Has it been five whole years already? I guess so. Wow.

This is one of my favorite pics of Sarah. That afternoon she was bathed in a golden glow, and I had to get this shot of her before the angelic look turned into her true doggy self: rambunctious, needy, and almost always underfoot. I can't believe how much I love her.


I don’t know when it stopped bothering me to pet Sarah Jane every single night of the week as she sits beside my chair in the living room.

We usually begin by watching Wheel of Fortune, but most nights at that time Sarah and her devoted master are on their second walk of the day. Just before their nightly jaunt the dog gets the urge to “pray” by jumping up on the sofa. She inches close to her master, closes her eyes, bows her head and leans it against his leg. She won’t move until he says, “Well….”

At that point her head pops up (prayer answered again!), she descends to the floor and stands in front of her guy. Her whole body wiggles and her wagging tail creates the nicest breeze.

Once the two return Sarah takes her place next to my chair and turns her head around to look at me. The petting begins and it only ends when the pooch has had her fill, then it’s off to recline on her own sofa.

Side note here: Yes, the dog has her own sofa, and it’s the nicest one we own. We’ve watched others try to sit on it only to find a nearly 100-pound dog snuggled against them. It doesn’t matter if Sarah was on the sofa first or not, she simply doesn’t want any human beings using it. Eventually the massive paws in their face will cause the person to stand up and walk away.

The other night hubby asked me why I was petting the dog. I could understand the question; after all, I’ve complained about it off and on for a long time. If I’m watching a show, it’s not enough—I need to be reading a book or writing or talking on the phone. And if one hand is busy petting the dog, it’s hard to multi-task.

At some point it occurred to me that one day my hand will slide over the arm of the chair to pet my dog and she won’t be there. Don’t get me wrong; Sarah’s fine, but dogs don’t live nearly long enough for my liking and I’m going to spend as much time with our girl as I can.

This four-legged buddy is unique, in my opinion. I don’t know how she does it but Sarah can make each of us feel like we’re her favorite person. She gets what she wants and needs from all of us, and gives back even more.

Sarah has changed a bit over the last five years. She no longer counter-surfs, or rips the drapes (and rod) off the windows, and she stopped nibbling on the grandfather clock quite some time ago. But she hasn’t stopped barking at squirrels, cats, rabbits or other dogs so I guess she’s not quite perfect.

Those of you who are blessed with pets know what it’s like to be in their company. They light up their corner of the world (or sofa), and they are more than happy to share their love with us.

As for Sarah, we’re welcome anywhere she happens to be—almost. And that’s fine with us.

Connecting with the stories, the people around us

I titled this A Man and His Dog. I've always admired guys who have a soft heart for animals, and my guy has that and more. After reading the column below, he told me he must be a 'morph.' But that's not true. Hubby is an 'empath' through and through...no doubt about it.


I’m reading a Michael Connelly novel called The Narrows, and the story reminds me of a favorite TV show, Criminal Minds. In both there is a department of the FBI that deals with profiling. Through one of the main characters Connelly describes two kinds of people who work within this department: morphs and empaths.

Morphs, according to the character, are people who are much like the people they hunt. They are able to move on like the serial killers they go after without letting the horror and guilt get to them. The agents could take those experiences and morph them into something else.

Empaths, on the other hand, took everything in and kept it in. These folks used their experiences to “connect and motivate, to get the job done.” In this character’s opinion, it was easier on a person to be a morph; eventually an empath will get worn down and out.

I’ve noticed these descriptions can apply in many areas. Think about it. I can see police officers, judges, those in the medical field—the list is long and varied. And I see newspaper reporters planted firmly within that list.

April is National Autism Awareness Month. On Saturday, National Autism Awareness Day, I met with another family impacted by this still-mysterious condition. This time I met with Dylan, his mother Chrissy and his grandmother Karen.

We decided to meet at McDonald’s. We didn’t think to mention how we would know one another, so just before 1:30 I walked in and began looking for a young woman with a four-year-old boy. What I saw was a very busy restaurant full of young parents, and boys and girls bouncing around, standing in booths and talking in loud voices. How would I find Dylan?

There was one woman standing in line to get a soft drink who caught my attention. She kept turning around and staring at a woman and child in an inner booth. I was to meet two people, so this was probably not the right person.

But it was. Grandmother Karen was keeping an eye out for me and watching her grandson. We gathered together and between Chrissy and Karen I got the story about Dylan. His story and the second half of Griffin Watson’s journey with autism will be published in the April 13 issue of Lifestyles.

You’ll get to meet Dylan and his family and find out what they’ve been through, from diagnosis to a profound lack of resources in our area to deal with autism. Griffin’s story continues with the arrival of his service dog, a yellow Labrador named Nokia, who is a huge help to the little guy and his family.

While the month of April was chosen to represent autism awareness, it’s simply not enough. We talked about how other diseases and conditions seem to be discussed all year long while some others get a month and after that there is nothing until a year later. It reminded me of being a kid whose mom was on welfare and we got a food basket for Thanksgiving and one for Christmas. Obviously we needed food far more often than twice a year, but we were thankful for what was given to us.

As I got ready to leave, Karen handed me a blue light bulb, another visible reminder to raise autism awareness. I took it, thanked them all, and left.

When I got into my car I couldn’t quite bring myself to drive away until the tears stopped. Guess that means I’m an empath. I hope that never changes; there are many more stories to tell and I plan to empathize with them all.

I imagined the possibilities and it was good

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

The mailman came by early Tuesday morning and along with an AARP advertisement and a Netflix movie (Unstoppable, starring hunk Denzel Washington) I brought in a piece of mail that is undoubtedly going to change a lot of things for me.

My novel about a small town’s few surviving inhabitants making it through a natural disaster was accepted for publication by one of the Big Houses. I can’t tell anyone except a few chosen people just which publisher it is, but you’d know it if you heard the name.

I can see it now: My name among the now-famous authors already on bookshelves in libraries and bookstores around the country. Maybe there will be book signings and radio gigs, library talks and other appearances. I’m not good at public speaking but I’m willing to give it a try.

The book took almost two years to write, and another 18 months to find an agent, go through edits, then sell it to the publisher. It was hard to keep the whole process a secret, especially for me.

I can’t seem to stop daydreaming about other possibilities. What about the next book? I’m working on two, a novel and a memoir, and I’m guessing with all the hoopla there will be even less time to write. What if some big movie house or television studio wants to buy the rights? I can see I’ll need legal advice; maybe John Grisham is still practicing law and is available to help out a fellow scribe.

