Leon
by Margi Washburn
He must have been all of three feet tall. Blond, shoulder-length curly hair, chubby cheeks and wide blue eyes - a small boy with bare feet who was our neighbor in Tucson for too short a time.
Leon was his name and he was a corker. We met the little guy shortly after moving into our first apartment in Arizona. I always use the state motto about this far into the story: “It’s a dry heat” but this time around I’ll just say, “Ick.” I’m sorry, but if you think the desert, rock landscaping and cactus are cool then, well, ick.
Our first home away from Kewanee was an apartment complex with at least a hundred units that looked exactly the same. (We misplaced our black cat Spike there once and it was a hoot trying to find him). Trick-or-treating was fun, too; we couldn’t remember where we’d been so we tapped some nice people more than once.
Leon and his parents moved in across from us one day. It was impossible to miss their arrival because we all had sliding glass doors that faced each other. The odd thing about Leon and his family was that they had no furniture. In fact, he seemed quite impressed when he found there was something to sit on besides the floor.
He invited his little self inside our place one early afternoon. Not a bit shy, this boy of four, and he had the cutest dimples. “I live over there,” he said with a smile, and he pointed to his place.
“What’s that?”
Hubby and I grinned at each other. “It’s a couch,” I said. He pointed at a chair and asked the same question. This was a bit of a puzzle, but we went along. Leon stood for a minute, his thumbs hooked into his bib overalls.
“Would you like to sit down?” I asked. That was all it took, and it sure made him happy. His little bare feet swung back and forth as he squirmed around, seemingly amazed that we had furniture.
It was hard to ignore the fact that the family across the way had an empty home. At night, when the lights were on it was easy to see that they had only blankets and pillows on their floors. We found Leon at our door, hands cupped around his eyes as he stared into our apartment several times a week.
There were days when he would pad barefoot over to our place, knock loudly and wait with his face pressed to the screen. He would ask for the boys first, and I would tell him they were in school. That’s when he’d ask for hubby to come out and play. Well, he was at work. The next request would be to come in and sit on the furniture. In he would come and as he sat and we talked, I could see the delight in his eyes at the most simple of things - Leon had a place to sit.
Then, an amazing thing happened. Leon and his family got furniture late one afternoon. They moved in beds, tables, chairs, a couch and more. If only we had some clue what would happen next.
Morning came and the apartment manager came riding up on her golf cart. She knocked on our door and pointed a thumb over her shoulder at Leon’s place. “Have you seen ‘em?” she asked.
Hubby and I looked over and were astounded to find the place completely empty. No furniture, no people, no blankets and pillows. No little barefoot boy.
Turned out that the family picked up and moved in the night, and they must have been quiet about it. We didn’t hear a thing.
A few weeks later, I was walking with one of the boys when we saw a familiar little figure coming toward us. Leon! He was alone, and walking along the sidewalk. The sun was starting to set and it would be dark soon. When we met, he smiled up at me.
“Leon, where have you been? Do you live in a different apartment now?”
I can’t forget how he looked down at his feet, hands in his pockets as he shook his head. “We live in storage now,” he said.
Storage? I tried to find out more, but the little guy said he had to go. He walked away, and he never looked back.
Leon must be a tad over 20 years old now and one wonders how much he remembers of his younger years in the desert. If he ever stops by, we’ll look straight into those wondrous blue eyes and invite him in to sit down and catch up on old times.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Come on Wheel, mama needs a car
Come on, spin that wheel – mama needs a car
By Margi Washburn
We've been sitting around the kitchen table, night after night watching Deal or No Deal, a new game show that has us all wondering what we would do if we won a bazllion bucks. Actually, the family and I are going after the ten grand that's offered every night.
We dutifully phone in our guesses as to which lucky case holds our booty only to find ourselves disappointed once again. Shortly after that most of us are looking for some chocolate to drown our sorrows in. (Note to mom: get some chocolate – just in case).
It's kind of neat to have the show send us a multitude of text messages on our phones. It makes us feel important even while we tally up the cost of sending and receiving those messages.
The Deal or No Deal craze isn't the latest pie in the sky dream to hit us lately. Remember the $365 million lottery prize won by a few co-workers in another state? Incidentally, I probably wouldn't be writing this piece if I was related to one of those lovely folks. Well, maybe I shouldn't say that in print; the other people I work for might get the idea that I'd skedaddle in a big, fat hurry if I won a few bucks.
Let's face it. Money isn't going to drop in our laps, we're going to have to work for it. There's a satisfaction to working hard and getting paid a good wage. It feels good to pay our own way, and it feels even better if we have some left over to share with others who are going through their umpteenth bad patch.
