Somethin' about nothin'

Just a quick shout out to those of you who called, emailed, yelled, or snail-mailed well wishes while I’ve been sick. I’d like my New Year’s resolution to be that I will no longer be a patient to the nearest hospital…but since I do not have absolute control over what’s around me I can only call that a hope and not a resolution. What I can resolve is to be hopeful that the New Year will bring health and happiness to us all. Thank you…

When did we all learn how to start a zipper? Preschool? Kindergarten? I have been able to start and zip since I can remember. So why is it that over the last year my ability to start a simple zipper resembles that of a 3yr old? I don’t get it.

I’m home alone, the dog is begging, it’s cold out, and every single casual jacket or sweater that I own has a zipper. I’m screwed! I spent 15 minutes trying to get my zipper started, gave up, and held my sweater closed for the next 20 minutes while I walked the dog in the cold wind. Is it any wonder why I can’t seem to shake this nasty cold?

After we finished our walk, I went through my closet on a mission to test every single zipper I own…and I could not get a single one started. Have I digressed that much? I’m not even 40 and I’m already having trouble. What will happen when I’m 50? Will I be forced to wear cushioned mittens as a safe-guard from accidental self-inflicted wounds?

Okay, so that may be a bit of an exaggeration…I hope. What I do know is that I feel silly asking my 17yr old daughter or my love to zip my sweater or jacket for me. Does anyone know where I can get “How to Start a Zipper, for Dummies”? I can’t seem to find it on Amazon.

For now I guess I’ll swallow my pride, ask for help, and start to convert my wardrobe to buttons. Yes, you heard me…I’m moving to buttons.

Life has been a bit crazy and I have neglected all of my fans (okay, so there’s only 4 of you)…but hey, I’ve almost moved to needing a second hand to do the counting!  :)

It seems like there’s never enough time in the day. It’s 10pm before I realize that only a percentage of my to-do list is done, there’s still laundry and dishes begging to be washed, and the dog is doing whatever she can to get me to walk her. I try to will the dishes and laundry to wash themselves but I have yet to learn how to manipulate inanimate objects with my mind. (sigh)  As for the dog, well, she hasn’t quite learned how to open the front door. Unfortunately, the to-do list will spill in to tomorrow and will continue to grow. So for those of you who have asked where I’ve been, (thank you, mom, sis), I’ve been caught up in life.

Whoa…did I just say that? I sound like my mom (sorry mom).

Ugh!

Okay…but is Mom rocking out to Rachid Taha, Mc Solar, Nadiya, and a little Nacho Vega?  I think not. iTunes is blaring…okay, not quite blaring. The volume is closer to a 4…but if necessary, it can go up to 11. Why not 10? Ummm, because it goes up to 11. Oh yeah!

Whew! I think I just talked myself out of feeling old, even after the “Spinal Tap” reference. Stay tuned for more…the long pause is over.

 

My baby brother is over six feet tall with a shaved head, tattoos, monster truck, and loves a good party…the big teddy bear. Every time I see him I can’t help but picture the little 4yr. old running through the tall grass fields in Washougal, WA. He was the toe-head of the group, so it was always easy to find him.

We lived at the top of a large hill, with our cousins house on one side and us on the other. At the bottom of this hill, and through many pine trees, was our bus stop.

We always feared this bus stop because of the abandoned bear cave on the other side of the dirt road. It was dark, damp, and the most terrifying sounds would escape through the blackness. Granted, it was only  when the wind whipped through it…but for any young child to hear a dark cave moan and howl is nightmare producing material at best.

We were scared to death of that cave and would often times stay at the top of our favorite tree for hours until we were sure it was safe to run home.

Well, kids will be kids and I very clearly remember my dear baby brother being especially annoying one day, so we quite eagerly told him that we saw the bear/monster and it was by the entrance of the cave. Our description was of course the most gruesome description two 7yr olds and one 6yr old could conjure up.

