The Bemused Muse

MOVING DAY!

noreply@blogger.com (Toni Wheeler) — Wed, 18 Apr 2018 02:32:00 +0000

It's time to move over to gruffchick.com.

We'll keep this blog up (and download it as well)

as it's a nice snapshot into the past.

Farewell to Sammi Speckle Spot

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Wed, 10 Dec 2014 07:22:00 +0000

We said goodbye to Sammi the Greyhound on Sunday, 16 November. He was an old boy, lasting twice the age of a typical track dog. In fact, he had just celebrated his final birthday in October.

Sammi was my shadow. He crawled into bed each morning to steal the warm spot Jeff left behind. He often put his head on my pillow or tucked his nose under the cover (and awoke me with his cold nose). Nights were filled with "Sammi! Sammi stop digging, lie down!" as he pawed his bed, the couch, the blankets on the floor and anything else that he had chosen for a nocturnal resting place. He loved veggies. All veggies. In fact, Mike the Neighbor called one summer afternoon to tell us that one of our dogs was eating all the tomatoes off the vine... the culprit was Sammi, of course.

He was the Greyhound that Broke the Rules. He would come on a whistle and could sit on the porch without a leash. In fact, he frequently walked off leash, glued to our sides by loyalty and peace. He never become upset if hugged while sleeping. He loved having his ears rubbed (and would groan in pleasure). He played snappy-roll like a champion. He was gentle with every animal he encountered, and had become Angus' (formerly Aggy) buddy. And always... without fail... he would ooze into bliss if I said, "You won, you won, you won!"

Sammi retired early from racing due to an injured hock. This leg kept him from lure coursing as well, and later developed a tumor. We aren't sure if it was this or a lymph infection, or even a failing organ that took his life. All we know is that it started with swelling in his back legs and, over the course of several days, it crippled him.

His last full day was a Saturday and we knew he might not make it to Monday. We called Dr Kurt the next day when Sammi fell in the upstairs hall and couldn't rise again. He went to the blankets and bedding in the kitchen and Jeff and I took turns laying beside him. I napped a final time next to my shadow, and then Dr Kurt returned our call.

There is no vet on earth quite like ours, and it didn't matter if it was a Sunday or not. "Yes, come out to the house", and so we lifted Sammy into the back of the car, I crawled in next to him, and we went for a drive.

Our vet lives on a beautiful bit of land, a rural spot surrounded by rolling green pastures and the good scents of earth. Sammy's final moments were spent in the comfort of the car he knew so well, with the sounds of the breeze and our voices in his ears. He slipped from this life quietly with only a small protest, and we gave him final kisses and shed tears together.

I'll miss him. I miss him. Each night I peer into the family room upstairs and expect to see him on his couch. I used to give him a kiss and say goodnight every night, and it's hard to break the habit. I expect to hear him lumbering down the stairs. I chop greens for my salad and look around because there isn't any soft nose poking my elbow. He's gone, the last of the big dogs, and it has taken me this long to sit down and write my farewell to him.

Goodbye, good boy. You were loved so very much.

Some Links to Memories:
http://bemusedmused.blogspot.com/2007/05/sunday-scribbling-59-second-chance.html

http://autricesimagepage.blogspot.com/2006/08/greyhounds-voice-sunday-scribbles-21.html

Greyhound's Voice

Some good memories of the old pack.

Agamemnon the Onion

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Mon, 19 May 2014 16:27:00 +0000

It's a strange name for a dog, yes, we know. Regardless, Agamemnon the Onion arrived in his new forever home on Friday, 16 May. We aren't entirely sure what he is. Beagle, they said. Chihuahua, they said. We think there might be a bit of wiener dog in him. Don't know, doesn't matter. He's around 8 weeks old and a sweetie.

Agems has been a delight so far; very mellow and curious but not aggressive or snappish. He's working on his housebreaking and has only had one accident (because Daddy wasn't paying attention to his signal at the back door.) We've learned "focus", "exam" and "C'mere!" Unfortunately, we're still learning our name, and commands are still at the "repeat it several times" stage before we see a result. Mmmm... it's worth it for a nibble of boiled chicken breast, though! Our favorite toys are Weasel, Chicki-Bone, Swirly Ball and Green Thing. He has a few puppy-sized tennis balls but those are for fetching (which he's learning well) and aren't left down - I'm not a fan of scooping tennis ball fuzz from mouths every few minutes.

