Cutting Back

Inspirational song: Brick House (The Commodores)

I spent the evening with a handful of women, half of whom were indulging in the snack foods on all the gaming tables, and the other half of whom were on very similar nutritional paths as I. The conversation was very interesting, and I made a few new contacts who could help me discover new recipes and ideas. I enjoyed being with like-minded individuals, at least on this front. (I don't know them well enough yet to know how many other things lined up. That will come with time.)

The man has been very serious about trimming back branches and clearing debris from the Park. I am having significant feelings of inadequacy, seeing how quickly and easily he goes through it. Things that take me hours or days fall before his stamina and manly upper body strength in mere minutes. He also was enthusiastic about getting up on a ladder and trimming dead or low-hanging branches. I'm nervous even on a two-stair step stool, so ladders are not my thing. I have a whole series of photos of this man, of him on a ladder taken by me with both feet on the ground. This is the common thread through most of our house and yard work. I suppose the advantage I have is I'm great at painting baseboards from awkward, low positions.

We had a nice dinner al fresco this evening, after spending a few hours outside clearing and raking. I am rather liking being forced to create my own recipes, now that I have given up on all branded products. I put together a homemade barbecue sauce for chicken that was worth repeating, assuming I can remember everything that went into this one. I'll write it out for an ATK post soon, but it's not ever going to be filed under "low-carb" for anyone. It had quite a bit of honey and molasses, to offset the heavy hand I had with the sriracha.

I came home from valiantly refusing to nibble on chocolate and all sorts of grain-based snacks (even the corn chips and buffalo dip), to turn on a recording of the Biggest Loser. Damn, what is it about watching this that made me hungrier than ever? I need to focus on the healthy choices I've made, and not go digging through the underside of my pantry, to see whether there are any bad food items that survived the purge, hiding behind the wall of saved plastic grocery bags. Only real food. Only real food. I need to repeat that until I am back to believing it again.

Bumps in the Road

Inspirational song: Get Back (v. Billy Preston)

There was some backsliding today. The three recent arrivals had been adjusting to the time zone and the routines of this house. Then the man let his kitty out to play in the back yard, and we learned she has no respect for The Fence. She hopped over it both directions in the thicket for about ten minutes, while we chased her, and then she decided to stop her new mommy's heart. She ran into the road, that sees fairly constant single-car traffic, and ran into the scary, swampy woods on the other side of the street. It's a good thing the man was dressed in heavy-duty clothes and shoes, as I had a little trouble getting very far into the woods wearing snaggable yoga pants and fuzzy slippers. Finding my way around the saw palmettos was a slow process with little success. And Zoe doesn't know me all that well yet, and she doesn't know she can trust me. I'm going to suggest we keep her inside until she's fully assimilated into the pride.

It took several phone calls to get the referrals sent to the specialist, and to get the appointment made, but we are set for a consult with a neurologist for Murray, to see whether there is anything that can be done to get him on four feet and out of his pony cart. I am terrible at getting him in and out of the harness, and I swear something changed on the wheelchair but I'm damned if I can figure out what. It's confounding me, how it doesn't seem to go together like it did a few days ago. I don't know whether he has gained weight already since he arrived, but I'm also finding it increasingly difficult to lift and maneuver him. Shouldn't I be getting stronger by now? I dedicated hours yesterday and today to creating a new bed for him (the first of two), so he stops stealing my little red-headed dog's bed. I made a three-inch tall bed that almost completely fills the cage, with foam wrapped in vinyl and stuffed inside a heavy-duty denim shell. Next challenge is creating a ramp so he can get himself in and out of the cage without catching on the wires or the lip of the door. Better yet would be starting physical therapy so he can walk in and out of it on four legs. I have a dream that someday he will be strong enough to walk through to back door and out to urinate without assistance. Do you know, when I was a teenager, I used to dream of such things as being the lead singer in a rock band or a famous writer? My, how I have been humbled.

The man is snoring away upstairs. He had almost made it to a normal schedule, staying up until midnight last night after the movie, and letting me call the shots when Murray tried to wake us all at 05:45 this morning (I let the big dogs out for a moment, and then told everyone to go back to bed until first light). Then this afternoon, by around 5:00 in the evening, the man decided a nap was imperative, and I agreed and joined him. An hour later, I was back up and active in the house, but now, six hours have passed and I can still hear him snoring away. I can almost guarantee that when I'm ready for bed here soon, he will be waking up, and he'll trade places with me. He'll be down here, playing computer games, while I'm trying--but inevitably failing--to sleep. How long does it take to get back to the time zone you live in, after being stuck in an alternate one for a year and a half? I almost wish this were a sign that he was coming down with something, because it would mean he'd sleep through until morning. But I know my luck isn't that good.

Eleventh Hour

Inspirational song: Heroes (David Bowie)

I've got a lot of thinking to do tonight. I'm not sure how much of it will end up spilling out, until I actually start typing. That happens more than you'd imagine.

