Cath, etc.

Winterlight

It arrives sometime after 4 o'clock

In a surprise of bright

Crawling in from underneath

As low in the horizon and as far south as it will ever be

Bringing warmth

And fulfillment

Bringing light

Like a candle in the sky

Winterlight.

Twenty-One

When I look into your eyes I see my own
And yet you see a world I've never known

When I listen to your heart I read its sound
It echoes heartfelt truths not long-since found

When I touch your hair the past is mine to hold
As youthful dreams inspire as they unfold

When I see you choosing paths that bring you truth
I'm bolstered by the strength that lives in you 

When I feel your happy energy nearby
You nudge me into giving my reply

Which lifts me to a place where joy resides
Where love and laughter merrily collide

For you are more than I could ever seek
A daughter, friend, a treasure so unique

And though today you're turning twenty-one
Your metamorphosis has just begun.

For now you know your wings were always there
You've put them on--stretch out, they will take air.

All my love to you this day,
Mom

I Am

...listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir accompanied by the Canadian Brass. The tree is lit, the decorations merry, the music deep and warm, and I have joy in my heart.

...alone the house is quiet as Mark works late and Beccah works later.

...happy in this peaceful environ, the harmonies and resolutions and cadences and crescendos pouring over under around by through me and Silent Night resonates in a place that is so deep inside me it brings me to tears.

...remembering winters when I was a little girl, when I felt safe and loved by my later-volatile dad, my mom made me grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup before I'd walk to kindergarten by myself in my cold must-wear-a-dress-by-law, that new show, Sesame Street, on in the background for my younger brothers.

...thinking about Christmases past my dad stopping the car suddenly to give a homeless guy the only money he had in his wallet after having stopped at the pawn shop to sell some instrument or another so we'd have money for gifts.

...remembering my dad's band students surprising us on snowy Christmas Eves to play Christmas carols on their horns outside on our lawn as the temperature dropped. We would shiver increasingly more as we hearkened to their gift which was as good as Santa coming maybe better because I was keenly aware of what a special gift it was, and the feelings that those students must have had for my dad to give up part of their Christmas Eve to bring us their exuberant brand of joy. He would take my hand or put his arm around me or pick me up to both keep me warm and to remind me that he loved me Cath his little cabbage head more than just about anything else in the whole entire world.

...remembering my dad's Christmas band concerts that fell on my December birthday, in particular, the one in which I was wearing my favorite green velvet dress. He called me up to the podium and gave me the baton and before I knew it the band was playing Happy Birthday Dear Catherine while I conducted. I honestly don't know of a time when I have ever felt so intrinsically special.

...thinking about Beccah and the day she was born twenty-one years ago on Thursday and the fathers who are now absent from our lives. Her father, my father, her father's father.

....wishing that Mark, the best father, had been in that room with all of us as I pushed life into her tiny little body, and yearning for the neverchildren he and I decided, rightly, not to ever have.

...thinking about the Christmas night that Bo, my ex-husband's dad, lay dying in a hospital bed across the valley. I sat on the porch, alone, watching the snow fall so heavy, so electrically aware that he was breathing his last breath, but accepting his offering of brilliant sky of snowfall by which to remember him before he took his leave.

...reminding myself that Christmas is as much about ghosts as it is about spreading joy. For it is in that very joy that our ghosts are born.

24-Hour Snapshot

 

Photo by manyfires

Got my haircut. Working on a sassier style. Lord knows I love me some sass.

Bought 2 pairs of jeans, 3 sweaters, a top, and some unders--all a size smaller than the last time I went shopping. Did me a little sassy dance.

Called my bro and booked a lunch date. Hey bro! Lesdo lunch!

Called my mom. Oh hey, Mom! Wassup?

Made turkey tetrazzini which means--hallelujah--we are fresh out of Thanksgiving leftovers. We'd have turkey more often if it weren't for this yearly OD.

Washed the prolific amounts of dishes turkey tetrazzini requires. Love to cook. Loathe the dishes.

Ate it by myself because Mark had to work late. He took his first-ever cab ride in Utah after missing the van pool ride home. By 3 1/2 hours.

Watched NCIS. NCIS. Criminal Minds. Criminal Minds. Ace of Cakes. I've been a shameless, lazy, mind-numbed, obsessive TV junkie this week. Loved every minute.

Went to sleep-sleep. Then woke up-up for no good reason-reason and didn't go back-back until after two-two.

Only to wake up at 5:45 so I could take a friend to a medical procedure. Sucked down my coffee so I could allow extra time for rush-hour and be at her house by 7:30.

Spent the morning at the hospital. Truly glad to be able to help her out.

Dropped her safely back home and took donuts to Nicole's office. Note to self: do this more often.

Went to Silverfork Lodge with my brother and had a delightful lunch. It's always good to have some bro-time.

Checked my work email and tied up some loose ends. The PC101 column for May/June and an email to a manufacturer.

