Logan

I met him in a Target parking lot and fell in love in an instant. 

He wasn’t the first puppy I had looked at, but the right one. Just a few months prior, at a breeders suggestion, I was allowed to bring a pup home from her litter for a trial run. Pedro. He was absolutely adorable. Everything one might want in a Golden Retriever pup, except that after our allotted four hours, I knew the timing wasn’t right. The connection wasn’t there. I returned him to the breeder with thanks and an explanation. I had not a doubt that he belonged with another family.

I wanted another pup and knew it would happen at some point in the future but was OK with putting the idea on the back burner for awhile. And then, after stopping in at a friends house one February day I was greeted at the door by her, an eight week old, red-haired Golden Retriever babe in her arms. I oohed and ahhhed and petted and cuddled ......loosing track of the fact that she was even standing there. When I mentioned that a new member of our family was something I’d considered for awhile, she followed up with the information that she thought one of her pups litter mates was still available. Did I want the phone number? It couldn’t hurt to check it out.

I knew how I had felt holding her pup, but wasn’t completely sure I was ready to bring another living, breathing, shedding and un-trained being into our home, which was why I mentioned to Marc that I meant to simply ‘take a look’.  The breeder offered to meet me at a location closer to my home since she would be out that way anyway. 

The Target parking lot.

Round body. Soft red coat. Black marble eyes. Gentle demeanor. Without question or hesitation I transferred him from her arms to mine where his nose settled into the hollow of my neck and his warmth settled into my chest. With barely a word the deal was sealed. As it turned out, he had been returned to his breeder after spending three days with a couple who knew he wasn’t the dog for them (thank you). But I didn't have a doubt. This dog belonged in our family. With that first nuzzle I knew he had a place alongside me, Marc, our three boys, a dog and a cat. And I knew his name: Logan after one of our favorite places on earth, Logan’s Pass in Glacier National Park.

~~~~~

Seven years later his symptoms came on quickly. In retrospect maybe they had been there for a month or so, but it wasn't so unusual for him to throw his food up after gobbling it down all too fast, occasionally skip a meal or to sleep the day away. He was a dog after all. I took him in one day, when after giving him a pat on his way out the back door, I was shocked to feel the bony protrusions of  his scapula. A split second glance registered the outline of vertebrae down the center of his back. Afterward, he declined my offer of cheese. This is a creature that hung out with me almost all day, every day, and in just a few minutes I noticed that he, all of a sudden, looked and acted uncharacteristically different. Like a different dog.

A couple of visits to our regular vet, then an ultrasound at a specialty clinic showed the grim prognosis. The cancer, by the time it was discovered (most probably histiocytic sarcoma) had spread throughout his GI tract and other internal organs. An aggressive bully, insensitive and out for its own gain, it robbed him of 10 pounds, his ability to ingest food or water and stole most of his energy except for an occasional tail wag. 

In the face of bad news I can be logical. Stoic. Able to take the next step forward in order to move through the motions of whatever needs to be done. I was able to ask questions, listen to their answers, take notes, make phone calls, talk to my husband and our sons. I relayed information and knew that the rest of his family was in agreement: whatever we chose to do had to be all about Logan and not one bit about us. He was a loving, loyal, gentle, appreciative, generous and happy creature. Not one of us wanted to prolong his life in the face of pain or suffering. The decision, when the time came, was simple, easy and made painful sense. It was time......and before either of us voiced it, Marc and I had been seated quietly together, independently thinking the same thing. So at 9-something PM on a Sunday night, he was loaded onto a rug in the backseat of our car for the last time.

~~~~~

On this day it is difficult to realize that I will no longer hear a groan as he changes position in his sleep. No wet panting in my face when it’s time for me to ‘GET UP!’ No eager offer (from him) of a morning game of chase around the coffee table. There will be no sound of tail thumping before I even make it ‘round a corner or into a room. No cheering him on right around 7 PM each evening in his frantic search to find a sock he can present to Marc at the front door.  No bits of kibble strategically placed under the kitchen table for who-knows-what doggie reason. 