And what if the movie producers want to film the story in a real small town? I know they’ve shot some flicks in Iowa, and that wouldn’t be such a trip but what about someplace in Illinois? That’s where the story takes place, after all, but I’m guessing a first-time author wouldn’t have a lot of say in the matter.

Still, if a famous producer does decide to buy the book and make it into a film, he or she would need movie extras. It would be the icing on the cake if folks around here could be a part of the whole experience.

Now I’ve gone off and let my imagination run away from me. The publication date hasn’t been announced yet and here I am making a movie out of it. I think it’s about time to come back to Earth.

Oh, I almost forgot to give you the title of the book. Ready? It’s called, “April Fool’s Day”. (I really love April Fool’s Day.)

Hey, don’t blame me. Two of my fellow columnists have penned fiction and I thoroughly enjoyed both of their “stories”.

And someday, when my daydream does come true, I’ll tell you all about it. The book currently under construction could use a good-looking leading man like Denzel, or maybe Matt Damon would be interested. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

Where is he?

This is Gary - many of you know him. He's the main reason I'm trying so hard to find Clint. His dad is gone now and we miss him more than ever. We couldn't contact Clint to let him know his grandpa was sick or that he had died. I just can't let this go until I feel there is nowhere else to turn. In this electronic age I would think there has to be something I'm overlooking and that's why I'm trying everything I can think of, hoping someday to see our son again.


The photo on the right is the one being used for a Clint Washburn Facebook page, a page many of his friends and acquaintances are associated with. We can't seem to find anyone who has heard from him or who gets an answer from him when they write.



I really did not want to write this entry.

A few months back a brother-in-law came home tipsy, not an uncommon occurrence, but something he said during a rambling moment cut hubby and me to the core.

We were sitting around his mom's kitchen table and the subject of our missing son came up. It was then that we heard this family member say that he and our nephew knew where our son "probably" was and that they knew he was fine.

I felt such a range of emotions I can't put them into words. I think my husband aged a year in that few seconds.

With one look from his mom, my brother-in-law shut right up and laughed off our facial expressions and unasked question: just WHERE IS OUR SON?

I'm guessing most of you would have physically jumped the guy and demanded answers, but in this family you don't do that. You keep your mouth shut and...pray. That's it. We're supposed to just pray about it and wait for an answer.

Well, I've had it. I DO pray - dozens of times throughout the day but I also believe that you have to sometimes take action.

I've written to ask the nephew for information, then I e-mailed him. No answer.

This family full of praying members has splintered, probably beyond repair, and we're as puzzled as we can possibly be. I cannot imagine what keeps us from coming together, what awful thing we (or I) have done to cause this giant rift.

So, here I am - again - pleading for some guidance in how to go about finding our son. I'm getting a very bad feeling about the outcome, no matter how bright a spin I try to put on it.

This family stopped asking about our son years ago, as if he doesn't exist anywhere anymore. That is simply not acceptable, or Christian.

I'm open to ideas. And if anyone is ready with criticism about this post, do me a favor: pray about it first. Because like I said, I really did not want to post this. As a mom and a wife I just had to.

Thanks.

Of Nooks and books and writing dreams

Last year was the first time in a long while that I didn't finish a novel during National Novel Writing Month. I was sad about that; and the feeling persisted for weeks after that special month was over. Even though I've written at least half a dozen novels, and tens of thousands (or more) of words in personal journals, there's just something about writing a book along with fellow writers from around the world. It's special--in more ways than one. So, back to writing I go!


Monday and Tuesday were long days this week, full of all kinds of interesting people and events. I was out of town working all day Monday, then came home to work some more. Tuesday was spent doing a lot of the work I started on Monday, plus the opportunity came by to attend a session on learning more about my Nook.

Turned out I knew most of what this remarkable e-reader is capable of, but I still came away with some golden nuggets of information I plan to use. (And no, the very nice man did not teach us how to remove the “skin” that’s put over the Android operating system, or show us how to then tweak said device to turn it into a very inexpensive computer “tablet”.) But I digress.

Thing is, I learned more than what the Nook can do. What made me smile was how focused and excited the folks were who attended. Yes, I’ll admit, some knew even more than I did but that’s cool.

What impressed me was how much people love to read. We were all over the map with our favorite genres, and as some learned how to shop for e-books it became apparent that we all wished we could live long enough to read the hundreds of thousands of books available to us.

I have to say that our library is beyond wonderful. Think about it. They could be moaning all over the place that e-books will take the place of hold-in-your-hands books, magazines and newspapers. Instead, the director and a couple of staff were on hand to learn along with the rest of us, and they were excited too.

We know we can combine the new with the traditional. I’m willing to bet that although those who attended the two sessions have quite a number of e-books on their Nooks, they also have paperbacks and hardbacks strewn throughout their homes. I’m reading four books at the moment; one’s by the bed, another is in my extra purse, and two are on my Nook. I figure I need to live at least another hundred years to read everything I want to.

Which brings up another thought—I want to write books too. Yes, I’ve written about half a dozen and they’re not awful but I need some time to work on them. I got the boost I needed to continue on with that dream when I saw how excited the group was that night over finding the books they wanted. It takes precious time to lose oneself in a story, time we’re willing to give if the characters, setting and plot keep us enthralled.

At the end of that long Tuesday, I was exhausted but happy. I was going to give up writing my family memoir and the mystery novel I started a few months back, simply because there seemed to be no time left over after work. Well, guess what? There is time, if you are determined enough to go for the dream. Turns out all I needed was a reminder from a book’s best friend—our library.

Forgetting to remember - or something like that

This is our library - and, good news! Nook sessions are rescheduled and will be held next Tuesday. Can't wait, and this time I'll have everything I need. I hope.



It takes something near and dear to my heart (or our bank account) to get me out of the house once I’m home for the day. After work and errands are done, so am I. It seems there is so little “me” time that I’ve been saying no to anything not absolutely necessary.

Tuesday morning I finished some work, went to McDonald’s for breakfast then it was off to pick up three things at Walmart. I knew there were three things because I wrote them down on a small piece of yellow paper that I forgot on the kitchen table. Two things I can remember, but three requires making a list.

When I made the list I must have had some premonition I would forget it because I played a mind game to help me—just in case. As I finished my coffee at McD’s it dawned on me the list was across town. I smiled as I got ready to recall the three items: meds, soda and, oh rats, what was the third thing?

