An Angel Year Round

As I was putting the Christmas ornaments on the tree this year, I was reminded (again) of one of my mother's friends who made paper angels and had given me one each year for a number of years. She did not have a lot of money, but was one of the most generous people I have ever known: generous with her time, her wisdom, and her talents. She had not had what most people would call a successful life through no fault of her own. Not having a lot of material things, she did not complain or gossip or say anything negative about anyone. If she had unkind things to say, I never heard them.  
She was a mentor of sorts for Mom, and Mom loved her. I loved her.  My kids loved her.  
When she walked into a room, she was all smiles and compliments, and they were genuine.  She found something good about everybody and even wrote a small book about the folks in our small town, citing what was worth noting for each person. As I get older, I realize what a gift that was. She was able to find the good stuff in people, even when their bad stuff showed.

She would pop in at my mom's house unannounced, and it was always with a handmade gift.  But what stood out to me was her spirit. She had a wonderful laugh and used it quite often. Her eyes sparkled as she and my mother would discuss Biblical scripture and how they could apply it to their lives. She exuded joy and faith and she lived it.

When I divorced decades later, she wrote me the most beautiful letter. She had a way of suggesting how to negotiate through life without being preachy. I listened to her because she was experienced in living life and taking the negatives on the chin. Her message was forgiveness and eventual joy in finding it.  

I think she wanted everyone to experience the love and joy and kindness you can have in your heart--your soul, if you make the decision to do so.  I think that was her secret--she chose finding the positive and the wonderful in people and it seemed effortless to me.  

I wonder if you have an angel right now or in your past that made a difference in your life. I am grateful for mine, and one of her gifts to me sits atop my tree in a well deserved place. 

On the Road with Scout

Our dog, Scout is not a good traveler.  With some encouragement, he will go with us, but he is not the kind of dog who will excitedly jump in when I open the car door. When he sees us packing, he hops onto our love seat in the corner of the living room and watches us drag suitcases down stairs and across the kitchen floor. His stare is glazed over: the " please tell me this isn't happening"  kind of look. We always pack his stuff last and that's when he knows for sure he can't escape the trip. His gaze turns into hiding his snout under his front paws when Clark approaches him with the leash. For a second, he hopes the leash's purpose is for a walk, but he knows better.  

When Scout was a puppy, he threw up every single time we drove him to the vet for his series of shots. I thought all dogs loved to go for rides, so I was completely surprised when the vet told us that occasionally, dogs get car sick. He added, " Some dogs exhibit stress when they are confined to a moving vehicle and their fear leads to vomiting. Some outgrow it and some do not." 

" Great," I thought. My mental picture of Scout sniffing wildflowers and hiking switchbacks with us in Colorado and cavorting in the waves of the Gulf of Mexico was beginning to change. I hated giving up on the idea that Scout could be our companion everywhere we went with just the occasional boarding experience. We rescued him in order to be with him and to enjoy him. I thought that included taking him with us on road trips. 

 The "doggie camp" people try to make you think that your dog is fine being confined to a cage, a concrete floor, and artificial turf.  You are given many options as to the kind of experience you want your dog to have while he is in jail. Does he prefer classical music or current hits? Would he enjoy a large screen with DogTV?  Does he prefer playtime or alone time?  How often does he want time outside? I have tried to stay within a normal range of extras because I don't think Scout cares if he listens to Beethoven or Taylor Swift, so whatever they are playing on their Apple Music or Spotify is fine with me. And he would only be interested in a TV show that pictured squirrels or cats 24/7 and that would not be soothing for him or anybody else within barking range. But he does care about how much time he gets outside with other dogs and humans, so I pay extra for that. 

When we left Scout at the last boarding kennel, we were given a web address so that we could watch him interact with the other dogs and the attendant --just like parents of kids at summer camp. I got online at the appointed time to observe Scout come into the large playroom with other dogs his size. I didn't like what I saw. 

 Scout was at the human's feet, looking up to make eye contact, patiently waiting to be lifted into her arms for an ear scratch or a tummy rub. He quietly followed her around while she offered her love and attention to other dogs by picking them up one at a time.  He continued to be available to her, skipping the chance to play with the other dogs. She never ever chose him, even though miles away I was wailing at her, thinking she could feel my vibe through the air.