I have a washer full sheets and a blanket that made him comfortable during his last few days. His bed lays empty at the foot of mine. I miss him deeply and with my whole being. There will be routines to undo; moments I will need to correct in order to remind myself that my anticipation at seeing him is no longer useful.

And I have spent brief moments...... vacillating........wondering...... ‘Did we let him go too soon?’ ‘Allow him to suffer a couple of days too long?’ Sometime ago I remember hearing or reading or being told that the best day to put a pet down is the day before you think you need to.

We did the right thing.

And he is making a bunch of souls very happy in Heaven right now. I am sure of it. Smiling, running, chasing, protecting, patrolling and announcing his presence. Laughing (because research shows that dogs do laugh) and twirling ‘round and ‘round, chasing his tail, in his signature happy-dance move.

Wishing you a wonderful week ahead. XO Margaret

The Sweet Spot

Was it this (blasted) office project that has got me to thinking more about what my future plans will or should entail? I've been avoiding cleaning out and organizing it for a few years now, and then all of a sudden it was THE day to begin. I knew the task would be long and challenging. I knew that in facing all of that 'stuff' I would be called upon to make decisions. What stays? What goes? What holds value? What is no longer useful?

I've gotten rid of old files and created new ones. I have shredded reams of bank statements, insurance forms, receipts and records. Tossed out user manuals, out dated Christmas card lists and blurred photos. The recycling bin (which is the size of an enormous garbage can) is mostly full this week because of my efforts.

And I have finally dug into The Sweet Spot: That tender place I had been unwilling to touch for years that held homework projects, awards, schedules, team rosters, cards and small bits of paper written or drawn upon by three pair of young hands. Now that I've spent time with it, I know with crystal clarity why I rushed by so quickly, eyes averted, each day. It was something I didn't want to deal with and so pretended it wasn't even there. In the meantime it had grown like a mis-managed rhododendron; thick leaves and sturdy branches strewn about on top of one another representing years that have passed and boys that have grown.  A marriage matured, family threads interwoven and unique memories. Roots that run healthy and deep.

I didn't want to revisit that pile for what I did not want to see: Time.

In turning over what had settled comfortably into that spot, I've come across grade school collages, college essays, poems, drawings, sports programs, acknowledgments, certificates, newspaper articles and notes. One of my favorites was a piece of paper with tape stuck to it shouting "MOM CAN WE GO TO THE LIBRARY TODAY?" scrawled in a nine-year-old hand. There were comments on a first grade report card (one of which was 'quite a talker') that accurately describe a certain son as the adult he is today. A collection of photos show another, book in hand, in a rocking chair, in a beach chair, by the fire, by a pool, at home, on vacation......you name it. Photos of him, of course, are still likely to be snapped with the book he is currently reading found somewhere within the frame. There is a photo of an exhausted three year old, sitting up to the dinner table, head fallen back, mouth open, eyes closed......asleep in front of a plate of lasagna and garlic bread. The same kid who, this many years later, would still never desert a good plate of food.

And so it goes. The Sweet Spot has not disappeared but has been sifted through, divided up and saved. Its unruliness neatly portioned off for each son, waiting for the right occasion to be passed on.

It's time for a change. Time to take stock. Time to wrap up a couple of projects and stamp them FINISHED. Time to ramp up and plan to put a couple of new ideas in motion. In other words, in my world, its time to shake things up a bit. Cleaning out the office.....revisiting those years that hung out in the pile in the corner reminded me of this......and I think that's a good thing every so often. 

Wishing you a wonderful week ahead!

Margaret 

On Valentine's Day

Yesterday, Valentine's Day, I had a finite amount of time to get started on a knitting project. The plan was to begin an easy hat pattern on circular needles and finish the inch or so of ribbing at the bottom. Once I got past the part where I needed to pay attention, past the casting on and counting out the rib, my thought was that I would be free to pick it up, knit a few rows when I felt like it and enjoy the project during the short trip we were taking. I have a busy few days coming up so it sounded like the perfect plan. Only it wasn't.

