A Day in the Life of a 9 Week Old Puppy…and my slipper

Posted on by

0

What is it in our nature that always wants what we cannot have? I have two pairs of North Face down slippers. One pair is old and the other is fairly new. Enter in our 9 week old yellow lab puppy who no fault of her own is the spitting image of Marley, from Marley and Me. Annabelle’s behavior is unfortunately exactly the same as Marley, The other day I caught her in the closet grabbing my husbands expensive leather loafer. I know she understands she is not supposed to chew on it because she got a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye and she took off like a bat out of hell. It probably only encourages her behavior when I take off running after her. It becomes a game of catch me if you can and as long as she is in the lead and continues to keep the item at large in her jowls then she is winning.

Rewind back to the two sets of slippers. Both pairs are down slippers. Both pairs are blue in color. Both smell like my feet-enough said. So, I figure I don’t need to sets of down slippers and I decide to let Annabelle have the old set of slippers. Fast forward to this morning when the monster dog is let out of her crate for the evening. After doing all her business and we are all getting ready for school and work I give her, out of the kindness of my heart, my old slipper. Not fifteen minutes later she comes flying around the corner with…you guessed it….MY new slippers. Apparently the old ones are good enough for her, or…is it she just wants what she knows she is not supposed to have?

It’s not a new problem. It dates all the way back to the beginning of mankind when God told Adam and Eve they could have ANY of the slippers in the garden…I mean eat of any tree in the garden—except ONE. Just one. If I gave Annabelle an REI store full of slippers I’d place wagers that she would still want the slippers that I’ve said are off limits. Why is that? What in our nature drives us to desire to have what we are told we cannot have? Is is the rebellion in us? The excitement of trying to get away with doing something we were told we shouldn’t? Either way, it’s obviously not only apart of my puppies life but I know it is apart of mine, too. So, I need to ask myself, What can I do in my life to make sure I’m okay with having the old slipper’s?

The Face Behind the Mask

Posted on by

2

       Sitting in church this morning seemed like a normal Sunday…but, things changed when the pastor asked us to turn around and greet those around us. My husband, Tim, had decided to step out of our comfort zone and sit in a different section that morning. We’ve gone to the same church for 15 years and always sat in our “assigned seats.” Ok, they are not assigned, but we sit in them enough that they seem like assigned seats. I don’t like change unless I instigate the change. But, alas, here I was sitting in a group of people that I don’t normally sit with on Sunday morning. And now I was having to turn around and greet them AND shake their hands. Seems like an easy enough task, right? What happened next kind of surprised me, though.

The gentleman sitting behind us was very quiet. I didn’t recognize him and when I said hello and went to shake his hand he seemed rather timid. His handshake matched his demeanor and was soft and almost afraid…if you can call a handshake afraid. I had to ask myself what made this young man so timid? What has happened to him in his lifetime that seems to have rather sucked the exuberance out of him and kept him introspective while others around him seemed happy and carefree—excited to see one another.

While I chewed on these thoughts my mind jumped to another individual who wasn’t at church that morning. Probably a bad experience at church years ago was keeping him away. A person who was missing out on spending time with family and friends. All because of the past. But we cannot escape the past. Maybe the two individuals weren’t all that different? Perhaps they’d both had bad experiences at church but one decided to step out in faith and give the people another chance?

What about those exuberant people sitting around me. Are they all just happy as larks or have they learned to put their masks on with their Sunday best and put their best effort forward on making sure everyone at church thinks all is well in their lives. I’m the kind of person that wears her heart on my sleeve. If I’m having a bad day, you know it! But it took me many years to realized that that mask I hide behind was really only hurting me. It hindered others being able to come along side me and help me get better. Getting better doesn’t mean I get happy—it just means that I’ve learned not to hide how I’m really feeling and I deal with it.

Overall, I think there are maybe four kinds of people then… Those who show up at church on Sunday mornings that have an unpleasant history but they’re willing to give God another try. There are those who refuse to leave the past behind and decide they’re better off without all those hypocrites that say they love God but don’t live like it every day of the week. Those who come to keep the pews warm on Sunday mornings. They don’t know why they come; maybe it’s because it’s a cultural thing. Maybe it’s because they’re afraid of what people might say if they don’t come. And finally there are those of us that come because we know we are messed up and desperately need God. We’ve long gotten past the place where we care what others think about us (at least most of the time). We know that we are hypocrites on a daily basis because we are human—we say one thing and do another.

