The Truth Behind My Name (Also: Planking)

I was sitting at my desk this morning wondering what I was going to blog about today, since it's Tuesday and I'm trying to make that a post day. I have a few posts "in the works", but they're either in-depth or extensive rants and aren't ready for sharing.

I don't believe in karma. I do, however, hold a great appreciation for coincidence and irony. A few minutes after pondering this blog dilemma, I received a voicemail from a customer. It started out, "I was talking to a young lady at your office yesterday," and ended with, "could you please have that young lady call me?" I called her back, and the first thing she said was, "You said Amber? I couldn't remember your name when I left the message, but it's such an unusual name I should have been able to."

Thus contradicting my life-long belief that "Amber" is a fairly ordinary name.

(Counts number of Ambers I know....)

Congratulations, Dad. Not only did you help in choosing nine names collectively for your kids, you managed to pick ones that were relatively unique! Who knew? I certainly didn't.

I suppose now is a good time to share with you the history of my name. Wesley's name story is Mom, Dad, and friends in a car shouting out boy names until they hit upon one they thought sounded nice. Mine? I have the honor of being named after a character in "The Running Man".

Y'know? The Arnold Schwarzenegger movie?

Imagine my delight when I learned that tidbit.

At that point I had never seen "The Running Man". A couple years later, I walked into the living room while Mom and Dad were in the middle of it.

All that hard work learning to appreciate and accept my name started to peel around the edges.

This is why:

Don't even get me started on the suits. Nah, what gets me is that my namesake (or am I her namesake???) spends a good portion of her screen time screaming.

I mean, I probably would spend most of my time screaming if I was in her shoes, but.... Just no. It doesn't help that she plays in a Schwarzenegger movie. (For those of you who can't sense sarcasm through the screen or who haven't already learned this of me: I don't like Arnold Schwarzenegger very much. The fact that I've had to spell his name three times already isn't helping.)

<end rant>

I actually had thought of another topic to amuse you with before the aforementioned phonecall, so since I have the time I'll move on to that!

In the wake of my first post of the year, I sat back and reevaluated several aspects of my life. The conclusion at which I arrived is no surprise: certain things need to change. And unlike some people who are rational and tackle on thing at a time, I've gone for the overhaul approach.

I have a working budget in place and am trying to remain aggressively dedicated to it because, if nothing else, I need a car. I'm already doing OK with my eating habits but they could stand to be adjusted. And I'm trying to stay fit.

Since I miss my 1/2 mile jog at work every day because of the snow, I was starting to get worried about what to do in place of that (not to say a 1/2 mile jog everyday is all I need to do to keep fit, but it's a start). Browsing facebook around the New Year, I came across a post for the 30-day Plank Challenge and thought, "That looks my speed. I do need to strengthen my core. Why not?"

I actually started it Sunday morning, and this is what I have learned so far:

1) My thighs are already killing me. Everything else feels fine so far, so either it's too early to for the rest of my body to get on board the "good kind of pain" train or I have my form all wrong. Possibly both.

2) Never judge a workout routine based on the pictures. I should know this by now. I really should.

3) Never do anything like yoga with my dog around. The moment I lie down on the floor she's in my face. Either she's worried about me; she sees a perfect opportunity to snuggle; or, in her twisted way, she thinks I am finally submitting my authority to her. In any case, I have to ban her from my room when I do my morning stretched.

4) "The secret to getting ahead is getting started." - Mark Twain

5) Half of my problem must surely be the face that I'm trying to plank on a laminate floor.

I've never been very fit. (I ceased being able to touch my toes when I was, like, ten.) The idea is exciting, but I tend to lose my drive pretty quickly. We have Wii Fit and for a while I was going pretty strong on that, at least with a bit of yoga. But have any of you ever had the Wii give that shocked little "Oh" when you wobble on the board? Yeah, I got sick of that. I was walking my dog pretty regularly, but then winter hit and I'm at work sunup to sundown. So planking it is, until I break something or find a better alternative.

I'll keep you posted.

It's Spring...and I have Nothing to Say

I think it's finally safe to say spring is here.

I have never before been so ready for winter to go away. Yes, around February I will hit a phase where I'm impatient for the weather to turn, but this winter I about went stir-crazy. Usually I force myself to tough it up and remind myself how much we need the cold and snow, but not this year.

And now, at long last, the snow is turning to rain and I can abandon my winter coat. Woot!

In honor of the warmer weather, I've been forcing myself to get out more and walk my dog. (Her energy level from being cooped up all winter is half of what drives me up the wall.) I had intended to get myself a membership at the gym for my birthday. I even bought myself some neon-colored running shoes and promised myself that if I could keep it up for a month I could get some real running pants. (Yes, I have a self-bribing system I enforce to make myself perform. You clearly have never seen me in a gym.) I walked in, all ready to slap down my debit card. I took one look at the line of treadmills and shuddered. Then I saw the actual price for the membership and promptly left.

I'm not that dedicated.

So springtime! Of course, it would be easier to believe if all those bulbs I planted last autumn would sprout. Not a single crocus, no sign of my hyacinths and tulips.... Not one green tendril.

We did get more chickens. It's already been established that we are crazy, but just so no one forgets. And they are new breeds from the kind we have. I've officially lost count.

Soon most of the roosters will be gone, except for Rocky (our nicest Buff) and Gerard the Brahma because he's too funny to kill. Mom is hoping to hatch some chicks from our flock, but we kind of want to separate the chosen hens and Rocky to avoid any spawn from Gerard. Funny as he is, he has enough quirks that we don't want to see what sort of creature would result from crossing him and a hen. (If it happens, we're naming the thing Napoleon.)

The ducks have been loving the mud puddles. Poor Alfac injured his leg on the ice in the winter and it healed wrong at the ankle, so he has a permanent limp. Our driveway is a mess now due to the flooding, and I put my rain boots to good use.

Clearly I'm rambling. It has taken an hour for me to get this far. I'm working on a more "deep" post, but it's not finished. However, I knew I kind of needed to say something.

After the murderous winter season we endured, all I want is to see something green and living. My aloe plant just isn't cutting it. I have plans for a flower garden on one side of our yard. Hopefully we'll also get in a vegetable garden like we didn't last year.

We had a spring cleaning session among us girls a couple weeks ago, and I discovered two things: 1) the color of my floor, and 2) the fact that I apparently do not clean my room during the winter. Oops.

Ok, I'm done blathering. With any luck, I'll be back later this week with something more worthwhile, now that I have gotten spring out of my system.

Changing Gears for Summertime

I think a personal summer challenge should be to write more than three posts a month. Even that will be a challenge with the way our summer is shaping up.

It isn't really warming up, that's for sure. We're somehow still in spring mode, weather wise, including the rain. We don't even have our garden in the ground yet because of all the rain and cloudy days. No corn this year.

I'm trying to think what happened in the last couple of weeks. Well, for starters, I came home one day by bus, skipped up the front steps greeting the chickens, and was met at the door by my grim-faced mother. 

"Before you come in, I need to tell you something."

Naturally, my first thought is, "Great. Who died." My bus driver no doubt saw the shift in my demeanor. I know my shoulders drooped and I tensed up.

"What?" I asked cautiously.

"Sasha was hit by a car."

Commence meltdown.

Most of you already know the end of this story. Mom had warned me because Sasha was in miserable agony and on edge. I came in quietly and knelt beside her where she lay on a towel spotted with blood. Mom explained that she'd just put Sasha out and was painting when she heard a noise outside and looked out to see a dog lying on the side of the road across from our house. Some older lady had been driving a van (which hadn't reached the speed limit for our stretch of road, as evidenced by the fact that my dog was still alive) and Sasha, who had mysteriously escaped from her run, had darted in front of the vehicle. Mom went out calling to Sasha, who didn't respond at first, and the lady turned around in a neighbor's driveway and came back, hysterical.

"Is that your puppy?"

By this time, as I understand it, Sasha had stood up on her own and dragged herself into our yard. Mom got her inside and called the vet. They said it wasn't safe to sedate her in order to x-ray her while she was so alert and still so much in shock. Mom was afraid her leg was broken.

