Category Archives: life

“Our Cubicles, Ourselves” — from The Atlantic

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From The Atlantic, “Our Cubicles, Ourselves” 

This, today, because: “Right now my field must tackle describing a world where falling in love, going to war and filling out tax forms looks the same; it looks like typing.” – Quinn Norton

Separating technology from the very experiences of being human is now impossible, but yet the challenge remains: how do we embrace technology as a means of furthering our productivity without disrupting or displacing the very things about that work and productivity that make us human? Can we connect without losing the connections? and so on.

On the Tendon, Securely

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When I was in the ER a couple of weeks ago, I kept insisting that I couldn’t move my big toe. They assured me I was fine, that the movement would return. As the wound began to heal, I realized that I could not lift my big toe. I could point it, ballet style, and fold my toes under, but I could not bring my big toe up. It was a sad attempt – the other toes would come up nicely, and there would be the sad big toe, not even halfway as high as it should have been.

I babysit for a couple of doctors, so I asked one of them to look at it. As soon as he pointed it out, I kicked myself for not realizing it before. The tendon on my left foot drew a clear, elevated line over the top of my foot when I lifted my toe. There was no such line on my right foot, a clear indication of a severed tendon. No tension, no tendon at work.

He informed me that there are two tendons that cause your toes to come up. I had torn the EHL (extensor hallucis longus) tendon. For non-active older adults, he wouldn’t recommend fixing it, but for someone young and active like myself, there is no need to spent a lifetime without that movement. (I thanked my lucky stars at that moment – I hadn’t been able to put on shoes without having to guide my sad, limp toe into them because it just wouldn’t move.) He made a few calls and surgery was scheduled.

With 6 weeks left of health insurance, and the clock ticking, I went in on Monday. They did a preliminary examination, taking some X-rays and feeling around. I already had a surgery time set aside, so all that was left was the surgery prep. Everyone was fabulous – they all commented on how cold my toes were, which made me laugh. I had a choice between a spinal block or full anesthesia, and since they told me I couldn’t watch the surgery, I chose the full anesthesia. The countdown was quick. The anesthesiologist asked me where I wanted to go, I replied “South Africa,” and was out.

I’m in a giant black boot – they told me to treat it like a cast. I can’t remove it for two weeks. It’s heavy, but I feel secure in it. I’m not to move my big toe yet. After the first follow-up appointment, I’ll be able to manually move my big toe back and forth – with my hands, so as not to engage any of the muscles to prevent any accidental tendon snapping.

Boyfriend took this fantastic picture of me sleeping on the couch my first night home. I’m to keep my foot elevated, so I’ve managed to create a sleeping position that’s semi-comfortable. I assume I have blanket over my face because the light was on and I couldn’t get up to turn it off. Note the hospital socks. Two socks on that foot.

I’m on pain meds. I have my foot elevated most of the time. I was supposed to go back to work today (in the office), but I’m still exhausted. I’m laying on the couch right now, working from home. Getting up to do a few things zaps my energy and increases my discomfort. I can’t drive for a while, so that’s annoying.

Yesterday, I slept most of the day. I had two furry helpers who napped with me. Acorn hung out by my feet, Carlos took advantage of my stomach and chest. I love that they’re starting to tolerate each other a little bit better. They’ll never be best friends, but I love it when they both snuggle with me.

I’ll try to go back to work tomorrow – we’ll see how long I last. Getting up is uncomfortable, so I’ve been avoiding too much movement. I’m ready to have my feet again, but I’m so grateful that it could be fixed.

On the French Toast Attempt, Painfully

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I almost named my cat “Murphy” because in many ways, I am the living embodiment of Murphy’s law. If something is weird, it will most likely happen to me. I’m that guy.

That said, I’m also a huge proponent of a life without shoes (or socks or protective footwear whatsoever).

Since I never spent too much time in the kitchen until recently, my ability to attract danger (danger is clearly the wrong word here) and my lack of shoes never became much of an issue, other than the occasional stubbed toe or tripping over something.

Last Friday morning, I was attempting challah French toast. I had been to the store, procured the necessary ingredients (boyfriend told me that if I bought one more carton of eggs, he’d murder me, since I seem to keep buying eggs that no one will ever eat), and returned to begin my breakfast endeavor.