Maybe there’s even a 5th group—the group that is somewhere in between all of these…just not sure what to think about God and all this religion stuff. Or even the person that doesn’t fit into one of the categories. Then again, God doesn’t fit into a one size fits all package…why should I expect His creation to do so?

So, next time you are sitting in church (if you attend) or contemplating attending, remember that everyone is messed up, insecure and overall, human. Take a chance on God and on His children, a leap of faith as it may. You never know—it could be a life changing experience for you as today was for me.

Nothing In Life is Free

Posted on by

0

You’ve heard the old adage, nothing in life is free, right? I have always balked at that statement because certainly, if Chick-fil-A is giving away their tasty chicken strips, they’re free, right? Well, I guess except for the drink you bought to wash them down. Oh, and the gas you used to drive to their location. Not to mention the time you burned to go specifically to their store for lunch to get the free chicken. Don’t forget that lunch took twice as long because everybody and their brother came for the ‘free’ meal, too. But still, wasn’t is mostly free? I recently had the opportunity to see this phenomenon first hand in my own life. That nothing in life is free….

A few months ago my in-laws had some furniture they were looking to re-home and asked their kids if they were interested before they asked outside of the family. My favorite chair and secretary were on the list, along with a couch and loveseat. I talked my husband into putting dibs in on those items…they’re free, after all, right? Later that week, we borrowed a truck from a friend and headed 90 miles east to grab our new free furniture to replace our 14 year old hand me downs. How exciting!! All said and done we spent $50 on gas and $10 for fast food, and I was still thinking our free furniture was still a pretty good deal.

Days later, a new home was found for our old furniture and I set to work bringing the new furniture into the house. When my husband asked where the new furniture was going and I told him he exclaimed, ‘oh no! This furniture is too nice to put in the great room. We need to put it where the kids can’t even sit on it.’ Okay. Plan B. Let’s put it in the family room. The furniture fit perfectly and made the room look cozy and warm with its gold and green hues. As I sat back and admired my new room I paused. Hmm. There’s a problem. But only a slight problem. The walls were painted a suede blue color to match the green down chairs I had in the room before hand. The blue didn’t look bad, but it really didn’t look great, either. My decorating instinct kicked in and I started to obsess about how much it would cost to repaint the wall. I quietly slunk out the door and disappeared to Home Depot on a mission. Horrified at the $40 a gallon price tag of the special paint from two years previously I left a bit discouraged. My free furniture was starting to cost me more than I had originally anticipated. Thankfully, days later, I was able to discover a gallon of demonstration paint in the oops section for $1 and after adding 3 cups of white paint I already had, I was able to create the perfect color for my wall. Sadly, my compulsion to make the room just right didn’t end there. I was so elated at saving so much money on paint I was compelled to go buy new decor for the room to match the style of my new furniture. Before I knew it, my new furniture had become an obsession that was growing wildly out of control, and consuming my life.

 

Pondering the whole situation I began to think of my relationship with Christ. Easter is upon us and churches will be emphasizing the free gift of eternal life made available through Christ’s resurrection. The gift of salvation is free, all you have to do is ask for it. Just like I asked for the furniture from my incredible in-laws. The furniture I received, though free from the giver, made a change in my life that motivated me to action. This action had a cost; namely a different paint color and new nick knacks. In the same way, the gift of salvation I received from Christ was free. But, the change the Holy Spirit brings to my life compels me to action as I let the Holy Spirit consume my life. My resulting actions have a cost; namely denying myself. 2 Corinthians 3:18. Being transformed. 2 Corinthians 5:17; Ephesians 4:17-21. Salvation most certainly is a free gift, but living a spirit filled life has a cost. This isn’t a new idea~Jesus told his followers they needed to evaluate that cost of discipleship before they made a commitment. Luke 14:25-33; Luke9:23.

As we are sharing the gospel, whether at Easter or 3 months later, we need to communicate that life in Christ is a free gift and the benefits far outweigh the cost, but there is a cost. Salvation isn’t a gift you place on a shelf to gather dust, rather it’s a gift put into action, through the work of the Holy Spirit, that compels life change. As John Calvin penned, “Indeed, faith alone saves, but the faith that saves, is never alone.”