Checked Facebook status updates; inboxed my turkey tetrazzini recipe to Shelley; read today's Moxie Fab World post comments and smiled; caught up on some favorite blogs including Marta, Marty, Layle, Kim, Maren, Tina, Katie, and Teri;  then decided to check in with you. I hope this isn't lame but sometimes I think it's interesting to take a 24-hour snapshot of life.

 If you were to take 24-hour snapshot of your life, what would I see?

Leftover Bliss

Is there anything quite so lovely as a white-bread turkey sandwich, a pile of leftover green bean casserole, and a cold glass of milk for a post-Thanksgiving lunch?

Mmm, leftover bliss.

A Close Call

Our fourteen-year-old pup, Scout, survived a close call over Thanksgiving weekend.

He frightened us on Thanksgiving Day by

• vomiting a few times
• not responding to loves or pets whatsoever
• lying like a big ol' lump on the floor in spite of all the guests and commotion around him
• drinking very little and eating even less
• and the ultimate in scary--not snarfing up the few pieces of turkey that we always put in his bowl each year after the Big Meal

Normally these disappear in 2.4 seconds, tops, and it served as the ultimate clue that something was extremely very wrong with our furry friend.

I'm not gonna lie. It seemed like it could be the end.

Or could it have been something that he ate? After Scout's treatable decline last Christmas, we determined that we will not go to extraordinary lengths to save him if death is imminent. For example, if he gets cancer, we will only do what we can to make him comfortable until the end. We won't treat it. He's lived a good, long life. When it's time, it's time. 

But in the face of Scout being the exact opposite of himself on Thanksgiving, we were troubled with the question du jour: Is death imminent? We searched our hearts and determined that we couldn't live with ourselves if we didn't at least find out what was going on with him. So on Friday we took him to the vet.

It was a very long wait as they did their tests. We were very afraid of the outcome. I distracted myself by playing with my new iPhone. Mark focused on Scout.

$650 worth of X-rays, bloodwork, and urinalysis later, it was determined that he needed to stay overnight for rehydration. We'd see how he had responded by morning, then go from there--which was a $350 ultrasound by a specialist. Great. Yet another decision that would prove to test our resolve and all that that could mean. We hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Scout was whisked away to the nether regions of the hospital and we went home without him.

He's in good hands, I told myself. They will take good care of him. We won't have to wake up in the middle of the night to see if he is still breathing.

But still, the only times that Scout is not in our home is when he's gone for the four or so hours every six weeks or so to be groomed. Overnight is supremely strange. I found myself surprised when he wasn't lying by my feet in the TV room. Or instinctively, I'd think I should let him out, then I would have to remember that he wasn't home to be let out.

Knowing how miserable he was in that cage, assuming he'd have to don the Cone of Shame so he wouldn't pull out his lines.  Knowing that he thinks we've abandoned him.

When we got the call the next day saying that he had responded well to the treatment, that he was much more chipper and bright-eyed, I said a silent prayer while at the same time saying to myself so the little sh** ate something that he shouldn't have. It's happened before. Perhaps it will happen again. After all, this is pretty much this dog's MO. And every time it happens it costs us at least $600--and a ton of worry and heartache.

Ahh, dogs.

He's on a bunch of different meds to help clear up whatever has been going on in his tummy, a special bland diet in which I now get to cook for him (rice and eggs, mostly), and we've got to go out with him each time now to be sure he doesn't get into something else he shouldn't.

But I'm arming myself with information as a result. What is it going to look like if Scout is lucky enough to die from old age? His age-related "issues" (incontinence and arthritis) are currently sort of under control, so unless he gets cancer or something else just as awful, which should have symptoms of their own, what will "the end" look like? Here's what systemic organ failure in dogs looks like according to eHow.com under "Common Signs of Organ Failure":

In a dog, each major organ, the heart, kidneys, and the liver, will have its own signs and symptoms of failure. These specific signs of organ failure in a dog, will occur as they are prevalent to a particular organ. However, there are common signs, which will pertain to all dogs experiencing failure of any major organ. These common signs will include vomiting, diarrhea, weakness and loss of appetite.

Which were the exact symptoms he'd had on Thanksgiving.

So, not only did I discover that I wasn't being dramatic this past weekend when it seemed like this could be the end for our beloved Scout, I also learned that when the end is near, we will take him to our compassionate friends at the Lone Peak Veterinary Hospital, and they will help us through the process.

In the meantime, I'm just so glad that my ol' pal is here to live another day.  And while we have survived this close call, I'm sure that another is not far behind. Each one prepares us for the next. As Edward Gibbon says, "I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know no way of judging of the future but by the past."

My lamp is on, and it's lighting the way for my buddy, Scout.

This Man

 ...is all I'll ever need.

He brings balance to my life,

Love to my heart,

and trust to the deepest parts of me.

 He brings meaning to my experience,

Laughter to each day,

and breath to my joy.

He is passion.

He is perseverance.

He is strength.

He is the love of my life,

and I am grateful for every single day.

In Preparation for Our Guests

I've been cleaning like a mad woman.

Which is pretty much my least favorite thing in the whole world to do. And I don't think that I'm alone in this.

As much as I love and care for my home, I'd much rather go hiking than stay inside and wash windows.