My mom bought us new knives for Christmas and they’re fantastic. (If you click on the link, you can see the orange bread knife…..) I was using the bread knife to slice my challah, and had moved on to preparing the liquid. I had honey in the microwave to soften, and when I went to open the door, I pushed the bread knife off the counter and onto the floor.

Except it didn’t hit the floor.

I felt it hit my foot and didn’t think anything of it, but my friend Shelby turned around and gasped. I looked down. Blood, blood. Everywhere, blood. I grabbed my foot. More of it. Calmly, I examined the wound. More blood. I grabbed some paper towel to put on it. That failed. “I think I need to go to the ER,” I said, as Shelby grabbed me a bath towel.

Boyfriend was downstairs, and he couldn’t hear my cries for help. (I thought he was ignoring me.) When Shelby went to get him, he came running up. At this point, I was hopping around trying to gather my wallet and keys and stuff. He swept me into his arms and carried me to the car, then drove me the six or so blocks to the nearest hospital.

The ER parking lot was full, as was the parking garage. The paper towels were rubber-banded around my foot, and I had it held as high as I could. “Don’t get blood on the dashboard,” he cautioned. I glared at him. Pssh, I wasn’t about to bleed on the dash.

We found parking two blocks from the ER entrance – in hindsight, he could have pulled into the ambulance driveway or something, but you know what they say about hindsight – and then he swept me back into his arms and hauled me the two blocks to the ER. The police/security guy guarding the desk saw us coming and brought out a wheelchair for me.

“We’ve got another one!” the front desk guy yelled. (Another ER visitor or another bread knife accident victim, I will never know.)

They wheeled me to the back, Shelby and boyfriend sat with me. Boyfriend cracked jokes. I stared at my foot, feeling silly. “You did this to avoid cooking French toast, didn’t you?” he asked. I was not amused, mostly because I had been so set on creating a fantastic breakfast based on a top-rated internet recipe. (Ha, those. The refuge of desperate beginner cooks like myself.)

He held my hand when they numbed it. I cried. I’m pretty tough, but I cried. And then laughed because I was so embarrassed about crying. He later told me he hadn’t expected me to have such a strong grip. I told him he was lucky he still had a hand.

I was concerned about tendon problems, as I couldn’t bend my toes. I wiggled them for the doctor and was rewarded with pain I can’t even explain. Luckily, there was no tendon damage. We could see them! That was pretty cool.

Three stitches later, I was all set to go home. Boyfriend went and got the car, then lifted me into the seat. When we got home, he threw me over his shoulder like a caveman (much to his amusement) and brought me back inside.

I finished the French toast. It wasn’t half bad. Needed powdered sugar.

Four days later, I’m still in pain. The wound is healing nicely, but I still can’t bend my foot or lift my big toe (“the front toe” as I kept trying to explain to the doctor — what the hell is a front toe? And why was I so set on calling it that?). Walking is painful. Moving is painful. I’ve been removed from any work involving standing until at least Friday, so that’s good.

But I’m on the mend and feeling silly. My brother stabbed himself accidentally in November, so it’s now a big joke that we’re not allowed to have any knives in the house. Boyfriend teased that we’ll have to check them out from him now, and that they’ll only be able to be used with direct supervision. My mom suggested plastic cutlery.

Moral of the story: shoes in the kitchen from now on!

 

 

On the Puppy, Anxiously

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There’s something wrong with Acorn.

We knew it the moment we met him. He’s all floppy black puppy, but he’s got sad brown eyes. He sat there on the floor of the house in Mississippi, shaking fearfully, timid but so sweet. We fed him, we bathed him, and he was ours. I knew it instantly. Boyfriend was hesitant, we wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything wrong with him before we took him in. And there wasn’t, mostly.

But there’s something wrong with Acorn. It isn’t physical. Whatever happened to him in the four and a half months before he joined our family left deep scars. We knew it when we met him, that he’d been mistreated. It’s in the way he cowers from an outstretched hand, the way he’s terrified of doors and floors, the way he used to curl himself up into a ball around other dogs. He’s anxious. Boyfriend likes to joke that he takes after his mother (me) in that way.