…and we may have elaborated on how this imaginary bear was going to swallow him whole because he’s small and blonde. (Hey, we were kids…the rationale worked for us.) He climbed the tree as fast as his little body could manage while screaming in his 4yr old way that no bear was capable of catching Spiderman (this was during the time of the oh so fabulous Underoos).

When we were sure that he was close to the top we turned to run back to the house to play…leaving him alone in the tree. We laughed at how easily our devilish plan came together, and for awhile we basked in our brilliance.

After what seemed like a few hours, our mom noticed that he was missing and started to ask questions. This is the point in time where she mutated into something you’d be more apt to see in a Poltergeist movie (without the vomit). Flames began to shoot out of her ears, nose, and mouth. Her head started to spin and her eyes bugged out of her head as she declared that our own heads were going to roll if we continued to remain silent. Let’s just say that we were no longer basking and had a serving of humble pie instead. Darn Moms always spoil the fun.

After mom wrapped up the lesson in humility, obedience, and brotherly love, I was “nominated” by her to be the one to go back out to get him…

(ugh!)

(drat!)

(I dragged my feet as slowly as possible)

(stupid brother, scared by an imaginary bear)

(I checked to make sure that my path was clear from any bears.)

And then I saw him.

Suddenly, this this wave of guilt moved through me. What is this new feeling? Why do I feel so terrible and why won’t it go away?

Tears were streaming down his small face, leaving a trail through the dirt mask he was wearing. My raccoon looking brother was scared and crushed…and my heart began to break. At that moment I swore I’d never leave him stranded in a tree again. Mind you…I was young, so to me this meant that it was entirely acceptable to still continue to pick on him. Leaving him in a tree however was where my line was firmly drawn.

Okay, so the bear scaring thing was off limits too. Besides, he didn’t need any help in that category. We were all scared, and continued to be until we moved away when my sister and I were in the 4th grade. Our move took us to where bear caves and trees no longer existed…but other monsters, even more terrifying than our bear monster, seemed to scream at us from every building we entered. How would I protect my brother from this new beast when we were surrounded by them at all times? They were called slot machines…and that’s another story.

 

It’s a sickness, I know…but what’s a girl to do? Every time I walk into an office supply store I get as wide-eyed as a kid in a candy store. Why? Because I somehow created this need to be extremely organized. Not just somewhat organized, like most people on the planet…extremely organized. The challenge being, this is not a natural part of my personality.  Why then am I plagued with this need? No, wait…it’s not a need so much as a desire. I’m almost embarrassed to say that I long for it.

(sigh)

Two weeks ago I found myself wandering through an office supply store and I couldn’t help myself. I purchased file folders, post-it’s, a file holder, pens. As most of you know, I have a home office, so to make such a purchase is completely normal…to the unknowing that is. My home office was already well stocked. You see, these are “special” file folders. They’re re-usable. They even have a special pen where I can re-label the tabs, and they’re clear so that I can easily see them or use a some form of color coding. I’ve found a system where I can be organized and do my part to save the planet! That’s all the justification this girl needs! I was almost giddy with excitement…ok, not quite giddy…but I was anxious to put my new discovery into action. As soon as I returned home I put my first folder into my laptop bag, and it was used the next day. I loved it.

Now, two weeks later, I walk by the rest of the pile, and like that little Geico character, it’s still staring at me...waiting, and waiting. I want to find organizational nirvana, believe me I do, but my spontaneous side has already moved on to something new and what was once exciting has now turned into a chore. You see, I long to be extremely organized, but I simply do not have the attention span to support such an activity…thus, the sickness.

What can I say? I’m in sales, and just like most other sales reps I have the attention span of a flea. Well, maybe not quite a flea. Maybe a teenager.