I guess I'm wondering how to balance the idea of wishng for a windfall and the pride of making our own way. And it's not just the above-named game show we're becoming addicted to. Wheel of Fortune has the Spin ID thing going.
I set up the numbers for myself and for mom. We catch the show whenever we possibly can because now there's a chance to win a trip and a car. I used to want the contestants to win just because it seemed the right thing to do. Now I find myself yelling at the screen, “Come on! Mama needs a car!” And when they don't get guess the puzzle, I'm ticked off. If they get the answer but the prize is cash and not a car, I get ticked off. There's no Spin ID winner if the prize is cash, so what good does that do me? None, that's what.
It really isn't as bad as it sounds. I'm still working two jobs, and I love them both. But let's be honest; if you love the work you do would you stick around if you won a boatload of money?
That's what I thought.
I know that hubby's mom has always wanted to go to Hawaii. Maybe one of us will win that trip tonight on Wheel of Fortune. If we do, I promised the rest of the family that mom and I would be sure to send them a postcard. Aloha.
By Margi Washburn
We've been sitting around the kitchen table, night after night watching Deal or No Deal, a new game show that has us all wondering what we would do if we won a bazllion bucks. Actually, the family and I are going after the ten grand that's offered every night.
We dutifully phone in our guesses as to which lucky case holds our booty only to find ourselves disappointed once again. Shortly after that most of us are looking for some chocolate to drown our sorrows in. (Note to mom: get some chocolate – just in case).
It's kind of neat to have the show send us a multitude of text messages on our phones. It makes us feel important even while we tally up the cost of sending and receiving those messages.
The Deal or No Deal craze isn't the latest pie in the sky dream to hit us lately. Remember the $365 million lottery prize won by a few co-workers in another state? Incidentally, I probably wouldn't be writing this piece if I was related to one of those lovely folks. Well, maybe I shouldn't say that in print; the other people I work for might get the idea that I'd skedaddle in a big, fat hurry if I won a few bucks.
Let's face it. Money isn't going to drop in our laps, we're going to have to work for it. There's a satisfaction to working hard and getting paid a good wage. It feels good to pay our own way, and it feels even better if we have some left over to share with others who are going through their umpteenth bad patch.
I guess I'm wondering how to balance the idea of wishng for a windfall and the pride of making our own way. And it's not just the above-named game show we're becoming addicted to. Wheel of Fortune has the Spin ID thing going.
I set up the numbers for myself and for mom. We catch the show whenever we possibly can because now there's a chance to win a trip and a car. I used to want the contestants to win just because it seemed the right thing to do. Now I find myself yelling at the screen, “Come on! Mama needs a car!” And when they don't get guess the puzzle, I'm ticked off. If they get the answer but the prize is cash and not a car, I get ticked off. There's no Spin ID winner if the prize is cash, so what good does that do me? None, that's what.
It really isn't as bad as it sounds. I'm still working two jobs, and I love them both. But let's be honest; if you love the work you do would you stick around if you won a boatload of money?
That's what I thought.
I know that hubby's mom has always wanted to go to Hawaii. Maybe one of us will win that trip tonight on Wheel of Fortune. If we do, I promised the rest of the family that mom and I would be sure to send them a postcard. Aloha.
Small towns, memorable Octobers
Of small towns, crisp fall leaves and memorable Octobers
By Margi Washburn
I think it’s finally here - fall, that is. The searing heat is gone; the farmers are clearing their fields and deer are running amok. Coyotes aren’t much smarter, it seems, as hubby nearly ran one over the other day.
The fog is hanging around too, making it seem spooky and Halloween-like. My mom had a saying for a foggy evening: “Nice night for a murder,” she’d say. That alone pretty much guaranteed sis and I weren’t going to slip out of the house and get into trouble.
During the latter part of October, I start getting the movies ready. It’s not Halloween unless we watch the movie of the same name. I know they made sequels, but this one is my favorite of the bunch.
There is the obligatory small town, the innocent babysitter, the even more innocent children, lots of pumpkins and brilliant, falling leaves. Throw in a menacing monster of a man who refuses to die and you have the perfect mix for movie night. I still watch some parts through my hands, but so what?
Another favorite for October is “Something Wicked This Way Comes.” This is the movie based on the Ray Bradbury book by the same name. Take a small town, a library, a young boy and his dad, a young boy without a dad, add a late-October carnival with a mysterious crew and an evil leader. This would be plenty, but I love the mournful sound of the train whistle in the dead of night as it chugs toward an unsuspecting town full of hurting people. It’s a touching story full of chills, surprises and brilliant performances.