I'd heard the nasty stories of people with broken bones, and how sometimes you can see the broken parts pressing the skin. Sasha's right front leg, the injured leg in question, didn't look mangled or twisted or unnaturally positioned in any way. She also had a cut lip (as in you could see how her tooth had bit right through it) and a few small-ish open wounds on her other legs. She was quiet and still, which in and of itself is startling. Mom said when she'd first brought Sasha inside, Sasha had been hyperventilating and thrashing around.

A little while later, Sasha started that back up, and I about broke down, wondering why on earth we had to wait for tomorrow morning to help her. We couldn't give her any sort of human pain meds in case there was internal bleeding (which, Mom warned me, the vet wouldn't be able to deal with).

However, as the day worn on, Sasha started rolling onto her back to encourage me to scratch her belly and even hobbled a bit when I carried her outside. She didn't drink much and wouldn't eat, though.

Fast-forwarding to the vet visit the next day:

Thankfully, no one else was there. Sasha's last vet visit was a nightmare, as you may recall. However, miraculously, Sasha didn't turn into a slavering beasty when the vet and his assistants appeared. She just maintained her miserable appearance. The vet had me walk her around (I'd carried her from the car and up the steps) and decided her leg wasn't broken or fractured, because no dog would walk on a leg in that condition (although, this is my dog...). Then he took her into the other room.

I cowered in a corner, afraid of the moment when Sasha would snap and show her dark side.

She growled darkly for a while as Mom stood beside her and the vet checked (or tried to check) her mouth. Finally, the vet asked Mom to step outside. Like children, animals act differently when their "parents" are around. He said a soothing owner reaffirms an animal's suspicions that the situation merits fear and retaliation. Good to know. If I want my dog to behave, I'll just step out of the room.

Fast-forwarding again: in the end, the diagnosis was bruising and nerve damage on her right leg and shoulder and some cuts that would heal on their own. Huzzah!

For the next few nights, while she still was having trouble walking, I slept in the living room with Sasha. She wasn't supposed to get excited (and for that we had medicine, which turned Sasha from her hyperactive self to a semi-normal dog). Oh, and we were warned that "in rare cases some dogs will up and die a few days after an accident as a delayed reaction from the shock, even though they looked healthy. I don't want to worry you, but I have to warn you." Comforting, no?

So my obsessive self eyed my dog nervously for the next few days, wondering if, true to character, she was one such rare dog. I know: morbid. I don't know what to tell you.

And that was that. She's still hobbling, but her spirit is back.

Mom thinks her mysterious escape ("mysterious" because she didn't break any part of the lead or her collar) was brought on by the presence of a certain rooster who had been stalking our house for the past week. No one will claim the stupid bird, and he kept strutting up crowing like Peter Pan and attacking our chickens to assert his authority. He even had the ducks scared. He plucked poor Presley's head feathers and chased some of the others under the cars. It took days, a lot of rocks, gardening tools, and other flying projectiles and eventually Dad with a disc to convince him that this was our territory. We haven't seen him since.

Our own roosters (and we have at least six, and one crowed once at me but which Heather still believes is a hen) are starting to work on their crowing. Rex (formerly "Arexi", the little Bantum) is the loudest. He's still by far the smallest, though one of the Polish (Elvis, the girl) is close, but Rex knows how to strut his stuff and crows defiantly at anyone or anything who questions his authority. The ducks are bigger and still as nervous and clique-ish as ever. We had some friends over a couple days ago and the girls wanted to catch one of the ducks. At one point Heather was following them and they came around a car not knowing the ducks were there. One of the ducks was so startled that he fell over like a fainting goat.

I can't think of anything else right now except for VBS, which I am helping with this year. (I haven't attended or helped with VBS in a while.) It helped me make up my mind that the theme is "The Great Western Round-Up". I am working with the kids on the Green Team to memorize their verses each night. While they eat.

Do you know how hard it is to get hyper, excited, hungry children to pay attention when there's food in front of them? It's a study in patience, I will say. And I think I may already be losing my voice.

The kids are split into three age groups after the opening assembly and penny offering. The groups rotate throughout different activities and classes before returning to the main auditorium for a final lesson, songs, and a couple group games. We were all singing along and I was repeatedly poking the shoulders of misbehaving children in front of me when one of them turned around and informed me that I had "the voice of an angel." And I don't think it was a compliment. 

I'm just trusting that someday I'll be thankful for all my voluntary work with children. I'm already thankful for past experience. I only uttered one dangerous word (being "butt", as in "those workers are busting their butts *cough* to get you your food, so please be nice to them") and I don't think I really lost my cool, though I was almighty close.

We return again tonight. I wore my only decent Western outfit last night (and it turned out better than I'd hoped). I might go into town later and check out some thrift stores, it being my day off. Can you believe I only have one decent denim skirt? Me, the former homeschooler. I know.

Oh! We also had our annual BBQ Fundraiser Dinner. I forgot about it because it wasn't the usual tiring day for me. I worked the money table. Well, before that Mom and I and a lady from church spent all day baking 45 cakes at the church. We had a decent turn-out, and I always love helping. 

Well, I need to go. Hopefully I will return tomorrow....

Back to Walking (and blogging)

Aaaand.... I wrote most of this on Saturday but never finished. Right.
Let's just say it's been a very busy week. We had Missions Revival (phenomenal, by the way) in the evenings Wednesday through Friday, and I had a full work week. The weather has been gorgeous. It was like as soon as May hit, so did the warm weather. "April showers bring May flowers", anyone? The trees are bursting into "full leafery", as a friend recently described them. The chicks and ducks are growing, while my flowers are dying under their assaults. I didn't think that one through. We have one rooster who is getting huge. Especially his feet. Man, I need to post pictures!

The house is slowly but surely undergoing remodeling. I finally hung some stuff around my room today; stuff which had been sitting on the floor for the last five months. (Has it been that long?) My mirror, cork board, and elephant picture are all up. I'm getting a nifty blackboard of sorts made by a friend in church soon. I've never had so much wall space to fill!

One big thing for me is that I'm trying to get back into walking with Sasha at the picturesque-ly named but not-so-picturesque park a couple miles from our house. So far I'm up to two days. I was going to blog about that yesterday (Friday), but the day was weary and I didn't manage it.

Another good habit I'm returning to is waking before 8. Most mornings, I've officially been up at about by 7:15, though the sun gets me stirring closer to 6:30. Sasha finally gave up her habit of huffing and puffing in my face when I didn't wake up by 7:30. Now she waits quietly and analyzes my breathing, thumping her tail when I breathe deeply during a stretch. As soon as I swing my legs to the floor, she's on her feet and dancing around me.

She hasn't yet picked up on the new change in the morning ritual. I think she'll have it in a couple more days, which probably means she'll return to being my alarm clock. (Good thing, because half the time mine doesn't work.) Yesterday, she didn't get excited until I held the harness up for her to see, and then she couldn't keep still.

I had laid some towels across the backseat in hopes that it would keep her hair off the newly-cleaned seats. Right. She was bouncing all over the car and the towels were crumpled on the floor before we were out of the driveway. She isn't like normal dogs who enjoy sitting by the open window and feeling the breeze. She barely pays attention to the windows. She just wants to breathe in my face.

We arrived at the park and, to my delight, didn't see any other cars parked there. Then came the issue of me needing to carry keys, my phone with headphones, and treats, and having only one tiny pocket on my workout pants. I ended up shoving the treats in my pocket and gathering my phone, the cords, and the clicker in one hand, gripping Sasha's leash in the other.

Commence Sasha's excited lunging and dashing about and tripping me up. I've been working on "heel" with her, and she gets the basic concept, but doesn't realize I mean for her to keep it up the entire time.

Eventually her excited antics wore out and she settled down, for the most part, to walking. Well, pulling me, I guess. Can't say I expected any more. I called her to heel as often as I could and tossed her treats when she acknowledged me and fell into step beside me. It wasn't until we were almost to the point where we would turn around to head back when she realized coming to my side and walking there earned her rewards every time.