 

Is it just me or are the 80’s alive again, for the 10th time this decade? I mean seriously…do we really need to see people running around in 3 ring tube socks, tutu’s, leg warmers, and stretch pants? Didn’t we all get our fill way back when? Is it really necessary to torture our children with it? There must be someone in the fashion world sitting behind his curtain, microphone in hand, booming his altered godlike voice out onto the fashion elite convincing them that the 80’s are alive…all while hitting the mute button every time he starts to laugh. We’re not in Kansas anymore folks.

Sure, I remember being in junior high and high school thinking that things could not get any better than this. Of course I was wrong, and as I matured wisdom did start to creep in. I know better now and cannot help but wonder what happened to the creative genius that grew stronger and stronger as each generation found it’s way into the working world…until lately. Perhaps they were scarred in pre-school? Who knows…but as far as this chick’s concerned. 80’s RIP.

Look out world! It's another cooking attempt by yours truely. Although, I did learn my lesson from the last attempt and conducted my google search before cooking. This time I'm going for something simple...chips and salsa. Can it get any easier than that? I even found a special mango salsa where I'm going to add in a little peach for some extra flavor. Mmmm. Oh...and as an extra bonus, the dog loves tortilla chips so the odd's of her whimpering at the mere thought of having to eat my cooking moves my chances of success completely in my favor.

And so it begins...I pull out the chef's knife and begin to chop and dice. I'm sooo excited to try this recipe and see what the dog thinks of it this time. (My dear love is traveling again and missing all of the excitement.) The piles of onion, cilantro, mango, peach, and tomatoes are all ready to be mixed with a little lemon juice and some spices. Hehe! I'm almost there. I decide to warm some blue corn tortilla chips in the oven before I run over to my googled recipe to confirm which spices are needed.

The laptop I'm using is sitting on the sofa table behind the longest side of the couch. This also happens to now be where our small dog is perched to watch my excellent knife wielding skills, with both ears up and head cocked to the side (and really, can you blame her...I was on fire!). Unfortunately, when I walked towards her to look at the laptop, she thought (or at least hoped) that I was bringing her an edible reward for being such a good and patient little doggy. In her fit of excitement, she inadvertantly jumped all over the laptop keys and lost the recipe I was using. Now, you'd think that I would just be able to go back to the website and pull up the recipe, but I went through so many sites and recipes trying to find something simple that I have no idea where I finally ended up.

Not to worry...I'll just wing it! Let's see, we have Oregano...nah. Mustard seed...nah. Salmon Furikake...what the heck is that...nah. Red Chile Pepper...too hot. Ground Cumin! Now we're talkin'. Cayenne Pepper! Even better! Saffron...mmmm, saffron.  Now that I have my spices, I mix everything together and can hardly wait for the taste test. It smells yummy...and unusually spicey. We're almost ready now. We just need the chips...crap, the chips!  Okay, so they're a wee bit dark, but hey...they're the dogs favorite treat so things are still in my favor. That is, until I tried the salsa. My tongue was on FIRE! Where's the flavor? Wait...maybe a chip will help. ....no, not really. Hmmm. Let's try the dog...it's still her favorite treat so I'm sure to at least have a small victory here. I'll just make sure her water bowl is full ahead of time. She's sooo excited as I put some in her bowl and set it down.

You're probably wondering what happens next. Well, she sniffed it, let out a huff, and then walked away. I called her back to see if she'd at least have some of the chips...but no...apparently our dog is a bit of a food snob and cannot find it within herself to eat a chip that's a bit on the dark and crispy side.  Not quite accepting my defeat, I decide to try it myself one more time. Maybe I just didn't mix it well enough and had a lot of heat in one spot...but I was wrong. My bite was so hot that I couldn't taste anything for the rest of the night. I'm not giving up though...I will cook some day!

I'm taking the dog for a walk!  No more laptop. Fresh air, here I come. We're taking a new route though...down to the park about 3/4 of a mile away. Sounds simple enough, right? I mean seriously...we're walking. My heart rate's up, the dog is sniffing everything as quickly as possible to try to keep up, and I'm feeling good.