He’s come a long way in the two months we’ve had him. He’s more confident around other dogs now, he loves to play with them. He’s better with people. He stills shies away from a hand that’s put forth too quickly, but he loves to be loved. He climbs into bed with me at night and sleeps with his head on my legs. He sits on the bathroom mat behind me when I brush my teeth. (He blends in, since the mat is black, so I’ve nearly tripped over him a few times.)

He’s been ours since we fed him. That first night, he lay by the foot of our bed, and he’s been with us every night since. He’s loyal – when I’m outside in the front yard, I don’t have to worry about leashing him since I know he won’t go far. When we’re hiking, boyfriend usually takes the lead, and when Acorn can’t see me anymore, he’ll double back until he sees that I’m behind them, and that I’m okay. Then he’ll run back up to boyfriend.

He’s like any other puppy, eating us out of house and home, chewing on everything he can get his paws on. He’s stubborn – he won’t come in until he’s done playing, and yesterday, leaving the dog park, we had to put him back into the car because he didn’t want to leave.

The car was where we first realized he had deeper fears. The first few days, he wouldn’t jump in or out of the car. When you’d try to take him out, he’d plant his feet as though you removing him was going to be the worst thing. Same for getting in. And doors. And places he’s never been before. And bridges.

He’s hesitant, nervous, afraid. He won’t go in the side door of the house. One day, boyfriend had the back gate open and he got out. Boyfriend found him, a few minutes later, waiting patiently at the front door to be let in.

He’s sweet. He’s loving. He’s learning how to be a dog. But he’s still scared. The other day, boyfriend was lamenting that we ended up with such a wimpy dog, a coward, and that these aren’t ever things he’ll outgrow. Abused dogs, he said, are like that forever. There’s no changing them.  (Boyfriend loves him, don’t get me wrong. He just gets frustrated at the seemingly unending line of nervous anxieties we find and the seemingly illogical explanations for them.)

I disagree. I mean, I don’t think Acorn’s ever going to the most aggressive, alpha male out there, but I do think that we can love a lot of the fear out of him. He used to freak out about the linoleum in our kitchen (I mean, who wouldn’t?). He’d scamper across it like it was burning lava. He wouldn’t eat if his bowl was on it, and if he did, he’d run back to the safety of the living room as soon as he could. But now, if I’m in the kitchen, he’ll sit patiently behind me or lay down on the floor in front of the refrigerator. He’s getting there.

Instead of getting upset with him, I’ve been as patient as possible. At first, I set the bowl just inches onto the linoleum, where he could eat with all paws on the wood floor. And then, I inched it in, so that eventually, he was standing with all fours on the floor, happily chowing down.

He used to be unable to go outside without one of us. Now, I let him out and let him play outside until he signals that he’s ready to come in. He knows we’re coming back for him, that being outside isn’t being abandoned. Sometimes, after I’ve had enough of outside play, he’ll refuse to come in, carrying his rope toy and looking longingly at me. I’ll leave him outside until he comes to stand by the door, his signal that he’s done. He knows I’ll be there to let him in.

Right now, he’s curled on the couch next to me, asleep. Even his dreams are calmer now. He used to yelp and squirm when he slept, nervous little yips. Now, he sleeps more soundly. When he falls asleep, he’s out. He’ll try to fight sleep, his eyes getting lower and lower until finally, they close and he melts into his sleeping position. It’s so sweet. After big hikes, he’s usually asleep before we even leave the parking lot.

He’s got the most adorable face. He’s already learned the word “walk” and when you say it, his ears perk up and he stares at you expectantly. He’s all giant paws and he’s still mastering walking gracefully.

We’re working on reassuring him that he’s safe, that we love him, that when he does something wrong he’ll be punished, but it will be reasonable and consistent. We’re finding out how to adapt to his nervous habits, and how to change the ones that are changeable. We’re exposing him to other dogs, so he’ll have buddies to play with and learn from. We’re letting him be loved by everyone who wants to love him — strangers always comment on what a sweet, adorable dog he is.

I can’t help but think about how whoever it was that hurt him and then left him. I can’t help but think about what a miserable person they must be. I can’t help but be sad for all of the animals that don’t have loving homes. But I look at my two furry sons, both rescued, and I can’t help but feel like the most blessed person on this planet.