Please share how your salvation has specifically cost you.

Pay Now or Pay Later?

Posted on by

0

This morning was an espresso kind of morning… and not just a small espresso but a large espresso. Last night our 7 week old puppy, Annabelle, just couldn’t get comfortable in our bed. She would flop from one area to another panting at first and then switching to sighing. We bought her a crate and watched the DVD’s on how to crate train her. The problem is when we got our Beagle several years ago the way we potty trained him was to keep him on our bed at night where he couldn’t jump off the bed (he was a mini Beagle and when full grown he was a mere 12lbs). Potty training him that way worked wonderfully—and I like to go with familiar and what I know works. But Annabelle would have none of it and decided she doesn’t like sleeping on our bed. Go figure. About midnight I gave up on trying to satisfy her every whim in allowing her to get comfortable. Out of desperation I put her in her crate. Surprisingly, she loved it and I didn’t hear from her again until 6:15 am when it was time for Tim to head to the gym.

Annabelle’s antics reminded me of potty training my girls. Our eldest daughter seemed to be a nightmare to potty train. Looking back it was more like I was the one trained to make sure she went every few hours rather than her being trained to tell me when she needed to go. Once our 2nd daughter came along, I dug my heels in and refused to start the potty training process. I just couldn’t bear to think of being imprisoned by the restrictions that go along with potty training. There’s far too many things to remember—an extra set of clothing—possibly two, locating bathrooms along your route, giving yourself and your child pep talks along the way, just to name a few. The funny thing is our youngest didn’t wait for me to potty train her she decided she wanted to be trained and pretty much did all the work herself. Two kids and two different methods of training. Two dogs and two different modes of training.

The one thing I know that holds true no matter whether you are training children or training a puppy—you either put the time to train now or you put the time in later—and it will take twice as much time and energy later. All training, whether it’s children, puppies, athletic training, or spiritual disciplines, takes energy and effort. We have to make a decision to put the time in now so we won’t have to later. Like the old saying goes, “If you don’t do it right the first time do you have time to go back and do it right the second time?” I know I don’t want to do twice. What about you?

Brothers

Posted on by

0

My brother and I

Growing up with brothers gave me many opportunities other girls did not get. For example, being dog piled underneath bean bag chairs so often that I’m now claustrophobic. Playing with Matchbox and AFX cars. Dissecting live toads in the back yard. And finally, getting a boys perspective on things when your girlfriends just didn’t understand. Matthew is 5 years older than me so once I got to high school I immediately had a group of older friends, much to his chagrin. In contrast, Nathan was 4 years younger than me so I always had boys around that I could pick on—definitely an added perk.

Tim’s sister is 3 years younger than him and when we got married, she cried. I’m pretty sure they weren’t tears of joy. A few years later I found out that my little brother cried as well. He loved Tim and was happy to have him as a part of our family but he knew with the advent of the new family unit, our relationship as brother and sister, living in rooms across the hall from each other, would drastically change. It helped me to understand what Tim’s sister was probably feeling, too.

I must admit the relationship with my little brother did change once I got married and it wasn’t for the better. There were fewer phone calls, fewer deep talks, and late night chats after date nights became non existent. Months before Nathan died we were closer than we’d been in years. He came to live with us to go through detox from Heroin and try to get away from the environment that constantly tested his resolve to stay clean. Nate helped us with projects around the house. But my frustration with him grew when he would get up at 3:00 a.m. to have a bowl of cereal. The sound in our 1 bedroom loft carried and bounced about with the pine boards that lined our interior walls. Little did I know that in just a few short months I’d never hear him pour himself a bowl of cereal again.

Intentionality describes the way I interact with my older brother and his family today. Texting my nephews to see how their games went or simply to see how their day is going. We try to make the 90 mile trek to their house to have dinner and game time to stay acquainted with what is going on in each others lives. I am not nearly as good at staying in touch as I would like—it seems the older I get the faster life continues to pass me by. The only way to make relationships thrive and grow is to give them the priority they need. I don’t want any regrets in life when it comes to family relationships and my part in making an effort to stay close. Heaven knows I don’t want to find myself complaining about something they’re doing one moment and then find myself at their funeral the next.