Ah, yes. It began with a “p”. Now, what item in Walmart begins with a p? I could see precious time slipping away while I went through the possibilities, when all of a sudden it came to me. It was light bulbs.

Light bulbs? There isn’t a p to be found in light bulbs! Whoa. I needed a nap.

No time for a nap, since there was someplace I needed to be at 3, so I gathered everything together. I’ll admit this wasn’t a have-to type of event, but I had been looking forward to this for a while. The library was hosting a couple of sessions on how to get the most out of our Nook ebook readers.

I’ve had my Nook for a few months and can navigate it pretty well. There are over 100 books on it, and I love that darn thing. I was sure the representative from Barnes and Noble would be able to teach me a thing or two, plus I had my own set of questions written on a piece of yellow paper stuffed into a library book I needed to return.

I brought my Barnes and Noble book bag downstairs, put the charged Nook inside along with the charger, grabbed my purse and headed to the library. After parking the car and turning it off, I sat and let the realization sink in: the list of questions and the book were sitting at home on the desk in the foyer.

On my way across the street I struggled to remember the questions that were so important to me. When would we ever get another rep to come to town to help us? My mind was a blank, and then I arrived at the back door of the library.

It took about three seconds to sink in, but then my blank mind filled up with all kinds of thoughts. None of them were pretty, nor are they printable. I was looking for the flyer for the sessions so I would go to the right floor when my gaze fell on the note taped across the flyer. I’m paraphrasing here, but the message was something like, “There will be no session as the person who was coming had a family emergency.”

I know, I know. Family emergencies trump Nook sessions—no argument. And I did forget my list of questions, so I’ll save them for another time. I really hope there is another time because as of this moment, I have the library book and questions inside the book bag.

On second thought, maybe I should put the whole shebang in the car. That should work, unless we take the truck.

Funny frugal moments and the dog needs a helmet

Here's Sarah Jane with her daddy patting her little head. Well, maybe not so little - she bumps it a couple of times a day when she tries to hide under the kitchen table.


I’ve been following a comic strip whose current topic is about what happens when someone wins the lottery and comes into more money than I’ll make in a lifetime, especially considering I’m on the downhill side of middle age.

The troubles are piling up for this brother-sister duo who argue over where to keep the winning ticket (sister’s purse, for now), who to tell, and what to buy and when. They don’t have their winnings yet, but their lives quickly become messy.

We don’t have that particular set of problems around our house. I have made an interesting observation about the frugal nature of each of us, however, and it made me stop and wonder: which one of us has gone off the deep end?

One of us will use the last possible drop or crumb of something before opening another bottle or package. I guess that’s not so bad, but the other one will squeeze plastic bottles until they make certain, um, noises and then he slips over to the sink, adds water to the remains of the ketchup, salad dressing or whatever he’s got in hand, then he shakes the bottle and returns to the table with a triumphant grin on his face. I can only shake my head and wonder.

If I make fun of this behavior too many times I am reminded of what I’ve done to save a few bucks. For instance, I’ll take used paper plates and napkins to use for dumping out coffee grounds and wiping the filter before washing it. Hey, it’s not good practice to throw coffee grounds down a sink with or without benefit of a garbage disposal.

The most memorable boo-boo I made is when we lived in Arizona and thought of a clever way to save some dough. Let’s say it involved cutting paper plates in half, thereby making them last twice as long. That idea lasted as long as one snack because the kids ratted me out to their dad when their sandwiches slid to the floor and the dogs ran off with them. Half a paper plate isn’t quite as sturdy as a whole one.

None of us have much good sense when it comes to bread products. One guy likes hamburger buns, another prefers healthy bread and I really couldn’t care less. That would explain why the other two get upset when they find a small hole in their bread items.

Here’s what often happens. Sarah Jane needs to take a pill twice a day to help prevent snapping episodes. After numerous vet visits and blood tests, we still don’t know why our pooch has this problem, though our doggie doc made a remark one time that went like this: “Does she hit her head much?” I told him she hit it on the kitchen table at least twice a day and he advised us to get her a helmet. But I digress.

I give Sarah her little white pill inside a teeny-tiny peanut butter sandwich. In order to make it, I have to pinch some soft bread, break it in two, dab peanut butter on it and press the two pieces together. For a while I was shoving the pill in a small piece of hot dog but she got clever and ate all around the pill before she shot it across the room.

For some reason the guys don’t want to eat bread or buns that have holes in them, and I guess I can’t blame them.

I’m not sure I want to win millions of dollars and create a whole new set of problems for us, but if we did come into some bucks I’ll bet we could stop adding water to nearly empty bottles, and I’d switch to paper coffee filters. Oh, and maybe I’d hunt for a small, padded helmet for a certain Lab who doesn’t have the sense to stop hitting her noggin.

Never let anyone define you - define yourself

Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself. (Harvey Fierstein)

The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just. (Abraham Lincoln)



I was working downstairs Saturday when Sarah Jane came running through the living room. No one was chasing her, but soon it was evident the dog was in trouble. Then I heard a word that doesn’t belong in a family-friendly newspaper and it all came together: husband painting a wall plus a dog opening the laundry room door explained the bright blue streak on Sarah’s right side. It wasn’t a pretty color combo.

After a few tries I cornered the poor pooch, and with a wet towel we got her cleaned up. One could say that even though she looked fine, Sarah was still blue—just in a different way.

Most of us might admit we’ve felt blue on occasion. Some folks feel out of sorts when winter drags on too long, or after they see a sad movie, or for dozens of other reasons.

There are those who can shake off the “blues”; they are strong enough to let go of whatever is coloring their world, and look toward the future without shedding tears or losing sleep.

I found the first quote above on Facebook the other day, and it made me think of some friends of mine who have allowed themselves to be bullied into silence. After speaking their mind they were bombarded with insults and almost instantly they retreated into silence, and having been there myself I can tell you it can make you feel blue. Instead of shaking off the barbs and standing tall, some will opt for the safer choice by retreating and becoming a victim. In addition, they have allowed someone else to define them.

The quote by Lincoln at first may not seem to have much to do with the previous one, yet in this case it does. One of the friends mentioned above voiced how they felt on a social issue and before you could say boo, the comments came fast and furious. My friend went silent instead of defending himself so I sent him a private message. In it I told him I hoped he would continue to fight for what he believed in, and that he would shake off the insults.

There are times, though they are few anymore, when people can share their differing views on politics, social issues and the like without resorting to name-calling. This wasn’t one of those times and I didn’t want to see my friend deterred from supporting a cause he whole-heartedly believed in.