Carlos, my FIV+ Chicago street cat, missing a fang and half an ear, who was returned to the shelter by a family. Acorn, my anxious black lab puppy, abandoned in Mississippi. They are my favorites. Carlos is fierce and too aggressive for his own good, but he loves his wet food and to be pet right under his chin, and will hop up onto the bathtub ledge to say hi while you’re taking a bath. He loves to curl up in the crook of your elbow and fall asleep with you. Acorn is sweet and playful, full of energy, who shakes with excitement when you come through the door. He loves ice cream treats and his rope toys, tearing up anything with a squeaker as soon as he can. These guys are part of my family. These guys deserve all of the love. I sometimes wonder if it was just meant to be.

He was such an unexpected blessing. It’s like my brother said, “He’s such a precious little pup.” And he is. He’s our precious little (50 pounds and counting) pup. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

On Love, Simply

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The funny thing about relationships is that they’re never what you think they’re going to be. That’s a good thing.

Relationships are a terrifying prospect. Relationships are, for me, a finely tuned machine, something that only works when so many tiny moving parts click into perfect place. Relationships are the result of effort, careful attention to detail, and compromise.

The beginning stages of a relationship can resemble a series of interviews. You are on your best behavior. You are spontaneous, energetic, upbeat, interesting. You are a carefully packaged product, marketed just so. You find someone whose company you enjoy, and you begin a relationship. There are dates, milestones, so many adorable firsts.

Eventually, after months of careful consideration for the other person, you get comfortable. I don’t really do comfortable. For me, being comfortable is a sign that something really bad is about to happen. Comfortable isn’t a state for the long haul; it’s a transient time from which you’ll someday cull happy memories.

But comfortable is a very real state, and eventually, it must be acknowledged and accepted, because sometimes, comfortable is the very best state, with far more potential for permanence than other sorts of emotions.

Letting someone see your weird is another part of this alignment of relationship longevity. You get past the initial interview process, the fun stuff, the activities, the really “deep” conversations about things, and you’re left with the day-to-day stuff. Day-to-day stuff is far deeper than any sort of philosophical debate.

That’s where everything you think you know about your relationship changes. Somewhere in the comfort zone, when you’ve let down your guard, you stop and realize that you’re in it for real, that this is real. You’ve stopped analyzing every text message for clues about love or chances at a fifth date. You’ve stopped panicking over which outfit to wear out (because you don’t have to wear anything but pajamas to stay at home!). You’ve started somehow syncing up your lives, your routines, your meals.

Eventually, it’s “we” and “us” and errands. (Those aren’t the worst things, after all, despite what we’ve heard. Errands are my favorite part of a relationship. If you can run errands with someone, you can be with someone. It’s that simple.) That mindset is a gradual progression, whereas the actions tend to move as swiftly as they please. (Or is it the other way around?) The feelings of “I love you” come long before they are spoken out loud, hesitantly, anxiously.

The best relationship advice I ever got was from a friend of mine who’s been with his girlfriend for three or so years (which, to me, seems like for-ev-er). He said, “You have to wake up every single day and decide to love that person.” It’s an active, ongoing decision. I love that. An active decision to love someone is so much more than that fairy tale happiness we’ve heard so much about (but very rarely see).

When I told boyfriend this yesterday, he scoffed and told me that he hardly wakes up every day and thinks to himself, “I guess I’ll love Katie today, but I’m only doing this for Acorn.” I laughed, then tried to explain to him that how I love him is constant, present always, just a soft hum of normalcy coupled with that deep-seated sense of need for proximity. “It’s just there,” I said. He knows what I meant.

What it is that draws you to someone isn’t what makes you stay with them, but sometimes the pull is unavoidable and the attraction undeniable. That’s when you finally have to accept that there’s something more there, that the questions and the expectations of how you thought you’d fall in love must be thrown to the wind (a pinch of caution should go, too, even though that’s terrible advice). It’s a weird journey. Sometimes it happens overnight but sometimes it takes forever to fall into place.

