Where I'm Signing On

Hi, friends and family members, or not-so-familar faces (whoever is reading or has given up since my last post was in the very distant past)!

I probably should have given you a heads-up an entire month ago, but I failed to do so. For the past month I have been signing onto a different blog for Indigo Editing & Publications. I'm writing about writing...grammar, punctuation, writing style, etc, and letting readers know about all sorts of literary events going on in Oregon, and even some over on the east coast. You know, readings, book signings, poetry slams, or workshops. Even if writing's not your thing, check it out! You may not be setting out to write a major novel, but the blog may be helpful to you even if you're just writing an email, or if you're my mother and dread writing a single birthday card.

So, I'll be writing for Seeing Indigo (indigoediting.blogspot.com) through the end of January, and when that part of life reaches its end, I will return to my personal blog. Hope to see you somewhere, around the blogosphere!

Cheap Time-Off

Can it really have been a month and a half since I last posted? That's a crime. And I have no good excuse for it, either. Just pure laziness and a lack of inspiration. That combination unfortunately can go a long way.

So what have I been up to in the past month? Mainly looking for ways to entertain myself on the cheap. Here's a list of the best ways I've found to do so. All completely legal and completely fun...for one person or a group of friends.

- Watch a new show that you never had a chance to follow when you were too busy with life. Renting can get expensive, especially now that Blockbuster is up to about $5 a DVD. There's always Hulu where you can find at least the last 5 episodes of many series. Or, for more complete seasons try Netflix of Blockbuster online. It's all about the free trial! Most last for 2-3 weeks, so just be sure to cancel before they charge you. And if you're quick, you can probably make it through a season or two. I've been spending my time on Ugly Betty...probably the funniest show since Gilmore Girls.

- Library cards are free and so are the books they loan you :D And if you don't get them back on time, you may be charged a fine of 50 cents or more. But no worries because until the fine adds up to oh, say, $10 or more, they don't make you pay it off! So save your petty change and keep on checking out. I've kept a list of the books I've read since school got out and I'm getting close to 30. That's quick reading for me. Everything from Sophie Kinsella (Shopaholic, anyone?) to Jhumpa Lahiri's beautiful short stories about displacement and finding home. I'm rather enjoying finding my own literature, following my own reading path, after four years of reading what I was told to. And though that education opened my eyes, it didn't always match my tastes.

- So to be honest, I don't know what else in life could possibly be free. Coffee and happy hour with friends is the closest I can come, because either a latte or a pepsi is going to be about $3 along with your $5 burger. Window shopping is actually exceptionally dangerous. Especially when you continue to tell yourself that you're buying the article of clothing for a future job interview (that may or may not be fruitful). Movies at the theater can add up.

-Except for one more thing...finding myself? Ok, that sounds awfully corny. But seriously, I've spent a lot of time with myself, my thoughts, my worries and fears, considering my hopes for the future and why the present doesn't seem to match up. And I've enjoyed learning more about myself through the process. Terrifying at times, relieving at others. Conversations with friends and family members are a priceless activity that bring with them many lessons and much-needed encouragement. Reading, watching a television show, listening to a song with truthful lyrics, these are all forms of art (in my opinion) that have led me back to the one thing that shows me the actual Truth about my life.

What I'm saying is that it's extremely easy to lose sight of yourself, of who created you, and what your purpose is, when life doesn't seem to add up. When you're too poor to add up anything! When your life compares poorly to others and doesn't seem fair and seems tragically unimportant. And when you forget that life is about the downs just as much as it is about the ups. Time is a funny thing. We certainly shouldn't waste time, but if we understand the important lessons that can be learned even during our "time off," we may be better off in the end.

Thank You, Julia

Rarely do I watch a movie more than once, unless a movie came out in 2004 and is being replayed on a lonely Saturday night, when there's nothing else to watch and I forgot what happened in the movie so it's brand new all over again :D Or...if the movie is REALLY GOOD. In which case, I may just see it more than once in the theater. Julie and Julia is the most recent movie I admit to seeing as a double feature. Well, a week or so passed between my viewings, and it was just as enjoyable the second time.

