Our Little Goat

She's done it again, but let me start by confirming that Heidi is okay, happily running around like a puppy, snapping at my hands as they grab for her front paws (which she hates) and jumping in circles.  She didn't lose her appetite and there were no mysterious messes to clean up when I left work mid-day from worry to come home.

We're all very happy that, if she absolutely had to root through Chris' backpack, find, and then eat an entire pack of gum, that at least it wasn't of the sugar-free variety.  When Chris came downstairs this morning to leave for work he found the evidence all over the entranceway floor.  Like a good daddy, he hopped online and looked up the possible effects such a thing can have on a dog.  Even though there is more of a chance the gum could cause a blockage because of Heidi's small size, the worst case would have been if the gum was sugar-free, as sugar-free gum has xylitol, something highly toxic to dogs.  (Seriously, Heidi may have a death wish.)  Luckily for everyone, Chris happened to pick up a pack of Juicy Fruit while in the States last week, so the main thing to watch is whether or not the baby has trouble doing her business.

What caused the sick stomach that sent me home from work early, despite Chris' email saying that there didn't seem to be anything to worry about, was the reading I did that talked about how eating gum can cause a dog's blood sugar to soar and the possibility of seizures.  Our Heidi has a history of seizures.   So I got to spend the afternoon watching her for shaking, weird behavior, and pooping.  With the helpful hint from a co-worker Stephanie, I picked up some Omega-3 on the way home to help things move along in the intestinal area, and boy did it work.

So Heidi's fine, aside from some gummy poops and probably a funky feeling tummy.  (Seriously, I obviously had to check it outside, and it's kind of oddly funny when you're holding a piece of gummy poo on the end of a stick.)  Now it's just a matter of stubborn-old-lady-proofing the house, as it seems a once very well-behaved pup who wouldn't even dare chew on anything not hers, has grown into the type who shreds paper when she's mad and eats whatever smells good.

Planning

Like I've said before, I love planning.  I love organizing and laying things out.  I experience a little bit of euphoria when everything is in its own little place.  Squared away.  I'm sure it has something to do with the illusion of control.

Another from the 'Like I've said before' file is my tendency to become overwhelmed when there are too many options.  Hence, my messy house.  Hence also, a major trip just a month away, hardly planned.

Do you know how many Bed & Breakfasts there are in the UK?  In Scotland?  It's hard enough to narrow down the list of possible places to visit within the British Isles, but to then have to chip away at the massive block that is UK Accommodations is dizzying.  I've hardly made any decisions and I think my head might just toppled off my shoulders.  This trip began as a Scotland trip only, but with the Icelandic Ash, the chance that the volcano might get cranky again, we decided to drive it.  And since we're driving anyway, why not stop over in the English Countryside to see some things in case we don't make it back to the UK for a while?  Good, fine.  But there are a lot of towns and beautiful and amazing things I'm sure we should see, and I don't have the tolerance for on-line research Chris possesses.  I can only Google and open tab upon tab upon tab of new information and read and compare for so long before I start getting a little frazzled.  So which ones?  Which places?  Am I really complaining about the fact that I can't decide where to visit on my trip to Scotland and the English Countryside?  No, not really...just whining a little over my inability to make decisions and my impatience for not just knowing all I'd like to know without all the work.  I'm freaking out excited, but can't tell yet for the lists of hotel and B&B names and contact info and rates and dates.

So as a blog is often just a journal on-line, that's what I've been focusing on today.  That and checking my gmail account every half hour since I e-mailed in my first assignment for the publishing house in Stuttgart I mentioned briefy before.  (No pressure, Jim.)  I may have taken my time, more out of nerves than anything else, to get started, but if there is no immediate response of either severe repulsion or exuberant enthusiasm, my worrisome mind tells me upon reading my work, the response was something along the lines of unimpressed blahness.  As any person who embraces any artistic medium will likely agree, any strong reaction is better than an apathetic one.  So I'm not going to think about that one anymore tonight.  People are busy, after all.