I don’t know where it comes from, but I have this internal fear about relationships ending. Maybe everyone does. Maybe that’s a universal fear. Maybe every relationship will end. Columnist Dan Savage once said something about how you date people, you break up with people, you repeat the cycle over and over, until finally, you start dating someone and you never break up. That’s slightly comforting.

Over the past month or so, I’ve been evaluating my relationship, removing myself from the bubble of “us” for assessment (something I’ve also tried to quit doing so much). We’re seven months in (this time), and other than the occasional little bump, we’re doing quite well. When we started dating again this summer, I was determined not to engage in the panic that goes with new relationships (or the resumption of an existing relationship). But I did, a little. The over-analyzing, the careful consideration.

But here we are, months later. I am comfortable now. It caught me off-guard. I didn’t really see it coming. I don’t know what I was imagining when I started, and perhaps not having any sort of idealistic outcome in mind is the best thing. It’s not all magical, twinkling lights and rose petals and candles, but it’s real. I like that. This is the real. I like it.

I have loved him for a very long time. I realized it this spring. During our first fight, almost six months into dating, I spat out, “I almost told you I loved you last night.” I had been holding onto it for so long, I knew it was only a matter of time before it came rushing out.

When he finally told me, he said, “I was waiting for the perfect time to tell you, but now I realize there was no more perfect time than when we were in the oak bottom with the leaves falling around us. I love you. I love you. I love you.” And I knew he meant it. Now, every time he tells me he loves me, I imagine the day we spent the morning on a hill in the forest in Mississippi, not hunting, but just watching the leaves fall down around us. It was magical.

Life is that weird journey where you have to let go sometimes and hope for the best, or at the very least, a great adventure. Love is, for me, the very best adventure.

On Pushing, Newly

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I usually choose a word to live by each year. That word becomes a sort of meditation for me throughout the year, the goal being to incorporate that word’s meaning into my life so much so that it becomes a part of me. That rumination has served me well.

A couple of years ago, I chose “gratitude” and found that to be a very fulfilling challenge for the year. I worked on being better about thank-you notes, appreciating everything I have – friendships, family, relationships, and so on, and on loving the tiny moments that often go overlooked in the chaos of every day life.

Last year, my word was most likely not “survival” at the outset, but unconsciously, that’s what it became. I have heard so many people talk about how 2013 was not a year they’d like to repeat, and I have to agree. 2013 was the worst year of my life. I can say that with absolute certainty. I have never been so close to the edge of despair as I was for much of the year. I have never felt the depths of darkness licking up closer to my heart. I have never wanted so badly not to be alive.

And yet, the light could not be extinguished. “This too shall pass” did come to pass, and time began to wrap me in its healing, consistent progression and I did survive. It sounds melodramatic, but I’m not joking or stretching the truth. I hated to admit it to myself at the time, but looking back, I’m surprised at how low the lowest points were. There were more tears shed in 2013 than I imagined possible, more desperate, hopeless nights than I believed possible, and too many days where getting out of bed was almost more than I could bear.

There is no stopping the light, though. I remember the day when I woke up and said to myself, I will not let this beat me, and I didn’t. I still think about it sometimes. It catches me off-guard at moments when I least expect it. It stops my heart for just a beat, and then I start to breathe again, remembering that I am whole. I am safe. I am away. Distance. Time. Progress. All of those march forward. And so I go, too.

I am not where I thought I’d be.

I think that’s how much of life goes, though. The unexpected has a way of stripping everything unnecessary and bringing to focus the important things, the things you lose sight of so easily. In losing everything, I almost lost myself, but I also found more than I expected.

2014 is a new year. I’m not one to make resolutions, really. But this year, I’m determined to do so much more than survive. My word this year is “push” – yeah, like that. I’m going to do more and be more – getting back on the track that I was on before the unfortunate derailment. I think that was the most frustrating thing, losing the progress that I’d worked so hard to make for myself.

I’m going to push myself – I want to figure out what I want to do with my life, or at least the next few years. I want to think about grad school, about a job that will be fulfilling but also financially worthwhile. I want to work harder to be better – the working out at the gym business, the eating healthy, the organization. All of those areas are areas in which I’m already quite fantastic, but could stand to improve. (If you know me, you’re laughing now because I am anything but fantastic at organization and eating healthy. My therapist often expresses concern that my diet consists mostly of chili cheese dogs and uh, chili cheese dogs.)