Turns out I needn’t have worried. Word came that although he wasn’t posting his opinion where we could see it, he was still fighting the fight and, as he told me, he wasn’t feeling “blue” at all.

Friendship connections like that brighten my life and I’m thankful for all of them. I was thinking about that the other day on my way out of town. Remember when we had the thunder, lightning and icy rain Sunday night? I thought my trip out of town the following day would be canceled, but the day turned sunny and as I drove down the highway beneath a stunning blue sky I couldn’t help but notice the ice that clung to branches, utility poles and long grass. The beauty of it all took my breath away, proving once again that even in the aftermath of an ice storm you can find something to make you glad to be alive. And there’s no reason to be silent about that, is there?

You put the sauce on the bottom, the spaghetti on top

This salad looks too good to eat, but we manage to eat it anyway. It's made with such care and perfection I had to take a picture of it. By the way, I didn't make it.



Tuesday was an unusually busy work day so when the offer came for supper to be made by someone other than me, I accepted.

Salad, spaghetti and cheese-topped garlic bread was on the menu. As we finished our salads, the cook said, “You know, I read where the right way to eat spaghetti is to put the sauce on your plate first, then the spaghetti.” I was a teensy bit skeptical, but this was said with a straight face and no-nonsense expression.

At the stove I put the scrumptious-smelling sauce on the plate first, then added the whole wheat pasta. Two pieces of crispy garlic bread made for a perfect combination.

I sat down and looked at my plate, then heard this: “Wow. What kind of an upside-down backward world do you live in?”

We all thought that was pretty funny. I’d fallen again for a suggestion just because someone I believed made it. Turns out he wasn’t kidding; he really had read some article about the proper way to serve spaghetti but the experience started a trip down memory lane.

In our marriage’s early years my husband often called me gullible. I did fall for a lot of scams and such but I learned my lessons along the way, or so I thought. Those things we fall for often change appearance, at least they did for me and I got burned every single time.

Instead of revisiting the School of Hard Knocks I mentally closed those thoughts down and concentrated on movie night. Just before supper I had received a call from a person who got my new cell phone number from someone. I could feel warning bells going off about the proposal being offered, yet I half-heartedly agreed to check into it. I kicked myself for doing that, and tried to put it out of my mind.

Then my phone rang while we were watching a favorite show. It was yet another person who was given my number, this time from the original caller. Anger and suspicion took the place of warning bells as the caller was even more hard-sell than the first one. I told the woman I would try to make the meeting but wasn’t going to promise.

Actually, my mind was made up as soon as I hung up the phone. There would be no meeting for me, no fantastic opportunity, though I may wonder for a while whether that was a stupid decision to make. If so, I’ll live with it.

That’s just the kind of upside-down backward world I live in.

Dreamland not all that dreamy

I've been a bit freaked out by scarecrows since watching the original Children of the Corn. This guy looks harmless...right?


I had a doozy of a nightmare a couple of weeks ago, the kind that was so frightening I dreamed about it after I fell back asleep.

Thankfully these horrible experiences are rare but I have to tell you, they are emotionally and even physically painful.

The nightmare scene took place in our home. I was walking downstairs and a few steps past the top landing I noticed my better half staring up at the foyer ceiling. I could understand why: A lovely dining room table and four chairs were attached upside down just above his head.

Two things happened almost simultaneously. As one of the noticeably heavy chairs disengaged itself from the rest of the upside-down furniture and came hurtling toward me, the dog made a beeline up the stairs, past me and, I’m assuming, into one of the bedrooms.

I froze as the chair came at me even as I forced myself to wake up. Apparently I was voicing my fright because a soothing voice was telling me all was well and to go back to sleep. Except I couldn’t do that; I’ve done that before only to find myself right where the nightmare left off. Not fun.

As I sat up and thought about what freaked-out place I had escaped from, the tingling of what seemed like every nerve in my body was reminding me of the physical pain of such a bad dream. I struggled to stay awake, and that worked for a while.

Sleep took over again, and this time I found myself in an ordinary dream talking to a friend. Nothing out of the ordinary happened at first but before long I proceeded to share with her the nightmare about the upside-down flying furniture. This was turning out to be quite the experience as I’ve never (to my knowledge) remembered a nightmare so vividly as to recall it to someone in a dream.

Those who know me know I love scary books and movies, stormy days and nights, Halloween and all that good stuff. Being trapped in a nightmare is something else though, and since I have a low pain tolerance I didn’t find the other-world experience all that delightful.

We’ve recently watched some mind-tingling movies that I thought might affect my dreams. Devil is about you-know-who being one of the occupants in a stalled elevator with several people trapped inside. The other night we watched Case 39, easily one of the most frightening movies I’ve ever seen. The next night we thoroughly enjoyed The Assignment, a nail-biter with a surprise ending.

I’m not sure what makes some stories weave their way into our minds and take hold beneath in our subconscious, just waiting for us to close our eyes and enter Dreamland. I thought for sure I’d have at least one odd dream after watching Shutter Island or Inception, both starring Leonardo DiCapprio, but nothing happened.

A favorite TV show is on tonight, one of those out-of-this-world stories about aliens taking over the Earth. V has it all—beautiful leading ladies, handsome good guys fighting handsome bad guys, and aliens with long, sharp teeth with evil intentions. So far, though, we’ve not seen any flying furniture and that’s fine with me.

Our dogs can teach us many lessons--we should watch and learn

"This may look like Sarah Jane is looking up to Heaven, but actually she is responding to her master's request to 'look up'. I took a picture of her alongside the expensive grandfather clock she chewed the corner off of during her first year with us. As you by now know, we love Sarah much more than we do the clock."





Someone once told me I was obsessed with Facebook. I think there are degrees of obsession, and while it’s true I check the site half a dozen times a day, it’s not something I think about constantly. (That obsession is reserved for becoming a successful novelist.)

What I found interesting on Facebook the other day was a conversation among dog lovers about what we resort to in order to get our pooches to come in from playtime in the yard.

Sarah Jane’s favorite person doesn’t have to say much. He calls her to come inside and if she disobeys he simply starts toward her and she comes running. I don’t get it; he’s never laid a hand on her but she knows who’s boss.

If The Boss isn’t around and I have to do the job, I usually get ignored. It’s not like I’m athletically inclined and can chase Sarah around until she figures out I’m serious. To add insult to injury, the dog will get out as far as she can, turn and squint at me, then bark.

