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04 June 2011
29 May 2011
Blog: Redux
Welcome to the newest incarnation of the blog. I've found it's difficult to post consistently without any real direction or focus for the blog as a whole, but my Garm has inspired me to try again. And so, taking my cues from my husband, which I usually do, here's a short and sweet post.
This picture was taken at St Vitus Cathedral in Prague, Czech Republic. I was there in late September of 2009, traveling home after my service in the Peace Corps had ended. I'm no photographer, and all I had was a borrowed point and shoot camera (thanks, Ben!) but I've always loved the way this photo came out.
04 January 2011
Merry Christmas, or Why I Hate the Holidays
Since getting married, my Garm and I have gone through many life changes. We've combined bank accounts and laundry baskets. I've changed names and addresses. Our families have doubled. And we still haven't found an easy solution to the age old question, "what do YOU want to do for dinner?"
Towards the end of October, we drove to Alabama and adopted our new little bundle of joy, Colt. Why Cullman, Alabama, you ask? When we must have passed shelter after shelter of homeless adoptable puppies between home and Alabama and back? Well, for one, how could you say no to this face?
He also met the very strict requirements we had for adopting a dog. We wanted another beagle/blue tick cross. We wanted a boy. We wanted a tri-color. We preferred a younger dog (puppy was a bonus). And this little bundle of joy fit the bill! (Thank you petfinder.com for helping me find two wonderful animals.) So I made my best sad puppy face and Garm grumbled and agreed. He grumbled a lot more when it turned out they were paving the only 2 lane highway into and out of Cullman. We picked Colt up from the vet where he had just finished having his little balls cut off, and we took a very drowsy puppy home. Wester refused to be in the same room for a couple of days, sitting in a nearby doorway warily keeping an eye on the furry little something we brought home. The cat was indifferent.
Flash forward a couple of months, and you have two exhausted puppy parents. Colt hates HATES being in his kennel, and has from day one. He tends to complain about everything anyway, and you can hear him make the funniest noises as he chews on itchy paws or tails. Our first attempts to kennel him resulted in him howling himself hoarse the first night, which meant that day two was actually rather quiet and pleasant. He hasn't done that again, fortunately or unfortunately.
Since then, every attempt to leave him in his kennel has been a traumatic experience for everyone. I've never met a dog so completely against his kennel. We've tried everything, from comfy blankets to shirts that smell like us, to treats and food. Nothing works. But, he has to be kennel trained, so we invested in ear plugs and hardened our hearts to his pitiful hound dog cries. He's gotten .... better. And we've gotten a lot more practical. No fluffy blankets, moderate amounts of water, and lots and lots of praise. He only gets to eat in his kennel, which means he's perfected the art of chewing and whining at the same time. And every time he's in his kennel for more than four hours at a stretch, he pees like he's never going to pee again.
(we even tried company. Easter did not approve.)
Garm and I have discussed having or not having children. Our current decision is definitely not right now. Reinforcing this decision was the newfound discovery that 1. Eight week old puppies do not sleep through the night; however, 2. Garm sleeps through eight week old puppies; however, 3. I do not sleep through puppies. Well, we agreed to take turns when it came to getting up at 6 am or 7 am or 8am or whenever Colt decided he just COULDN'T stay in his kennel any longer. Of course, I still had to wake up enough on Garm's nights to wake Garm up to take him out. And again, he got marginally better. He'd even go some nights without peeing in his kennel also.
So it was a rainy Saturday morning a week before Christmas, and it was my turn to take Colt out. My shift at work the night before hadn't been the best, and I left late, again. It was about 9 in the morning when I didn't hear him complain that he needed to go out. Oh no. I heard him stand up and start peeing in his crate. I was mostly irate. Sure, it was later in the morning, but I got no warning! I was already cranky about that when we got outside and I realized that it was actually raining. We were going to walk around until he peed in the yard, like he was supposed to. Colt is pretty good about staying close to me in the back yard so I didn't have him on a leash. It helps that at 9 am on rainy Saturdays there aren't many distractions for a puppy off leash.
We were making our way down the hill when my feet slipped on the wet grass and flew out from under me. I heard a pop, and when I landed knew that something had happened in my right ankle. So there I am, lying in the rain, in dog poop, with a horribly painful ankle. My wonderful Garm went from unconscious to at my side at a speed that should be studied by physicists, and several hours and an x-ray later, I had a broken ankle and 3 unexpected weeks off work. Colt, by the way, was very good. I'm not really sure exactly what happened to him right after I fell, but after I was safely inside on the couch, Garm heard him at the front door and let in a scared wet puppy.
