Saturdays

I love weekends. Especially days when I get to do whatever I want. I woke up early this morning--unusual for me on a Saturday--and talked to my parents for over an hour. Then we met the fam at Jake's for a little late breakfast. I attempted a cup of coffee and it made my hiatal hernia talk to me. It sure tasted good, though.

Mel, the Dab and I ventured to Main Street and visited a couple of gift shops. Husbands are great for carrying purchases, by the way. Dab didn't grumble once since they had nifty cooking gadgets and samples of dips and chutney. He got overly excited with a CIA (that's Culinary Institute of America) omelet pan and a carving knife. I gave him the "look" and whispered "October 6" and he remembered his birthday.

Melissa got bored with our interminable perusal of the foodstuffs, so she ventured to the candle shop. After we dipped into the savings to pay for the dip mixes, pickles, etc., we joined Mel in scent overload central. I love candles--don't get me wrong--but sometimes they can overwhelm the senses. After Mel dipped into her savings to pay for decadent knick-knacks, she bounded off with Shawn and Jim (and the dogs) to look at houses. That's when it happened. Alan looked across the street and saw Wonderland. A Belgian woman opened a Chocolatiere next door to our favorite steak place. We braved the walk across the street and breathed in the heavenly aroma of sweet, sinful confections. I wanted to bottle up the smell and take it across the street to the candle shop.

We picked out our favorite flavors and savored each dreamy bite. Chocolate makes me happy.

The Dab dropped me at home to "work on my writing" so he could explore the city. No interruptions, I prayed. No luck.

Phone call #1: the Dab--ten minutes. Reminders, honey-do's, etc...

Phone call #2: the sister-in-law--one hour. The weather, politics, etc...

Phone call #3: friend/ex-student--two hours. Life, school, stress, decisions, self-esteem, etc...

Hunger sets in. Breakfast and chocolate long gone, I opened the fridge (I'm from Texas--that's what we call it) and searched in vain for nourishment. Settled on a kolache. Not good for my hiatal hernia, either.

I sat down to enjoy my snack when phone call #4 hit: the Dab--dinner questions, home soon, etc...

Did I work on my writing? No. Other than this post and a reply to a political blog, I did nothing. Lame, I know. My intentions were good. I don't think people realize the amount of concentration writing requires. No interruptions means no interruptions. I'm not sure it's possible. How do prolific writers manage to find the time to crank 'em out? I would like to know their secret.

It's almost time for bed. Church in the morning and tomorrow afternoon. That will give me maybe a couple of hours of writing time. Barring no interruptions, of course.

Never forget

There's a thickness of fear in the air right now. The unknown hovers and skulks like a pesky younger brother intrigued by his sister's cute friends. I inherited my worry gene from my mom. She worries about everything. I try not to focus on things out of my control but I worry about other people's ignorance--especially with the upcoming election. But let's save that for another day when I have more time and energy.

Today marks the seven year anniversary of the attacks on America. Gosh, is it OK to call it an anniversary? Perhaps memorial is a better word. I think of an anniversary as something special, something to anticipate with gladness--not something like 9/11, a blight on the landscape of our history. I hope we never forget what that day meant/still means. I hope I never take my freedom for granted and the sacrifices our brave heroes make to ensure that freedom lasts a little longer.

I worry that people have forgotten what it felt like that day, when we watched in horror as our seemingly impenetrable land suffered under the hands of crazed extremists. What worries me even more is that they are still out there and still want to destroy us. They don't want to hurt us. They want to DESTROY us.

Perhaps instead of an external destruction, they are slowly eating away at the core of humanity, yearning for internal combustion.

I hope those out there who pray will get down on their knees and bow their heads and pray for the safety of our country, our people, and the heroes who fight for us to have the freedom to pray.

Take care. Never forget.

My sister's dogs

This is my sister's dog, Buddy. Hard to believe he wasn't supposed to get over 35 pounds. Buddy's favorite activity is watching the Animal Planet, preferably Meerkat Manor or one of the dog shows--Westminster or Purina. He's a hoot. I can sit on the couch and pretend like I'm crying, and Buddy will howl at the top of his lungs. I don't know if it's because he doesn't like my whining or if he wants to show his support. He's part terrier, so he has a nipping fetish. His nose is crotch high, too. Those nips hurt. Not gonna lie.

Buddy has all kinds of health problems. It's sad. He has more veterinary specialists than a hypochondriac. He sees an allergy specialist and a neurologist (for his seizures). But he's precious. He should have been in commercials.

Their other dog, Dudley is a big lummox. But he's a precious lummox. He's this 90-pound chocolate lab who sighs when you won't give him a bite of whatever it is you're eating. He loves fruit, especially bananas and oranges. He loves to stretch out on their brown bomber leather sofa, playing chameleon games. If someone tries to get on the couch with him, he pushes on their legs with his back paws.

He does this trick called "Smiling dog" where he literally comes running up to you--yes, smiling--and he runs under your legs. He keeps going back and forth, under your legs, never tiring of the amusing game. He can be dragging from a long walk but if he hears, "Smiling dog", he's running for your legs. I'm short--5'2"--and he's tall for a dog. When he plays the game with me, he has to squat down. It's hilarious.

Animals sure make life interesting, don't they?

Here's to all the pets who make our lives more meaningful!