He's a fast learner. I started him off with the lower portion of a portable kennel. We put the lid on the day before last and it didn't phase him. The gate went on today and he cried a bit, but it was "sleepy-bye" time and his cries died back after a two minutes. Hey, it's not our first rodeo! We've been training dogs for over twenty years!

Of course, we're still isolated in the kitchen. The house isn't puppy proofed and the large-hole floor registers are dangerous to puppy paws. I tune in Pandora and big band music, make my coffee and stage my day around training, eat and play, and sleep, with trips outside interspersed between. That's probably the most time-consuming thing. But, do it right at the beginning and you'll get a properly trained dog in record time.

The nights have been fairly good. Our dogs are bed-trained, meaning they settle into bed with us each evening and they get let out once or twice during the night when we feel them moving around. It means light sleep but it also prevents the dog from learning to soil a kennel. Agems sleeps solidly and has a tendency to move from between our pillows to the foot of the bed (under the covers) but he doesn't jump down.

Ah, but this heavenly period will end soon once he's big enough to jump from the bed, climb up stairs, jump onto couches and get into mischief. We're right there on the cusp of the puppy version of the "terrible two's".

Goodbye, Beautiful Nutmeg

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Sun, 12 Jan 2014 04:57:00 +0000

Much has gone on in life since I last blogged. I'll do a formal post later. Tonight is a memorial.

Nutmeg lost her battle to cancer this evening. It was a sudden thing that started around Christmas and quickly blossomed into sorrow. We saw her veterinarian, Dr. Johnson, on Thursday and then... that was that.

Nutmeg was many things. She was my shadow and forever at my side. She was the dumbest German Shepherd Dog to ever walk on earth and thus earned the title Village Idiot. (She was actually rather smart but played the "clueless" game well.) She was the kindest animal, loving towards all and in love with her veterinarian. She was rough and tumble. She was annoying and demanding when she was in the mood for attention, often rotating my office chair to the left as she leaned in to me for petting and hugs. In fact, she always demanded more love after getting love, one paw raised and prying at a knee as if to say, "Hey, you're not done giving me attention." She was Porch Dog. She was goofy. She had many nicknames and came to them all: Nutterbutt, Buttpeg, Goofball, Nutters, and so many more. Nutmeg loved food. She loved her ice cubes. She loved bread and raw veggies. She was always so happy, even when she knew she was being naughty and leaving a puddle on my floor.

She grew too weak towards the end. She couldn't hold down even a teaspoon of water. I stayed up with her last night, all night, petting her and singing "You Are My Sunshine". She loved that. She knew. I knew. We said our goodbyes and resolved our differences and asked each other forgivness for all those times we disagreed on who was right.

This evening, she insisted on going outside and down the concrete steps to poop rather than doing it in the house. She was in the yard before I could slip my jacket on. She could barely manage and needed my help up the stairs. Better Half had to help me get her inside because the whole effort left her exhausted. Cell phone calls were exchanged throughout the evening with Dr. Johnson. It was kinder to let her slip from earth peacefully than to have her endure agony during the last moments of her life. Dr. Johnson was in Canton today, but met with us at the clinic around 9 PM.

I can't think of too many vets who would be willing to tend their patient after spending a long day on the road, yet there he was, waiting for us at the door. His words and his compassion brought us peace. Now Nutmeg is at peace. The sorrow in my heart leaves me breathless and drained, yet I know we made the right decision. One of the greatest gifts we can give our pets is kindness.

Some photos:

Nutmeg loved snow. She'd bark her head off the moment you formed a snowball. I regret not playing with her this last snow storm. There was never a chance. It was too bitterly cold outside.

When we first brought Truffle home, Nutmeg knew she had a buddy.

Zephyr, Gennaker and Nutmeg greet the new pup.

Nutmeg knew she had to be gentle.

Her cancer two years ago nearly took her from us. We don't know how or why she survived as long as she did. I think it was in part due to her playful spirit and the talented hands of Dr. Johnson.

Cone of shame!

Alright guys. I promise to not lick my stitches. Take this off me!

Holidays with Nutmeg were always magical. She loved lamb at Easter and duck at Christmas. She loved turkey at Thanksgiving. Most of all, she loved greeting trick-or-treaters on Halloween. She'd sit patiently on the porch, or by the door if it was cold, and greet them.

What's your costume?

Please take this bow off. I'm not a Christmas gift.

Nutmeg knew when you were under the weather. She ghosted Better Half in the month leading up to the discovery of his arterial blockage. She just knew and was there for you, no matter what.

Faithful Girl.