My Facebook friends shared words and phrases they used, and mine were similar. I’ve used supper, let’s eat, Daddy’s home, and ice cream. There have been times I lied just to get Sarah to come to me but that usually backfires. She won’t respond again for a long while once she’s been fooled.

We’ve had many dogs over the years yet this one has me flummoxed. She’s easily the biggest, and our first Lab. Maybe this breed is supposed to stay a puppy until who-knows-when. Here she is, five years old and still acting like every morning is Christmas. One would think that walks get boring after a month or two, yet Sarah gets sparkly-eyed and bouncy (and loud) when it’s time to stroll downtown and back. Oh, heaven!

This dog is like a child when it comes to winding down for the night. She’s so reluctant to turn in she keeps her chin on the sofa arm, nose pointed toward her master just in case he decides to do something fun. We can’t make any sudden moves or she’s on us like a flash, ready to take on anything and anyone.

I wouldn’t want to leave the impression that Sarah thinks I’m worthless. Every morning without fail we can count on her to slurp water, pad around the kitchen table and gently place her soggy chin on my leg. Once she feels her face is dry enough she steps back, tilts her head and wrinkles her forehead. That’s dog language for, “Get up and take me out.” Funny, I’m supposed to understand and obey her but she doesn’t feel obligated to return the favor.

Besides the puppy-like behavior at walk time, Sarah still steals things and tries to eat them. A couple of weeks ago we found evidence that she’d eaten some very odd things indeed and we waited anxiously to see if she had done any permanent damage to herself. She seems fine, though I realize we can’t ever really let our guard down. Doors must remain shut to rooms with tempting chewables, and other precautions taken to keep Sarah safe from herself.

We dog lovers know that our loyal furry friends come into our lives for a too-short time. They provide unconditional love, zero criticism, hold no grudges and forgive us our shortcomings. No wonder it tears a hole in our heart and soul when they pass on—there’s no one on Earth like them.

To all of you out there blessed to have a dog by your side, enjoy him or her while you can. And it wouldn’t hurt to take lessons from them on how to treat one another, either, especially if you agree with the second sentence in the paragraph above. I’m still learning.

Warm thoughts on a cold winter's day

Like most everyone else, we were snowed in last Wednesday. But we had plenty of food, our boiler was heating the house, and I was feeling plenty blessed. There were many others who had to be out in that mess and as far as I could tell, they did their jobs quite well indeed. Thanks--to all of you!


To say today feels weird is an understatement. It’s Wednesday morning, the first day I can remember in years when almost the whole town is “closed”. As the closings and cancellations were read off on the radio I had to wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier to tell us what was open instead.

No newspapers arrived at their usual time; no mail either but I’m not complaining. I hope no one else did either. How often does something like this happen anyway?

The dog was a bit bewildered about the whole winter landscape thing. If us humans had snowdrifts up to our you-know-whats, think about the poor dogs—especially the little ones. Sarah Jane needed paths shoveled in the back and front of the house in order to use her facilities. To make it more interesting, she takes pills each day with one side effect being increased thirst and having to go potty.

I really thought the weather forecasters were full of beans but that didn’t stop us from stocking up on essentials and comfort foods. Turns out two of us were out shopping at about the same time a couple of days ahead of the storm, and by the time I texted the message, “I bought milk” it was too late. We have two gallons of milk that expire on the same day, two bottles of salad dressing and four bags of potato chips.

There are chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar, and a freshly-baked apple pie on the counter. Bread is rising near the stove, and soup sounds great for lunch. It’s a blessing to be inside where it’s warm and cozy, and I couldn’t be more thankful most everyone kept their power on during those horrendous winds.

It’s been interesting to listen to the scanner chatter. I’ve heard conversations about what kind of people are dumb enough to risk life and limb to drive at times like these, how many cars and trucks were stuck in the middle of the road or in ditches, and alarming reports of snow plow drivers who found themselves lost because they couldn’t tell what street they were on.

Some who were sent out to rescue others needed rescuing themselves. Thoughts swirled around here about whether we should buy a generator in case the heat went out. Our boiler struggled to keep up with the frigid wind whipping out of the northeast, and we began shutting doors to rooms we wouldn’t be using until the weather calmed down.

Even if you’ve had a bit of a tough time over the last few days, there are probably plenty of things to be thankful for. And after having a home and loved ones safe inside, I’m thankful for those who are out there shoveling, plowing and rescuing stranded strangers. Kudos to all of you.

Remembering Dwen, Patti and Dad

Don't you sometimes wonder what goes through a dog's mind? Sarah Jane loves to sit and stare out a window and she gets this faraway look in her eyes, like she's having a special memory. I do that too, especially when I want to bring someone back for just a little while.


Many years ago when there was a Bonanza restaurant on Tenney St., I remember walking inside for breakfast and finding a table off to my left with three deceased diners seated around it. Time stopped as I gaped at the two men and one woman eating eggs, drinking coffee and laughing, apparently unaware they shouldn’t still be here—on Earth.

I took a spot on the right side of the restaurant and continued to steal glances in their direction. Today I can’t remember who these folks were, and even back then my eyesight was terrible so obviously these three simply resembled my dearly-departed acquaintances.

Obviously.

Nowadays I only see those who have passed on in my mind and dreams. Take the Australian Open, now in its second and final week. Some top seeds are still in the running—Roger Federer, Kim Clijsters, Andy Murray—though that could change by the time this sees print. I’m pulling for Federer and Clijsters, but was sad to see Rafael Nadal lose so soon. A match between him and the “Federer Express” is always a fun one to watch.

I mention this event because it brings a dear friend to mind. Dwen Freeburg played tennis for decades, up into his 90s. He introduced my husband to a group of friends who play tennis every week, something we’re both thankful for. And we had a blast talking about the major tennis tournaments and players throughout the year, something we miss now since Dwen is gone.

Almost every Monday I head to the courthouse for hearings, and that’s when my friend Patti comes to mind. Patti passed away a few months ago from breast cancer; I pause by her artwork on the first level of the courthouse and in my mind we say hi to each other. I only use my pink breast cancer awareness pen while there because it makes me feel close to her.

Then there’s Dad. There have been dozens of opportunities since he passed where a situation comes about that calls for a right or wrong declaration. In my dealings with my father-in-law, he saw things as one way or the other and he wasn’t a bit shy about telling you what he believed. At times I thought he was a bit rigid, that there was more than one way to look at something, but I admired the heck out of a man who was bold enough to put what was in his heart into words that he stood by.