Do you think back on what Halloween was like for you as a kid? If you lived in town or around these parts you probably had all kinds of weather to deal with. That was a given and we didn’t get all bent out of shape if the forecast was too this or that - we just dealt with it. And for a blessed length of time we could collect candy and other treats and eat them without having them checked out first. I miss that.
Lots of us made our own costumes. We put a lot of thought into who or what we wanted to be - there weren’t so many TV and cartoon characters around to deaden our creativeness. We dressed up one of the boys once as a newspaper reporter with a Superman tee-shirt peeking out beneath his dress shirt. He stuck a press pass in the brim of his hat and won first place that year in the costume contest.
I was going to say that it takes more to scare us today than it used to, but I’m not sure that’s true. The early-morning news people have become addicted to giving us news “hot off the wires!” Trouble is, it’s the worst possible way to start your day. You leave the house for work with fresh new worries and that’s not good for any of us.
We’re being bombarded with the promise of gargantuan power bills pretty much every day. I wondered aloud to hubby about what would happen if folks just started jumping out of windows out of sheer fear that they wouldn’t make it through the winter. I pictured the news announcer saying something like this:
“We have breaking news hot off the wires, folks. People all over the midwest are hurling themselves out of their windows over the cost of heating their homes. We’ll keep you updated on our top story.
“Now, let’s see what the weather will be like for the weekend. Eric? Does it look like rain as we end the work week?”
Yeah, something wicked this way comes all right. But it isn’t a late-fall carnival with an evil merry-go-round and it’s not a monster of a man who refuses to stay dead. What we have to be afraid of on these foggy moonless nights are the swirling thoughts of never-ending doom that our friendly news people are putting inside our heads.
Let’s all do something completely outrageous. We’ll turn off the TV and the radio, call up a friend or two, pool our gas money and take a leisurely drive. The leaves are changing, some are falling and covering our lawns. What a beautiful world we live in; just look around and see for yourself. Laugh with your loved ones, go out for coffee and pie or a bowl of homemade soup.
Grab a good movie and snuggle up with a bowl of hot, buttered popcorn and turn out the lights.
You have the right to scare yourself - if you want to. It’s almost Halloween, and I plan to have a really happy one.
By Margi Washburn
I think it’s finally here - fall, that is. The searing heat is gone; the farmers are clearing their fields and deer are running amok. Coyotes aren’t much smarter, it seems, as hubby nearly ran one over the other day.
The fog is hanging around too, making it seem spooky and Halloween-like. My mom had a saying for a foggy evening: “Nice night for a murder,” she’d say. That alone pretty much guaranteed sis and I weren’t going to slip out of the house and get into trouble.
During the latter part of October, I start getting the movies ready. It’s not Halloween unless we watch the movie of the same name. I know they made sequels, but this one is my favorite of the bunch.
There is the obligatory small town, the innocent babysitter, the even more innocent children, lots of pumpkins and brilliant, falling leaves. Throw in a menacing monster of a man who refuses to die and you have the perfect mix for movie night. I still watch some parts through my hands, but so what?
Another favorite for October is “Something Wicked This Way Comes.” This is the movie based on the Ray Bradbury book by the same name. Take a small town, a library, a young boy and his dad, a young boy without a dad, add a late-October carnival with a mysterious crew and an evil leader. This would be plenty, but I love the mournful sound of the train whistle in the dead of night as it chugs toward an unsuspecting town full of hurting people. It’s a touching story full of chills, surprises and brilliant performances.
Do you think back on what Halloween was like for you as a kid? If you lived in town or around these parts you probably had all kinds of weather to deal with. That was a given and we didn’t get all bent out of shape if the forecast was too this or that - we just dealt with it. And for a blessed length of time we could collect candy and other treats and eat them without having them checked out first. I miss that.
Lots of us made our own costumes. We put a lot of thought into who or what we wanted to be - there weren’t so many TV and cartoon characters around to deaden our creativeness. We dressed up one of the boys once as a newspaper reporter with a Superman tee-shirt peeking out beneath his dress shirt. He stuck a press pass in the brim of his hat and won first place that year in the costume contest.
I was going to say that it takes more to scare us today than it used to, but I’m not sure that’s true. The early-morning news people have become addicted to giving us news “hot off the wires!” Trouble is, it’s the worst possible way to start your day. You leave the house for work with fresh new worries and that’s not good for any of us.