Well, there you have it. My life, on pause, during the Christmas holidays. Not because the semester is over, but because my ankle is broken. It was a pretty surreal experience. My mind wouldn't quite grasp the whole broken idea. And the cast is really annoying. I went from being a whole and independent woman, one who had walked the cobbled streets of Europe, hitchhiked around Azerbaijan, learned foreign languages, and mowed the lawn occasionally to a veritable couch potato who couldn't get into or out of the shower without planning, preparation and assistance.
Now, last Christmas I was sick. And I thought I had it pretty rough. I had sinusitis, bronchitis, AND laryngitis all at the same time. All right at Christmas. Talk about a silent night! Last year, Garm got sick also. He spent Christmas day in a daze. Poor guy, he tried so hard to work up the appropriate enthusiasm for the 32" flat screen I got him as a present. And he spent most of our time at his parents' house Christmas day supine on the couch, fighting unconsciousness. We had to forgo the annual trip to Jacksonville and the Garm Family Christmas Extravaganza (tm) so that he could recover. So yeah, last Christmas was a blast.
This Christmas we were both okay, aside from my whole broken leg thing.
This Christmas, we got to participate in all the fun Christmas festivities. Christmas Eve at Grandma Jane's. Christmas morning with ourselves at home. Christmas afternoon at my grandad's was canceled due to a freak snow storm in Georgia (resulting in the first white Christmas in Georgia since 1882) so we did a brief Christmas afternoon at my parents', then Christmas dinner at Garm's folks' house, then home again to recover before Jacksonville. We packed the pain pills, the shower chair, the walker and kept our fingers crossed that nothing would go wrong. And aside from feeling abused from 6 hours in a Ford Focus (not exactly the drive train of a Cadillac) each way, that was delicious. Seriously, my next task will be alerting Southern Living to Granny's cooking prowess.
The day we get home from Jacksonville, I find out that my grandad's Christmas has been rescheduled for the following day, so we pack ourselves back into the Focus and truck ourselves a couple of hours north, where we wait on my chronically delayed and disorganized family to sort itself out. 8 hours later, we get back home to a puppy who seriously has to pee (again, because you know he peed his kennel) and recovery.
What did all this running around do for us? Allowed us to visit family and friends, built up my upper body, and killed my Garm's immune system. That's right, another year, another flu. I am already dreading the 2011 holiday season and the catastrophe that will ensue.
Towards the end of October, we drove to Alabama and adopted our new little bundle of joy, Colt. Why Cullman, Alabama, you ask? When we must have passed shelter after shelter of homeless adoptable puppies between home and Alabama and back? Well, for one, how could you say no to this face?
He also met the very strict requirements we had for adopting a dog. We wanted another beagle/blue tick cross. We wanted a boy. We wanted a tri-color. We preferred a younger dog (puppy was a bonus). And this little bundle of joy fit the bill! (Thank you petfinder.com for helping me find two wonderful animals.) So I made my best sad puppy face and Garm grumbled and agreed. He grumbled a lot more when it turned out they were paving the only 2 lane highway into and out of Cullman. We picked Colt up from the vet where he had just finished having his little balls cut off, and we took a very drowsy puppy home. Wester refused to be in the same room for a couple of days, sitting in a nearby doorway warily keeping an eye on the furry little something we brought home. The cat was indifferent.
Flash forward a couple of months, and you have two exhausted puppy parents. Colt hates HATES being in his kennel, and has from day one. He tends to complain about everything anyway, and you can hear him make the funniest noises as he chews on itchy paws or tails. Our first attempts to kennel him resulted in him howling himself hoarse the first night, which meant that day two was actually rather quiet and pleasant. He hasn't done that again, fortunately or unfortunately.
Since then, every attempt to leave him in his kennel has been a traumatic experience for everyone. I've never met a dog so completely against his kennel. We've tried everything, from comfy blankets to shirts that smell like us, to treats and food. Nothing works. But, he has to be kennel trained, so we invested in ear plugs and hardened our hearts to his pitiful hound dog cries. He's gotten .... better. And we've gotten a lot more practical. No fluffy blankets, moderate amounts of water, and lots and lots of praise. He only gets to eat in his kennel, which means he's perfected the art of chewing and whining at the same time. And every time he's in his kennel for more than four hours at a stretch, he pees like he's never going to pee again.