And I've GOT to walk away from the Scotland research, and when and how we should see Stonehenge.  Should I scrap a whole day so we can make it down for an all-day tour that ends at this magnificent and mysterious site, so we can have semi-private access at sunset for photographs and wonder?  Or do we drive there on our own during regular daytime hours and do what we can to crop the other tourists out of the shots and look at the sunrise and sunset pictures online, pretending we saw it with a red sky behind?  One's certainly cheaper, and fits better into our schedule...but semi-private viewing!  If the British Pound rate could just plummet for a bit, that'd be swell.

Okay.  I am walking away.  I am going to get ready for bed and I am going to read for a while.  By the way, read The Help, by Kathryn Stockett.  I'm only halfway through, but it's wonderful so far.  Love it.  Read it.

  

Happy Happy Birthday Mom!!!

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday dear Mo-om,

Happy Birthday to you!!!

(How cute is my mom?)

I wonder what they'll do today, Mom and Dad, to celebrate Mom's birthday.  Maybe a nice dinner out in town, or maybe a day on the boat?  Or maybe Mom'll cut loose and go a little wild, like few people know she can...  Don't let this sweet face fool you.  She can party, and party hard.

A few years ago Mom spent her birthday with Chris and me in Italy.  She came for a month; it was nice to have my mom around for such a stretch to participate in MY daily life.  (Good thing Chris likes his mother-in-law!)  She also got to be there to help out with a friend's baby shower.  Aside from spending a day in Florence here, and a day in Siena there, the three of us also took a little trip up into Slovenia.  We hiked the world's largest underground canyon, well, part if it, and we saw Slovenia's coastal towns and her mountain villages, too, within the span of two days.  Slovenia is small.  Although it was not her birthday while we were there, Mom decided to let down her hair, so to speak, and party it up a bit.  Maybe it was hanging out with two crazy kids, such as ourselves, or being temporarily free of the typical daily obligations of home, we can't be sure.

It started innocently enough, sitting outside the castle in Ljubljana, Slovenia's capital city.  We'd climbed the great hill and walked the grounds, and had taken a seat at an outdoor cafe for refreshments.  Of course Chris and I ordered strawberry milkshakes to cool us down, but Mom wasn't having any of that sissy business.  How'd she even KNOW Slovenia was not just the originating place of what is believed to be the oldest musical instrument in Europe (the bone of a cave bear with man-made holes bore through it), but giant alcoholic beverages, too!  

We were able to keep her from ordering another and continue on our day of sightseeing without (much) incident.  But when dinner rolled around, she was ready for more.  When we tried to suggest perhaps a glass of cool water after such a long day, she shot us a look only a mother can give.  She was having her wine!

Since it was summertime, the sun didn't set until after ten o'clock.  With extended daytime hours, many local attractions remained open for the tourists' business.  We decided to hop on over to Lake Bled and it's accompanying town and castle.  We underestimated the strength of the wine, apparently, because even an hour later, Mom had convinced herself that she was the Queen of Bled, residing in its beautiful castle.  She climbed up into that castle and peered down at the rest of us, her subjects, admiring the amazing view over the lake.  We tried to call her down, but she refused.  When we waved to get her attention, she just waved back, happy to be admired by her people.

In the end we were able to wrestle her away and bring her safely back to our piddly hotel, nothing like a castle.  When she sobered up from her partying ways she was Mom again, and we all enjoyed the rest of the trip.

It was a fun trip and I'll always remember it fondly.  Here's hoping this year Mom doesn't party quite so hard, but enjoys her day anyhow.  Love you, Mom!  Happy Birthday :)

(Some images above have been manipulated for comedic purposes.  And although the above story is mostly untrue, it was fun to write anyway.)

Goodbye To 3 More

Last summer it was Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, and Ed McMahon.  I remember the day I heard about Ms. Fawcett well, as I was on my way to another Farrah Fawcett's house for our first official book club get together.  That's really her name, although getting married added McCullough onto the end.  It's a fun ice-breaker and we all get a kick out of referring to our friend, Farrah Fawcett.  It still seems weird that the ever-strange Michael Jackson is gone, and there is a generation who I think misses those giant Publisher's Clearing House checks Mr. McMahon was so well-known for delivering to our doors.  My grandmother was actually a finalist once for that famous sweepstakes, got the script in the mail and everything.  But sadly, Ed ended up knocking on someone else's door.