We’re being bombarded with the promise of gargantuan power bills pretty much every day. I wondered aloud to hubby about what would happen if folks just started jumping out of windows out of sheer fear that they wouldn’t make it through the winter. I pictured the news announcer saying something like this:
“We have breaking news hot off the wires, folks. People all over the midwest are hurling themselves out of their windows over the cost of heating their homes. We’ll keep you updated on our top story.
“Now, let’s see what the weather will be like for the weekend. Eric? Does it look like rain as we end the work week?”
Yeah, something wicked this way comes all right. But it isn’t a late-fall carnival with an evil merry-go-round and it’s not a monster of a man who refuses to stay dead. What we have to be afraid of on these foggy moonless nights are the swirling thoughts of never-ending doom that our friendly news people are putting inside our heads.
Let’s all do something completely outrageous. We’ll turn off the TV and the radio, call up a friend or two, pool our gas money and take a leisurely drive. The leaves are changing, some are falling and covering our lawns. What a beautiful world we live in; just look around and see for yourself. Laugh with your loved ones, go out for coffee and pie or a bowl of homemade soup.
Grab a good movie and snuggle up with a bowl of hot, buttered popcorn and turn out the lights.
You have the right to scare yourself - if you want to. It’s almost Halloween, and I plan to have a really happy one.
The perfect writing table
The perfect writing table has to be out there somewhere
By Margi Washburn
I love to browse furniture stores. Some of my favorite pieces are desks and tables. Okay, I like chairs, too, but not the ususal kind. Office chairs are the best because they go with the desks. If I had my way, there would be a desk and office chair in almost every room.
Please don't bring up this subject with my hubby. He'll probably tell you that our home has exactly that and he would be right. I never hear the end of it when he's right about something. Besides, he might insist that I stop snooping around office-supply places and other furniture-type stores.
The thing is, I have yet to find the perfect writing table. There is a difference between a desk and a writing table. The former usually has drawers and a limited amount of space beneath it. One can't roll up and down the floor without hitting their legs under the desk. With a writing table there are fewer restrictions. I like that.
On the popular sitcom Seinfeld, Elaine worked for J. Peterman and she had the writing table I've been looking for. I'm guessing it was between five and six feet wide, and maybe two or two-and-a-half feet deep. It was perfect, but I haven't been able to find one like it anywhere. I've settled far too many times, which explains why there is a different type of desk or table in nearly every room in our home.
Hubby and I like to go out and browse, so I talked him into looking at the office furniture section at a local store. I found a beautiful, huge desk that was marked way down. To be perfectly frank, it was so big I had no idea how anyone would get it into the house but that didn't stop me from falling madly in love with it.
I sat down in the cushy, expensive leather chair and placed my hands on the desk. I rubbed the gleaming and somewhat scratched surface and smiled. Then I spread out my arms, put my head down and sighed happily.
“Get up,” said hubby. “Now.”
I couldn't. The mammoth desk was only $500 and I wanted it. It looked nothing like Elaine's, but I was willing to settle – again.
“Come on,” he whispered, “you can't have it. You have desks all over the house now.”
Well, no argument there. I got up, and walked slowly around the desk while trailing my hand around the edge. What was I thinking?
A few months later I found myself in the same store, in the same section. Maybe the price had come down and I could surprise hubby with a bargain. It was a surprise, all right. The price was still $500, but now there was a new feature: a nearly foot-long gash across the top. That should have been good for a discount, but I didn't ask for one. I left, wondering if I would ever find Elaine's desk.
Today I am alone, for the moment, and there is a furniture store down the road a ways. They're having a huge sale, and I'm feeling the familiar pull toward that elusive bargain. Hubby is nearly 50 miles away and completely unaware of my plan. I can only hope he doesn't find the sale flyer I left on one of the desks. I wouldn't put it past him to give me a buzz on the phone just to tell me, “Get up. Now.”
By Margi Washburn
I love to browse furniture stores. Some of my favorite pieces are desks and tables. Okay, I like chairs, too, but not the ususal kind. Office chairs are the best because they go with the desks. If I had my way, there would be a desk and office chair in almost every room.
Please don't bring up this subject with my hubby. He'll probably tell you that our home has exactly that and he would be right. I never hear the end of it when he's right about something. Besides, he might insist that I stop snooping around office-supply places and other furniture-type stores.
The thing is, I have yet to find the perfect writing table. There is a difference between a desk and a writing table. The former usually has drawers and a limited amount of space beneath it. One can't roll up and down the floor without hitting their legs under the desk. With a writing table there are fewer restrictions. I like that.