Dad comes to mind when I struggle with something or someone and my heart is telling me one thing while those around me tell me something else. More often than not I end up deciding on the answer that gives me peace of mind, even if it doesn’t please everyone. I believe that’s what Dad did, and he was admired by many for that trait.

While it’s mentally healthier to remain rooted in the present, I find it comforting to return to the past now and then to bring those we loved to mind, just for a minute or two. It’s much less shocking to the system than imagining you can actually see them out and about at a local eatery. Which reminds me, I really do need new glasses.

Missing our little guy

A tribute to our youngest, Luke Anthony. It's comforting to know we'll see him again someday.



It’s been 33 years ago today, and I wonder how many of those who came to know him, even a little, remember this date.

He was born July 28, 1977 at Kewanee Public Hospital. Luke Anthony weighed 3.5 pounds, and following a collapsed lung, our youngest was whisked away to the neonatal unit at Peoria’s Saint Francis Hospital. I was allowed a quick look at him through his portable incubator before he was off on his journey. It would be 10 days before I saw our son again.

I don’t believe anyone in our family or circle of friends thought for one minute that Luke would never come home to Kewanee again.

Once the shock, denial and anger at our situation subsided, our little family made the best of a bad situation. Luke had two older brothers and both were under 5, so they weren’t allowed at the hospital. Hubby had to keep working, and as a mom I simply had to be at our son’s cribside as much as possible.

We learned more than we ever wanted to about premature birth, the health consequences, quality of life and much more. Luke was on oxygen, he had shunts put in to drain water off his brain, he had a hernia, and his blood was taken for testing so often the doctors and nurses ran out of places to draw from.

You would think that the world we were living in at that time was a scary and dark place, and in many ways it was. We prayed our hearts out that Luke would come home to live with us, but every setback (and there were many) seemed to say it wasn’t to be.

But the world wasn’t all gloom and doom. Members of the First United Methodist Church quietly stepped in with offers of free babysitting for the boys, money for travel, a new outfit for me—just to lift my spirits, food and prayers. Pastor Phil from Peoria and Pastor Bob from Kewanee visited our home and the hospital regularly.

Now and then I would bring someone along to visit Luke so they could learn how to prepare to enter his special room. No jewelry, lots of hand scrubbing, masks and gowns—that was the routine. There was a brief time when we were taught how to care for our son when he came home, and we were prepared to take on that job, no matter what it took.

The call came in the wee hours of a cold January morning. Everything that could be done for Luke had been done. We were told we had to make a decision, so we prayed and then asked hubby’s brother and wife to be with us and our two pastors on that unforgettable day.

I held our son, Daddy’s arm around us both as Luke passed away. His Uncle Mark and Aunt Debbie drove us home that day, and they, along with other family and friends helped us get through what comes after the loss of a child.

I have a few favorite memories of that time, and I kept daily journals that are tucked away in the attic. The few photos we were allowed to take have darkened over time, but I remember that sweet face. I hope I always will.

If you know someone who has lost a child, whether through illness or some other way, please know that moms and dads most always welcome the chance to talk about their son or daughter. We just need someone to remember, and to listen.

I need to be surrounded by things that inspire me

Sarah Jane in one of her more peaceful poses...makes me realize even Labs slow down and rest once in a while.



“Creativity is a road out of pain—physical and mental misery.” (Stephen King)

Those who know me well know my favorite author is Stephen King. The quote above speaks volumes, and for me it’s true.

King has had plenty of physical and mental misery. He was a drug user for years, he fought mental demons throughout that time, and then he was hit by a wayward van one day as he was taking his daily walk. The accident, as it were, nearly killed the author but he wrote through that pain just as he wrote through psychological pain.

Ray Bradbury is on my list of favorite writers, and one time I read where he surrounds himself in his office with untold numbers of odd items to keep his imagination active and sharp. I’ve not read much of his work lately, but obviously I’ve picked up his idea of loading my foyer office with interesting doodads to help me jumpstart the ol’ brain.

In front of me is a framed picture of a majestic wolf. Its close-set ears are at attention, and the golden eyes seem to see right through me.

Below that is a calendar with 12 pictures of lighthouses. I have lighthouses all over the place, but the photo for January is especially stunning with the sun setting in Fond-Du-Lac, Wisconsin. A few seconds of gazing upon that scene brings peace.

To my left is a wooden, hand-painted foot-high lighthouse given to me by our oldest son on the last Mother’s Day we spent together. It’s never far from eyesight, for many reasons.

A goofy stuffed Bugs Bunny sits near my green banker’s lamp, and an Isabel Bloom figure of friends hugging stands to the right.

A sign with my name on it sits next to a picture of two lions. The sign is from my job as a teller at Union Federal from 1970 to 1972.

I have a miniature version of a three-bulb lamppost sitting close by. There’s a comical story behind that piece that few people know about, and I’m guessing the “shopping” girls will keep that a secret as long as they can.

On the bulletin board to my left are four photos. One is of Cujo, our Saint Bernard mix we adopted from an Arizona animal shelter. Max, our malamute-husky is there too, as is our current pooch Sarah Jane. Our youngest son is the fourth photo, and I haven’t heard him complain that he’s the only human face in the bunch.

When I consider this odd collection, it doesn’t seem like all that much. Then, this morning, hubby asked me, “Do you feel like eyes are watching you?” When I told him no, he pointed out that my five-foot stuffed Sylvester was less than a foot away.

“I guess I’m used to him being here,” I answered, as I swiveled around to stare up at my Christmas present. A swivel to the left and there was Snoopy, smiling, with one paw in a basket full of odds and ends.

The past week has been a challenge, mentally and physically. I’ve written quite a bit about what’s happened so I know that King was right. Creativity, no matter the type, does provide a road out of pain. I’ll take that road, thank you very much, as long as I can bring along what I’ve collected and held close to my heart over the years. I want my imagination alive and well for as long as God allows.

Setting boundaries tough to do

A cold winter's day, a perfect day to be inside where it's warm and cozy. We get more time to think, re-evaluate, and even do some serious soul-searching. For a short while I was editing myself here but after reading a great Joyce Meyer book, I've decided that was a mistake. We simply can't please everyone and it's crazy to even try.


When we’re forced inside during the frigid winter months, we watch far too much TV. There are plenty of newspapers, magazines and books around the house but it’s easier to veg out in front of the idiot box. You can let your mind wander, and most of the time you can catch up with the storyline even if you zone out or leave the room during important moments.