Easter Traditions

Posted on by

0

This coming weekend is Easter (or spring recess as the public school system is labeling it these days). As I walked through Walmart and several other stores in town there are blooming Lily’s, baskets galore, and marshmallow peeps in every color imaginable. It got me thinking about Easter celebrations of years past – green plastic grass (that usually ended up eaten by the cat and then, well, you know, in his litter box or trailing behind him); large plastic eggs filled mostly with candy you didn’t want like black jelly beans; and of course, no Easter basket is complete without the traditional hollow chocolate bunny that tastes much like…I’m not sure what it tasted like but it usually wasn’t something I really enjoyed as a kid unless I smothered it in peanut butter.

Our house had a few extra traditions that most homes in the neighborhood didn’t. For instance, my paternal family is 100% Polish. Coming from a Polish heritage means having the tradition of fixing a soup for the holiday. My grandmother called the soup Easter Soup because most of us couldn’t say and most definitely didn’t know how to spell chude (pronounced like ‘should’ except you begin a soft J). It consists of hard boiled eggs (great use for all those colored Easter eggs), kielbasa, Polish sausage, and a broth that has a little bit of a bite from distilled white vinegar. I know it sounds odd but it’s actually really delicious.

When we were younger my mom put together the traditional baskets for us and we all got at least one special item. Maybe for me a stuffed animal or a Matchbox car for my brothers. Once we got older, my mom didn’t see a need for putting together these enormous baskets that were, quite frankly, immensely expensive. So, she stopped. I remember about my sophomore year in high school, I decided I missed the Easter baskets and took it upon myself to put together baskets for everyone in the house. Being that my love language is primarily gifts, this seemed like a fantastic idea to me. Who doesn’t like a gift. What I neglected think about was that being the giver of the baskets meant that I was not going to receive one. Easter morning came and I was all excited for my family to get their baskets from the Easter bunny and you know what? Not one of them has the love language of gifts so no one was really quite as excited as I was about waking up to my well planned and thought out idea. It seems like I remember having the same lame idea at Christmas time with stockings and it went over about as well as the Easter basket idea (or as well as a pregnant pole vaulter like Darryl DelHousaye always says).

My girls are teenagers now but I’m not sure we ever really had the tradition of Easter baskets. Tim and I decided from the get go that we weren’t going to make a big deal about Santa Claus, the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, or any other mythical characters. Heck, if we were going to spend time and energy giving our girls money or gifts we weren’t going to let some guy in a red suit or an oversized bunny get the credit. Instead of having a few days designated throughout the year that are holidays (that most of us feel ‘guilted‘ into giving gifts), Tim and I have decided that when we see something we know our girls or a family member will enjoy we buy it if it’s within reason and give the gift quickly for no reason. That way the gift doesn’t get lost in the closet or forgotten about. The potential downside of having the tradition of giving this way is that people tend to still expect a gift on certain holidays. I’m not sure how to remedy this. I guess there will always be people you give gifts to and those you exchange gifts with. But don’t let this stop you from buying that perfect spur of the moment gift for someone today.


Birthday Parties

Posted on by

0

Everybody loves a party, right? Birthday parties are the best. The majority of birthday parties when we were young were on Saturdays. Our family cleaned house on Saturday mornings but the afternoons were free to go to friends houses to hang out and play or attend birthday parties. My husband, Tim, didn’t have that luxury. He grew up working Saturdays in the family business. I attended lots of birthday parties on Saturdays, but three come to mind and the homes they were held at – Angie Hastings, Maria Rohter, and Natalie Huddock’s parties.

Angie’s house was on the north side of Camelback mountain and you could walk from her backyard out onto the mountain preserve. All of us girls went hiking during the party (Angie’s birthday is in March so it was too cold to use the pool). I remember the first time I walked into her house, I was amazed. Her mom decorated with blues and greens and until this day they are my favorite mix of colors when decorating a house. The time Angie came for my birthday party I remember she gave me a stuffed fat cat animal. I had that cat for years and eventually our Beagle, Clyde, ripped all the stuffing out of it. One of our best friends used to come over and wear the fabric skin on his head and tease our dog.