On the popular sitcom Seinfeld, Elaine worked for J. Peterman and she had the writing table I've been looking for. I'm guessing it was between five and six feet wide, and maybe two or two-and-a-half feet deep. It was perfect, but I haven't been able to find one like it anywhere. I've settled far too many times, which explains why there is a different type of desk or table in nearly every room in our home.
Hubby and I like to go out and browse, so I talked him into looking at the office furniture section at a local store. I found a beautiful, huge desk that was marked way down. To be perfectly frank, it was so big I had no idea how anyone would get it into the house but that didn't stop me from falling madly in love with it.
I sat down in the cushy, expensive leather chair and placed my hands on the desk. I rubbed the gleaming and somewhat scratched surface and smiled. Then I spread out my arms, put my head down and sighed happily.
“Get up,” said hubby. “Now.”
I couldn't. The mammoth desk was only $500 and I wanted it. It looked nothing like Elaine's, but I was willing to settle – again.
“Come on,” he whispered, “you can't have it. You have desks all over the house now.”
Well, no argument there. I got up, and walked slowly around the desk while trailing my hand around the edge. What was I thinking?
A few months later I found myself in the same store, in the same section. Maybe the price had come down and I could surprise hubby with a bargain. It was a surprise, all right. The price was still $500, but now there was a new feature: a nearly foot-long gash across the top. That should have been good for a discount, but I didn't ask for one. I left, wondering if I would ever find Elaine's desk.
Today I am alone, for the moment, and there is a furniture store down the road a ways. They're having a huge sale, and I'm feeling the familiar pull toward that elusive bargain. Hubby is nearly 50 miles away and completely unaware of my plan. I can only hope he doesn't find the sale flyer I left on one of the desks. I wouldn't put it past him to give me a buzz on the phone just to tell me, “Get up. Now.”
Remembering our wolfpuppy, our Max
Remembering mom, lilacs and a beautiful doggy named Max
By Margi Washburn
Kenny Chesney has a song whose first line goes, “sunny days seem to hurt the most” and when I first heard that I thought, finally, here's someone who gets it.
It's hard to be considered weird just because you prefer cloudy days. But there are more of us than I realized. We've discovered that part of the reason we feel this way is maybe because there are things going on in our lives that make it impossible to live up to what a sunny day expects of us.
Take this past Mother's Day. I started celebrating a couple of weeks before when the lilacs bloomed. Their delicate scent always brings my mom to mind, and I never pass up a chance to find a way to get to a lilac bush every spring. Hubby bought me one a couple of years ago and it's getting bigger, but it has a ways to go before it can match the one mom had.
That gorgeous bunch of lavender would swing and sway in the wild and windy spring storms we get in Illinois That would send a fragrance through our home that no one has ever been able to duplicate. Lilacs and mom – two beautiful creations that were here for too short a time.
I kept the small bouquet from our own plant until it withered, dried up and its petals dotted my kitchen table. I finally threw it away last Saturday.
The day before, our wolfpuppy Max started feeling a bit under the weather. She's always had a touchy tummy, and we'd been through this before so we just kept an eye on her while we went about our business. She appreciated that because she needed her space, as most dogs do.
On Saturday I treated myself to a few hours at a bookstore. It was fun and relaxing, even if I didn't get a lot of work done. Just being in a coffeeshop surrounded by books and magazines is enough for me. If you remember, and how could you help it, the weather over the weekend was perfectly lousy. It was cold, rainy, windy and generally unpleasant.
One would think that I would be happy with that, but that isn't true. I really do prefer sunny days now. It's fun to smile, laugh and enjoy life. It's hard to do that with cold rain drizzling down your open collar.
By the time I drove home in the monsoon, I was a bit discouraged. It was an odd feeling, kind of like when you know something isn't quite right but you don't know what it is.
Max was not eating, only drinking, and she slept a lot. Usually she is up in our faces, getting tidbits and the last bite.
Sunday came and we went to breakfast. We came home and Max greeted us, her tail wagging a little less than usual. I was finishing the Sunday paper when she got really sick, so we headed for outside. Once there, she went into a seizure and hubby and I went a little crazy.
Surprisingly, Max popped up from the step and waited for us to bring her inside. We did that, but headed straight for the veterinarian. Suddenly it didn't matter if it was Sunday or Mother's Day; all that mattered was Max.
A preliminary outward check showed that things looked okay. We agreed to blood work, and left our Max to stay the night so she would get the proper care.