We get to the railroad tracks. It's our half way point. We're cruising. The only problem is that I did not notice the light out on the construction area and I trip, fall, and twist my ankle. After a few car horns, 2 chuckles by some passers by, and a frustrated dog looking at me with an impatient look,  I brush myself off and we keep on going. It's only a minor set back.

We're at the park. It's well lit around the edges and several people are at the tennis courts next door for what looks like the end of a tournament. People are lingering and I'm enjoying the walk while doing a little people watching. You never know what type of entertainment is just around the corner. Unfortunately, and much to my own surprise, I was this evenings entertainment.

I was only trying to be nice. A much larger dog was coming our way and I moved to the side to let them pass. Knowing that I was on the corner and thinking that it's clear, I did an about-face. Don't worry, I didn't run in to anyone. What I did do is run into a pole, bounce off the pole, fall into a bush, and land on the other side. I think the chihuahua went airborne, but given the list of events I really can't be sure.

I'm on the ground now and I roll on to my back, stare up at the sky, and start talking outloud to absolutely no one..."does my life really need to resemble a sitcom".  This is when I hear a few more chuckles and realize that about 5 people are standing over me to help. (insert sheepish grin)

They help me up, I brush myself off, thank them all for their help and kindness, and scurry off towards home...only now my scurry looks more like a wounded hunchback. My body aches, my face is throbbing where I'm in the process of getting dental work done, now both ankles hurt instead of just the one from the train-track incident, and the dog stops every 4 ft, looks back, and waits for me to catch up. I guess that's not much of a scurry, but believe me when I say that the mental picture in my mind was scurrying at lightspeed.

We're home now and safe from any more hard metal objects.  I'm headed towards the shower, and I can't help but wonder...Is walking really that difficult? (sigh)

Have you ever watched a wall of fog move towards you? It's as if it swallows everything in it's path and at the same time it's mesmerizing.  If you have the good fortune to see it, look closely. You'll find pieces of fog pushing out ahead of the wall, as if they're small arms reaching out to feel if anything will be in it's way...not that it really matters...it will roll right over the top and swallow them whole.

According to Wikipedia, it's also known as Advection Fog, and it's common along the California Coast. Here in San Francisco, it's a daily event, and part of what makes the area naturally beautiful. As we drive home and get within view of the marine layer coming in, the car turns silent. We're caught in it's trance, and it's beautiful. The arms and fingers are reaching out as the wall starts to feel it's way over the mountain, moving closer and closer to the buildings below. We decide not to head home (which is just below the fog line), and to drive straight towards the wall instead. We want to be part of it, to feel it, to watch it, to breathe it.

As we drive through the fog, we can see it racing by. It seems to be pulling our car, making us feel like we're moving faster and faster while we move deeper and deeper into it's belly. It's a massive beast and we've allowed it to swallow us whole. The moisture is thick, and releases the natural oils in the wild eucalyptus trees.  (It's nature's own humidifier...with scented oils.) The smell is incredible. Now this is aromatherapy!

Hours pass before we realize that it's late and reality starts to sink in. The hold on us is lifting and we begin to make the short drive home. It's been a wonderful evening, in a place where time seems to stand still...that is, until our eyes started burning and we couldn't get a sentence out without yawning.

I so often times hear about people who never leave the San Francisco area. In their minds, everything they need is right here. This concept is foreign to me, but when we're pulled into the fog it gives me a small glimpse as to why. I may never understand it completely, but I'll most certainly enjoy the view!

When I was young I did not have the a-typical view of what my life would be like when I grew up. My sister would describe a beautiful house, family, flowers, a perfect yard, and then go into great detail about what her home would look like inside and out.  Sometimes the color combinations were questionable at best, but we were young and my sister's image of her ideal home matured as she did.  I on the other hand had a much different vision. Sure, I dreamed of my home having flowers, green grass, and being beautiful inside and out...but my flowers were being tended to by the grounds keeper, the green grass was at the local park, and the beauty inside and out was from the building staff polishing the floors and walls until it sparkled.  At my front door was a doorman. He had a sharp, crisp suit and a smile to greet me. This is what I had always visioned.