 "Pick him, pick him!" I screamed at the screen to no avail. And then the pack left to go in the back for rest time. As I watched Scout trot through the door with his ears down and his tail limp, I just couldn't understand why he was not worthy of a quick show of affection. He was very well behaved and deserved a pat or two, but the attendant continued to overlook him for the more delicate and deluxe varieties. That was exactly why I wanted Scout to skip the dog facilities. Nobody was going to love on Scout like we do, plus it cost an arm and a leg for him to hang out there for a week. 

We take Scout on the three hour trip to Houston every time we go which is quite often. Annie, the Golden Retriever, who belongs to my daughter and her family, lives there. Scout adores her and he knows when we turn into her neighborhood that she is waiting at the other end. Three hours to get to Annie is worth the ride. 

He also goes to Oxford, Mississippi with us where we have a small cottage out from town that we rent for football games and Ole Miss/Oxford events. But the twelve hours to get to Mississippi is a long day. We have tried a dog seat belt in his bed in the back seat, but he is so miserable that he chokes himself trying to get to the front seat where we are- and throwing up is always on the horizon. Scout doesn't seem as nervous and unhappy if he is in front with us. We have tried other tactics but the tried and true no vomit method is lap riding. There is less panting and more sleeping. 

 And yes, I know, it is not safe for him to be loose in the car. But I am old enough to remember that as kids, we were unrestricted during trips, and when I got car sick, riding shotgun was the feather in my nauseated cap. Scout and I have both graduated from the dramamine tablets, but we are still marginal when it comes to moving in any vehicle for long periods of time. Even if I am covered in collie fur and nose drips when we arrive at our destination, we travel together in the front. So when he hesitates when jumping into the car, I get it. Scout and I like what we experience once we get where we are going, but the getting there is another thing.  

 * Update: We have convinced Scout that he's safer in a harness and seatbelt. 

Yard Fight

It has been my experience that when we have moved into a new house with an old yard, there is always something that makes me question the prior owners' choices of landscaping.  Like why did you cram a crepe myrtle next to the house so that I am constantly trimming it off the roof or why did you plant a bay leaf magnolia over the back patio so that leaves are so thick in the fall they are ankle deep? Or why in the name of all that is good and decent did you let hundreds and I do mean hundreds (I had trapped over 200 by the time we left) of voles move into every available plant root system in the yard?  These are the things that I faced in Memphis that I resented every season when I had to "clean up" a mess that I didn't make. I can't even begin to tell you about the pond that was beautiful for the first two weeks in Spring with the cute little frogs croaking....until it was a pool of green slime that I could have marketed to kids who love to make the stuff.  I know we all have those nagging garden irritants that we have to deal with on a regular basis and it makes gardening nothing like the shows you see on TV where someone is happily planting some beautiful annuals while wearing a cute little apron and sunhat.   

But nothing tops our Texas hill country yard fight. The family who sold us the house decided that the front yard needed a face lift and decided to plant three large agaves, the middle one being five feet tall and counting.  Why oh why did God make agave? Wait. Tequila, of course. And there are places in Mexico where they are farmed for this delicious beverage. But ours is not of that variety. When I kept impaling my hands on the sharp toothed fronds this morning I wondered why this big treacherous thing exists. And to add insult to physical injury, it puts out pups--that's what the baby plants are called. And, boy, is it a promiscuous plant, because they are everywhere and if you don't dig them up, they grow to be the same size as their parent with the same teeth and needles. I'm pretty sure the Native Americans used them for sewing buffalo hides and such. They could pierce metal. And ours are along the front walk into our house. So if you don't know us, you might think we are trying to deter you from "sittin on our porch awhile".

This is not our first rodeo with this menacing plant. When we first moved in, we were trying to whip this Texas yard into shape. (impossible with cactus and rock)

I have lived the majority of my life in the deep South, having fluffy and soft flowers and shrubs. That is not this land. Clark was using a chain saw to rip up some old and perhaps snake infested cactus when we noticed a large agave with her pups in the area the kids had been playing.  I told him to go for it. He revved up the chain saw and was dismembering its arms when the alien plant started spitting all over him. This thing was alive and fighting back.  White juice covered any flesh that was not protected. And then he began to burn. "Corlea, I'm on fire!" he said. He jumped into the shower and emerged with welts everywhere the juice had landed. We considered the ER but ended up at the pharmacy and the staff shaking their heads. 

The agave is still out there, itching for a fight. It will always win but I have cut some of the needles off the top fronds so when people walk by they won't be stuck in the eye or other body part. Other than that, since they are too big to dig up, we have to put up with these ultrahazardous beings for 15 to 20 years when they produce one 30 foot ugly flower and then they DIE.  I hope I'm alive to see it.