It had to be awfully painful for the doctor to make that call on Sunday evening. Max had passed away, he said, and he was sorry. I sat, stunned, and wondered two things: how could such a gentle man, who loves animals as much as he obviously does, deal with this type of work? And, how would I tell hubby that his little buddy was gone?
These last few days have been unforgettable, though I pray that will change. Funny, laugh-out-loud memories are inside of all of us who knew Max and someday we'll bring those out to share. For now, though, we'll try to get through each day until the pain subsides a little.
Gary Allan has a song, too, that I can relate to. It's called, Life Ain't Always Beautiful” and the ending goes something like this: Life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride.
I'm going to remember that. Well, that, my mom, lilacs and Max. Three beautiful, unforgettable pieces of my life that were here for too brief a time.
By Margi Washburn
Kenny Chesney has a song whose first line goes, “sunny days seem to hurt the most” and when I first heard that I thought, finally, here's someone who gets it.
It's hard to be considered weird just because you prefer cloudy days. But there are more of us than I realized. We've discovered that part of the reason we feel this way is maybe because there are things going on in our lives that make it impossible to live up to what a sunny day expects of us.
Take this past Mother's Day. I started celebrating a couple of weeks before when the lilacs bloomed. Their delicate scent always brings my mom to mind, and I never pass up a chance to find a way to get to a lilac bush every spring. Hubby bought me one a couple of years ago and it's getting bigger, but it has a ways to go before it can match the one mom had.
That gorgeous bunch of lavender would swing and sway in the wild and windy spring storms we get in Illinois That would send a fragrance through our home that no one has ever been able to duplicate. Lilacs and mom – two beautiful creations that were here for too short a time.
I kept the small bouquet from our own plant until it withered, dried up and its petals dotted my kitchen table. I finally threw it away last Saturday.
The day before, our wolfpuppy Max started feeling a bit under the weather. She's always had a touchy tummy, and we'd been through this before so we just kept an eye on her while we went about our business. She appreciated that because she needed her space, as most dogs do.
On Saturday I treated myself to a few hours at a bookstore. It was fun and relaxing, even if I didn't get a lot of work done. Just being in a coffeeshop surrounded by books and magazines is enough for me. If you remember, and how could you help it, the weather over the weekend was perfectly lousy. It was cold, rainy, windy and generally unpleasant.
One would think that I would be happy with that, but that isn't true. I really do prefer sunny days now. It's fun to smile, laugh and enjoy life. It's hard to do that with cold rain drizzling down your open collar.
By the time I drove home in the monsoon, I was a bit discouraged. It was an odd feeling, kind of like when you know something isn't quite right but you don't know what it is.
Max was not eating, only drinking, and she slept a lot. Usually she is up in our faces, getting tidbits and the last bite.
Sunday came and we went to breakfast. We came home and Max greeted us, her tail wagging a little less than usual. I was finishing the Sunday paper when she got really sick, so we headed for outside. Once there, she went into a seizure and hubby and I went a little crazy.
Surprisingly, Max popped up from the step and waited for us to bring her inside. We did that, but headed straight for the veterinarian. Suddenly it didn't matter if it was Sunday or Mother's Day; all that mattered was Max.
A preliminary outward check showed that things looked okay. We agreed to blood work, and left our Max to stay the night so she would get the proper care.
It had to be awfully painful for the doctor to make that call on Sunday evening. Max had passed away, he said, and he was sorry. I sat, stunned, and wondered two things: how could such a gentle man, who loves animals as much as he obviously does, deal with this type of work? And, how would I tell hubby that his little buddy was gone?
These last few days have been unforgettable, though I pray that will change. Funny, laugh-out-loud memories are inside of all of us who knew Max and someday we'll bring those out to share. For now, though, we'll try to get through each day until the pain subsides a little.
Gary Allan has a song, too, that I can relate to. It's called, Life Ain't Always Beautiful” and the ending goes something like this: Life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride.
I'm going to remember that. Well, that, my mom, lilacs and Max. Three beautiful, unforgettable pieces of my life that were here for too brief a time.
Sarah Jane joins the family
Floppy ears, long legs and beautiful brown eyes
By Margi Washburn
I wonder when it started, that smallest of urges to seek out another furry friend. Whenever it was, it had to be too soon because the tears still came at the mere thought of our last dog. She was gone too soon and too suddenly, but the fact remained and we had to live with it.
As the shock wore off and my mind began to wander and wonder, the idea of a fuzzy, fat-faced puppy began to appeal a bit too much. I knew hubby was going to be hard to convince; maybe it would be impossible.