I cast on and began to knit. In the process I realized I had dropped my beautiful sliver row marker with the blue bead, and spent quite a bit of time looking before coming to the conclusion it was most likely on the floor of the airport and I was now on the plane. No problem. I would just break a piece of yarn loose, tie it in a loop and use that to mark the beginning of my rows.

I cast on and began to knit the knit 2, purl 2 ribbing. I needed to pay a little bit of attention here, but thought it would be OK to listen to the pre-flight information and instructions, chat a bit with Marc and make sure that the initial row of stitches on the needle wasn't twisted all at the same time. Only apparently I couldn't because I soon realized I was knitting in a figure eight instead of a circle. I ripped the thing out and in the process dropped my second row marker of the day.

I took a deep breath and paid more attention this time. I let Marc know I couldn't talk. I fashioned another loop of yarn to mark my row. I carefully counted out the stitches that I cast on. I made double sure that my initial row wasn't twisted into a figure eight, and then triple sure after being offered an in-flight beverage. The hat was progressing along smoothly until I realized that at some point I had knit 3, purled 2 and that half way though my rib, I was off. I took it out stitch by stitch until I found my mistake. And then I found another mistake and so made the decision to begin the hat......from the beginning......again.

There was a tangled mess after ripping out my knitting way too fast, which took quite a bit of time to un-tangle. I wound it into a neat ball and put it into my carry-on bag. No sense in working on something I enjoy while frustrated. Sometimes its just best to walk away, close your eyes and revisit the idea at a later date.

I know I love the pattern. It's practical, fun and useful. It will be enjoyable and easy to knit. The yarn is soft, the colors speak to me and it feels good to work with. February 14th has been halmarked to be about love, commitment and what it takes to make a relationship work.  I'll give it a rest.....but I won't give up on the hat.

Hope you had a wonderful Valentine's Day!

Warmly, Margaret

About Giving and Receiving

Giving and receiving gifts, to me, is not about quantity or expense.  It is about time and thoughtfulness and appreciation. It is about looking for and finding.  About saying 'it makes me very happy to know that you have this'.

More than one special person let me know, "I had a lot of fun picking out your gift this year." This sentiment was a gift in and of itself ......knowing that someone enjoyed the process! Hearing it reminded me once again how much I, too, enjoy the giving. The connections that deepen with each choice made, wrapped and presented.

I appreciate that my parents know that ice cream and chocolate in pretty dishes makes us happy.  The cookbook, the finished novel, the homemade wine, the box of handpicked micro brews, the indoor garden planted in a dish that were presented to us. The cards that hold photographs and stories and sentiments. The gifts of homemade candy, jam or snacks left at our door. The thoughtfulness of something chosen to make a portion of each day easier......sweeter. Something that helps to get me where I want to go. That says 'join in' or 'this made me think of you.'

At this time of year, I'm so very thankful for the people in my life. The ones that bring warmth or comfort or a sense of excitement through the door, in the mail, over the Internet or on the phone. Those that understand what I might want, need or dream about. I'm thankful for those willing to share some of themselves and what they dream about.  Those I'm just getting to know and who make the effort in return.

As the New Year approaches, wishing you a wonderful week ahead!

With warmth and appreciation,

Margaret

Dressed For Christmas

Marc and I were engaged in March. At that point he was a medical student and because of the fact that his breaks fell in either July or December, we had a choice of those two months in which to plan our wedding. July seemed too soon, but December was just right. Besides, I remembered what the church I attended had looked like at Christmas during previous years......lovely, all dressed up for the holidays.

St. Mark's was large and old, and at that time looked somewhat unfinished both inside and out......which it was. Construction on what was meant to be a grand Episcopal Cathedral began in 1928, but due to the stock market crash of 1929 and the Great Depression that followed, the building was never finished in the style intended. The cement interior walls were tall and plain and water-stained. And rather than magnificent and ornate spires reaching toward the heavens as planned, it was finished as a simple box with a cross placed on top.