Part of the draw to this movie is the food, of course. I'm an eater, for sure. I love food! Maybe not quite in the same way that Julia Child or Julie Powell loved food, but I do enjoy food. Sometimes, on a slower day, I find myself living from meal to meal: hmm, what will I eat for lunch, or and what's for dinner, and uh oh is there anything for dessert in the house? So sitting in the theater for 2 straight hours, seeing the chocolate and almond cake, seeing the raspberry bavarian cream, seeing the bruschetta, even seeing the boned duck...it made me hungry! And it made me want to cook; I doubt I'm the only one watching the show who felt that way, though :D

Julie & Julia is an inspiring movie...an inspiration that really anyone can cook! After all, Julia Child wrote her cookbook so that anyone could follow the recipes and cook like the French do. Sure, some of the recipes are probably more challenging than others. But all you have to do is try, have no fear, confront the duck! Well, that's what Julie said at least.

Ironically enough, after watching the movie for the second time, I was confronted by an evening alone and a growling stomach at 5:30 p.m. When living on my own at school I was never terribly motivated to cook more than a quesadilla or a tuna melt, unless I had the help of my roommates. That was when I had no knowledge of Julia Child or Julie Powell! So I rummaged through the cupboards and the fridge and freezer, and located some important ingredients and I came up with a rather gourmet meal: Smothered Angus Beef with Jasmine Rice. Oh and of course, German Chocolate Cake for dessert.

Now please don't feel intimidated by any of this :D It's quite doable, really. Not everyone has premium steaks in their freezer, I certainly didn't, so I went with the very user-friendly Angus Beef burger patties from the frozen section of Costco. (So much better than those other grizzle-garbage patties they sell in a stack of 30 or something, yuck). 5 minutes on each side and you're good to go. The smothered part? Well if you're familiar with The Village Inn (like I am from many trips there with my grandparents), you'll know that when they say "smothered" they mean "with cheese." Tillamook, of course. Now for the jasmine rice. I was lucky enough to find a miniature packet of Mahatma rice in the cupboard. I won this single serving as a prize at the Bite of Oregon about a month ago; by spinning a wheel and landing on a particle slice, I was the lucky recipient of a personal pot of jasmine rice. Just add water, of course. And a slab of butter before eating. And as for the german chocolate cake. Come on, no one makes it from scratch. It was a late-birthday cake. I did choose to eat it cold because that's the best way to eat cake. And all of this with a glass of milk. My mother taught me well (and now it's a craving).

Sorry to disappoint. Not even the inspiration of Julia Child can bring out the real gourmet cook in me on such short notice. However, with a little preparation and a trip to the grocery store, I am now planning several meals that I will conquer. Maybe not lobster or those meat-gelatin-molds. But chicken crepes tonight...and beef bourguignon tomorrow :D

(And if Julia Child's recipes look a little complicated, here's some great sites I like: google "Mennonite Girls Can Cook" and "The Pioneer Woman" for some yummy recipes.)

Beware of the Bees

I thought that only 8-year-olds got bee stings. Like it was a rite-of-passage for adults to not have to worry about the little buzzing buggers anymore. I was dead wrong. In the past 16 months, I have been stung twice. Both time, on the foot. And I'm embarrassed about it, considering it seems like such a kiddie thing to have happen; apparently I'm not strong enough to defend myself against one of God's tiniest creatures. On the other hand, as much as it angers me, I suppose it is the bee's purpose to find unsuspecting feet like mine to dive into, latch on, and inject its poison through a small but serious poke. Yet, there is advice, isn't there, about how to avoid bee stings? If you don't bother the bee, then it won't bother you. It can "smell" fear so remain calm. The bee has it's job and you have yours, so just be careful not to cross each other.

So, how do I continue to be a victim? Well, I suppose it's my fault because I keep stepping on the bee. Maybe I should be apologizing for stomping all over him/her. The first of my two foot-stings was while I was happily prancing along the beach at Cinque Terre in Italy. After a long, exhausting, rather sweaty hike with my group of friends, I was relieved by the cooling waters of the Mediterranean. Unfortunately I hadn't brought along a pair of flip-flops on this day trip but figured I'd be okay walking down to the water (after all, I do this on the Oregon coast). But walking towards the water, and finding it rather cold, I turned back after a brief photo-op, and trapped an unsuspecting bee under my right 4th toe. I squished him about halfway to his death, but he stabbed me before I had enough reason to release him from the grip of my toes.