It used to be that summertime gave us a breather from TV. That changed years ago and now we have new shows, series and season finales and returns of old favorites all year long.

If that isn’t enough we also have computers that give us the opportunity to play games, use search engines until our eyeballs fall out, and socialize with people we will never meet if we live to be 150.

It’s easier to interact, if that’s the right word, with fictional characters. No matter how real they seem, we know they’re not. There are no complicated relationship issues because once the show’s over, you go on to the next one.

With social networks we can have a mixture of family and friends, and if that isn’t enough we are free to add friends of friends, who usually turn out to have something in common with us. Seems like most of my “acquaintances” are dog lovers and that’s fine. For the most part, I’ve been very thankful to be a part of the on-line community, especially Facebook.

Still, there are only so many hours in one day. We work some of those hours, run errands, cook, clean, shop and sleep. It takes little effort after all of that to simply plop in a chair, and click the remote or turn on the computer. No one can see what we look like, or gauge the expression on our face to see if we’re angry, sad, amused or uninterested. It’s become a chore to pull ourselves together, dress for the weather and purposely go out to meet up with real people.

I can’t put my finger on it, but for some reason I’m not missing that part of my life as much as I used to. I see real people at all of those other places—work, the stores, around the supper table. Most of the rest I talk to on the phone or over the internet, so it’s not like we don’t keep up with one another’s lives.

Relationship experts might not agree that this is enough. Through the very machines mentioned above, we learn that we’re supposed to gather with family and friends and build our relationships. Talking heads abound, giving us pointers on how to improve our bonds with one another.

I’m reading an inspirational book by Joyce Meyer called, In Pursuit of Peace, 21 ways to conquer anxiety, fear and discontentment. It’s been worth it to cut out other things to learn how to improve relationships with those we come into contact with in the real world. Oddly enough, Meyer notes that it’s important to establish boundaries with the people in our lives, especially to avoid being agitated and disturbed. She went on to say, “Some of the people and circumstances in life that upset us will never change until we establish boundaries and keep them out.”

Wow. I’ll have to think about that one, because even though it sounds like the answer to some problems, doing that will likely create some brand-new ones.

Guess I’ll make some popcorn and put in a movie. This is going to take some more thought.

Five-foot-high Sylvester just what this kid wanted

“There is nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.”(Erma Bombeck)


My husband loves to attend auctions. I have to admit, he does bring home some screaming deals and he has willpower. We’ve both learned it doesn’t pay to bid and win something based purely on emotion.

A week or so before Christmas I was perusing a favorite auction site and saw something highly unusual: a five-foot tall stuffed Sylvester, Tweety Bird’s nemesis. I pointed at the picture, laughed, then said, “I want that for Christmas.” The response? “Yeah, right.”

I was gone the Sunday of the auction, and when I got home I had a couple of homemade end tables. After some magical maneuvering I managed to fit the newest additions into the perfect spots. I asked about Sylvester and was told that he’d gone for $52.50. “Who in their right mind would pay that much for a stuffed cat?” I asked. A strange look crossed hubby’s face, but I chalked that up to him thinking I was including anyone who had bid on the kitty.

As Christmas drew nearer and the gifts started to accumulate under the tiny tree, Sylvester faded from my mind.

Then more wrapping paper was needed and it looked like a trip to the attic was in store. I offered to go up but I was told, firmly, that someone else would go up. I started to wonder, like a kid, if maybe there was a big surprise in the attic.

I may be a kid at heart but I’m realistic enough to know that if we hauled out a giant stuffed cat to put by the tree we would have one freaked out yellow Lab and no one would get any sleep. Maybe Sylvester was at someone else’s house after all, and there was something else in the attic.

On Christmas morning I tiptoed down the stairs, but it was darker than normal. The softly lit snowman was still plugged in and the light we usually leave on was off. After reaching out the front door and grabbing the newspaper (yes, there was one that day) I came back inside, closed and locked the door and started toward the kitchen.

Something wasn’t right.

You know how you can sometimes sense that someone is in a room with you? My eyesight isn’t that great but my fear factor was notching up. I stood still and listened. No heavy breathing except for Sarah Jane snoring in the living room. No, there was someone or something in the foyer with me. After a second or two, I found out what it was.

I could have said, “I tawt I taw a puddy tat!” Instead, I think I said something like what Frank Barone used to say in nearly every episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. If you don’t know what that is, ask me sometime and I’ll tell you.

Big black and white eyes stared at me from behind a giant red nose. Sylvester was leaning nonchalantly against the grandfather clock just waiting to be noticed. Once I was over the shock, I had to go over and give him a big hug.

After the rest of the gifts were opened, there was one more surprise. “Oh, I almost forgot,” said my bargain hunter. “Here. The auctioneer threw this in too,” he said as he handed me a big stuffed Snoopy.

The cat and the dog get along fine. Sarah Jane is ignoring both of them as I sit with one on either side of me in the upstairs office.

Erma Bombeck was right. I’m glad I’m such a kid and I think more of us need to find the child inside of us again. Christmas morning is always better when the children are home.

Christmas memories on a snowy Christmas Eve

This photo was taken at our home on Tenney Street. Must have been in 1974, with Mom and Dad holding their first grandson, Clinton Dean. So many memories, so many years ago. I'm so thankful the kids got to grow up knowing their grandparents.



It’s Christmas Eve. I’m sitting here with a mug of fresh, hot coffee doctored with honey and cinnamon. Sarah Jane is snoring softly on the living room sofa, and everyone else is snug in their beds.

I got my shopping done a few days ago, and I think the gift recipients will be happy with what they open tomorrow morning. Christmas came so fast this year I haven’t had the chance to be the usual pain in my husband’s neck. Usually I start at least a couple of weeks before the big day, asking over and over again, “So, what'd you get me?” Or I drop hints so big he couldn’t possibly miss them. His response to the hints is, “Well, thanks for telling me. That’s exactly what you’re not going to get.” And he was true to his word—most of the time.

The TV is silent this morning because I want to be able to hear myself think. Today there will be no negative thoughts, though I plan to relive past Christmases when the whole family was together for holidays, birthdays and other special get-togethers. I don’t consider that negative thinking; there is a difference, you know, between bringing up something that stirs anger and bringing to mind sweet and poignant snapshots of Mom, Dad, aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings all together under one roof.

There isn’t any one Christmas that stands out, really. We were blessed (and still are) to have a family that knows why we celebrate this holiday and the importance of that was and is still the best part.