I love that cathedral and it's interesting history. Throughout the years it has been know for it's beautiful music,  pipe organ and prominent place overlooking the freeway from Capital Hill in Seattle. But back then, what I loved was how I felt when I went inside. As with many things, it's beauty was in the unfinished details and in the community that called it home. 

When I walked down the aisle on that foggy Saturday evening before Christmas, I was surrounded by family and friends and the collective beauty of all of our unfinished details. I walked on my dad's arm wearing a dress designed by my mom and I, and one that she had expertly sewn. I carried a bouquet of red roses, ivy and small Christmas balls designed and made by one of my sisters. Another sister watched her two young daughters walk down the aisle as flower girls, while another yet, stood beside me. My brother read.

White candles, pots of red poinsettias and one very large pine tree graced the space near the altar. I've often thought about the church members who most likely donated seasonal flowers and greenery in order to beautify their church for the holidays. We were so fortunate to have had it present at our Christmastime wedding. At the time we were young and on a budget, and may not have considered those things as much as we should have. We no longer live in the city and so no longer attend that church. Recently however, the church I do attend asked for donations for pots of poinsettias to surround the altar for the holidays. I wrote out a check......and silently thanked those who had helped to dress up St Mark's in December 26 years ago.

Wishing you some wonderful days as you prepare for Christmas!

Warmly,

Margaret

PS. Today is my 100th post!!

September

My birthday was this past week. Maybe that's why crisp fall days and I get along so well. The air smells different. Leaves turn color and crunch. Cooler weather is around the corner. I know I'll talk to the people I care about most in the world. The day reminds me to savor the past year and look forward to the next one. 

Marc doesn't do a lot of our baking, although he's definitely capable and good at it when he does.  Possibly this is because baking is one way I enjoy spending my time...... and you know what they say about having too much of a good thing. 

The one day I know for sure he will be standing in front of the mixer creaming butter and sugar together, adding eggs one at a time and mixing in dry ingredients alternately with some kind of liquid, is my birthday. Each year one of his gifts to me is a cake. He asks well ahead of time "What kind will it be this year"......and is a good sport about whatever I choose. Its always from scratch. Always eaten after dinner. Always served with candles and a song. I'm not ashamed to tell you that every year the remains of those frosted layers end up as my breakfast until they're gone.

I have my favorite flavors and so therefore am pretty predictable, although this year I through him off a bit and asked for Chocolate with Chocolate Frosting. Since this is the cake I make most often for other members of the family, I rarely request it for myself. Usually its  Pumpkin Spice Layer Cake with Pumpkin Cream Cheese Frosting. I love this one. How the scent while its in the oven kind of ushers in a new season. Pumpkin puree, buttermilk, vanilla, brown sugar, butter, cinnamon and nutmeg baked into three layers, then slathered with a cream-cheesy mixture laced with more pumpkin and orange zest. Now why didn't I ask for it this year?

Hope you had a good one!

Warmly, Margaret

Again.....Commitment

We were so fortunate this past weekend to have been invited to celebrate with my friends for their 25th wedding anniversary. Fortunate that it provided us with a fun weekend away. Fortunate because we were able to partake of their gracious hospitality. That they are our friends and have been for so many years. 

There were many highlights to the evening, not the least of which was how thoughtfully it was put together. Drinks on the patio that took advantage of a serene and beautiful view. Dinner in their orchard that stretched into sunset. It was festive, casual, fun.  

I came away with a renewed appreciation for staying in touch; remaining in touch. An appreciation for those I've met but a handful of times who have enriched the layers of my life. The entire evening was warm and meaningful, but perhaps the best moments were when my friend held the microphone for her 94 year old mother as she read a couple of handwritten pages she had prepared on the topic of marriage. She spoke slowly and clearly so that we all might hear and understand her, pausing occasionally to look up at her daughter, her son-in-law and their guests. Her words were wise as she spoke of what marriage and other relationships take to survive. They were fair, not sugar-coated and real. She encouraged those listening to understand that difficulties are part of the process and that each relationship will encounter its own unique set. She also stressed that many times, most times, the difficulties are not insurmountable. I hope I've done her words justice. 