Maria’s house was on Exeter, a sprawling estate, complete with pool and tennis court. I’m pretty sure you could get lost in her house. The thing that I loved about Maria’s house were all the windows. You know the old saying, people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones…well, Maria lived in what I would a call a glass house. Maria’s mom was amazing and every time you called the house, rather than say, “hello” her mom would always say, “Hi.” It gives you an indication of her mom’s personality and how she treated everyone she met like you were their best friend. The whole house had that kind of feel… very friendly, warm, and welcoming.

Natalie also lived on Camelback mountain, but on the Southside. Her house had more stairs, levels and ups and downs than you could count. I remember when we were there for the party, Jacklyn Smith was filming a movie at a house a few lots over. We were all giddy taking turns with the binoculars trying to get a look at the famous movie star. I still remember the toilet seat that was clear and contained coins molded within it. Odd? I wondered to myself what I would do with that little bit of change if you could somehow get it out of the plastic mold. One gift Natalie gave me at one of my parties was a pair of gold teddy bear earrings. I lost one but still have the lone earring in a box in the attic.

As my girls look back at their own birthday parties and those of their friends, I wonder if they will have fond memories like I do. If they will pick up preferences after seeing how someone decorates a house or a mom will touch them in a certain way so that they feel special and important. Tim said the parties he missed didn’t scar him. I guess there are happy mediums and balances in life. Our experiences growing up mold who we are as well as our personalities. I am who I am today because of the experiences I’ve had in life. Tim is who he is because of the experiences he had in life. I’m sure we both wouldn’t have it any other way….I hope one day our girls will look back and say the same thing.

In Honor of the Anniversary of the Titanic-Guest post by Zoe Wright

Posted on by

0

I was awakened by three urgent tolls. Quickly I checked my watch: 11:40 p.m. That was when it began. The boat groaned and rocked. The sound that accompanied the motion made me throw my hands over my ears in panic. The shrill screech of metal being shredded. I watched as a long thin line was carved into our cabin wall. Then, the water gushed in.

Going to America was top on my list of things I wanted to do. So, naturally I was elated when my parents got tickets for my brother and I to board a ship to New York. The only downside was that my parents wouldn’t be accompanying us. They had to stay behind. It was tough saying good-bye. Jack had the hardest time. I assured him that we wouldn’t be gone forever. “We’ll see them again.”

“Promise?” Jack’s 8-year-old, big, kitten like eyes asked.

“I promise.” I replied, ruffling his hair.

On April 10, 1912 Jack and I boarded the 882 foot ship with 2,226 other passengers. Captain Edward John Smith shook hands with all the first class passengers. I tried to look at each person, it was hard because their were so many. Slowly we got shuffled on the deck and were thrust into the ship’s belly. Third class cabins are below deck. Our cabin was small, too small in my opinion.

Jack greeted the close to empty room with a tart, “This is it?”

“Yes,” I answered truthfully, “Our home for the next week.”

Cabin life was hardly a luxury. Jack and I spent many hours playing catch and 20 questions. Boredom became my best friend; uneventful could describe our entire journey. Well, until the fourth night. April 14th, our last night.

I was awakened by three urgent tolls. Normally I wouldn’t have woken, but something in me told me this was important. I looked across the room to see Jack hadn’t woken. He was sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in even breaths. Quickly I checked my watch: 11:40 p.m. I laid back on my pillow, intent on going back to sleep. That was when it began. The boat groaned and rocked. The sound that accompanied the motion made me through my hands over my ears in panic. The shrill screech of metal being shredded. Jack sat up in alarm. I watched as a long thin line was carved into our cabin wall. Then, the water gushed in.

My first thought was, JACK! I jumped out of my hammock, grabbed his hand, forced the cabin door open and scrambled out into the hall, which now teemed with screaming, panicked people. I tried to force through the mass to get to the stair well. Too many people on the stairs. It looked like a bucket of monkeys had been dumped in a maze built for a mouse. Jack and I wormed through the hot bodies, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Though I had been asleep not five minutes ago, I was fully aware now.

I stumbled onto the deck, dragging poor Jack with me. I struggled to get to the rail, nausea over came my system as the boat lurched. I barely got to the rail before I vomited. I wiped my mouth and looked out over the starboard side. A huge iceberg was floating away from us– or were we sinking away from it? The water below churned and bubbled as it raved into the lower cabins. The cabins where we had just been. If we had gotten stuck in the cabins we would be. . . I vomited again.