(we even tried company. Easter did not approve.)Garm and I have discussed having or not having children. Our current decision is definitely not right now. Reinforcing this decision was the newfound discovery that 1. Eight week old puppies do not sleep through the night; however, 2. Garm sleeps through eight week old puppies; however, 3. I do not sleep through puppies. Well, we agreed to take turns when it came to getting up at 6 am or 7 am or 8am or whenever Colt decided he just COULDN'T stay in his kennel any longer. Of course, I still had to wake up enough on Garm's nights to wake Garm up to take him out. And again, he got marginally better. He'd even go some nights without peeing in his kennel also.
So it was a rainy Saturday morning a week before Christmas, and it was my turn to take Colt out. My shift at work the night before hadn't been the best, and I left late, again. It was about 9 in the morning when I didn't hear him complain that he needed to go out. Oh no. I heard him stand up and start peeing in his crate. I was mostly irate. Sure, it was later in the morning, but I got no warning! I was already cranky about that when we got outside and I realized that it was actually raining. We were going to walk around until he peed in the yard, like he was supposed to. Colt is pretty good about staying close to me in the back yard so I didn't have him on a leash. It helps that at 9 am on rainy Saturdays there aren't many distractions for a puppy off leash.
We were making our way down the hill when my feet slipped on the wet grass and flew out from under me. I heard a pop, and when I landed knew that something had happened in my right ankle. So there I am, lying in the rain, in dog poop, with a horribly painful ankle. My wonderful Garm went from unconscious to at my side at a speed that should be studied by physicists, and several hours and an x-ray later, I had a broken ankle and 3 unexpected weeks off work. Colt, by the way, was very good. I'm not really sure exactly what happened to him right after I fell, but after I was safely inside on the couch, Garm heard him at the front door and let in a scared wet puppy.
Well, there you have it. My life, on pause, during the Christmas holidays. Not because the semester is over, but because my ankle is broken. It was a pretty surreal experience. My mind wouldn't quite grasp the whole broken idea. And the cast is really annoying. I went from being a whole and independent woman, one who had walked the cobbled streets of Europe, hitchhiked around Azerbaijan, learned foreign languages, and mowed the lawn occasionally to a veritable couch potato who couldn't get into or out of the shower without planning, preparation and assistance.
Now, last Christmas I was sick. And I thought I had it pretty rough. I had sinusitis, bronchitis, AND laryngitis all at the same time. All right at Christmas. Talk about a silent night! Last year, Garm got sick also. He spent Christmas day in a daze. Poor guy, he tried so hard to work up the appropriate enthusiasm for the 32" flat screen I got him as a present. And he spent most of our time at his parents' house Christmas day supine on the couch, fighting unconsciousness. We had to forgo the annual trip to Jacksonville and the Garm Family Christmas Extravaganza (tm) so that he could recover. So yeah, last Christmas was a blast.
This Christmas we were both okay, aside from my whole broken leg thing.
This Christmas, we got to participate in all the fun Christmas festivities. Christmas Eve at Grandma Jane's. Christmas morning with ourselves at home. Christmas afternoon at my grandad's was canceled due to a freak snow storm in Georgia (resulting in the first white Christmas in Georgia since 1882) so we did a brief Christmas afternoon at my parents', then Christmas dinner at Garm's folks' house, then home again to recover before Jacksonville. We packed the pain pills, the shower chair, the walker and kept our fingers crossed that nothing would go wrong. And aside from feeling abused from 6 hours in a Ford Focus (not exactly the drive train of a Cadillac) each way, that was delicious. Seriously, my next task will be alerting Southern Living to Granny's cooking prowess.
The day we get home from Jacksonville, I find out that my grandad's Christmas has been rescheduled for the following day, so we pack ourselves back into the Focus and truck ourselves a couple of hours north, where we wait on my chronically delayed and disorganized family to sort itself out. 8 hours later, we get back home to a puppy who seriously has to pee (again, because you know he peed his kennel) and recovery.
What did all this running around do for us? Allowed us to visit family and friends, built up my upper body, and killed my Garm's immune system. That's right, another year, another flu. I am already dreading the 2011 holiday season and the catastrophe that will ensue.
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