The thing is, our house was too quiet. I don't think either one of us wanted to come home from work or errands or visiting until we absolutley had to. We would turn the television up to drown out the silence, and we would avoid looking toward the toy corner where she kept all of her empty soda bottles.
I began to mention little things, like how much I loved the idea of starting out with a fresh, new puppy, one we could train to ride along with us, go for walks, attend ball games and maybe go visiting. I got a warning look from hubby, but he didn't tell me to stop talking about it.
I kept hinting and last Saturday we picked up his mom and off we went to Galesburg. There was an adopt-a-thon going on at the mall and I had already set up a meet-and-greet with one of the Guardian Angels folks to check out a beagle. It had been less than a week since we lost Max, and I was afraid my heart was in no shape to be looking at pups. I have to give hubby credit; he trusted me even though I know it must have taken up most of his faith that day.
I headed straight for the pets and couldn't believe what happened next. I was speechless, but not because the dogs were so cute. It was because not a single one appealed to me. This was completely out of character for me. I was left alone to decide, but my heart refused to budge. It just wasn't going to happen.
The sweet caretaker and I hugged, both of us in tears. She was understanding and wished us well in finding a new puppy someday. As we turned to leave, her friend spoke.
“You know,” she said, “there is a yellow lab mix at the shelter. It's a pup. But they're not open for another hour.”
Every picture I'd ever seen of a yellow lab ran through my mind. I saw a fat puppy face, a precious ball of fur sitting in my lap on the way home.
We found the shelter, and made our way to the puppy area. A tiny black puppy yipped and growled the entire time, but the other pup was quiet. She walked slowly up to the gate and poked her nose through. She licked my fingers and looked up at me.
We opened the gate and she went straight for mom. She put her paws on mom's shoulders and looked her in the eyes. After that, she hugged hubby in the crook of his arm. When we left, she walked slowly back to her blanket and laid down, hope slowly fading in her eyes.
I named her Sarah, and we picked her up today. She weighs 30 pounds and she's only four months old. She is lean, has short hair and a skinny face with floppy ears. One of her new favorite places is the veterinarian's office where we stopped on our way into town. She hugged everyone there, too, and she will go back in a few days for a follow-up visit.
Oh, before I forget, Sarah has a new expression already. Her eyes light up, and there's a bounce in her step that wasn't there before. She's in her crate now, stretched out and sleeping peacefully. I think we'll keep her.
Compassionate friends, cool neighbors
Compassionate friends and cool neighbors make the heat easier to bear
By Margi Washburn
As I write this on a sultry Thursday morning, I remember that the weather forecast called for cooler temps, a refreshing change from the mind-melting heat wave we've been stuck in for too many days.
I'm not mad, just disappointed. My hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and the air conditioning we're using is making some power company stockholders very happy.
Like many of you, our power went out at three in the morning today and it must have come back on while I was out enjoying someone else's cool air. None of us knew exactly why others had power and we didn't; we were too tired from trying to sleep in stuffy houses.
Did you ever notice how eerily quiet it is when there is no electricity humming through our homes? With overcast skies, our house offered little in the way of light so we made our way carefully from room to room.
On this day, there was no coffee for breakfast. Actually, there was no breakfast either but many of us will gladly settle for a cup of joe. We didn't want to open the refrigerator or freezer and risk spoiling the food inside.
Hubby found it light enough to shave his face, and using the shower wasn't a problem. But the absence of light has a profound effect on a person if the situation doesn't reverse itself quickly. I feel a bit embarrassed to say that I walked the dog, fed her, then left to find a more pleasant place to be.
I have to admit, though, that we live in a great neighborhood. Those on either side of us are some of the nicest folks we've known, and the most understanding. On Saturday I decided to mow our lawn at eight in the morning and no one complained. We have a push mower and a huge yard, so I broke it up into sections because the heat got to me after about 20 minutes and I would have lost my breakfast if I'd had any.
The next day I decided to try and mow the rest even earlier, at a little after seven. That was a bit nerve-wracking because I was afraid that was going to wake a few people, but I mowed as quickly as I could. The heat wasn't nearly as bad at that hour, and having good neighbors made the job easier.
Experiences like these, being without power and having good neighbors, makes me wonder about those who aren't as fortunate. I made some calls and found out that there is no state law or company policy that prohibits folks from having their power turned off for nonpayment during the summer. That scares me.
As kids, we got used to losing our power nearly every July and August. The bucket truck would rumble down the street and we'd be making trips for ice cubes to put in an ice chest to keep the bologna and margarine cool. Mom, sis and I slept by the glow of the street lights and we learned to appreciate the silence.