And, of course, I was low on treats. Right. Just as she started to listen.

We started back for the car. Now Sasha was almost constantly pacing at my side. I turned up the volume when one of my favorite songs came on, and we continued. I knew it'd all fall apart when Sasha discovered her treat disposal was broken, but for the moment, we were in the zone.

Then I heard voices behind me.

Looking back, I saw two people on bikes coming up behind us. We'd been kind of hogging the sidewalk. Smiling uncertainly, I tugged for Sasha to move over.

But as soon as Sasha saw the people, it was like she turned into a feral beast. She snarled at the bikers and pulled at the leash. One of the bikers has started to say hello in that funny "good doggy" tone, but stopped when my dog transformed into an angry beast before her eyes. They hurried around us while I reached for Sasha's collar. I think I may have dropped my phone, which I had tucked under my arm.

Sasha settled down quickly, but her concentration was broken, and it was back to lunging and dashing and tripping me. Oh, well. I'd run out of treats and had resorted to enthusiastic "good girl"s and head pats, anyway.

We were almost to the car when I saw the bikers had stopped near it at the top of the hill, looking out at the view of polluted water and seagulls, with a backdrop of factories. Glorious, no? I decided if they were still there when we reached the car, I should probably apologize.

"Oh, sorry about my rabid mongrel. She's quite possibly mad and hates people for no apparent reason. My excuse is that her brain is underdeveloped and the flight part of her flight-or-fight instinct is broken. Whenever she gets startled or meets unfamiliar people or animals she either gets severely defensive or ready to attack; can't be sure which."
When we arrived at the car, the bikers were still there. I shuffled Sasha into the backseat. She immediately hopped forward to the passenger seat and barked quickly. I rounded the car and made eye contact with the bikers.
"I'm really sorry about my dog. I don't know what her problem is." (Yeah, not sticking to the script.)
They were very understanding, suggesting without my prompting that perhaps they startled her. Maybe it was the traffic that set her on edge? (And that's a negative. It is Hershey who hates sirens, loud noises, and a big trash truck driving toward him.) You know, there's a dog park not much further down the road (they seemed to have gotten the impression that I was new to the area when I said we'd just moved and wanted to try out this park). Maybe she needs some socialization?
Is it that obvious I'm an inexperienced and rather careless dog owner? I'm trying, people. If I ever dare to get another dog, I'll know better, and that dog will have a lot higher expectations to live up to. Plus, we're all convinced Sasha just isn't quite right in the head. Her reasoning is all off.
Okay, and now that it's Monday....
So, obviously I need to get back to work on that whole post-a-day deal. This week is setting up to be a lot less crazy than last. Mostly. I walked Sasha again on Saturday. She did well, and we didn't meet anyone the entire time.
The trees are filling out still; as is our yard. But not our garden.
Well, gotta go.

Snail Mailing It

Here I am again, almost 11 PM.

Today was another of "those" days. For a while it was looking like it was on a track to be a truly rotten day, though things eventually evened out. It's getting chilly again. Drizzly all day, and we're supposed to be in for more snow later in the week. (When I mentioned that to the driver and other passenger on the bus this morning, they both gave me glares and teasingly suggested I start walking.) Ah, spring.

The highlight of my day was when I came home to a letter. A real letter. I can't remember the last time I got one of those outside of birthday cards. This one was from a friend all the way on the West Coast, in response to a birthday card I sent her a couple weeks ago. That was the first time I bought a stamp for myself, that I can recall. Sad, isn't it? It's been a long time since I've had to mail anything.

I was wandering around the kitchen munching on no-bakes and contemplating a pile of dirty pots when Mom, who'd been painting the dining room, said, "Oh, I forgot. This came for you," and tossed the pink envelope on the ironing board, which was standing in the kitchen. (A piece is broken so the ironing board won't fold up. Hence, it gets shuffled around from room to room depending on space.)

I guessed immediately what the envelope contained, but I still got a smile out of it.

There's something wonderful about sending and receiving handwritten letters.

Maybe if I did it more often I'd be forced to have better penmanship? As it was I labored over those few lines to my old friend. Why is it that proper penmanship can't just come by force of will?

After I mailed that birthday card, I pondered the idea of getting back into sending "handwritten sentiments" by snail mail. I know receiving them certainly cheers me up. Getting a text or an e-mail just can't compare. And now I know how much stamps cost. (I felt funny using my debit card to purchase one stamp, but I didn't know when I'd ever need more.)

I think I'm going to have to cut this one short. Again. The chicks are trying to sleep and I'm clacking away. Also, my dog is making her sad whining sounds in the kitchen. Sometimes I swear she sounds like a baby elephant when she gets to moaning dejectedly.

There's something wrong with my dog. (Also, my impending birthday.)

I should be cleaning my room, packing for the retreat, washing some very dirty pots and pans, and a load of other things, but no. I'm here instead.

Who's complaining?

Not I.

Actually, I'm currently trying to will away one of those horrid headaches which somehow affect the stomach. (I call it a migraine, but considering how some friends experience migraines, it seems a little rude and unfair to do so.) And also, for some reason, eating "Cap'n Crunch's Oops! All Berries" cereal in hopes that food will force out the headache. Don't ask.

I should also be writing furiously because tomorrow is my birthday and - oh, look! - it's been 16 months and counting since I started that *cough* book and I still have six or seven chapters, 20,000 words, until completion and  two weeks ago I thought I could get it done by my birthday. (16 months to write 70,000 words. What is wrong with me?)

And all I want to do is talk about my dog.

Last day as an 18-year-old. How creepy/weird/unnerving is that?!

Around lunchtime tomorrow, I will have been alive for 19 whole stinkin' years. (And what boggles the brain is taking into account that I'll be stepping into my twentieth year in existence.)

I was once again bemoaning the trials of growing up the other day. Used to be, my biggest dream was owning a horse. But, growing up and all, I've had to learn some hard lessons about life: horses cost money, and require space in which to house and exercise them, and the average American is hard-pressed as it is to make money enough to sustain themselves and a 50-pound puppy when the weather turns to snow and their place of employment caters to people who prefer sunshine to entice their appetite, thus cutting short said average person's expected weekly hours.

Not that I'm bitter.

Back on the "Why growing up is kind of emotionally painful" subject:

When you're a kid, you haven't lived long enough to discover the limitations and expectations and unfortunate truths about life. It's all open and full of possibilities. Anything can happen. And then, like an internet test to judge which occupation is best suited for you, the longer you continue, the more things get whittled down, and suddenly you can't incorporate plants and storytelling into one lifestyle. And one day, you're forced to choose which dreams to pursue and which to let free, only to be recalled when you're telling your kids, "Once, I used to want to...."

But life is also exciting, because sometimes things happen far different than you could ever have imagined, and in some ways the unexpectedness is a pleasant surprise.

Yes, my brain is stuck on surprises because people keep suggesting that that's what I'll be getting lots of for my birthday. Or maybe I'm just reading into all of my recent conversations way too much?

True, I've never been truly surprised for my birthday (Mom likes lists so she has some idea what we would like so we don't get disappointed or she doesn't guess way off or something) but I've come to learn that I don't really like my friends' idea of "surprises". (If you're reading this, Jordan Dear, I'm thinking specifically of you, and in the case of Christmas, I shouldn't have been surprised. But I felt scandalized. Just so you know.)

I was supposed to be talking about my dog.

Well....

Last week, she went to the vet for her skin issues. Bye-bye paycheck.

But no. First, she came to church with us. Because Mom had to take her to the vet so I had to take over Mom's co-op class for the day, and Mom wasn't going to drop us off and then go back home for the mongrel.

And I have decided that, as far as my dog ownership goes, I am a colossal failure. (I was doing to go with "abysmal", but....)

We were the first ones there. Fine. Sasha ran and played and chased and wagged her tail.

People.

Good heavens, people.

My dog turned into a monster.

