friend died last year after he was hit by a distracted driver.  In response to the tragedy she has researched the issue, written letters, contacted legislators, and worked on legislation for the state of New Mexico.  Laws are changing there and elsewhere around the country.  Education is an important aspect of the campaign to stop distracted driving, which includes texting but is a wider problem than that.

I am one of those people who needs to be totally focused on my driving.  It sounds funny but I involuntarily cringe when an actor on screen takes their eyes off the road while they're driving.  I don't know that I personally know people who drive distracted.  I know for sure that I've seen distracted drivers on the road and do my best to steer clear when they cross the center line or drift onto the shoulder.  I live in a state that hasn't outlawed cell phone use while driving, though legislation is in the works.

It matters that we raise people's awareness about this issue.  There are statistics that indicate it's time to sound the alarm, and there is a new documentary on the subject.  This is a link to the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxyjJyf7gGM. 

The brief description of the program is this:

Produced by Emmy © Award winning Christopher Productions LLC, this program highlights the most recent brain research involving cell phone use, DWI, and other causes of car crashes and helps us understand why distracted driving crashes are rising at an alarming rate, especially for young people.

I have not seen the full program or heard how the documentary will be available.  When I have more information I will share it here.

A Year By The Sea

In March, in the used bookstore in California, the first book I picked up was A Year by the Sea by Joan Anderson.  This was not the first time I had considered buying this book.  I almost bought it new several times when it was published in 1999.  The last time I saw it for sale in our local used bookstore I left it sitting on the shelf.

I was reticent to read the story of a woman I had watched travel the talk-show circuit.  I didn't trust the sincerity of a woman who could afford to escape for a year to her cottage on Cape Cod.  I figured if she owned a home on Cape Cod she was in pretty good shape and there wouldn't be much I could relate to in what she had to say.

The used paperback was only a dollar, so I figured why not buy it.  When a book repeatedly presents itself to me I eventually give in.  Most times I am glad I did.

This time was no exception.  It was the first book I started reading during my trip.  I intended just to read the first bit and set it aside for later.  The first paragraph grabbed my interest:  "The decision to separate seemed to happen overnight.  My husband came home from work one day and announced that he was taking a job hundreds of miles away.  As he yammered on about the details, I sat blank-faced, hard-pressed for an excuse not to accompany him.  After all, our two sons were grown, the big old family house in which we had resided for seventeen years had long since outlived its usefulness, and my job was portable.  So where was my resistance coming from?  Why was I frozen, frightened, and full of anger?" (p. 2)

It dawned on me why this book did not appeal to me fifteen years ago.  At that time I shared no point of reference with this woman.  I couldn't imagine a time when the house where I started my family would no longer suit me.  Fifteen years ago my children were growing up, but I couldn't envision a time when they would be completely grown and no longer need my presence on a regular basis.  I didn't think my husband would ever take a job hundreds of miles away without talking to me first, but if that was his choice would I refuse to go if I couldn't identify a solid reason?

However, fifteen years after she wrote the words, I could identify with what Joan Anderson was feeling.  I have moved from the house where I started my family and watched my children grow, children who now live lives totally separate from mine.  My husband has not taken another job, and he still travels often for work; what has changed is that I am now quite content with my time alone.

Once I started reading, I was hooked.  The cottage Joan escaped to was a run-down summer place that wasn't prepared for the stress of year-round occupancy.  She took full responsibility for her own expenses, which meant she soon needed to find work in a fishing village.  Joan opens herself to new experiences and new people.  She strikes up a conversation with a fascinating woman who becomes a mentor and confidante.  The wisdom her new friend imparts in itself makes the book worth reading.  I will not divulge her name here because that discovery is part of the fun....

This book is about one woman's journey of self-discovery.  I finished the book in California and have since read most of it again.  I recommend it if you are someone searching for what you cannot name, or if you are interested in reading about a woman who was willing to start the journey and share what she learned along the way.  

Second Sowing

The books I bought in March at a used book store have provided hours of reading and reflection.   I was going to write one post about my finds, but each book is special in its own way.  Starting today, and for the next few Tuesdays, I will post a bit about each book.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
Twenty-five years ago a friend loaned me a book that her sister had loaned her.  She said I had to read it because it was about all the things we talked about as women, wives, and mothers.  That was surprising because the book was written in 1955.  I read the book in a weekend, then bought my own copy which I have read again and again because it still speaks to my life experience.  That book was Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.  I never thought to ask if she'd written anything else.

Then in March I came across a book of poems that Lindbergh wrote between 1935 and 1955 titled The Unicorn and Other Poems.  I haven't read the book from beginning to end; I open the book to any page and read the poem that appears.  Page 32 was my first and remains my favorite.  I read it while I was holding my grandson ~

Second Sowing
by Anne Morrow Lindbergh
       
For whom
The milk ungiven in the breast
When the child is gone?