I’m going to figure out a better plan. I want to grow professionally (oh dear god, more than anything I want that), personally, and as a human being – I want to spread more kindness into this world. I want to strengthen my relationships, with boyfriend, with my friends, with my family. I want to make more time to play. I want to push myself to calm the fuck down already and learn how to relax. I want to work harder and play harder.

2013 is dead and gone. It will always be a part of my life story, but 2014 offers the chance for a fresh start and a new perspective. I’m thrilled. It’s not a new beginning, but it’s something better: it’s the chance to continue living the life that I’ve always wanted. This year, I don’t have to let the uncontrollable guide me. This year, I am in control. This year is going to be a fantastic year, I can feel it.

On the Puppy, Who’s Growing Quickly

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When we bought Acorn’s collar, we bought an extra-large. It was too big, so boyfriend’s grandfather cut an extra hole. Two days back into Colorado, we had already loosened the collar to the next hole. And now, we’ve loosened it again. Man, they grow so fast.

It’s a good thing the collar is orange, or sometimes I think we’d sit on him when he’s nestled into our black leather couch. He blends right in, and when he falls asleep, sometimes he sleeps so deeply that your presence doesn’t even wake him.

There are currently two dogs in my living room, lounging on the couch. The boxer-lab mix, Lily, is eight; she’s into naps and comfortable places. She doesn’t belong to us, but we’re babysitting her for the week. She and Carlos have a very antagonistic relationship, so Carlos has been taking over the basement while Lily gets the living room. (Lily will sneak away when she thinks no one is looking in search of the cat — she ate his entire food bowl one day before we got to her. Carlos, for his part, will sit and wait for her and swat at her as soon as she’s close. Acorn knows to avoid Carlos, and the two of them seem to be okay together, as long as Acorn doesn’t get too close for Carlos’s comfort.)

Acorn is happily chewing on his new rope toy; we’re halfway to perfecting fetch. He’s still all puppy, floppy and sweet, into chewing on everything and playing, hesitantly. He’ll run into the backyard and romp for a while, but every so often, he looks back to make sure you’re there.

I bought the rope toy yesterday, thinking we needed something besides deer antlers and the squeaky hedgehog (with camouflage fabric on his belly, hah) for him to play with. The rope toy immediately became a hit – I threw it into the backyard and he ran after it, bringing it mostly back to me before dropping it and running to me to get love. I threw it again, and he brought it back to me. He loves it. Last night, he was playing with it all by himself, tossing it into the air, swinging it back and forth. I’ll have to take video; it’s so adorable I can hardly stand it.

We had people over to celebrate boyfriend’s birthday last night and everyone fell in love with Acorn. He’s the happiest puppy, they said, and so well-behaved. It’s been funny to watch him follow Lily’s lead all over the backyard – wherever she goes, he follows, and she’s been teaching him how to play, fierce wrestling and running. We laugh because now she’s bigger than him, and far more dominant, so she seems to have the upper hand, but one day (sooner rather than later), he’ll be bigger than her. I think she’ll make a good mentor, minus her penchant for begging, which we’re trying to avoid passing on to Acorn.

I’m enjoying this time, but trying to give Carlos enough love so that he doesn’t feel left out and so that he doesn’t start to resent the puppy for needing so much attention. I’ve been enjoying having all of us here at the house – brother and boyfriend were heading to the gym as I got home from an errand this afternoon. It’s a nice feeling to come home to a happy house, full of my family.

On the Puppy, Delightedly

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I’m going to need more than one post to discuss the Thanksgiving trip to Mississippi, but I’m going to start with the most important part: the puppy.

Boyfriend loves dogs and has been wanting one for a while. He wanted a chocolate lab. (So does my brother.) I always object. I have nothing against chocolate labs, but why have a chocolate one when you could have a black one? Or a yellow one?

We spent the last week or so at his grandparent’s hunting getaway in Mississippi, which is a few miles outside of a tiny town. One of the neighbors came by one night to ask if we’d lost a black lab puppy, which we hadn’t. I was curious though, and kept saying that we should check on the puppy to see if he’d been claimed. (I was mostly joking, but hey, wishful thinking isn’t the worst thing.)