I was on the verge of tears.

My habit of appologizing profusely when I'm upset or embarassed came out in full force.

Mom left early, dragging the snarling dingo behind her.

And the same display of attitude was presented at the vet.

I will probably never be able to convince my dog that it's okay for me to live with other people, should I ever move out and get a roommate (or get married...).

The vet said it was probably overstimulation or something (new place, lots of new people) and misery from an apparent yeast infection. And I felt like even more of a failure.

Why does my dog have to be bipolar?

I mean, at home, she's generally...well, not quiet, not sweet, but not a monster either. Just weird. But that's her normal. She's almost endearing for it.

Or she has us all deceived.

But she doesn't snarl and snap unless you try to use her for a foot rest. And she loves being petted and doted upon and talked to. She loves playing chase and abusing her teddy bear.

And tomorrow four boys will be arriving to spend the weekend and my darling idiot will be moved to another room while I, her mistress, will abandon her.

I have a very bad feeling about this. Downright foreboding.

So I didn't take my dog to training classes for socialization, and now.... She's hopeless. Good-bye, loving family dog who's so easy going and friendly to everyone and the picture-perfect American household.

And good-bye to "Oops! All Berries". My headache is still present and accounted for.

So the dogs have been begging for more time outside since the weather has changed. We don't have any sort of fense, invisible or otherwise, so I had to cave and get a run. (Even though now we're getting a proper fence soon, which means I wasted $20.) I put Sasha outside on it about 20 muinutes ago.

Apparently she needs me to hold her...paw when she's outside.

I snapped on the lead, took off the leash, and turned back for the door. Sasha didn't move. She just looked at me, waiting, expecting me to pace beside her while she did her business and then frolicked along getting all tangled.

I told her, "Too bad," and went inside.

I've checked on her three times.

She hasn't moved.

She has remained sitting at the end of the lead, watching the door and looked all excited when I appear.

How can this dependant little creature turn into such a horror?

What have I done?

Or is it, What haven't I done?

Well, there. I posted on my last day as 18. Mission accomplished.

How I Run Errands (and don't manage my time properly)

I meant to post yesterday. Don't get me started with the excuses. In short, I lacked inspiration. However, I ran some errands before work yesterday and found my inspiration. Which means you won't get a rave about my new mint plant. Consider yourselves fortunate.

A little backstory of sorts (or is it a preface?):

I don't know if it's the new house, the season, or something else, but the dogs - especially Sasha - have had dry skin issues lately. Sasha has licked herself red in some areas. I found some comfry salve Mom bought at an Amish store a while ago and decided to try it on Sasha's stomach. (Of course, first I googled "can I use comfry salve on my dog".)

What does Sasha do (after I finally manage to get her on her back so I can rub the stuff on her)? Lick it. Seems she likes the flavor. That, or it's just another sign of my dog's overall general.... She doesn't think. She just puts stuff in her mouth for the sake of it.

You know that thing about dogs being like their owners?

Yeah.

Anyway! So I asked Mom if she thought some tea tree oil would help. From personal experience, the stuff is potent. I never actually had to taste any, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who's guessed a thing's flavor based on it's smell. That's half of how we get our sense of taste, anyway.

Turns out we didn't have any tea tree oil on hand, so I said I'd run by a local health food store on the way to work.

Another side note: I'm still practising good time management skills.

This health food store is on Main Street. Don't start imagining anything huge. The buisiness part of our Main Street is about four blocks of Mom 'n' Pop shops, bars, cafes, and the like, along with historic buildings like the courthouse and banks and human service buildings. Doesn't make for a good tourist attraction, but it adds to that "small town" feel the city for some reason seeks to maintain.

So the whole scheme of one-way streets always confuses me, especially when coming from the direction of our new house. I only had a vague idea of how to get where I was headed. I failed. Missed my turn, had to go three blocks to the correct one-way and do a big circle.

Then there were no angled parking spots on Main.

Parallel parking.

I haven't done it since my road test.

Sue me.

I wandered around for a couple blocks, almost turning the wrong way on a one-way and finally finding an empty parallel spot on a slight hill very near my destination.

Yet another side note: if anyone decided to trail me, they might decide I am dangerous. Either to them or to myself, I can't say. When I get turned around, I usually go out of my way to set myself right. I won't guarantee it's...the best method.

I totally blanked on how to parallel park. I started out fine, but somehow became self-concious (I was absolutely sure the driver parking the SUV across the street was watching and laughing) and went too fast. Commence repeated backing up, cranking the wheel, and pulling forward. Bother.

Trying to shake off that blond episode, I made my way to the health food store. One expensive bottle of tea tree oil and some local honey later, my mission was accomplished. Now to Wal-Mart!

Do you ever watch people in passing vehicles? (Maybe it's the fact that I do this that makes me so self-concious?) I was at a stop light right after pulling out of my parking spot. The car across the intersection had their lef turn signal on. There was a woman driving and a man in the passenger seat. The man said something, gesturing to their right, and the blinker went off. After a moment of hesitation, the right blinker came on. Then the driver leaned forward and looked both ways, also gesturing, and the blinker went off. Good to know I'm not the only one who can manage to get lost in a certain small section of city blocks.

I had to grab some things at Wal-Mart and refill our water jugs (we get the reverse osmosis water). Here's where my time management, or lack thereof, comes into play. (Though I'm inclined to blame poor road planning downtown.) I forgot just how long it takes to get 16 gallons of water! 2 5-gallon jugs and 6 1-gallon. I have this dark fantasy about some poor soul during a zombie apocalypse in search of water. So long as they don't have any undead following them, all they need to do is go to Wal-Mart. Forget single bottles (though those do help). Of course, in the event of their being pursued, they might only have time for a few quarts.

But I digress (again).

By the time I'd filled all my jugs (getting many a curious glance in the process) I had to quick step across the store to get dog food (we're trying a half-wet/half-dry diet for the dogs) and allergy medicine (also for the dogs).

On the way, I passed two girls in their mid-twenties. One of them made said, "Oh, it's Friday" and her friend laughed and started singing that ridiculous song***. I had to laugh, because the same thing had immediately started running through my head.

I knew I was late. I resigned myself to the fact, berated myself for the fact, and kept speedwalking (which is hard to do when pushing a cart filled with 16 gallons of water). However, on the bright side, the cashier was really nice and his voice was Josh Turner-deep. Which is just cool.

Skip through a long 6 hours of work/driving home. I ran through the nightly routine with Sasha and headed to bed. I made Sasha lay down on her side (which she hates being forced to do) and applied more comfry salve followed by tea tree oil.

It was late and I was tired, but Sasha wouldn't settle. She kept sniffing around and pacing, and somehow couldn't connect the strange odor to herself. I finally convinced her to lay down. She likes to curl up, but as soon as her nose came near her stomach she was on her feet.

This routine was repeated a few times, combined with sniffing her blanket (which apparently also smelled a little). I finally had to move a different blanket to the top of her "nest" before she collapsed, mostly out of just being tired.

And look! A picture!

 

 

Sasha and Mr. Teddy (plus a sock, my library basket, and a mess spilling out of my closet)

 

So the salve/oil worked. A little too well, it seemed last night. Trial and error, I guess.

By the way, happy March! It felt kind of Spring-y yesterday with sunshine and mud. We've had warmer days where our driveway becomes a muddy mess, and then cold days where the ruts freeze. While I've enjoyed the snow, I'm anxious to get started on my garden. Big plans for that!

 



*** Use caution when clicking this link. Wait. You already clicked it, didn't you?

February Snow

Most of you know this already, but I got my glasses! And the main color is chocolate brown, not purple.

I picked them up on Tuesday before work. I had a little time to spare afterword and wandered the mall. For most of that time, I had a headache because my eyes (especially the left) were adjusting. But now I can see again!

The only other "big" thing is the snow. Finally, real snow. The "storm" started later than predicted. Right about the time I had to leave for babysitting last night. Mom dropped me off and I got a ride home with the parents.Talk about nerve-wracking, because while the roads weren't terrible by that point we were almost in white-out conditions with the wind. It was a light snow.