Wishing you a wonderful week,

Margaret

Father's Day

This close to Father's Day, it's hard not to spend time thinking about the first time I told Marc he was going to be a dad. The first time both of us realized we were going to be parents. We both hoped it would happen but assumed it would take awhile. It didn't.

About a year after we were married he was assigned to work in a clinic in Spokane for six weeks. No big deal. My parents live there so I would drive across the state for a short visit with all of them at the half way point. After a few servings of pot roast at my parents dinner table the first night, my mom made a comment. I was really hungry for some reason.... and for red meat, which wasn't necessarily normal for me. It struck me as a little strange when I thought about it on the drive home, but I might have just missed her cooking. A couple additional symptoms prompted me to do a pregnancy test within the week. I was pretty sure I felt different.

When I made the call to Spokane it took nearly a minute for Marc to respond, but in a good way. In a 'suprised-it-happened-so fast-that-I'm-speechless' way. Our life would change, but then it had several times already. It changed in a big way when we met, when he started medical school, when we got married. In the years leading up to that we had both gone though change separately....college, graduation, new jobs, a few moves. We were used to it, welcomed it and realized we had little control over much of it. The stuff of life. Neither of us are the type that needs the future to be too planned out or perfect. When we attempted to map out the best time to start a family, we could think of reasons, financial and otherwise, to put it off until much later.......but we really wanted it to happen sooner if at all possible. So with little money, a lot of trust and big plans we jumped in. We weren't impulsive....simply realistic. Why wait?

Even though we didn't have anything tangible to show for it.....no morning sickness, no ultrasound picture, no baby bump.....we were parents. Physical evidence would come soon enough, but I'd listened to the heartbeat, seen the pregnancy test, made the phone calls. 

Every moment of the past many years of parenthood has illuminated places inside of us that we weren't even aware existed. We've found strength  and humor and creativity. Patience and unconditional love. We learned to trust ourselves and the process. To trust our boys to make the right decisions; to learn from their mistakes. It doesn't mean that those things weren't difficult sometimes. They were, but the difficulties stretched us all. It makes me laugh when I describe our parenting experience this way. The phrase that comes to mind is  "but our kids would beg to differ."  And they do. They're our kids. We're their parents. I'm not sure they will see the big picture until they have some of their own.....but I hope that someday they make big plans, are not afraid of change, trust the experience and jump in. It's been amazing.

Happy Father's Day!

Love and Chocolate

On this Friday before Valentine's Day what's on my mind is, of course, love and chocolate. How Marc and I were engaged over a cup of coffee. There was no fanfare or anticipation or even a split second's thought about it in advance. Just a couple of mugs filled with fragrant dark roast and a good conversation that led somewhere. The great thing was that by the end of it we were both surprised. It certainly wasn't the plan on that morning or even anything that had been discussed up to that point. And isn't that the best kind of surprise......one that someone else becomes aware of with you? The dual realization that good and real and true make complete sense to integrate into the very next moment.

I'm feeling pretty happy that the sun warmed my kitchen, laundry area and office this week. It made the sorting and the washing and the folding so much easier. And anyone who knows me knows that laundry is my least favorite way to spend even a minute. And bill paying.....

  But put me in a sunny kitchen scooping, measuring, leveling, mixing......and I'm good.

  

   There is no better way to spend a morning. Listening to music, the mixer, the timer, the dishwasher. Lost in thought. Adding chocolate. 

  Rolling. Flattening.

Frosting.

  Happy Valentine's Day boys. This is how I spent my time thinking of you.

Check your mailboxes.

Wishing you all a wonderful Valentine's Day!

Warmly, Margaret