It's not an adventure today, though, with so many 90-plus degree days and only one official cooling center. I can't thank the hospital enough for offering their place, and I wish more would have jumped at the chance to relieve those who were suffering.
That does bring to mind the phone call I received from a friend who was worried about us and wanted to let us know we were welcome to come and stay with her if we needed to. She contacted a dozen people to extend the same invitation; that's an example of compassion we could all learn from.
I'm guessing that every once in a while you imagine what you'd do if you won the lottery. Hubby and I do that, but I have this one dream that never changes. I would find all of those who needed help keeping their power on and I would pay their bills. I would do it for the little ones who have no choice in the matter, and I would do it for the elderly who are torn between paying spiraling power bills or out-of-control prescription costs.
My thoughts turned to these folks during this too-quiet morning when it was impossible to sleep, and I had the opportunity to put myself in the place of someone in Kewanee without power because they couldn't pay their bill. Maybe the weather will change and they can get some relief from a cool breeze. It won't change the fact that they have no fans, air conditioning, refrigerator, television, radio, washer, dryer or anything else they rely on to live a normal life.
But as I learned when I was a little girl, you take what you can get and pray that someone will come along and see that you won't have to wait too long for what you need.
By Margi Washburn
As I write this on a sultry Thursday morning, I remember that the weather forecast called for cooler temps, a refreshing change from the mind-melting heat wave we've been stuck in for too many days.
I'm not mad, just disappointed. My hair is pulled up in a ponytail, and the air conditioning we're using is making some power company stockholders very happy.
Like many of you, our power went out at three in the morning today and it must have come back on while I was out enjoying someone else's cool air. None of us knew exactly why others had power and we didn't; we were too tired from trying to sleep in stuffy houses.
Did you ever notice how eerily quiet it is when there is no electricity humming through our homes? With overcast skies, our house offered little in the way of light so we made our way carefully from room to room.
On this day, there was no coffee for breakfast. Actually, there was no breakfast either but many of us will gladly settle for a cup of joe. We didn't want to open the refrigerator or freezer and risk spoiling the food inside.
Hubby found it light enough to shave his face, and using the shower wasn't a problem. But the absence of light has a profound effect on a person if the situation doesn't reverse itself quickly. I feel a bit embarrassed to say that I walked the dog, fed her, then left to find a more pleasant place to be.
I have to admit, though, that we live in a great neighborhood. Those on either side of us are some of the nicest folks we've known, and the most understanding. On Saturday I decided to mow our lawn at eight in the morning and no one complained. We have a push mower and a huge yard, so I broke it up into sections because the heat got to me after about 20 minutes and I would have lost my breakfast if I'd had any.
The next day I decided to try and mow the rest even earlier, at a little after seven. That was a bit nerve-wracking because I was afraid that was going to wake a few people, but I mowed as quickly as I could. The heat wasn't nearly as bad at that hour, and having good neighbors made the job easier.
Experiences like these, being without power and having good neighbors, makes me wonder about those who aren't as fortunate. I made some calls and found out that there is no state law or company policy that prohibits folks from having their power turned off for nonpayment during the summer. That scares me.
As kids, we got used to losing our power nearly every July and August. The bucket truck would rumble down the street and we'd be making trips for ice cubes to put in an ice chest to keep the bologna and margarine cool. Mom, sis and I slept by the glow of the street lights and we learned to appreciate the silence.
It's not an adventure today, though, with so many 90-plus degree days and only one official cooling center. I can't thank the hospital enough for offering their place, and I wish more would have jumped at the chance to relieve those who were suffering.
That does bring to mind the phone call I received from a friend who was worried about us and wanted to let us know we were welcome to come and stay with her if we needed to. She contacted a dozen people to extend the same invitation; that's an example of compassion we could all learn from.
I'm guessing that every once in a while you imagine what you'd do if you won the lottery. Hubby and I do that, but I have this one dream that never changes. I would find all of those who needed help keeping their power on and I would pay their bills. I would do it for the little ones who have no choice in the matter, and I would do it for the elderly who are torn between paying spiraling power bills or out-of-control prescription costs.
My thoughts turned to these folks during this too-quiet morning when it was impossible to sleep, and I had the opportunity to put myself in the place of someone in Kewanee without power because they couldn't pay their bill. Maybe the weather will change and they can get some relief from a cool breeze. It won't change the fact that they have no fans, air conditioning, refrigerator, television, radio, washer, dryer or anything else they rely on to live a normal life.
But as I learned when I was a little girl, you take what you can get and pray that someone will come along and see that you won't have to wait too long for what you need.
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