When I first took Sasha out this morning, she was ecstatic. I think winter is her favorite season. The wind had caused some snow drifting, so Sasha would be prancing along almost bare ground and then land in over a foot of snow. Of course, that only made her more excited.

Later, Mom and I shoveled part of the driveway. I must really be out of shape. The stuff isn't even heavy. And then, of all things, my right middle finger got numb with cold. Still, it's a beautiful day. Mostly blue skies and sunshine, with a little wind. It doesn't even feel very cold right now, though it's supposed to drop throughout the day.

After I'd warmed up (and ate the chili Mom made last night) I took Sasha back outside to play for a bit. I wish she would stay close to me without a leash. She's rather clumsy and kept getting tangled. Not that she really seemed to mind.

Our neighbors on one side have three dogs. Right now I'm watching them caper around in the yard. One of them found a stick.   :)  Of course, Sasha and Hershey aren't happy about that.

Man, I'm drawing a blank. I almost posted something a little more serious yesterday, but I'm having trouble framing my thoughts into words. Maybe I'll try it again later.

What's in a Name?

Recently - I don't remember why - Jessi was talking about googling herself and people she knows, and telling me about the funny (or weird) results. I think I've tried it once or twice for myself. Out of curiosity, I googled myself yesterday. Just my first and last name.

I didn't find myself until the second page.

I did find a photographer, a couple restaurant employees, an ancestry.com page to a lady b. 1908 d. 2000, and a character for a Percy Jackson fanfiction. I enjoyed that last one.

Strange how googling myself and finding many people with the same name who are not me can make me feel so insignificant. I guess that's what middle names are for. Although one search result informed me there were only five people in the U.S. with my name. I find that hard to believe.

We were watching a TV show on Netflix the other night - one of those apocalyptic/world collapses kind of shows everyone seems so interested in - and one of the characters mentioned how she couldn't remember her dead husband's face.

Dad jumped in with a comment about how that has a scientific explination: We have a hard time remembering what the people we know most and love look like because there are so many images of them in our brains that they all jumble together, whereas we recognize people we've only seen a few times because there are only those couple images to link to them.

And here I was worrying that it was just my weak memory that made me incapable of recalling the features of a friend's or relative's face.

I did get to pondering something like this a while ago, while I was feeling especially poetic. It seems to me that for the people we love, it's less what they look like and more who they are that comes to mind when we think of them. Less physical features and more of their...essence, if you will (though I don't mean to sound creepy). I've often heard pastors talk about our bodies as just being the shell for who we actually are. When I think of my family, I think of what they mean to me, what I know and love about them, not the color of their eyes or how tall they are.

I don't know why I find this so comforting. Maybe it's the knowledge that, though I'm bound to forget the face, I won't forget the person.

At one point that was going to tie in a little better with the name thing. Something along the lines of "it's not the name, but the person", and how a name is just what someone is called by. (And that, in turn, was going to link to my dog.) Maybe I'll give it a try.

First off, my dog. Don't y'all love hearing about her? In those brief moments when I find the will to train her, I realize that one key component to her training is the fact that she doesn't answer to her name. In the training guides I found through google, they tell you to say your dog's name, and every time she (most dog training manuals always refer to the dog in question as "she") responds, "click and treat". Dogs don't answer to their name because it's their name, but because it's the word they know to  mean we want them. If that makes any sense.

In a lot of the fantasy books I read, especially Tolkien's, the characters have multiple names. They have their given name, and then sort-of-nicknames based on their characteristics, or terms of endearment, like the Elvish word for "laughter". Names are used to identify, but often the name used identifies with the true person, and it's not the name they were born with.

It's a concept I can't quite put into words, and I almost feel funny trying. I don't want to sound bizzare or anything. This isn't supposed to be deep and un-Biblically spiritual, just a thought.

That whole thing about our body just being a shell makes me think of Jesus. He was God incarnate, God in a body prepared for Him. Even His name wasn't unique. It had significance, of course, and then He was also called "Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us". All this junk about how Jesus looked makes me roll my eyes. (Especially when He's depicted as Caucasian. It's not racist to be firm in the fact that Jesus was a Jew.)

Do you understand what I'm trying to say? Because I'm having a really hard time trying to explain, and it's frustrating.

Names do have significance. They can define you, especially last names. People associate names with things. A child with a good, upright family will have more expectations put on them to be like the others who carried that last name. Names can connect people. But names and faces aren't all we are. They aren't the impression we'll leave on people. It'll be the attitude, the spirit of joy or of depression, the laughter or the temper, the hope or the sorrow, friendliness or pride, love or hate. They might never remember our name - they might not even know it at all - but there's a chance that, even for a couple hours, they'll remember who we were because of how we lived in front of them.

A Life with Dogs is Never Dull (at least, when it's my life)

Recently we've been forced to put bark collars on our dogs when they go outside. I'll admit Sasha has a bit of an attitude bark - where she barks at anything that moves, just because she can. For Hershey, it's whenever he sees a squirrel, deer, or other dog. No matter the size of the dog.

Anyway. We have an old one from when we just had Hershey, and Wes had to replace the batteries. Hershey had been wearing that one, while Sasha had a new one, but the old one didn't seem to be working, so Mom suggested I switch around the collars.

This morning, I went to put the dogs out. This is a serious process now. Sasha doesn't sit still, especially when it's morning and she really has to go. When I do get her to sit, she tilts her head back to eye me so I can't get the collar on. And then, because it's the old one and was set to fit around Hershey's neck, I had to adjust it. Then the new collar isn't snap but buckle, and I think Hershey does something to his neck muscles to keep me from making it tight enough. Rather like a horse and their saddle.

Finally, they were ready. I had the leashes twisted all around my right hand so I could use my left to open and close the door and kennel gate.

And then Sasha spotted a squirrel. She isn't so into them as Hershey, but it's something moving, which means she should chase it. And then Hershey noticed. Commence dragging Amber across the yard.

When the dogs want to go at something, they dig in like they're pulling a sled. I'm surprised my arms are still so wimpy with all this pulling against the dogs. I grabbed the jumble of leashes with both hands and muttered at the dogs. Just past the kennel gate, I managed to pull everything to a stop and start my own dragging. Sasha's ADHD is actually very helpful in these situations. I called her to come to the kennel and she came. She figured she could watch the squirrel just as well from there.

When Hershey gets to pulling, he chokes himself. Then he has to stop and cough and gag for a minute. He was doing this while I was detangling myself and undoing their leashes. And then he coughed hard.

I knew what happened immediately, when he froze. Then, without a sound, he bolted for the gate.

I grabbed him on his way out, trying to console him. Any rough throaty noise the dogs make leads to being zapped. It's happened before when Hershey has coughed. Now, apparently, he'd associated the kennel with the shock, because he didn't want to go back in. He wanted to go to the house.

Meanwhile, ADHD puppy thought it was a new game. I think her brain goes like this: "Look! Something moving! Let's chase it! Oh! That annoying girl is yelling at me again! Okay! Let's go! Hey! The stupid dog is leaving, and the annoying girl is, too! Let's go!"

Out the kennel she runs. I didn't manage to grab her in time, and in a second she discovered her freedom and realized what it meant. She didn't bolt, but sort of trotted off happily to discover things.

Meanwhile I'm yelling at Hershey to stop being an idiot and just get in the kennel. Finally, he's in. I close the gate and call to Sasha.

Naturally, anyone would chase after the little creature who got away, but if any dog gets the game of keep away, it's Sasha. You run, she runs. If you're chasing her, she runs away. If you're running, she's chasing you. Actually, the rule is that if your dog is loose, start up a game and run away from them, contrary to natural impulses.

So I called her. She was casually sniffing around past the garden, starting to move off our property. She looked up, tail wagging. Would she come. I slapped my legs to emphasize my point, and then spun and raced toward the house.