All of those December 25ths have kind of run together. Dad cooked the turkey and stuffing, Mom was in charge of potatoes and homemade gravy, and other small essentials. The sons brought in their well-bundled kids, and the wives lugged side dishes, desserts and homemade bread.

There were a few years when I sent my better half out with freshly-baked, still-warm iced cinnamon rolls to deliver to family early on Christmas morning. As families got bigger and we all got busier, I had to stop but it was a blast while it lasted.

After a big dinner in the early afternoon, one in which the kids hardly touched their food, we would clear the table and head for the living room. We would pick a Santa, usually one of the older kids who could read the gift tags and madness soon followed as wrapping paper, bows and ribbons were ripped and flung around Dad’s big living room. Photos were snapped, we ooohed and ahhed and pulled ourselves up to head to the kitchen for hot coffee and pie.

As I sit here and my coffee cools just a bit, I can almost smell the scent of cinnamon rolls baking. In a few hours I’ll put the turkey in a roaster, not the oven, and it will cook in less than half the usual time.

There are no little ones to wake before the sun rises and come running to the tree to see what Santa left them, but that’s OK. I can wait, and truth be told it’s nice to have an hour or so to myself this morning to reflect on this most beautiful of holidays. Family memories like these are meant to be cherished slowly and with a deep thankfulness.

Merry Christmas, dear readers. It’s a blessing to share this day with all of you.

Baking goes "smoothly" at our house

Here's the dessert bar at the latest family cookout a couple of months ago. We also enjoy homemade yummies throughout the year, and sometimes, most times, it's as much fun to make food for people to eat as it is to eat it. That, and the fellowship around the table is priceless.



Faced with a “what to bake first” dilemma the other night after supper, I unwisely asked for an opinion.

The choices were banana bread, yellow cake with milk chocolate frosting, or apple or peach pie. One wise guy came up with a solution: “Bake ‘em in alphabetical order,” he suggested. “Not according to flavors, according to product.”

That night I mixed and baked banana bread, since the word bread came first. I wasn't supposed to put in walnuts because a certain someone thinks such additions don’t belong in breads, cakes, ice cream, cookies or even—get this—peanut butter. “Ice cream and peanut butter should be smooth,” he often says with authority. Whose authority he speaks with I have no clue, but you won’t find Super Crunch at our house any more.

The next day was a special birthday; OK, a birthday for the special guy in my life so a cake was next on the list. I gazed longingly at the chopped walnuts still nestled in their bag; I wanted to sprinkle them in a pretty pattern on the frosting but that would have ruined the cake for you-know-who so I shut the drawer and never looked back.

The apple pie will come next (“a” comes before “p”) but I’ll have another choice to make here. Should I attempt to make my own pie crust (again?) or simply roll out the prepared crust from the box in the fridge?

Years ago I was interviewing a couple at their home and almost the entire hour I was there, the wife was preparing pies. She was whipping out one crust after another with an ease that blew my mind. I didn’t have the nerve to ask her for her recipe at that moment so I waited a few weeks. Before I could call her, she passed away.

In mid-August a friend and I were having lunch. We began discussing recipes of all kinds and since I knew her to be a great cook I asked if she knew of a pie crust recipe that used oil. Did she! She told me the ingredients, and I asked her to repeat them a few times. Neither of us wrote them down, but I kept repeating them to myself until I got home, at which point I promptly forgot one or two items but I figured, hey, I can just call her sometime and get the recipe. She passed away a few weeks later.

Why bring up such sadness in the midst of a baking tale? I guess it’s because cooking and baking for loved ones is one of the best ways I know to show how much I love someone. I don’t think we consciously realize that love enters into the process; after all, we just throw together the eggs, flour, oil, sugar or whatever we use to make something yummy. If we get a compliment, great; if all you get is a plate licked clean, all the better. If they didn’t enjoy what you made, you’d know it.

If you’re the cook in the family, take a moment to remind yourself who you are cooking for. I’m thankful beyond words to have someone to prepare meals and goodies for, and while the compliments are nice, it’s the presence of those I love I find to be the greatest gift. If you’re the recipient of a mouth-watering piece of pie or a still-warm chocolate chip cookie (without nuts, of course), take a second to thank the cook. She (or he) will appreciate it more than you know.

My four-legged therapist gives great advice

So, here she is, our Sarah Jane. She's such a good listener, and she has a heart of gold. I plan to have more "therapy sessions" with our pooch.


Can you believe it’s December already?

Family and friends have taken off for either a few days, weeks or months and that’s interrupted the usual gatherings. We had our breakfasts on Sunday mornings after church, and the Monday-night round-table discussions in Mom’s kitchen, but when most of our group is gone we have to fill in the time somehow.

And that didn’t take long.

Frankly, I don’t know how we found the time to meet and chat with one another. No sooner were our buddies gone than we were busy doing something else. How does that happen?

I certainly don’t feel any more rested now that we’ve dropped some items off the schedule. We must have filled those holes immediately with other stuff because neither of us is lounging around waiting for everyone to return. It’s going to be hard to get back on track. Weird.

We didn’t participate in Black Friday, Small Business Saturday or Cyber Monday. We read the newspapers, watched the news, and I read a whole book (and it was good!) There was work, dog-walking, cleaning, making meals and all the other stuff most of us do on a daily basis.

It makes me wonder if our priorities are in the right place. Could be we’re supposed to sit down and look over our to-do lists more often to see what we can mark off to make room for new things. Or, how about this? How about if we cross some things off and we don’t put anything in their place? What would we do with a little extra time?

I’m not sure some of us could handle that. Personally, I have projects waiting in the wings for when my list is whittled down a bit. There’s a memoir and two novels in various stages of non-completion, and it seems like forever since I’ve seen my sister. I’d love to find the time to talk, laugh and share Christmas with sis before the snow flies and socks us in.

Sometimes when Sarah Jane is the only one around, I’ll talk to her about what I would do if I just had a bit more time. For a dog, and a lab at that, Sarah’s a good listener. She looks me straight in the eyes, wiggles her eyebrows and pays close attention to every word. If she detects a hint of sadness, she’ll pad over to me and put her head on my leg, look up and wag her tail. “Everything will be OK,” she seems to be saying, and I can’t help but believe it.

I guess I’ll take another look at that to-do list. December is a busy, busy month and it would be wise to schedule some regular time with our four-legged friend, just to remind me that we all need to take time to share quiet moments with those we love, and who love us.