How Sweet It Is

This weekend, we visited a local eatery, Pizzeria Venti. We’re friends with the owners, who joined us for supper along with another friend.



When the night was over, we came back to the house, and our friend decided to camp out in our guest bedroom, as she and ThatManILove had been test-driving the wine.  I was the designated driver, so all was good, since I rarely imbibe.


This friend of ours is quite musical, and loves to sing. She made some off comment about the guitars, and I said, “If you ask him, he’ll probably play.”


She did.


And he did.


We started out with some James Taylor (of course) and progressed into worship music. It was fun, and washing. And what a joy to hear our friend sing. Before the weekend was over, we even broke out my Korg keyboard and amp and let her at it. Sweet stuff.


Simple pleasures, people. Simple pleasures.

Help Me Make It Through The Night

Monday.

What a day.  My IT department pulled a password change that totally ripped out all my 5K plus contacts and left me whining.  Sniveling.  Pleading.  People, I cannot do business the way I do business without those contacts.

Yes, I have a copy.  No, it will not import without a password - never mind that it’s never had a password.  So we had to sic the password cracker on it.  But he’s in a meeting.  And won’t be able to attack it until 7 a.m. tomorrow.  And I will be waiting at the office for him to sneak into my computer so we may labor together until my contacts are in their rightful place.

Tuesday

I walk in my door, 6 ish, to find my a/c is history.  No workie.  Hormonal woman, 100 degrees outside, 150 inside.  Well, at least, that’s what it feels like. My normal A/C guy can’t come until tomorrow.  I call another, who gets to the house at 10:30, opens my A/C, and says - something’s come loose.  Your motor’s fried.  And off he goes, out the door, with the last hope I have of being anywhere near cool tonight.

All the hotels are booked.  

My dogs are panting.  I’m sweating.  

Menopausal women and heat do not mix, people.

All I can say is “C’mon, 7 a.m. - at least I’ll be in a cool office.”

Shower The People You Love With Love...

Remember the last time I wrote?  And said ThatManILove was stuck on a well?  He’s still stuck on a well. No sleep.  Hasn’t seen a hotel room in a couple of days.  

So instead of telling you all the cool things we’ve experienced together this week, I’ll tell you what I saw today at the 4H Larry Ratheal Memorial Benefit shoot.

I saw 7 people, me being one of them, shoot together on a squad and have fun.  It was hot.  There was very little breeze.  But people, we had fun.

I saw two dads work with their respective sons while they shot their shotguns. Both dads were overjoyed at their sons’ successes.  This was the first tourney for either boy, and they both rocked the Casbah.  Just saying.

I love seeing young people excel at whatever they pursue.

It’s very encouraging.

More than that, I love seeing fathers....be...fathers.

Just A Little More Time

ThatManILove came home late yesterday afternoon after working 36 hours in the field at one fell swoop.  He was exhausted.

He’s been leaving here around 4 a.m. on Monday mornings, and heading 2.5 hours away to work in the oilfield.  He’s on location most days by 6:30 or 7, then making it to the hotel around 11 at night.  He’s not getting much sleep, after doing reports, etc.

And then, when ThatManILove comes home, there’s always something to do around the house.  We’re unable to see our friends much, because we barely have any time together - usually less than two days.  We’re close to getting finished with the remodel on the house. Maybe then, he will be able to come home and just rest and relax.

Someday soon.

Someday, soon.

Stop the Insanity Already!

I’ve figured out what I’m going to do the next time Zanna the WonderDog goes into heat.

I’m getting a new, larger crate.  I’m going to line it with the best memory foam mattress, and it’s going to be plush.

And then, I’m crawling in, and locking the gate.  And I’m not coming out for Three. Whole. Weeks.

Okay, not really.

We’ve come to the decision that it’s time to spay her.  (As Janie does the Happy Dance!)  We’d love to have one of her pups; however, weighing a litter of champion bloodline GSP’s vs. all the rescue dogs needing homes just does not compute.

We love dogs.  I wish every rescue dog would find a home.  And we’re just not going to contribute to the overpopulation issue.

Final answer.

Therapist for $200 (Okay, I love SNL)

Sunnnnyyyyyy beeeeeeaaaaaches.

It’s been one heck of a day.  Not even kidding. I could tell you about Elder Son missing the last flight to Wyoming….no.  My breakfast order or 20 people, cancelling on me less than 30 minutes prior to delivery?  Nah.  Okay, I think I’ll tell you about my contractor subcontractor’s mishap…not even.  My customer lunch and learn cancelling?  Just a day in the life, right?

Okay.  Guess I’ll expound on the never boring adventures of the WonderDogs. 