In this case, it had been about ten years since I'd had a bee sting of any kind, so I was a little unaware of the implications. I simply washed it off in the cold water to take the sting away, and stuck it back in my shoe. I was surprised at the aching, stinging sensation that continued, so I examined it further and did some make-shift surgery in the sand, squeezing the toe. Though the stinger came out, bees clearly leave enough poisonous residue to last about a week. Over the next several days I noticed swelling, itching, burning, and way more swelling. And of course I was in Europe, traveling with a suitcase that didn't contain any of the necessary home remedies or over-the-counter products to relieve the pain of a bee sting. I bummed band-aids off my travel mates and wrapped the toe so that it was small enough to fit in my shoe. But eventually I realized that this toe was only going to get more infected if it wasn't treated properly. Luckily, Italy isn't foreign to "Apothecaries" and some friends joined me in Venice to search out some generic form of Benadryl cream. One friend, studying pre-med, convinced me she had found the equivalent, but we decided to double-check this with the pharmacist on duty. We imitated a buzzing bee, did hand motions to signal a sting, and pointed to the product. He didn't understand. He pulled out an English-Italian dictionary, I found the word bee, and he laughed. "No, no" he said, "Thees izz for, ugh, thee" and then he pointed to his rear-end. Oh, sure, hemorrhoid cream. He walked over to the shelf and pulled out another product. Your basic hydrocortisone cream, and I quietly paid him and thanked him, and left the store. I guess a bee sting is better than the other possible ailments.

The rest of the trip I was squeezing cream onto my toe and popping benadryl tablets before bedtime. My poor roommate would always be in the middle of a conversation with me before bedtime when she would find me conked out with my bandaged, creamed toe in the air. Others were a little grossed out by constant hand-to-foot treatments and accused me of not washing my hands often enough. Had I been at home, I would have been a little more careful, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

By the time I returned home from Europe, the sting was much improved, the swelling had gone way down, and there was almost no sign of the bee's entrance into my toe, except for a few pictures of my cortisone-cream application. However, three days ago, when another bee found itself underneath my left foot, I knew immediately what had taken place. Somehow, he found his way into my shoe this time, I stepped down and thought it was a twig, so I lifted my foot out to shake it free, and that's when the bee and I came face to face. He was hanging from my foot, and I shook him and shook him and he continued to hang on for dear life, to give me all the poison that was possible. Dreadful thing. I stumbled across the grass and vowed to do it the right way this time. Tweezers, baking soda, benadryl cream...check. And yet even with the correct procedures and medications, three days later, my foot is still slightly swollen and rashy, and at night when I'm half-asleep and reach down to itch it, oh how it burns.

Beware of the bees. They mean business.

Ooh a Facial!

So did you notice that By Martha Grace got a little face-lift? (Go ahead, "ooh" and "ahh" and say how darling she looks!) And she’s just a couple months old with only the stress of ten or so posts under her belt. But change is always a good thing. In fact, I found another blogspot user (with the help of my blog-friendly mother) called “Cutest Blog on the Block” and snagged a new background that’s a little more colorful, a little more snazzy, a little more me! Considering it was so easy to change up the background as well, I may change it up multiple times before you even get back to read!

After all, it’s a lot easier (and less damaging) than a real-life face-lift. The closest I’ve come to one of those is a facial, but it may be better to call it a pore-clogger. Though I was with a good friend during my facial and definitely sent into major relax mode, with the facial itself I was not too impressed. At first, it felt soothing to have cooling lotions and minor scrubs spread across my skin; by the third round of this though, without ever wiping my skin clean, I started to wonder how much was accumulating under the surface. When my “facialist” finally cleaned off my face, she turned on a bright light, slapped a cool strip over both my eyelids, and brought out some pokey tool that started pricking around my face. After much consideration, I realized she was in fact seeking out the blemished spots of my face with her tool, digging under the surface with much determination; and I was always told that “popping your pimples” was bad for your skin! Perhaps this facialist knew something that all the other skin experts didn’t? Nope, probably not. After the poking she went back to plastering my face with thick creams and blowing steam right up my nose so that whatever she had smeared could seep in even farther. Then she left me alone for about 15 minutes to “mask.” I started getting irritated because it felt like she had been gone forever; I couldn’t move because my hands and feet were stuck inside heavy plastic warming-mittens, or something like that. Finally, when she returned, my brand new face was revealed. It felt a little smoother to the touch, but those blemished areas she had only irritated into further splotchiness.

So then I received a call from a Mary Kay lady this past week; two times actually but both times I allowed her to leave me a voicemail. She wanted to send me a complimentary pampering package. I’m sure most women would be thrilled at this opportunity, but all I could consider was that the last time I had been pampered, it took me three weeks to get my skin back to normal. Thus, the results weren’t worth the experience, and parts of the experience weren’t particularly comfortable anyway. From now on, I will save my facials/face-lift experiences for the blog.