Instinctively, I knew she'd followed. ("Oh! Annoying girl running away! Play!") Before I'd reached the door, she was skidding up alongside me. Now I just had to hope the second part of keep away wouldn't start: where, just as she's within reach, she runs away and makes me chase her. She didn't.

Praising her all the way, I led her back to the kennel.

Sometimes, I think she's like the dog on "Over the Hedge". Of course, Wes says she's the spitting image of Scrat from "Ice Age", including how she acts.
I know, the next post was supposed to be about the blog title. Oh, well.
Before I go, I had one more dog-related anecdote. From yesterday.
I was getting ready to leave for work. I can't remember why, but I'd brought Sasha in from the kennel and left Hershey out. Actually, I think I was just bringing Hershey out and Sasha looked cold, so I let her come in. In any case, I was rushing around making sure everything was set. Then I went to get Hershey, right before I had to go.
The gate was open. I'd left it open.
Yes, I've done this before. Out of habit, when I bring a dog in, I leave the gate open. Hershey has got out before. Luckily, we always have a good idea where he'll run off to. So I got in my car and started up the street.
I'd planned to head to the next street over. There're so many dogs around here and Hershey likes to flaunt his freedom in front of them. However, I wasn't five houses up the street when I saw him sniffing around in a yard.
My windows were already down, and I said the one thing that will get his attention no matter what: "Hershey! What to go for a ride?"
Once you say that, his brain is committed to "car ride". He raced over to me and paced around the car until I opened the door.
I'm not supposed to drive with the dogs in the car. We're all too easily distracted. However, for Hershey's sake, I drove most of the way up the street before turning around and heading home.
And...yup. That's all I got. Hey, at least I posted! But I plan on returning tomorrow. It's just that I really need to wash some dishes before routes.

Practice Makes Perfect

With some of the money I earned from inventories and babysitting, I bought stuff for the dogs the other day. The Kong toys we bought a while ago both went missing (okay, one got left by accident at the boarding kennel and we never took the trouble to get it back) and the dogs have resorted to chewing our things because they're bored. I also got dog treats (the special all natural kind even humans could enjoy) and a new body harness "guaranteed to stop pulling instantly" because the nose harness finally broke.

This was all in support of that healthy, positive lifestyle I've been meaning to develop for the past few years. Nothing like spending my own hard-earned money to encourage me into action. Sasha's nearly a year old.... Wait! Her birthday was two days ago! Whoa. Okay, so she's a year old, and she truly knows only two commands: "sit" (and then her butt barely touches the ground before she's up again most times) and "drop it" (but never with toys). She knows key words like "outside" and "walk", but mostly she catches onto routines: me grabbing the gate and an ice cube means bedtime, my getting on my sneakers in the morning after bringing her in from the kennel means a walk, me holding a treat and telling her to sit in the living room means "lay down" and "crawl" are to follow. She doesn't come when called, she doesn't stay (she'd quite ADHD), she pulls until she can't breathe on walks, she barks incessantly at anything that moves, she's abusive to Hershey and the cat, and, frankly, it's my fault.

When we visited our friends down south and saw how well-behaved their two-year-old dog was, I decided (again) that it was time to make some changes and teach my dog obedience.

All this to get to the point: walking.

Walking is the best way to get out Sasha's natural energy, and it's a good habit for me, too. However, she always pulls and she always leads. I've heard that a dog who follows on walks is a dog willing to follow and submit to their masters in other areas of life, so I figured it was a good place to start (since I failed to teach her "come" and "heel" as a puppy). I started by teaching her the concept of "heel" indoors, keeping her on my left side with her nose by my hip. She saw the clicker and was ready for action, and soon got the idea that walking beside me on my left earns a treat.

However, once we got outside, any such notion was forgotten, and she pulled away. She would come when I called "heel" and gave the signal, but only long enough to earn a treat, and then she was off again. Indoors, she'll fall into step beside me and watched me excitedly, but not outside.

Today was the second day of that exercise. I got 10 treats and broke them in half, debated about bringing more just in case, and decided it wasn't worth it. Then we were off.

I called Sasha to "heel" quite a few times on our street, and she did. However, she's learned where every dog on the street lives and watches their houses expectantly as we walk by, so she was very distracted. I decided to drill her on the "leave it" trick, which essentially means ignoring whatever has her attention, from the cat to a dog to something tasty on the floor she's eyeing. Basically, I clicked when she finally looked away.

Our normal route takes us up our street and across to the next one over, down that street, and across the park back to our house. Half-way down the other street, I'd pretty much given up on "heel" for the walk, and I was running out of treats. Then, all of a sudden, right near the end, Sasha stopped pulling and came back to my side, looking up expectantly.

Wonder of wonders! I dug in my pocket for the last treat I had, praised her, and kept on. Of course, now I was begging her to just behave until we got home so I didn't disappoint her with no more rewards.

We were half-way through the park when she did it again. I gave her all the crumbs I had, and she pulled the rest of the way home.

There are pros and cons to having a smart dog. Pro: she picks up quickly on things. Con: those things are both good and bad. Con: she has a lot of energy. Pro: if I'm persistent, she's willing to use it productively. Con: she assumes because she's so smart that she's better than the rest of us. At least, that's how I explain her attitude. It may just be her natural personality, but I think part of it is, again, my problem.

You live and learn, right?

Mimes, a short recap, and Secretary of State: Part Two.

I started to blog on Friday. Then I got distracted. I'm not even going to try and finish that post.

In short, my last day as a 17-year-old was mostly droll until we got to church and Jessi took me to get ice cream as 7/11 because it was that kind of day. 'Twas happiness.

Thursday ran mostly ordinarily: up early, a short walk with the mutts, co-op (where I received many "happy birthday" wishes and chocolate, a locket, and a cool little thing to hang in my room from the most awesome science teacher in the world and roses from my parents), and paper routes.

Then we headed back to the church. The drama class (in which there remain only four students) were being visited by a real mime, and Mom, Dad, and I were the audience.

The first two and a half hours were nigh torturous. Not going to lie. The drama kids kept going through a few of their scripts and were being instructed and critiqued. Boring.

Then, after a short break during which we all jumped in puddles from the 10 minutes of rain we got, we finally got to see a demonstration of miming. Awesome! Absolutely amazing! And I was happy.

Home to gifts (two tea kettles, tea, chocolate, stuff for my garden, and...I can't remember what else) and ice cream and pizza.

Thus ended my 18th birthday. Each year it gets less and less exciting. Not that I'm complaining.

On Friday I watched the two sons of a missionary family in our church, as I have done for a couple months. They brought me a balloon, a cool basket, and chocolate. Some people are really smart.

I also got started on...starting the seeds for my garden. Some went into the mini greenhouses. (Including a few pepper and squash seeds I'd saved from last year's garden. I'm curious to see how - if - those grow.) The rest went into regular planters.

And that has pretty much been my week. Well, yesterday and today I "researched" for my story by planning out a detailed itinerary of my characters' road trip. (I'm sure everyone who checks facebook has heard about that.) 'Twas most enjoyable, and it got my creative juices flowing. Until yesterday, I hadn't really written in a week, probably.

Yeah, I think that's it.

Wait! On Saturday Mom, us girls, and the dogs walked a mile and a half down to a little park with a lake. (Actually, I'd call it a pond, but the pride of this city would scorn that.) I walked barefoot most of the way. My heels are still sore. Sasha pulled the entire time walking to and from, but while we were at the park she didn't pull at all. She stood or sat still when I wasn't moving and mostly stayed by my side when I was walking around. And she went into the water. Up to her chin but no further. She couldn't seem to grasp the concept of swimming. Not that I'm too upset, but I wasn't in any condition to follow her had she tried to swim. I really need to teach her to just stay close without a leash. We'd both have more fun.

Anyway, by the next morning, Sasha was so worn out and sore she could barely move, and she laid around most of the time. I fear I may have slightly injured her. Ooops. She's still a bit gimpy on the back legs.