In fact, I'd much rather write a blog post than clean my upholstery.

Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure that I'd rather read a good book than steam-clean my carpets.

 When it comes right down to it, I'd prefer to hang with my family than clean out a closet.

Any day of the week.

I am not an organizer by nature. When I cleaned out the shelves of my kitchen island recently, I discovered it was housing papers from when Beccah was in junior high.

Ay yiy yiy.

Which compels me to make this humble confession. One of the things I liked about working full-time is that it tended to give me an excuse not to have an immaculate home.

I really should dust the bedroom this weekend, but I'm just exhausted from my work week.

I realize that the oven hasn't been cleaned for a millenia, but maybe I'll have more energy next Saturday.

Now don't get me wrong. I stay on top of the weekly maintenance. Vacuuming; dusting the main living areas; cleaning the bathrooms; Swiffering the hard wood; washing, drying, folding, and putting away the laundry--all these necessities get taken care of weekly.

It's the deep-down stuff that tends to get neglected. And now that I'm part-time, I can't pull the exhausted-from-my-work-week card. Ah, the drawbacks.

Which is exactly why holidays like Thanksgiving are so motivating. I tend to host the festivities every year. There's not a whole lot I enjoy more than putting on a good party.

Which leads me to reveal yet another humble confession. Sometimes I think I like to host parties because it gives me a reason to clean my house. Let's face it. I am an extrovert. As said extrovert, I am more motivated by other people than I motivate myself.

Especially when it comes to cleaning.

So, this year, because I'm part-time and therefore have the energy, I've pulled out all the stops in preparation of the Big Meal.

I've cleaned the carpets in three rooms, a staircase, 2 rugs, and a large hallway.

And put everything back.

I've even cleaned the upholstery on 2 couches.

I've mopped my floors, washed some windows, and dusted 111 staircase stiles.

I ordered the blinds for the dining room I've been promising myself every Thanksgiving for the past 3 years--in plenty of time for installation. Anyone who knows me well knows this is a veritable coup. In fact, they're already up. Thanks, Mark!

And in spite of my disdain for cleaning, it is quite lovely to have seen the dirt that came out of my carpets and know that it is no longer lurking in some invisible net of filth and putrescence, seemingly threatening our health and well-being, causing our carpets to wear before their time. I will spare you the visual.

And as I promise myself that I'll never let it get this bad again, I know that I will always be in a tug-of-war between wanting to live my life to its fullest and knowing that the bottom line is that I enjoy living my life to its fullest much more when my house is deep-down clean.

But for now, I am content to know that our little yellow house with the wrap-around porch will sparkle this holiday season--even if I'm the only one who can tell.

For really, being an extrovert who wants to put my best foot forward for others, I've been wrapping it up with love and warmth, in preparation for our guests.

20 Pounds Down

I reached this goal a couple of days before Halloween, but self-doubter that I am, I didn't dare tell you until I could be sure that it would stick.

I started reducing back in mid-August with the help of an appetite suppressant. Since it's the kind of medication that stops working as effectively over time, most doctors recommend that you stop taking it after 3 months. I decided to stop taking it after 3 months or 20 pounds, whichever came first.

I'm happy to report that the 20 pounds came first.

I stopped taking the meds at the 20-pound mark, suffered no withdrawals whatsoever, and have been maintaining this weight--give or take a couple of pounds--ever since.

I'm four pounds away from having a healthy BMI, a measurement I haven't seen in more time than I'd care to admit.

My goal: to maintain during the holidays, which, as you well know, ain't no easy task. With Thanksgiving just around the corner, my plan is to continue exercising 5-6 days a week (because that keeps stress down, too), watch my portion sizes, limit my alcohol intake, and stay away from fatty stuff that I'm fine to live without.

I'll let you know how it goes. I'd hate to see all that hard work disappear in a flurry of frenzied festive feasting, and come the beginning of the year, it will be time for me to start working on dropping another 10, at which point I will weigh the same as I weighed when I got married 14 years ago.

So here's to getting control of your weight in an effort to be healthy and to feel good--and to thumbing our noses at the holidays and their tasty temptations!

Good luck to all of us!

Priorities! Priorities!

Everything's on the back burner while I'm up to my eyeballs in War & Peace.

At this very moment I'm on page 486 with 177 to go until tomorrow's discussion. And there's still a workout to be sweated through, tonight's dinner to be made, a house to be cleaned, and a dessert to be prepared for tomorrow night's guests.

It's not that I haven't attempted to read in reasonable increments. I have, after all, read 169 of the required number of pages. It's just that literally, every time I sit down to read, something else comes up. Especially during this last week when it's gotten down to Crunch Time.

I blocked out Sunday; Nicole came home and ended up staying for dinner and a delightful repartee with the fam.

I blocked out Monday; my brother stopped by for a long overdue catch-up session.

I blocked out this afternoon; and I've worked way longer than I should have on my half-day Tuesday.

It seems that no matter what you do, you're always having to make choices based on your priorities.  And despite the fact that it looks highly likely that I won't get my reading done for tomorrow, I'm happy with the way I've ordered  mine.