Update on Phoebe (because I know you're dying to hear :D)

Today I accompanied my dad and Phoebe to the veterinary opthamologist; yes, there are specialty eye doctors for poodles (and other animals, I suppose). I was hoping for some great answer to all of Phoebe’s health problems. Perhaps a declaration that she wasn’t going blind after all and maybe she was just constipated or moody. This was not the case but I did make some very interesting discoveries while there still.

First of all, a veterinary eye doctor’s office is not all that different from the office you and I may visit. There is a waiting room and little patient rooms with examination tables and eye drops and machines. However, they have linoleum floors for…accidents…and also there are no eye charts on the walls. Go figure. Even the smartest of dogs won’t be covering her eye with her paw and reciting letters anytime soon. Another difference I noticed. Most people who go to the eye doctor also don’t have to be muzzled so that they don’t snap at the doctor who is poking and prodding at their eyeball. Although I wouldn’t blame any poor soul for growling a little bit when being bothered by the bright lights and odd instruments.

So, now for Phoebe’s prognosis. The word “blind” was never used in reference to Phoebe though her cataracts were referred to quite often as being problematic and no doubt uncomfortable. As I stated before, Phoebe’s glassy black little eyeballs were examined quite closely and she was muzzled. Apparently ever since her first visit to the eye doctor, a few years ago, she has gained the reputation of needing her mouth clamped shut. They are all terrified of her ferocious face; and who wouldn’t be scared by all that cashmere-like fur? Upon finding that the pressure in her eyes was fine but the cataracts were clearly a problem, the vet began talking surgery. Without much explanation on the nature or implications of this surgery (or other important matters, such as the cost), we were warned that Phoebe wasn’t perhaps the best candidate for cataract surgery. Not due to her age or overall health or the necessity of the surgery. Because of her temperament. I repeat, as the doctor said, “Phoebe isn’t the best candidate for cataract surgery because of her temperament” and then she made a couple jokes about making sure everyone’s fingers were intact after surgery and during post-care. In other words, they don’t like my poodle’s personality! Highly offensive. But I have a feeling that people don’t like Phoebe for very similar reasons that they feel confused about how much they like me and my parents and maybe even my sister. I feel bad that we brought this poor little creature into our family of bad personalities.

Maybe the entire vet staff is more keen on the temperament of the other animals around the clinic. Like the hound who is howling two doors down. Or the cat in the cardboard box with renal failure. (Okay that one I feel bad about because the owner was crying and it made me thankful that Phoebe was just blind and not much worse.) There was another dog laying in its bed in the waiting room just before we were called back. In the examination room I said to my dad, “Did you see that dog out there in its bed; it sure didn’t look well.” My dad asked, “What looked wrong with it?” And I said, “It just looked weak and sickly” and he replied, “Oh no, it was just a Chihuahua.” Good one. Wait a second, is this the disagreeable temperament people are talking about? Because Phoebe definitely barked at the sick Chihuahua when it first walked…er, was carried in on its deathbed. Poor animals; I really do feel for all the owners of sick pets because it’s not always easy to deal.

The final concern about Phoebe was that she may have diabetes; our first clue into this is her incessant water drinking and panting thereafter. So they wanted to do a blood work explaining it would be easy to tell immediately if that was her problem. Well, Phoebe’s health is apparently never black and white. Her glucose levels were a little high but not irrationally high. Still, they thought it may be a concern to look further into. Thus, it would be really helpful for us to catch a urine sample. I repeat those exact words from the doctor’s mouth: “Try to catch a urine sample.” I wanted to ask if there was a specific procedure for this task. I’ll probably leave that up to the poodle’s master.

Anyway, it became quite clear that the veterinarian had a complex about how much Phoebe’s temperament affected their relationship. The final time she entered the room she commented on the fact that Phoebe was avoiding eye contact with her. I wanted to yell, “That’s because she is blind now!” But I figured this was politically incorrect or something, considering the B-word hadn’t been used a single time in the examination room, and the woman in the room with the Dr. on her badge made a very distasteful joke about my dog’s temperament/eyesight.