Yes, my dream home was a high-rise, smack dab in the middle of a large city. I could almost feel the hustle and bustle of this city in my day dreams. What I didn't understand then, but do now, is what the draw was....and I'll tell you, it's the vibe. I love the way a big city feels, the way it moves. Each neighborhood has it own story to tell, and the people...oh, the people.

I'm lucky enough to live with my family in the San Francisco area. A big city different from all others, and one of the most naturally beautiful areas on the West Coast. Sure, every big city has it's ugly side, and let's not forget the traffic. I spent the day up in the Sacramento area for work, and what should have been a 2 hr commute home was almost 4 hours. My dear mom worries about how much time I spend in my car and is baffled as to how I could enjoy spending at times up to 7-8 hrs alone just driving. The answer is two fold.
1 - I enjoy being out and meeting new people, and I find the drive relaxing (yes, even in traffic)
2 - It's the view. It's beautiful in every direction.  (okay, so that was more like 2 1/2)

When I drove over the Bay Bridge today, the sun was shining over San Francisco. Just beyond the tall buildings was the thick marine layer moving in. The Golden Gate Bridge had already been engulfed and it was only a matter of time until the thick blanket would cover the entire city. Couple that with sailboats out on the glistening bay, and the sun starting to set, forming a colorful backdrop to the skyline. We do not have a doorman, but when I see that, I know I'm heading home.

I just can't help myself on this one. We've all seen the "work from home" adds that range from licking envelopes to becoming the next multi-millionaire. It's my humble opinion that 98% of these are scams, and that the remaining few are actually small business owners trying to make an honest buck. Okay, off the high-horse.

While browsing through some other blog postings I came across one of these work from home adds. Now, I will say that I have not done any research as to the validity of this type of site. For those who are curious, please take the time to do so.

The add I'm referring to is one convincing me that I too can have my own online adult store. Now, for those of you who know my family personally, can you just picture this conversation: "Hey Mom, work sent some samples home."  I believe she would then proceed to have a heart attack (sorry mom). But seriously folks...I have the devil on one shoulder telling me that I should do it just for the sheer humor value, not to mention the whirlwind of reactions from those near and dear to me (this would be the trouble maker in me), and the angel on the other shoulder is reminding me to think of my family and daughter (there are times when I'd like to squash this side).

I believe the Vicodin from my recent root canal is having an influence over any rational thought, and is helping to create a sitcom like comedy in my head around this topic. I mean really, can you picture it? I'm still laughing...

I'll just start out by saying that I had all four of my wisdom teeth pulled at the same time. That procedure, and it's recovery, was no where close to the pain I have felt from having an emergency root canal done 5 days ago.

I was on my way to Sacramento the night before an early morning training session and stopped to have a chicken burrito for a quick dinner. The chopped up chicken still had a small bone, which I did not discover until I bit down on it. This is the moment where time froze and I experienced the most excruciating pain shoot through my mouth, along my jaw line, and up into my sinuses. I couldn't move for several minutes and my eyes welled up with tears. I'm not sure how I managed to not let any tear drops fall, but hey...I was in public.

This is the beginning of what became some of the most painful hours of my life, while trying to negotiate and survive what can only be described as HMO hell. I was 2 hours away from home where no 24hr emergency dental office was open or available, and my assigned dentist could not take an emergency appointment until mid-September. Seriously. Etienne is with me at this point and canceled his early morning flight to help me. I was in too much pain to do anything, let alone talk on the phone to a bunch of idiots who treated me as if I was over reacting to my first cavity. (Do I sound bitter?)