A couple of days later, we were prepping for a bonfire when a different man came by with the same puppy and said that he’d found him running along the road and wanted to know if we’d like to have him. (He must have had some sense that we were in the market for a puppy. I’ll just assume that he was pulled in by our radiating need for puppy love, like a magnet or a force field.) Boyfriend was the one who talked to him, and then he yelled my name as he carried an armful of black something into the house.

I opened the door and there was the black something, tail wagging and sniffing around. My heart stopped for a second – a puppy! We leapt into action and lured him into the bathtub with a piece of deer steak and then boyfriend held him while I began the soaping process – yuck. So much dirt! Poor puppy just rested his head on the edge of the tub and gave us sad eyes while the water went from clear to muddy brown. Boyfriend joked that he was doing the “Carlos submission” because when the cat gets a shower he just sits there and waits it out with the most pathetic look possible.

The puppy stayed the night in our room on a blanket folded by the side of the bed. He’s house-trained and very well-behaved, minus his chewing problem. He left the room in the middle of the night and returned with my hiking boot. When I took that away from him, he returned with a slipper, so boyfriend put all shoes outside the door and closed it. Throughout the next few days, he’d run into the grandparents room to steal slippers and bring them back to his place in our room to munch on them.

I couldn’t stop smiling. He’s the sweetest thing. Boyfriend wasn’t about to let himself get so excited so soon; he wanted to wait until we figured out if we were going to keep him. (I knew we were. Boyfriend’s eyes did that shiny-gleaming-love-at-first-sight look when he watched the puppy and I knew there was no way we’d be leaving him.)

After the first night, we knew we were going to keep him. We had some work to do with the land his grandpa owns for hunting, so we took the puppy with us. He followed us around constantly, running back and forth between us, sleeping on a pile of coats in the car when we were traveling. We bought him some puppy chow and a toy, plus a leash and collar so he’ll look like a proper dog with a family.

We decided to name him Acorn (pronounced “A-kern”). We took him to the vet as soon as we got back to Denver for his puppy shots and a general wellness check. He’s about four months old and he weighs almost 37 pounds. He’s got the biggest puppy feet I’ve ever seen. The vet looked at him and said, “My, you’ve got a long way to grow!”

I’m in love.

The cat hates him, but is possibly realizing that since he’s not going to attack him, the puppy might be all right after all. Fingers crossed. We’ve been closing my bedroom door at night to separate them, but there haven’t been any daytime attacks yet, so I’m feeling optimistic. I don’t think Acorn’s ever seen a cat before, so that helps.

I’m also absolutely exhausted from the drive back and am running on very little sleep – this puppy mothering business is rough. If it’s not chewing on shoes, it’s toilet paper, or mail, or clothes, or…..

So now it’s off to work for me. I’ll post more Mississippi stories soon!

On Cakes, Frostedly

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I was always fascinated by the way our cake decorator made cakes. Everything she touched turned into magic.

When I started writing on cakes, they looked terrible, like an elementary school kid scribbling with gel. I practiced. I’ve got it down now, perfect cursive and a quirky print that I love.

Lately, I’ve been doing a lot more of the cake decorating at work. It’s nice. It can be stressful when there are special orders due – that’s when someone has an idea about how they want the cake to look. Sometimes, their vision is far different from what they request. Sometimes, it’s difficult with a lot of tracing or attempting to mold frosting a certain way. Sometimes, they’re thrilled by the results. I find that when they give us more room to play, they get a more fun, more creative cake.

One of our regulars laughs because when I decorate cakes, I end up covered in everything. She told me that she knew I was really into what I was doing the day she came and I had frosting everywhere from the tip of my nose to my knees. I’m not the most coordinated person in the world, so I think it may be more that than dedication, but hey, I’ll take it.

This cake is by far my favorite. I was bored at work one day and had some time to play, so I printed out an outline and went nuts. The result was fantastic. The people who purchased the cake were thrilled by it and told me how excited they were to have found it.

Tonight, I did it again. I used a purple that I’m not terribly pleased with, but considering the color limitations, I’m excited. I hope whoever buys it loves it as much as I do.

van gogh, starry night, cake,