Today has so many names. Veterans Day. Armistice Day. Remembrance Day. I spent the eleventh day of the eleventh month in a strange space in my head. I started this morning by finishing off a thriller novel about a geneticist who engineers a virus to force a solution to the problem of global overpopulation, and god help me, my inner nihilist rooted for the bad guy. I ended the day going to a war movie with the man. It was a deeply disturbing, nothing held back film about World War II, the one that proved the lie of the War to End All Wars. I had just come from my monthly massage, straight to the movie theater, and to say this harshed my mellow is a massive understatement. As a lifelong student of the human condition, it moved me deeply to see the rapid character development in desperate situations, but it was not for the faint of heart, especially those who can't handle graphic violence on screen.

Regular readers and friends know how seriously I take discussions of military service and respect of those who put themselves on the line for the rest of us. I feel very uncomfortable when I am around people who automatically say "thank you for your service" to military members, not because I don't feel the same, but because those words seem so inadequate to me for such an incomprehensible undertaking. Even in times of peace, veterans relinquish control over their major life decisions, such as where to live, how many hours in a week to work, and how often they get to be present for milestones in their children's lives, to be available to risk everything up to and including themselves for us (wherever and whoever that "us" happens to be). In times of war, the costs are so extreme, I can't comprehend what it takes to be willing to become the people they are asked to be. Everything changes, and I am humbled by the strength that takes to go through it, knowing that it could mean losing touch with the identity that defined them for their entire lives up to that point, and altering the future for themselves and countless others.

I need to go metabolize the brown liquor I just drank (and needed after the day I had), and give free rein to my dark thoughts of war and sacrifice. Like the rainbow after the biblical flood, my promise to you that tomorrow will be a happier day is this picture of Athena. Good times will return.

Arse Over Teakettle

Inspirational song: Crumblin' Down (John Mellencamp)

I've seen the X-rays, with the narrowed spaces between some of the vertebrae and the poor fit of his right femur in the hip socket. I have worried over the calluses and sores caused by the jumping, dragging on the ground, and rubbing against the wheelchair. I know he's really got problems. But I swear, that little dog is playing me. With his daddy, he goes where he needs to go, lines up with the pony cart, and allows himself to be positioned without struggle. With me, he is behaving entirely differently. The man was gone all day, and I had my first solo flight taking care of Hot Wheels. I think he is pulling one over on me. Seriously. He fell over a lot more, bent his right knee so it was harder to place him in the wheelchair every time, and I swear to you, this afternoon when I leaned over and tried to put him in the harness, he intentionally flopped and buried his face between my breasts. Where did this little player come from? Yes, he came from a part of the world where they don't treat women very well, but I didn't expect a dog from there to be this much of a rude boy.

I have been told to keep him outside as much as possible, so that he burns off energy in his wheels, and takes every opportunity to strengthen his left hind leg. He has feeling below the waist, but he has very little control of his back legs, and even less strength in them. But in my uneven park, with tree roots, cobblestones in random spots, and holes dug by another naughty red-head, there are traps everywhere. The more he races after my other dogs, the more he risks catching air and tumbling arse over teakettle. At least four times today, I went outside and found him flipped on one side. There's nothing he can do in that position other than lie there and look pitiful. He weighs just enough, and his wheels are just awkward enough, that turning him over is extremely difficult for me. I'm pretty sure I've already strained my shoulder tending to him. I've been very vocal in this blog about my love of the physical therapy profession. I am ready to find a specialist and get him going on a program. Once he fills out into his adult body, I'm not going to be able to lift him. Now is the time to get him strong and healthy. And maybe a few months with me will teach him some manners. That dirty dog.

Customization

Inspirational song: My Way (Frank Sinatra)

There is a lot of change happening very quickly around here. It takes a lot to adjust to having new furry friends, both of whom have their own challenges. The new cat has a congenital defect in her right eye, that affects how well she can open and contract the pupil, but apparently doesn't hurt her depth perception one bit. She likes to jump up and investigate every elevated surface in the house, from the top of my towel cabinet in the bathroom, to the top of my art pantry, where I had a big box of paints and a plant just begging to be thrown to the ground by a nosy little calico. I need to move the breakables I put up high everywhere to keep them "safe" from ground dwellers, and it might be wise to move the heavy metal shingle from my grandfather's old dental office from the top of the fridge to a place where it can't be tipped to the ground for the entertainment of a cat.

Customizing the house for the dog is a bit more labor intensive, and the costs are higher. We decided to pull up the nicer, more decorative rugs and put down some cheap replacements from the discount store. The dog-in-a-pony-cart needs some sort of rug to gain traction when he's not in his wheels (he sort of hops around, much like yogic flying, bouncing on his rear end). But while he has a little bit of control over bodily functions, it's limited, and there is only so much Nature's Miracle can do on a nice rug. We took a trip to Lowe's as well, to get a sprayer attachment for the shower. The man has to give this little doggie a bath almost every night, and a big plastic rinse cup just wasn't cutting it. Next big project needs to be a ramp leading off of the deck. We haven't drawn up plans yet, but they can't be far away.