The first dental office was an incorrect address and was no longer there. The second dental office we found was available to take me that morning, and accepted my dental insurance...or so we thought. After arriving and filling out all the paperwork, we learned that there was a mistake and that they did not actually take my insurance. I will tell you though, based on what happened next, I would recommend this dentist to anyone. In this situation, the typical response from any given dental office would be to contact my insurance company for assistance (aka, you are no longer our problem and please leave). This office spent the next 20 minutes trying to help us. They could see that I was hurting and their professional and courteous response floored me. I will be changing my dental insurance just to be able to go back there.

We spent the next several hours looking for anyone to take me. We even made the emergency search a burden to my insurance company and had their assistance in calling around. They gave up after 2 individuals and sent us the remaining names on the list. Etienne continued the search while I continued to barely hold myself together...and after a little more time, he finally found a denist. There's only one problem. She was 2 hours from where we were. I'm now averaging about 15 hours with an exposed nerve. I had been in tears I can't tell you how many times, and my entire body was shaking uncontrollably from the pain. Orajel and Motrin just wasn't cutting it.

We finally reached the dentist where they were already prepped for me. They took some xrays (painful!), and 5 minutes later we were being sent to a specialist for an emergency root canal. The specialist was 5 towns away, and Etienne had us there in 20 minutes. We were over 16 hours with an exposed nerve at this point. After getting through the paperwork, and getting a few shots to numb me, the pain finally started to go away...but not completely. I counted 8 shots in total to get me to the point where they could remove the nerve. I'm not sure if I missed any on the shot count...at one point I closed my eyes to focus on breathing. My heart felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest from all of the stress. I was also a wee bit scared. I had no idea what to expect, there was no time to research it, and I was in too much pain to ask. The procedure took about an hour and I was sent home with Vicodin and high doses of Motrin. I still need to go back in for a crown which is normally about one week after having a root canal, however I was asked to allow 2 weeks to heal before scheduling the procedure. The specialist said that the severity was not completely reflected in the x-rays and that I would need more time.

Now, for some silly reason I expected the post surgery to be similiar to what I experienced when I had my wisdom teeth pulled. Boy was I wrong. The Motrin and the Vicodin did not have any impact on the pain for the next 3 days...with the second post surgery day being the most difficult. It's now 5 days later and I am still in pain. When medicated, it's a throbbing, obvious ache. When I'm not medicated, it's a sharp pain that I can feel through my jaw bone and up into my sinus cavity. I'm living off of hummus, peanut butter, breakfast drinks, and oatmeal. The swelling in my face has gone down, but is still visible, and it will be about 3 weeks until I'm back to normal.

What did I learn from all of this? Do not have a dental HMO plan. PPO is the only way to go...especially if you do any traveling. That is, unless having an exposed nerve in your mouth for about 18 hours and being sent to 4 dental offices in one days sounds like fun to you.

Where is the joy in cooking? I don't see it, nor do I get it. I'm standing in my kitchen surrounded by vegetables, noodles, spices, chicken, and it takes every ounce of strength that I have to simply not panic. Women and men have been cooking for centuries. It can't be that hard, or can it? Afterall, I did take a cooking class. Okay, so this class was more about the proper way to cut, chop, and dice, and had very little to do with how to actually cook. But I can wield a knife now so how hard can it be?

Fast forward 20 minutes and I now have every vegetable in the entire house cleaned, peeled, chopped or diced. I'm on fire. I feel like I can now take on anything and feeling quite silly about the fear that plagued me only a short time ago. What was I thinking? Look at how quickly and easily I whipped through each piece. This is easy!

...and then it happened. The high that I was riding came to a screeching and rather abrupt halt. As I stand here marveling at the work I've done, I realize that I have no idea as to what needs to happen next. Should I have already started the noodles? How long do they need to boil? Wait, do I boil them or do I saute them? When do I add spices? Do I even need spices? What about the chicken...holy crap, the chicken! I have no idea how to cook chicken. What do I do with the chicken? I frantically look from object to object, and each time I'm lost as to either it's purpose or how to cook it. My forehead begins to sweat. I turn, let out a slow breathe, drink some ice water, let out another slow breathe, and turn back around. I can do this!