This week within seven days, the world said goodbye to Gary Coleman, Dennis Hopper, and Rue McClanahan. I am of the generation who enjoyed "Different Strokes," "What's Happening, "Gimme a Break," and "Silver Spoons," so me and Gary go way back.  While living in Pisa, Chris and I were thrilled to find several instances where it seemed someone was paying Mr. Coleman homage in the form of street art.  It made us happy to see an old, familiar face from both our childhoods on the side of a building in Florence or Milan.  It was like a note left for us to find, a piece of home we could appreciate and pose in front of.

We took this picture on our first New Year's Eve in Florence, the last night of 2004.  This was our first Gary sighting of many.

"Golden Girls" also happened to be one of my favorite shows on TV as a child, though now it seems a bit odd that I enjoyed a show about elderly women so much as a kid.  Rue McClanahan's character, Blanch, will be sorely missed for her brazen displays of sexuality on TV, reminding us that there is sex after menopause.  Even if it was just a TV show, it made a difference on the landscape of television, something that reaches most people, and that's something.  When I was in the hospital late last year, Chris brought me some DVDs from the library to keep me entertained from my adjustable bed.  One of them was the first season of "Golden Girls," a surprising pick, as I hadn't watched the show in years.  I watched the whole season by the time my 3 days was up.

I don't know if there's anything to the whole thing about tragedy coming in 3s.  I guess you tend to find whatever it is you go looking for.  Either way, it's hard when pieces of your past start to die, whether it's old TV stars, musicians, or the movie theater you frequented growing up.  Nothing is forever, I suppose; everything passes.  All we can do is remember them for their being here to have an impact on our days and try to appreciate the little things that do the same these days.

* I first put up this post as it is above, only realizing I hadn't even mentioned these real people's real lives or their grieving families and friends until I was falling asleep.  That wasn't an intentional omission, so I wanted to add on my condolences for the people I'll never know, but who have lost a loved one, nonetheless.  Perhaps there lies comfort in knowing these loved ones are missed by many people for many reasons, that they touched people enough to be remembered. *

Lamps, Benches, and Trees

As I look through my folders of photographs from all the places we've been, there is a short list of things that constantly pop up in my favorite shots.  And I'm not sure why.  I have a thing about trees, as I'm told many people do, and I'm often captivated by the simplest sapling, if the light hits it right.  Trees symbolize growth to me, I suppose, and strength that originates from a very small and fragile place.  While in college, Kelly and I once sat down at the dining table to make inspirational magnets.  One of them said, "Billy Blanks wants YOU!" to remind us to do our Tae Bo.  Another was a simple ink sketch of a tree that I drew, underneath writing in all lowercase letters the word, me.  Before moving to Italy I drew a picture of a very substantial tree with roots coming deep beneath the ground from the body of a person.  While living in San Piero, I started its painting version, which upon completion will feature this phrase:  "All things strong grow from something broken."  It's something I believe.  Maybe I'm a tree, or want to be.  Figuratively.  One of the things I hated most about myself in my adolescent years, and slightly beyond them, was my belief that I was weak.  I've always been deeply in touch with my emotions, and grew up believing this to be a severe fault.  After all, there is no room for reason when emotions are involved, right?  You're not supposed to discipline a child when you're upset, for you might act too harshly.  My dad always told me, in the midst of a disagreement, that I needed to calm down before we could continue, that I wasn't being rational because I was emotional.  That always fueled my anger, but now I get it.  He was right, but you can't tell a pissed off teenager that.  So maybe these two balancing forces cannot work at their best simultaneously, but I think they're equally as valuable.  Now I know that feeling as deeply as I do is a gift, something which allows me to experience things on a level many people do not.  Good and bad, I feel it to my bones and as I grow older, I'd like to think I'm learning how to better handle such things, and how to learn from them.  I am not without reason; I'm actually quite logical most of the time, but what I feel is what inspires me, and what inspires me teaches me more about life and the world around me.  So I'm glad to be an emotional person, a word that once felt like such a curse to be called.  And I now understand that I do have strength, and that emotion and being strong do not sit across the table from one another, but can share a bench.  Maybe I was weak at one time, but allowing myself to break like I did, albeit a bit too much, also allowed for stronger bonds to take the places of the cracks left behind.  Skin scarred over is a thicker skin, but can also be a wiser one.  So with roots reaching deeply into the soil finding home, a strong trunk, and eager branches reaching in every direction, including the sky, maybe I am the trees I draw.