I'm learning just what a difference manly upper body strength makes. The same amount of pruning and clearing that would have taken me all day and a thousand mosquito bites took the man about forty-five minutes before we headed off to Lowe's. What's more, he not only cleared out all the suckers from the base of the crape myrtles and Bradford pear stump, he also took out big, two-inch thick branches off of several trees, like it was nothing. I can't say I'm not jealous. I would have been laid out on the couch for hours, griping about how much my forearms hurt. He also is a lot braver when it comes to looking at a tree and deciding where to cut. I pull my punches too much when it comes to pruning.

It's finally starting to look like autumn in the Park. I have a few trees turning colors, the neighbor's oak is starting to fill up my driveway with leaves, and the angle of light is moving significantly. It's not quite as showy as fall in Colorado or up in New England, but it's what I've got. I'll do autumn my way.

Together and Separate

Inspirational song: Homeward Bound (Simon & Garfunkel)

We took our younger daughter to the airport this morning. I love it so much when one or both kids come to see me/us out here, and it just crushes me when it's time for them to go home. I still am not down with this whole "empty nest" thing. Eventually I will adjust, but today is not the day. We said our goodbyes, hugged, and let her go into the terminal. When we climbed back into the car, Simon and Garfunkel were singing Homeward Bound, and it made me even sadder to put my baby on an airplane again. Some day in the future, I might live in the same city as one or the other of my children, but the old nuclear family days of us all under the same roof will never be seen again. I should have worked harder to slow down time, so I could have paid attention better while I had it.

We are moving quickly to get integrated as one big family/pack/pride now that all the residents of the Park are present and accounted for. We let the new kitty roam the house most of the day today, not going back into her transition room until dinner time. There was hissing, but not nearly as much as I expected, and not a single howl. She's a sweet girl, and I expect rapid assimilation into the pride. I'm getting the hang of how to handle a special needs dog, but I am not ready to take care of him all by myself yet. He got new, bigger, off-road wheels yesterday, and his mobility is impressive. He reminds me all the time that he really is still a puppy. We are starting to look around the ground floor, to assess how many pieces of furniture (and rugs!) can be temporarily moved, to make the place accessible. I never noticed how crowded my house was until a wheelchair started rolling through it.

The man is still struggling with time zones, and my sleep needs to adjust a little as well. He just turned in for the night early, and I think it's wise that I follow right behind him. It must be easier if we both sleep and wake at the same time, even if it's the wrong time, right?

Trivial

Inspirational song: Getting to Know You (The King and I)

As one might expect, people change greatly over the course of a year and a half. After a separation like that, we really need to take some time and get reacquainted. Blogs might be a little short for a few days, although I will try to compensate with photographs when I can. I don't have a whole lot of pictures yet today. I may take a couple before bed, just to be nice.

We have kept the new cat locked in the spare bedroom that I have been referring to as the "transition room." It was the nursery for my still-healthy and strong minions of chaos (the middle two cats), it was where I tried to foster the first set of week-old kittens (who were horribly ill when they came here, and died within the first 48 hours), it was where the baby squirrel lived for a week and died burrowed in the blanket we shared, and it was the room Cricket ran into a few hours before she died. Rabbit has been spending a lot of her free time in there, and today while we took a nap, she got herself locked in the room with the new cat (she dashed in and ran under the bed). We let her stay in there for several hours, inadvertently, but she appears to have acted like an able ambassador. There was no crying, no arguing, no howling. Just a little shredded carpet at the base of the door, but that could have been the new girl, from last night. I suspect she will take to the new calico with a similar devotion as she showed to our beloved Cricket, if this is a sign to come.

We are still learning with the new dog, as well. My daughter and I had a few chances to get him in and out of his magic shoes (the wheelchair), and we learned that doing so usually ends in a paper towel and hand washing moment. Hot Wheels tends to get growly and barky when he thinks he has found a food or chew toy, and another dog is within his line of sight. He has a few odd behaviors that we haven't learned to interpret yet, like when he rolls onto his back, wiggles, and flips his useless back legs up to gnaw on them. Is this a good thing?

Last winter, I got very frustrated with my poor fire-building skills. Several times when I tried, during the polar vortex days that even chilled us in the Deep South, I ended up smoking out the house, setting off the alarms, when I failed to create a sufficient updraft. I blamed it on a lack of instruction. No one ever taught me how to do this in my formative years, or any time since. Tonight, I feel vindicated. The man started another fire tonight, but it didn't take off like last night. It failed to updraft, filled the house with smoke, set off the alarms, and distressed Alfred, just like last winter. You can't imagine how normal I feel now, after seeing the man whose old boy scout troop used to call him "Butane Breath," make some of the same errors I did. It wasn't just me!

Of course, I fell back to earth the moment he and my daughter spanked me in a game of Trivial Pursuit. I used to be unbeatable at this game. I'm going to blame the fact that it's on the old Wii, not the board game with predictable questions. I mean, really, the Sports & Leisure category didn't have a single question about liquor! Bring back the classics.