She loved the landing. I have so many pictures of her hanging out there, but this is my favorite. This was shortly before her cancer surgery, I believe.

The porch was her spot. She'd hide behind the couch if it was raining (she hated thunder) or if you were watering the plants. She watched the birds just like Mattie used to do. She'd lift her ears at watch the children playing across the way. She was at peace there. She never barked or bolted.

Porch Dog

But her favorite thing (besides stealing Truffle's Heffalump and squeaking the crap out of it) was to chill with us. No matter where you looked, there she was. That will be the hardest part of all this. I type this and look to my right and there's an empty spot on the floor where she always rested while I was online. I look to the hallway where she parked herself if Better Half was in bed, and I realize that no one is standing guard tonight. I listen for the jingle of her collar and almost want to call out to her to see if she'd off somewhere getting into trouble, or else I strain my ears to hear the loud sound of her lapping water. But she's gone and I mourn her passing.

Ears that could tune in Tokyo

Goodbye Nutterbutt. Thank you for being such an awesome companion and friend.

Some prior stories: The Village Idiot. 21 Aug 2011 August Contemplation

I crack the seal on my can of ginger ale and Nutmeg’s overly-large ears perk at the soft hiss the carbonation escaping the can. She cocks her large head and arches an eyebrow. She’s a coward, really. Her resounding German Shepherd bark should invoke visions of noble police dogs mauling the Michelin Man. Nutmeg wouldn’t maul in intruder. Quite the opposite: Nutmeg would insist that the intruder stroke her fur and, having failed to gain his affections, she would squat in my dining room and have a spite pee. Thus her bark is reserved for the Truly Dangerous Things in this world such as the sound of the doorbell from the television. She often hurls her bark towards the Invisible People that only the idiotic Pomeranian can see.

20 Mar 2011 Nutmeg's Recovery (post surgery for cancer)

And a few memories:
She told the entire neighborhood that she'd eaten her dinner. Every night, without fail, she would bound out the door and bark. It almost sounded like she was saying, "Hey, hey, I got my food. I got my food." Without fail.

She hated fetch. Instead, she'd whine and stare at you until you threw the toy, and then you had to fight her to get it back. The whole process would start anew the moment you actually got your fingers around the slimy thing and teased it out of her mouth. She was always gentle when she played.

She loved tennis balls. She'd run after them if we threw them for her. Truffles would usually fetch them back for us.

Nutmeg would dance around the kitchen at feeding time. You had to park her on a sit/stay in order to put her food down or she'd bowl you over. Then she annoyed us by licking all the other dogs' bowls and the floor when they were done. It drove us nuts.

She was a positive animal, never aggressive. Even when recovering from surgery and even tonight when she was too weak to function, she'd wag her tail to tell you she was happy. She wagged it for Dr. Johnson tonight, as well, and was so happy to see the clinic and her favorite vet.

Final Countdown

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Fri, 24 Aug 2012 00:27:00 +0000

We have nearly everything done in preparation for Mum and Dad's move here. There are some little odds and ends that need to be given homes, and I have to spring clean the entire house as well as make a little room for extra groceries. It's well worth it.

I'm exhausted.

A Day Off: Shaker Woods Festival

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Sun, 12 Aug 2012 00:02:00 +0000

It's been an exciting 24 hours. We had an early appointment this morning, my haircut afterward, breakfast and then an impromptu trip to the Shaker Woods Festival.

Better Half and I have been toiling to get the house ready for Mum and Dad, who plan to stay with us. We have two rooms to go (and a bathroom to sort) before we can call the job done.

To top it off, I had to run to Maryland last night (yes, the state) for a cadet. I'm fueled on two hours of sleep at the moment.

The Shaker Woods Festival was a welcomed break. I'm too tired to go into details so I'll provide some snapshots taken while there. The high note was finding an astrolabe for the front yard. It is beautiful; handmade by Dave Anders of Colonial Wagon & Wheeler, it adorns the front bed.

Please forgive me for not captioning anything. I can't even see straight at the moment.

Pomku II

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Tue, 24 Jul 2012 00:03:00 +0000

A haiku...

Pomeranian

Wet, you tremble on the stairs…

Don’t roll in shit again!

Pandorus Sphinx Moth

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Mon, 23 Jul 2012 23:38:00 +0000

Better Half and I drove out to Ferda's Garden Center this afternoon in search of more heliotrope. This has become our favorite gardening destination. We enjoyed visiting with Bob Ferda and he sold us the very last heliotrope on site - a beautifully arranged basket. (I swear, I will cover my entire yard in concrete and throw away my gardening gloves if FGC ever closes down.)