Dog clinics are clearly quite the hang-out. Phoebe was panting pretty hard the whole time we were waiting; she stopped only when she heard the bark of another dog or the clink of a chain-leash on the floor outside our room. But she was given a treat before we departed and once back in the car, she settled again very calmly into the crook of my arm for the drive home. In the meantime, send up a prayer for my precious-crazy-little-idiot-dog and her cataracts and blindness or possible diabetes and obvious bad personality.

Our Sister Phoebe

I am a HUGE dog lover. My dog is (one of) my best friends for sure :D My favorite thing about the beach is the dogs; the best television commercials use dogs; books or movies about dogs make me cry way harder than any other sob story. In my lifetime so far, I have had two dogs as pets. The first was Duncan, a mutt mix of Sheltie and Cocker Spaniel. He was a sheepdog and my earliest memories are of him herding my sister and me from one end of the house to the other. He was a medium-sized dog and had a lot of fur that shed, and smelled rather oily especially in the wintertime. He was part indoor and part outdoor dog…if it was too hot or too cold we brought him inside to sleep. One time Duncan bit me in the arm; I was playing with his tail and so I deserved it. Otherwise he was so friendly; he would open his mouth and pant and I would see him smiling. I cried so hard as a 6 year old when we had to leave him behind for 2 years while we were in Michigan; I remember sitting on the steps outside and making him sit in front of me, crying in his fur and telling him how much I loved and would miss him. And we came back for him! And he was with us another couple of years. But when we moved to a new house, it was too hard to handle and a few months later, he got some strange blood disease and was gone one day when I got home from school. Now that’s a sob story.
So a few years later we got a new dog. TaDa! Enter the new love of my life: Phoebe Byrne, white miniature poodle.

There is no way you can ignore that face or say it ain’t adorable. Her little face with those puffy bangs and soft floppy ears is just too much for me to resist. The black eyes, black nose, black mouth are so distinct against her cream fur. We say to her: oh Phoebe never forgets to put on her black lipstick every morning!

Phoebe has had her fair share of…well, medical problems. Poor thing broke her right hind leg when she was only about 12 weeks old, after jumping off my dad’s lap. It was in a cast for a good long time and when that was off, it turned out she had some hip problems. So she had hip surgery, still just a puppy. Then the eye problems began…some glaucoma and the possibility of cataracts. Her medical bills were way beyond any my sister or me have ever had. The poor poodle takes drops in her eyes multiple times a day.

She is such a joyful dog though and loves to play with her tennis balls and squeaky toys and plastic bones that she gnaws at and shapes into scary pointy dagger-like objects. No joke. She is cuddly sometimes. Just a couple months ago she finally figured out how to jump up on the couch…if there’s food to be had. She is a terrible begger, but what else is a dog to do? She likes to find the sun spots around the house and “tan” her white fur. She has other adorable mannerisms, as all dogs do, that are unique to her. My favorite is when she lays down and drops her head all the way down to the floor; she looks like two or three little piles of snow starting with her head, then her body, and her little tail.

I was away for the weekend but when I came back my parents told me that they were worried she was going blind. She went to the vet and the fears were confirmed: she has cataracts in both eyes and can barely see a thing. I cried and cried when I realized what was happening to my lover poodle. She is 7 years old and like a little old woman now. Poor thing has to sniff her way around the house and has run into chair legs and walls and tripped over shoes on the floor multiple times. It’s so hard to watch because she used to have the run of the house and now depends on us a lot more than she used to. I think it’s freaking her out a little bit, and I can tell she feels insecure about moving from place to place. It mainly takes her longer to find her usual lounging spots; she listens carefully to the sound of our voices calling her, and walks with her nose close to the ground.

Phoebe has a couple spots in the house where she likes to take naps, mostly in corners and behind chairs or under tables. We like to call these her “prayer corners” because she stays there for hours at a time with her eyes closed and her head bowed. And so even though I’ve heard that dogs can handle blindness and learn to depend on their other senses more, I am heading to my own prayer corner (or wherever) to pray that her sight will improve at least a little bit in one of her eyes. Any little bit would help; I want my sprite little dog back, playing with her toys, running up and down the stairs, etc. We named her Phoebe because Romans 16 says, "I commend to you our sister Phoebe...I ask you to receive her in the Lord in a way worthy of the saints and to give her any help she may need from you, for she has been a great help to many people, including me." I know she’s just a dog, but she has become such a part of our family, and we're going to help her, eyesight or not! She is practically our other sister. She is devastatingly cute, her personality fits our family so closely. But for all the times I got mad at her for not wanting to sit on my lap, I now just get excited every time she finds her way back to me.