This morning, I’m getting ready, out of the shower, about to dry my hair.  It’s about 6:20 a.m. The dogs ask to go out.   As is our norm, I go out to the “almost oasis” of a back yard.  (I love it in the morning!)  I sit down on the porch, grab a water bottle, settle down to enjoy the beautiful morning, and let them do their business.

 I’m soon to discover that it’s not to be that kind of morning.  Zanna’s in the last stages of her heat cycle.  ThatManILove and I have been in some serious discussions this week as to whether or not to breed Zanna, or to get her fixed. Let me take one second to note that TMIL has NOT been in town except on weekends during the last three weeks.   I’ve been dealing with this heat cycle, the diapers, the panties, all that drill.  It’s making me crazy.  ThatManILove doesn’t want her stout championed bloodline to end; I, on the other hand, could care less about menstrual cycles any more, much less my Zanna’s.   Whatever romantic vision I had about being an awesome breeder of champion German Shorthairs has this very week faded away in a fluff of shredded cotton and denim.  Zanna’s gone through more panty liners, doggie diapers, and puppy panties in three weeks than any woman I’ve ever known (however, that may be because most women I know don’t eat their sanitary products).  I’m ready to put this madness to an end.  Zack’s interest in her is at…well, let’s just say he’s peaked this morning.  I’m not worried, though, because 3 years ago, we made him a sports model.  Yup, we had him fixed.

I’m relaxing, drinking a glass of water, and all of a sudden, Zack starts acting kind of aggressive towards Zanna.  And she’s, ummm….letting him.  The little wench is even coming on to him.  She’s flirting.  And before I can say “You don’t have the stuff anymore, cowboy, don’t even think about it!” , Zack has mounted Zanna.  Oh, yes, he has. You’ve heard “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up?”  Well, he’s mounted,  and he can’t get down.  Or she can’t get loose.  Or something.

I scream at him.  Totally ineffective.

I run get the water hose.  Same result.

I call ThatManILove.  He doesn’t answer his cellphone.

So, I do what most warm-blooded over-intelligent females who are seeking answers to such a dilemma do.  I run to the door, go inside, shut the back door so I don’t have to watch them do the dirty deed anymore, and go ask Mr. Google what the heck to do.

Turns out the first two things, screaming and water, only make situations such as this, worse.  (Don’t say I never taught you anything.)

After I read the article twice, I decide to venture to the back door to peek out and see how things are hanging.  Whew!  They’re apart.  Zanna’s giving me that, “Gee thanks, oh you human protector of all four legged things  – you suck at this” look.  I, in turn, am glaring at Zack, thinking, “You RAPIST!”  I hustle them both into the house and kennel Zanna, pronto.

Then, and only then, does ThatManILove call.

“Hey, babe, did you need something?”

“Ummm, yeah, well, I did…but it’s all good now.  Zack mounted Zanna.”

“What? He can’t do that.”

“Oh, yes he can, and he did.  I was an eyewitness.  And they got stuck.”

“What?  Are you sure?  I don’t think Zack can do anything.”

“I am not even gonna repeat it. Zanna’s been violated. Maybe even drugged.” 

Silence.

And then I can hear him.  He’s giggling.  And then he starts laughing.

And that just pisses me off more.

“When did we get Zack fixed?”  Yup.  Still giggling.

And we figure it out. Two years ago.

And you know what he said to me then?

“Don’t worry baby.  Semen doesn’t have that kind of shelf life.”

I Knew You...

In the last week, ThatManILove and I have been not only blessed with a goddaughter, but I also was blessed, and honored, to attend her birth. Mom’s rocking as a new first time mother, and grandmother is right by, fiercely watching over the already strong bond of mother and child. What an absolutely beautiful thing to observe! And yeah, I’d forgotten what joy new babies bring. Just by the very act of holding baby Ada Jael , I am renewed. Refreshed. All is okay in my world, even the funky stuff.

Why is that?

Whenever I see a new baby, I hear the scripture Jeremiah 1:5: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. Before you were born, I set you apart for my holy purpose.”

A baby represents many things to me: Promise. Hope, for the times to come, and also, this next generation. A child is open, and full of wonder. Not one bit jaded, and most always delighted. Trusting. Loving. Never judging, just accepting you as you are.

So should we be.

I beg you - the next time you see a little one, take a second to let that baby envelop you. Let yourself be refreshed. Renewed.

You’ll smile, I promise. You’ll feel the love. And you’ll be more able to give out love, yourself.


Meet Baby Ada Jael. Does the word goddaughter translate to spoiled? If it didn’t before, it will now. And you know, I think her mommy’s totally okay with that.

Three Generations of Love (photo by Janie)