Benches.  Not just benches, benches surrounded by trees.  I take pictures of benches along pathways.  A resting place along a road with an unseen destination, or end.  A piece of man left to rest among nature with its bright, red paint.  An artist's perch while they take in a moment.  An opportunity waiting for someone to stop for a while.  Why does a bench make me stop and take a photograph?  I'm not really sure.  Maybe I'm seeking solitude when they strike me, for a moment alone here is a very different thing from sitting with company.  I know that seems a simplistic statement, but I cannot experience the same peace if someone else were to share this bench with me.  When I see it, I see quiet and I see myself writing as the air moves like whispers through the trees and the birds call to one another.    

        

And lamps, I'm always taking pictures of lamps.  Street lamps along a canal, lamps hanging from the sides of buildings or over entrance ways, these nab my eye, if not for a picture then at least for a moment of inspection.  Let's analyze this one, shall we?  Lamps, light, shining light on a path that must be dark for the lamp to be necessary, so a guiding light to find he way, the way...to what?  To where?  As a child whenever an airplane flew overhead, a tiny speck that softly roared down at me from so far away, I stopped and watched while a strange but soft shiver came over me.  It felt familiar, that's the best way I can describe it.  And the thought of riding on an airplane got me excited like I was going to Disney World.  I liked to imagine the places I could see with that airplane leading the way, taking me there.  Down unseen paths to a future that is quite honestly turning out more fantastic than I had even imagined.  I think even if I have found my path, I will always be curious and intrigued to seek out more, to see more, to experience more.  To be more.  Maybe it'll be by the light of one of these lamps.    

A Good Hair Day

Although I don't go very often, today is one of most favorite kinds of days.  I've just gotten home from the salon down my street, literally.  Jutta Mueller Friseur has been in this town for over 50 years, family run and currently being operated by the second generation, though the third already has her hands in the mix.  They all have fire red hair; I love it.  As ruling families go, my girl, Elena, does not have royal blood, but I adore her anyway.  The first time we met, me trying to practice my primitive German while she practiced her limited English, we learned that we both come from the city of St. Petersburg.  The fact that I am a Floridian and she, a Russian, makes no difference as we chat about family and travel.

The first time I went to Elena for a cut I was nervous, as I'm sure most women are when trying out a new stylist.  An evil of relocating.  Careful to avoid hairy catastrophe, I opted for just a cut.  This safeguards against walking out with an oddly-colored, butchered head of hair if things go badly.  We talked, we smiled, and then she shampooed my hair.  That was it; me and my hair were hers to shape and mold.  Now I've always enjoyed anyone playing with my hair, really, even just touching my hair, so sitting in the swiveling salon chair is always a treat.  I can spend hours in a salon if it means someone is messing with my hair, carefully separating sections of hair with the tip of the comb, brushing in highlights, cutting it bit by bit and blowing dry.  It's heaven, but the paramount moments for my relaxation happen at the shampoo sink.  That's where Elena proved to me that she would be my girl for all the time we live here.  Today was no different, except there was no reason not to totally trust Elena's expertise.  She did the whole nine; cut, color, and style.