“I’m scared!” Jack screamed.

“It’s okay,” I attempted to comfort him, and myself, “We are going to be okay.”

“First class into the life boats!” I heard someone shout. I whipped my head around searching for the voice. My brother and I needed a life boat.

“Women and children first.” The voice spoke again. I searched frantically but couldn’t find the speaker. Jack clutched my hand as I scanned the desk. Many people were panicking. I saw a majority of people swarming around a –I struggled to get a better look– a life raft! I started to steer Jack towards it. Before I could reach it, it was packed with people and lowered into the water. My stomach sank as the realization hit me. There were no more life boats. There was no more hope.

A man jabbed two life jackets at me. “For you and your companion!” He and his explanation were quickly swept away. I strapped Jack into his, then wiggled into mine.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Jack moaned.

“Okay, go to the rail.” I said as I pushed him toward the rail. He leaned over the edge and retched. He coughed and sputtered a bit, and the boat lurched again.

My heart constricted as I watched my little brother tumble over the edge, screaming as he fell. I ran to the edge and watched him splash in the frigid water. Without thinking I jumped in after him.

I could hear the wind whistle past my ears as I dropped. The 30 degree water was shocking. I felt my toes go numb on impact. I came up and immediately looked for Jack. He was just a short distance from me. I struggled over to him and grabbed his hand.

“I’m-m-m c-c-c-c-c-old-d-d.” He chattered.

“I kn-n-n-n-now.” I whispered back. I couldn’t feel my legs, and I knew soon the water would freeze my lungs and heart. I knew if I was scared Jack would be twice as afraid, I squeezed his hand with all the strength I had left in me, hoping to comfort him.

But he didn’t squeeze back. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what this meant. Slowly, I turned, looked at my baby brother and stifled a sob. I was gripping a corpse.

I started sobbing, blubbering out words every few breaths, “I’m so, sorry. . . Jack. . . I lied to you. . . I– I said we would. . . see–see them again. . . but we won’t. . . and now. . . your–your. . . Jack!” I started screaming his name as hysteria gripped me. “Jack! Jack! I’m so, sorry, Jack!” My sobs weakened as I floated limply in the water. “Jack. Jack. . .Ja–” Panic gripped me as I struggled to breath. Each breath was harder to take.

Then, the scariest thing happened. The boat’s bow slowly dipped into the water and the boat tilted at a 45 degree angle. I watched in horror as the people on deck screamed and began to slide towards the water. Surely, to their deaths

My last tear slipped down my cheek as I watched the huge boat sink. The sleek sides slid into the water and the Titanic disappeared into the depths. Not letting go of Jack, I closed my eyes, and was sucked down into the cold, endless, blackness with it.

A Little Girl and Puppy Dog Tails???

Posted on by

0

Queen Annabelle

Tomorrow a momentous event will be happening in the Wright household. We’ll be picking up our new Boxadore puppy from the breeder. Queen Annabelle, as she has been dubbed by those who have interacted with her, is almost 7 weeks old and is about as cute as puppies come…puppy breath and all. The event is momentous because it’s been almost 7 years since we have had a dog. It’s hard to replace the perfect pet so we’ve all been leery about getting a new dog. (ok Tim was opposed and the three girls were leery) The pet situation got me thinking about pets I had as a child.

The first pet I can remember having was a Beagle named Charley. There are pictures of Charley and I together at 2 or so. The only thing I really remember about Charley is when he ran away after we picked him up from the vet. It must have been extremely frustrating for my parents to have just paid an enormous vet bill and then have said pet runaway. Guess it ensured there would be no more enormous vet bills for Charley.

The second pet I remember (and my most fond memory because we had her for so long) was Cleo (aka Cleopatra) She was a chocolate point Siamese cat we received as a gift from a psychiatrist. My brother, Matthew, had been hit by a car when he was 4. The psychiatrist said the best hope for his recovery would be for Matthew to have a pet take care of. My parents couldn’t afford a pet at the time, so the psychiatrist said if my folks would cat sit her Siamese cat, we could have one of the kittens. I don’t know if the kittens were born under our supervision or before they came to stay with us but we have pictures of them in our basement. Cleo was amazing! She lived 18 years before she was hit by a car in our neighborhood in Arizona. Ironic that a car brought her into our lives and a car took her away. Our neighbor, Dr. Mowrer, found her and came over to tell our family the dreaded news. He was so sweet. He actually buried her right there where she had been killed.