For whom
The love locked up in the heart
That is left alone?

That golden yield
Split sod once, overflowed an August field,
Threshed out in pain upon September's floor,
Now hoarded high in barns, a sterile store.

Break down the bolted door;
Rip open, spread and pour
The grain upon the barren ground
Wherever crack in clod is found.

There is no harvest for the heart alone;
The seed of love must be
Eternally
Resown.

Change Takes And Gives Time

Don't rush April.  Unfamiliar words but ones I uttered more than once this year.  I thought the month was almost over only to realize we were barely halfway through.   

Part of it was the weather, slow to warm and unable to encourage all the usual suspects to bloom before May arrived.  Maybe I thought rushing the month would also rush warmer temperatures, but that didn't work.

Part of it was the way I have been paying attention to what I am doing and how I am feeling and asking why.  This is hard to describe without sounding like I've been totally self-absorbed.  I have not turned into a complete hermit, and it's not like the people around me are aware of what I'm doing.  When my chest feels tight, I think about where I am, who I am with, and what I am doing.  When I am feeling relaxed I ask the same questions.  I focus on my breathing and take stock of what the rest of my body is doing and feeling.  This process makes me hyper aware of the passage of time, and the result has been a lengthening of my days.

And part of the reason for the longer-than-usual month of April is that I am changing patterns and routines.  Before I do something physical I ask if there is a way to do it I haven't tried before.  I have rearranged furniture in the three rooms where I spend most of my time.  I have stopped trying to manage my emotions ~ the tears come and I allow them to flow; I laugh more easily; I have said what I felt instead of squashing my words, and yes, I have felt the need to apologize.

During my massage on Friday I said that the tightness in my chest now feels like more of a vibration than an ache.  The feeling has become a signal to pay attention.  My massage therapist picks up on those small changes and notices the correlating changes she feels in my body.

She and I are both movie buffs, and we like to compare notes during my massage.  She was working on my right shoulder when I started describing the premise of one of my favorite baseball movies,  Moneyball.  It is the true story of how Billy Beane used statistics to draft and trade players based on their on-base percentages in order to build a winning team on a limited budget.  I had watched the movie the afternoon before.  As general manager Beane didn't care what position the player used to play; he could teach a catcher to play first base.  All that mattered was the player's ability to get on base. I described in great detail how Beane convinced players to stop doing what they thought they did best: Steal bases?  Not anymore - get on base and stay there.  Bunt?  Nope - hit the ball and get on base.  Billy Beane convinced players to change their habits and the team had a twenty-game winning streak, the first ever in American League baseball.

My shoulder released and I had an "aha" moment: It's not easy to change habits but there may be unexpected and extraordinary rewards when I do.  It's worth the effort to keep trying.

After the massage Ruth handed me a tiny orange origami crane she'd made that morning.  She reminded me that orange is the color of the second chakra, the place of personal power with ourselves and others.  Since February I have written daily in a small orange journal my daughter gave me.  I write one sentence about my day.  That simple act has encouraged me to start journaling again.

The journey continues....

*Follow-up note about the cat that showed up at our door one Friday night.  A woman who lives a quarter mile down the road, and deeper in the woods than we do, learned on Facebook from another neighbor that we had rescued a cat.  She called me Tuesday morning and I told her the cat was at the shelter.  The next day the shelter posted a photo of the reunion on FB.  Full circle.  

Cats And Dragons, Oh My

I think it's official:  we are the way station for wandering cats.  I don't want to think about why so many stray cats have made their way to our door, but #3 showed up just before midnight on Friday.  You may remember that that's how we wound up with Leo, who just showed up one evening and stole our hearts for two and a half years.  Then came the beautiful tiger kitten who wanted the safety of our porch and was a challenge to catch to take to the shelter.  Friday night's lovely was caught peering in the kitchen door and upon the invitation to enter was purring so loudly Ken could hear her across the room.  She introduced herself to everyone here and relished all affection lavished upon her~

I fixed her a dish of turkey, rice, and broth that she lapped right up.  She spent the night in the guest bathroom and explored every corner of the house the next morning.  I knew we needed to get her to the shelter for her sake and ours ~ I didn't want to get attached.  The people at the shelter took her right in, even though they were closed to visitors due to painting the entire interior of the building, and all said she would be easily adopted due to her beauty, disposition, and young age.  I nick-named her Bright Eyes and know she will make some family a wonderful pet~

* * * * * * * * * *
I had a request for a photo of the luggage I bought.  I think this angle shows the pieces most clearly~

It is the Extra Large Sportman's Expandable Pullman Set.  The little guy on guard needed surgery after too much loving from Mazulah at my daughter's house.  Baby Dragon needed a new eye~

He's the cutest thing, each arm and leg are made in one piece so you can make them longer or shorter by pulling them up or down.  I think a little boy I know may have fun with him when he visits in June.