Yesterday we had three little kids over (ages 1, 2, and 3) for the day while their mom was at a doctor's appointment. First Sasha eyed them and hid in her crate. When she did finally come out and I locked the crate so she couldn't sulk back in, she hid for a while. I thought maybe she was just nervous of such small children. Then she started making little growling noises in her throat and wouldn't look at the kids or Mom and I. She just stared at the wall. When she finally came out and let the kids pet her, she seemed to be doing okay. Then the oldest (a girl) went to give her a kiss and Sasha got defensive. So she and Hershey spent most of the day outside and the rest in the kitchen. Talk about jealous!

Okay. Now I'm done. I think.

Oh. No, I'm not.

Friday morning Mom and I went to the Secretary of State to figure out what license I need now that I am 18. We were 10th in line, and almost all of the women seemed a bit...vampiric. The nice one that Mom really wanted was kept busy with an older man who was trying to register or re-register his farm truck or something. A bunch of his papers had been mixed up and there was a lot of confusion she calmly and kindly was walking him through, but it was taking forever.

We got the one lady we really did not want. Honestly, if you're going to have a job where human interaction is a main part, you need some people skills. Yes, people are idiots, but you don't have to let them know you know. This woman didn't even need to speak for us to get the message: "I'm not in a good mood and I don't want to talk to you and I think you're stupid." At least, that's the message I got. Seriously, if it's not the job for you and you don't enjoy it, just quit. You'll make everyone's day better.

She was very brusque and rude. When she realized what we needed, she gave me a form to fill out and sent us away. Mom and I waited until she was busy with someone else to stand in the return line. We had the second-nicest lady help us the next time 'round.

I got my TIP (temporary instruction permit) with the 30-day period waived and registered to vote. Yay me!

Returning with Nothing to Say

Hi.

Yeah.

So, at first I was thinking it hadn't been very long since I'd posted. Then I realized it'd been over a week. And then I kept holding it off and holding it off because I really had nothing to say.

I feel like such a bad person.

Honestly, though, not much has happened. And I hate recaps, so I'll skip the details on the nothingness of my life. :) (Yeah, it's a little early.)

Mom was away for a little over a week, so I got charge of keeping the house under control. I'm getting pretty good at grocery shopping. Until the family starts yelling at me to hurry up, or one of the girls starts asking for something expensive that would mean we would have to sacrifice three other meals. There was a time when I could block this stuff out if I wanted to. Granted, I usually had a book in my hands or was right in the middle of writing a death scene, but....

Okay, I'm really rambling. Sorry.

Mom got home last night, which makes me happy. And now Hershey can stop moping, which makes everyone happy!

In an effort to encourage some positive habits in my life, I've been trying to take the dogs on a walk every morning (minus Sunday). It certainly has helped to improve their attitudes, though I still can't get them to walk properly. Sasha has been limping off and on for the past week, and I'm starting to think the pads of her feet might be sore from all of the trotting around on sidewalks and pavement.

Also, she's getting BIG. Still in the 40lb range, but she's now as tall as Hershey. Not as big and muscular, but as tall. She's going to be a beautiful dog when she's full grown.

Rambling again.

I really can't think of anything to say. This is quite irksome.

Bother.

Well, my twice a week schedule worked for a while. Guess I need to try, try again. Clearly, it also helped improve my style of blogging. (Or so it seems to me.)

I rearranged my room yesterday, reached 20,000 words in my superhero story (finally!), am spending far too much time on facebook (and considering taking another break from it, because it was so refreshing, but I'm not sure how I would continue to post my story there for some friends to read), and am not really liking this spring weather this early in March. It might mean puddle jumping for my birthday, but I would still rather have snow.

Yeah, I'm going to go now. I'll come back tomorrow and try again.

Oh, Look! Another Pointless Post. Oops.

People.

Something big has happened.

I mean HUGE!

It'll blow your socks off.

Okay, so maybe it's not that big to you, but it's big to me: my sister got a blog.

No, not the sister that's a writer. The one that doesn't write at all. The one who doesn't even really like reading. Folks, this is nigh unto a miracle.

Okay, I'll stop picking on her. I'm just happy, and a wee bit excited. Welcome to Blogsphere, Puffin Muffin!

I have nothing else to say.

No. Really. Right now I ought to be editing. I started a group on facebook to post my superhero story. I said I would post twice a week. It's been a week and I haven't added any new scenes. My friends are threatening to pull out the pitchforks and torches. (Well, maybe they haven't, but that's the vibe I'm getting.) I made a promise to post at least one scene today. I haven't done it yet, and I have about an hour before I have to get ready for church.

Aaaaand now my sister wants to watch Lost. I think I'll sneak upstairs to work. I haven't spent quiet time in my room in forever because of Sasha. Who, by the way, is acting strangely angelic lately. I think she's sick.

Yup. I'm done.

Wow. That was sadly brief.

Warning: This Post is Pointless.

Uhg. Nothing to say.

And yes. I'm a day late. Again.

....

Okay, it's official: I'll take a full grown dog over a puppy any day. I know, I'm an idiot, but this puppy really is testing - and destroying - my mental and emotional fortitude. It's not all her fault. She's actually mellowed out a bit since her arrival. Maybe it's because I'm taking her on walks now. (Okay, I've taken her on two in the last week.) Maybe she's just giving me the silent treatment because I made her wear the head harness we got Hershey a couple years ago. Without it, she pulls and almost suffocates herself in her eagerness to explore. With it, she pouts and glares at me.

Yup. I hold the status of "mom" in her mind: controlling, demanding, and less patient than all the rest of the household members, minus the cat. (No, Mom, I'm not suggesting anything about you. I love you!) I also clean up all of her messes, feed her, wash her, put her to bed and tuck her in (ie, give her Mr. Teddy and pull down the towels over her crate), get up early to take care of her, and beat her when she's not playing nice with the other kids. And somehow my brother thinks he deserves her more than I do. Right. After all the effort I've put in, I'm not giving her away.

Sorry. I'm rambling and Melody is reading over my shoulder so I can't concentrate. 'Spose it's time to practice my writing-in-any-and-all-conditions.

A friend of mine recently wrote me into a story of hers. Yeah. I'm a daredevil who travels the world. According to her, I fought bulls in Spain, climbed the Eiffel Tower, and got a window seat for my gypsy wagon from an Arabian prince. My alter ego is way more exciting than myself.

The real me has spent a lot of time lately plotting my story. Yeah, not the important one I've been working on for three years. No, not that one. Why on earth would I be working on that one?

Help. I'm going crazy and myself is the one driving the bus. And I don't have a passport, and one cannot reenter the US of A without one. So I'm stuck.

Okay. I really am just spouting nonsense. Pain. But hey, I'm blogging twice a week, and that's better than I've done in a while. However, I think I'll stop now.

Oh! We got snow! Yeah, deadly snow. I wanted it, but not like this.

Okay. Now I'll go.

Every Time I Think I Have it, I Skip Three Weeks

I started writing a long, confusing insane ramble of a post, but it didn't even make sense to me and wasn't helping me sort my thoughts, so I abandoned it.

I'm not going to bother with a long recap. These last couple of weeks have felt pretty unproductive and quite wasted to me. Passing drivers ed, a little Christmas shopping with some ladies from church, a bowling/potluck activity with the youth group, working a couple days at Dad's store and getting exhausted in the process, fighting a cold stemming from allergies, enjoying a quiet Thanksgiving with four pies, four types of homemade pizza, breadsticks, hot chocolate, and cinnamon rolls.... That's pretty much all I've done.

I feel like when I stopped to collect myself life piled up behind me and I don't know how to clear away the wreckage so I let it sit there, mocking me. It's that same old issue of priorities that I'm always dealing with. I keep expecting at least one week - one day, even - will turn out like the ideal image engrained in my mind, but life doesn't work like that.

There. In two paragraphs I summed up all of the rambling that was 10 paragraphs and counting in draft post #1.

I've wasted so much precious time sitting in confusion after life tripped me up, and now I'm being trampled by all of the stuff I kept putting off. Overwhelmed, I remain on the group, dusty and tired and worn out even though I haven't done anything.