The third pet I remember was our dog Brutus. He was a puppy of one of my grandfather’s hunting dogs, a Britney Spaniel. She was about the dumbest dog I’ve ever met—the reason I say so is she ate one of her puppies. I’ve been told that is normal and they usually do so because something is wrong with the pup and it’s going to die anyway. Brutus didn’t live long—we kids were out riding our bikes when Brutus got out of the yard and followed us. I had jaywalked across the street and Brutus had started to follow me but stopped midway through the intersection. Matt was on one side while I was on the other and poor Brutus was stuck in the middle while we both screamed at him. Matt yelled, “Brutus, come here!” while I yelled, “Brutus, go home!” He never had a chance and within minutes had taken on playing chicken with a car. Well, I’m sure you can just imagine who won that battle. Matthew carried Brutus home sobbing the whole way. Apparently, the dog was just as dumb as his mom.

The final dog I remember having in Illinois was Rex. He was part husky, part wolf and had more hair than a wholly mammoth. Rexy, as we lovingly called him, would lay out on the snow banks in the middle of winter during a blizzard. The memory of Rex I loved best was taking empty ice cream tubs from the ice cream shop, knocking out the bottom and placing the newly made ring around his neck like a collar. We had to find a new home for Rex when we moved to Arizona because there was no way he would have survived the 115 degree heat with all that hair.

So, while I’m looking forward to Annabelle coming tomorrow—Tim is dreading what might happen to Annabelle that will bring tears (think Cleo and Brutus) or what will bring frustration (think having to leave Rex behind when we moved). I’ve tried to encourage him to just enjoy each day that we have her while we have it. Pets are to be enjoyed and although we are extremely sad when they leave us we must remember today has enough sorrows of its own– and as Cori ten Boom said, “worrying about today doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sadness, it only drains today of its strength.” And we’re going to need all the strength we can get with all the shoes that will get eaten, baseboards that will be chewed on, and carpet that will be watered with uh, well, you know. So here’s to Annabelle…the newest member of the Wright family.

Dream…dream dream dream dream

Posted on by

0

This morning my daughter, Zoe, came running into the kitchen saying, “I had the most amazing dream last night. Dad was kidnapped! But that wasn’t the amazing part! I’m not sure where you were at. I think you were dead! But that wasn’t the amazing part either! I found 2 backpacks full of Ben’s (aka Benjamin Franklin’s) and a really cool orange Ipad! The backpack also had a map in it that had clues where to find dad!” Dreams are amazing things in themselves. As a child I can remember coming into the kitchen, like Zoe did this morning and telling my mom about the dreams I’d had the night before. One such dream stands out in my mind.

I was about seven years old; I dreamed I was 3 or 4 years old and got mad at my mom. I marched upstairs to get my blankie (can’t runaway without it), to tell my mom I was mad at her, and that I was running away to Jay’s house (apparently Jay was the neighbor down the street). In my dream I walked and walked and walked and eventually was on the corner of MacArthur Blvd which was a 3 lane intersection. A police officer approached me and asked me what I was doing? I told him, “I’m running away to Jay’s house.” The police office tried to get me to describe where Jay’s house was. I had no idea where his house was or even where I was. I must have told him where I live because somehow we ended up in front of our house. My parents were standing in the front yard looking for me. The officer explained that they’d found me on the corner and I’d told them I was running away to Jay’s house. My mother explained that I’m strong willed and then thanked the police officers for bringing me home etc…

As I finished telling my mom about the dream, she started laughing. She said, “that’s funny that you had that dream because it REALLY happened.”

I can tell you for sure and for certain that Tim has not been kidnapped and I’m most definitely am not dead. Zoe has never had a dream about an event that has already happened. What I can tell you is that my dreaming about events in my life that really happened occurred more than once. Why my brain launches into memory mode in that respect I also have no idea…but it is quite amazing!