Now the water is boiling, I insert the noodles. The pan is hot, I add the salt and peppered chicken. Wait...is salt and pepper enough? We have other spices in here...oh, and there's saffron...mmmm, saffron. 6 spices are now in the pan and the aroma is, well, let's just say that when I smell the chicken I want to sneeze. Okay, now what. The vegetables! I need to add the vegetables! Which one do I add them to? The chicken. I'll add them to the chicken. It still smells okay and if I stand outside of the kitchen to gauge the aroma I no longer sneeze. Is this a good sign? Hmmm. Now what. I put lids on both the pan of chicken and the now boiling noodles and then stand there. Do I just wait? What am I supposed to do? Hmmm....maybe Google can help me. I begin my Google search.

Some time later (I'm really not sure how much time has passed), I begin to notice that my carefully crafted aroma has now changed. It no longer smells like it might be edible and there seems to be a strange haze throughout the kitchen, living and dining rooms. I don't remember ever seeing haze in any cooking shows. But maybe that's just made for TV. Hey, one can hope. I certainly did! There doesn't seem to be any flames coming from the stove top (I can see it from the living room) but a bunch of smoke just shot out from under the moving lid and the fire alarm is now going off. Uh oh. I run to the stove, pull the pan and pot off their burners, grab a brown paper bag that I used to carry in groceries, climb up on the counter, and franticaly fan the smoke detector. After what seemed like hours, and was actually only about 30 seconds, the alarm turned off. No sirens yet, so I open the windows, turn on every fan I can find, and stare at my still covered pan and pot. Is it safe yet?

So I admit, I am a wee bit nervous at the thought of taking the lids off. I mean, they were alive a few minutes ago. I wait about 10 minutes and then slowly lift the lids, one at a time, with the opening starting away from me. Hmm, no flames are coming out. Wow...this looks kind of like food still. I wonder if it's edible. Where's the dog. She'll eat anything. I grab her bowl and proudly scoop my work of art into her bowl and with a smile, call her to her surprise dinner. She'll be thrilled, I know it. She'll eat anything and everything...except as it turns out, my cooking. She looks at it, sniffs it, backs away, looks at me and then lets out a small whine. Surely she must not be feeling well or maybe some fresh water will help. I re-fill her water bowl and put her back in front of her dinner again. Same response. Not a good sign.

I decide to try some myself. Afterall, isn't that what every good chef does? I cut off a piece of chicken (it's a little tough so it takes a minute), lift it up on a fork, and sniff. I didn't sneaze this time, but I did set down the fork with the chicken still on it, turn off everything in the kitchen, grab my purse and keys, and walk out the door. It's time to let someone else sweat over dinner. There's always tomorrow.

Let me just start out by saying that I love dogs, big dogs. I have dreamed about owning a Great Dane, and who wouldn't? They are gorgeous gentle giants...okay, unless you're a small child and standing between this massive dog and it's bone. Can you picture it?

Many years ago a stray chihuahua came into our lives and my daughter was in love. Now, keep in mind, the first time I saw this little dog my initial thought was that she's got to be the ugliest thing I'd ever laid eyes on. I mean hey, she's no Great Dane. She was thin, 1/2 bald, and has buggy eyes, bat ears, long spindly chicken legs, rat feet, and moles on her face. This to me sounds more like a character out of a bad children's cartoon and not like my vision of our next family pet.