In a word: pathetic.

Okay, self pity/griping - check. On to better things!

(Aaaaaand this post takes me four days to write. Let's just say life's been a bit crummy. Ah, well.)

Things have been looking up, however. We're officially in a Winter Wonderland here! We've had a bit of snow once or twice already, but it barely stuck. Yesterday it started out as a mushy freezing mix of rain and snow, and then turned to true snow. I'm not sure how much we got exactly. Over 5 inches.

Upon first seeing it (read: being dumped into it) Truffles seemed to be a walking mixture of joy and confusion. Sasha tip-toed around a little before promptly gamboling in ecstasy. She's Hershey's opposite in that regard as in pretty much everything else. Now she doesn't want to come inside, but stay out and play in snow up to her chin.

Hershey took one look at it, huffed, and trudged out dejectedly. I don't know what his preferred climate is, but this surely isn't it.

However, Allenna gladly offered to take out the dogs all through the evening just so she could galumph right along side Sasha, so I'm happy.

So I woke to a beautiful frosty sunrise (sure, sunrises can be frosty) and was greeted by the ever energetic puppy. She's in an extra mischievous mood today, trying to wiggle her way into every off-limit nook and cranny we've worked so hard to block. She's also trying to make a toy out of the sock basket and her bedding. Ah, well. (Oh, yeah. I still need to put up a picture of her, don't I? It's so hard when she can't stop moving, even in her sleep.)

Me, I'm still not accomplishing very much. I'm an trying, but I think this will be one of those life-long issues. Why couldn't it have been OCD or being extremely unorganized?

Yeah, I don't really have much to say. I just knew I really needed to pop in and say something. So many half-profound thoughts I meant to blog about, but those are weeks past now. One day I'll figure it out.

Future World Traveler...and her dog

One very important detail was far from my mind when I picked that puppy out of the back of that truck and brought her home: the future.

Seriously. What have I moaned and groaned and puzzled over for the last couple of years? What I want to be when I grow up. When I started to figure it out, I decided a fair amount of world travel was likely to be involved. While the idea is romantic in a way, world travel with a dog can get confusing and difficult.

As weird as it may be, I didn't want a puppy for the sake of having a puppy. If I could skip the stage where it's all fluffy and bouncy and curious and hyper, I honestly would. I want a dog: a steadfast companion who follows me gladly with tail wagging, catching a ball in the park and curling up beside me in bed while I read and making people ooo and ahh over how pretty and well-behaved it is. But to get that, you have to survive the puppy stage so you can make sure the little (demonic) fur ball is learning the way they need to, looking to you from the start as their friend, and immediately understanding the rules. (Like the fact that, hard as it is to believe, not everything [including me] is edible, and not every creature will bow in submission before you, and when I say 'come' I honestly want you to come. Like, today.)

Sorry for that pretty much pointless rant. As usual, it's easier to write than it is to say, and as yet all attempts to explain it have failed. Mostly because I don't have enough patience. So I skip the face-to-face vent and bring it to you instead. :) Also, it's been "one of those days" (read: months) and my brain is being a bit slow sorting through the jumble of thoughts rolling around in my head, and then I'm too lazy to see if they actually are coherent when they come out.

So, moving on.

The first few days after getting Sasha, I suffered the teary-eyed remorse while I pondered how this one little (rather expensive) choice had altered all the plans I was starting to form.

Then I got over it and decided I may have stumbled upon the thing that would make my adventures even more amazing. It didn't change my daydreams; only added another layer of depth and color to them.

So one minute I'm picturing myself standing on those seaside cliffs in Ireland or sitting on the grassy slopes of a Scottish countryside or walking down a country road in England. And then there's one little addition to the picture: a dog.

How cool is that? Yeah, it makes me happy just thinking about it.

Of course, then I google "world travel with a dog" and reality throws me a line, tells me to hang on, and tries to haul me back down to earth. Turns out now isn't quite the time to start worrying about how all this will work out. I have years, in fact, because before the world traveling can commence, there's the little issue of monetary means to deal with.

Keep your life line, Reality. Don't you know I just have to get one of my books published, become a famous author, and fund my way around the world?

And then I remember: I haven't really written in a year.

I know I've said it before, but I'll reiterate: this whole growing up thing can certainly be a messy business. There are so many other variables to factor in that alter everything, which is frustrating for a person like me who likes to know the where and when and how of it right now.

Sigh.

If that didn't make much (or any) sense to you, it's okay. I'm probably as much or more confused as you.

Along the same lines as world travel and the future is my dream of finally uncovering the truth about the elusive and confusing history of Robert Royce. Compiling the family tree, I'm never sure what to enter about Robert or those in the generations immediately before and after him. Pretty much no one agrees on the name of his wife, the number and names of his children, where he was born, or even when he was born. (Seriously, between 1603-6 and 1562 are very different.)

At first, I planned to go to Somersetshire, England and dig for records there, but some dispute that Robert didn't even live there or, if he did, it wasn't for long.

These are the times when I wish I could time travel. I'd find Robert Royce and at least figure out where to start searching for information. I'd learn the names of his kids, his wife's maiden name, his birthdate. How amazing would it be to meet an ancestor who lived four centuries ago? Who honestly thinks about what will happen when they're dead and a few generations have passed and people start wanting to know their family history? I bet Robert never considered he would cause so much trouble to his distant descendants.

As it is, I think my starting point will have to be where he was buried in Connecticut, relying on no information but what I learn for myself. I know I can take a dog there without too much fuss.

Once I finally figure out the truth about his life (and I intend to), I'll be able to go back further and figure out how close my family comes to royalty. I'd be happy with a duke!

So much going on, yet life sees so dull....

It's been a full week!

Even if I had wanted to do NaNoWriMo this year, there's not way I would have been able to. Between memorizing Ephesians (like I was supposed to have done in August...), Institute, driver's ed, school, training a puppy, and renewed efforts to get my writing moving in a serious direction.

I meant to post on Friday but only got one paragraph in before I walked away and forgot to come back. So, recap! (Yay.)

Driver's Ed has been going well. (At least, as well as can be expected.) Heather and I drove for the first time on Friday. Just a country cruise. I have an issue with breaking (especially knowing when to slow down) and staying in the middle of my lane. I'm a poor judge of distance. We also had to work around routes, which wasn't fun.

We just got back from our second time out. This time it was in the city and on the freeway a little, with parallel parking. That was exciting. At least our instructor is patient. I have to say, I think I did far better the first time. This time was fraught with blonde moments and silly blunders, like turning left when I meant to go right and my right turn signal was on and he had told me three times to go right and I'd double-checked the directions.... Sigh.

I'm not enjoying having to miss Pastor's class, mostly because it means I have to wait to get the DVD and then I have to remember to make time enough to watch it and do whatever assignment he gives. Thankfully, Bro. Mark is allowing for our being 5 minutes late or so and he's making it easy. (He had breadsticks and brownies ready for us when we rushed in last week.) Class is early on Wednesdays because it's at a church, which is great for us. It makes for long days on Thursdays, especially because we drive on a Thursday evening next week.

Wes left Bible study in the middle of it to get us, and we were able to get about the last 30 minutes of the lesson. (But it's really confusing coming in on the middle because it's in Revelation...). So we're figuring it out.

That was pretty much our week up until Saturday, when we went to a wedding for a couple from church. (Scary thing is that I was in youth group two years behind them.)

The bride had a whole bunch of Peter Pan references tied in here and there, lots of color and patterns, old books and buttons and candles (ha!) on the tables, a "wishing tree" where guests could hang little notes.... It was awesome, and beautiful.

I think that about sums up my week. Between all of the activities, I've kept busy with writing (distracted by my superhero project instead of more important things, but at least I'm writing), Sasha (she's brilliant, but she doesn't apply it positively), and trying to keep hold of what little sanity I have left.

Sad as it is, that's about all I have to say about my life right now. I feel so unaccomplished.

As always, I shall try to return within a few days to post something meaningful. We'll see how it goes. Perhaps I could share a story excerpt.