She checks in with me often about pressure and temperature, but she doesn't need to: It's all perfect.  Her hands move in smooth circles around my head, smearing on whatever goop is necessary, and it's like a cranial hug.  Then her fingers reach through the smoothed hair, thick with product, and poised with an ever so gentle claw-like posture, they massage my scalp, pressing and turning, pressing and turning.  I sigh in ecstasy every time, and she just laughs.  I wish I could visit this place every day.

With the radio playing, the soft, chemical smells of the salon, and complimentary coffee in front of me, this is a severely relaxing experience.  It's nice to have a little place so close to home where I feel completely at ease to trust a lady with a pair of scissors and reign over my hair, because as silly as it may sound, that means I get to feel a little pampered while I'm there, and then I get to leave feeling refreshed and a little prettier.  Who can't stand a pick up like that?  

Welcome to the Jungle

Even though I love being productive, revel in checking things off the list, when the list gets so big I feel paralyzed to even begin chipping away.  While Chris is gone I've got plenty to keep me busy.  I'd really love for my house to look nice even when we're not having company.  The yard is a jungle in need of some serious work.  I have phone calls to make, to our Realtor, a possible new lawn guy, and the dentist.  Bills need to be dropped off at the translator's office.  I need to make the time to go by and talk to a rep at the University of Phoenix to start gathering information regarding their possible new Masters program here and give that some serious thought.  I have new work for a publishing company in the city, my first assignment, about which I'm super excited, but nervous since it's new.  There are hotels to be researched and booked for two upcoming concerts we're attending, one in Prague and the other outside of Brussels, in addition to planning out a week and a half in the UK, hotels included.  

This is what I'd like to accomplish this week while I've got this extra time with no one to hang out with in the evenings, and I think I can get a lot of it done. Doing so would give me such a great feeling of accomplishment, as these things are growing heavier the longer I put them off.  But when I look at it all, I can't even begin.  I'll blog about it instead.

In college I tended to let assignments and papers and studying for exams gather and pile until they, too, paralyzed me.  I didn't know where to start, so I'd have a little meltdown and do nothing.  Enter Chris.  I'd call him, crying and listing all I had to get done in whatever amount of time, and he was there fifteen minutes later.  Chris has always had a way of taking the tangled up mess of my To-Dos from my frazzled hands and picking them apart, piece by piece, according to importance and deadline, and laying them all out so that they appear far less intimidating.  He did that for me many times while we were in school together, and has had an opportunity here and there since then in our post-college life.  He amazes me, and this is another reason he's perfect for me; he balances me out when I get out of whack, and I'd like to think I do the same for him.  He also does not make lists, which astounds me, but he also procrastinates like nobody's business.  Often times in the end it turns out procrastination has worked to our advantage, I'm not sure how, and this only fuels his tendencies.  This drives me a little nuts, but to all things there good and there is bad.  But I digress.

So I'm sitting here at my laptop wondering what he's up to right about now in Illinois.  And missing him a little, having trouble tackling this week's list without him to downplay it and encourage me not to stress.  It doesn't actually help, actually promotes more procrastination, which is why his absence may be the perfect opportunity to focus on getting a list of things done.  But I miss him, all the same, to listen, however absently while sitting at his own laptop, to my rambling.  It enables me to relieve some of the build up and helps me organize my thoughts and my plans.  That's why it's sometimes okay - sometimes - that he's not totally tuned in to what I'm talking about.  Sometimes I just need to express it, get it out so I can see the words and reorganize them to better grasp what I'm dealing with.  Is it just a woman thing? 

Maybe I just need to make a calendar for the week and fill in a few tasks each day so that I actually get something done each day, and so I don't feel the pressure to get more done in a day than is necessary.  That's where I get overwhelmed.  But just as important as it is to check things off my lists, is my need to decompress and just veg out in front of something entertaining on TV at the end of the night.  I'm not ashamed to say it, I need a little brain rot time.  It helps my mind wind down and start considering sleep, which as I've said before, is a little more difficult without Chris here, even if there is a nice guard dog in the house.  

You know...writing tonight's blog post has actually helped me de-stress a little and I've got 45 minutes before my scheduled brain rot time.  I think I'll do some edging in our jungle!

It's a wonder, this blog's ability :)