We searched everywhere for the owners. We posted ads, looked in the papers, checked with the local vets, pet stores, and the SPCA. No one had responded. I sat down next to her in a bit of a huff and there she was, looking at me with those big buggy eyes of hers, batting her lashes, and letting out a very faint whine. It was as if she was pleading with me to let her stay. I continued looking at her and thought, she's not so bad. She's actually a very sweet dog, and my daughter adores her. I looked away. What am I thinking? I look down again, but this time I see something different. This time I see her personality, not the ugly dog that I saw before. Suddenly she was cute, funny, cuddly, sweet, fun, easy to control when excited, easy to bathe (hold her under the faucet with one hand), quiet. Where was all of this coming from? Why was this new view taking shape? Am I getting soft in my old age? I mean, who really wants to be pegged as a Paris Hilton wannabe, toting a small dog around. We don't live in L.A. where there's some insane idea that a dog is a fashion statement. And come on, it's not like she plays fetch. She's almost part cat. You give her a blanket to burrow in and she's happy for hours.

After arguing with myself for quite some time, I eventually came to realize that I too was smitten. This once ugly duckling of a dog had blossomed into a beautiful 7lb chihuahua. So what if this blossoming change took place in my head. To me it was real. And so now I sit here on my couch with a small lump under the blanket next to me. I hear an occasional small sigh sing out from the blanket and I pat the lump to reassure her that I'm still near by. How did we end up with a chihuahua again? It's easy. We found her a home.

I have a 16 year old daughter who has just started her senior year in high school. Wow! I'm old...or so she tells me. Every time I see her a mental image of a carefree little girl with pig tails and a light sprinkling of freckles on her nose creeps in, as if part of a dream. She can see this process unfold in front of her, and with a roll of her eyes, she gently reminds me that she's no longer 5 years old. It seems like such a short time ago, a summer full of t-ball, uniforms, parades, team pictures, the smell of popcorn and sunflower seeds. She was the only girl on the team, and a full head taller than all of the boys. That didn't matter though, because boys at that age still follow instructions when being bossed around by a cute little blond.

As she grew older, her interest in sports, or anything extracurricular faded. The mere thought of doing something outside of going to the mall or hanging with her friends was an insult to her version of cool. The thought of the future was also very intimidating. She thought that because she did not know what she wanted yet, like several of her other friends, that she would be judged. Any discussion about her future and goals was painful at best, and she behaved as if it were a personal attack. She was not ready, and so we waited.

Now here we are. It's her senior year. She has just landed her first job (pizza), and was made President of a business (a non-profit run by her fashion class). She's going to be very busy and she's looking forward to every minute. I couldn't be more proud, and I know that she'll be great. Why do I believe that? Of course my opinion is not unbiased, but she's also getting involved in something she enjoys. She will be mentoring and leading others, and at times she will have to fill in where others are not able to do the task at hand. For years, when asked what she wanted to be when she grows up, her response was President. I'm sure that this is not the "President" that she had in mind way back when, but that's okay. We all have to start somewhere.

It's always something monumental that forces most of us to stop and enjoy what's right in front of us...and to ponder how we ended up here, where we are right now, in the first place. Many of us have lived through a loved one being ill, and each experience is different. Why is it different? Because what we know and what we surround ourselves with is unique to the person living it, and only that person. Two people may have the same diagnosis, but how they react, their family situations, and their support groups are all different.

My family has had two people in the hospital in two days. In three weeks time five of us have been to the hospital. It forces me to think back several years ago when it was just my daughter and I against the world. We were facing it head on...and it was exciting and frightening at the same time. Both of us were young, and both of us have become who we are today as a result of our choices.

I can say that for the first time in my life, I have the absolute love, respect, and support from my partner. When I receive news that moves me to tears, good or bad, I know that I will not experience that alone. He is right beside me. To be able to say that I am not alone is a huge statement for me. There have been times where I absolutely needed someone. Anyone. I have hit bottom, and then climbed out alone, and had no one to share my victory with. I have made choices both good and bad in my life and all of those choices have made me into the person I am today. I am a mother, a companion, a lover, a fighter, a survivor, a navy brat, a daughter, a sister, an identical twin, an individual. I am me.