On our way out, we spotted a gorgeous sphinx moth clinging to a window screen. Bob didn't mind us taking a few snapshots of the little fellow. The Sphingidae family interests me and I've blogged one sighting before. Without further ado...

___________________________________________________


Pandorus Sphinx Moth, © 2012 T. Mininni-Totin.

PANDORUS SPHINX MOTH

CATEGORY: Butterfly or Moth
OTHER NAMES: Pandora Sphinx Moth
SCIENTIFIC NAME: Eumorpha pandorus
IUCN RED LIST: 3.1
NCGR: G5
ADULT SIZE (Length, not including legs): 82mm to 115mm (3.23in to 4.53in; males smaller than females
IDENTIFYING COLORS: tan; brown, white, pink, green/olive green; yellow; orange

TAXONOMY:
KINGDOM: Animalia
PHYLYM: Arthropoda
   CLASS: Insecta
    ORDER: Lepidoptera
     SUPERFAMILY: Spingoidea (Dyar, 1902)
      FAMILY: Sphingidae (Latreille, 1802)
        SUBFAMILY: Macroglossinae (Harris, 1839)
         TRIBE: Philampelini (Burmeister)
          GENUS: Eumorpha (Hubner, 1807)
            SPECIES: pandorus (Hubner, 1821)

COLORATION:
The moth's upperside is light brown with shades of olive green to green. The forewing has pink streaks along vein ends and near the inner margin, and a dark squarish mark at the middle of the inner margin. The area from the base to the squarish mark is dark green. The underside usually is yellow-green, but sometimes is pale brown. ¹ Additional coloration may include orange in place of pink, or deep chocolate/black.

RANGE:

UNITED STATES: Alabama, Arkansas, Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Mississippi, Missouri, Nebraska, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, Vermont, Virginia, West Virginia, Wisconsin.

CANADA: Nova Scotia, Ontario. They are reportedly rare in Quebec.


Photograph of Virginia Creeper by Aydin Örstan, 2009, Snail's Tails

BEHAVIOR:
Adults remain relatively quiet during the day, taking flight at dawn and dusk. They tend to gather close to vineyards, forested areas or river edges where their caterpillar's food plants are plentiful. Courtship is initiated by the female via the release of pheromones; males fly into the wind to locate the female. Eggs are laid one at a time. Caterpillars are dedicated leaf-eaters, hanging out on the undersides of leaves.² Fully-grown caterpillars pupate in shallow chambers in the soil.

CATERPILLAR HOSTS:
Grape (Vitis), Peppervine (Ampelopsis arborea), and Virginia Creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia)

ADULT FOOD:
Nectar from flowers including petunia (Petunia hybrida), bouncing bet (Saponaria officinalis), and white campion (Lychnis alba) ³

_______________________________

1 "Sphingidae of the Americas" website, Bill Oehlke

2 The Bug Lady, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee

3 Butterflies and Moths of North America (BAMONA)

Virginia Creeper photograph by Aydin Ö rstan.

Chaos in the Dungeon 2012

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Wed, 11 Jul 2012 23:08:00 +0000

The Dungeon, and all things Chaotic!

Chaos
Main Entry: cha·os
Pronunciation: 'kA-"äs
Function: noun
Etymology: Latin, from Greek
1 obsolete : CHASM, ABYSS
2 a often capitalized : a state of things in which chance is supreme; especially : the confused unorganized state of primordial matter before the creation of distinct forms
3 a: a state of utter confusion b: a confused mass or mixture.

Ah, my life. It cycles, resplendent in all its mundane trappings. June 2006 found us working frantically to get the basement into shape. It was a cluttered mess then, and now. We hardly use it unless it is to work on laundry.

Now that my parents are moving here, it will need to become dad’s computer work space as well as store our surplus furniture (we are clearing out our main floor so they can keep their antiques and other furnishings).

The floor was atrocious. Dust was everywhere. The concrete was in need of painting. Manthom boxes littered the floor and all of Better Half’s books, toys and other objets d’crap ran rampant. Ugh.

We should have the basement finished, replete with sealed concrete, by tomorrow. This frees us up to begin transitioning the cluttered upstairs into a serene bedroom and office for my mother. Our current “spare room” is a repository for books, workout equipment and treasured antiques. It must be completely cleared out for her bedroom suite (if it doesn’t fit, I’ll scream. The only other room large enough for a suite is >drumroll< our own). The tiny office has to be purged to make room for the workout equipment. All of our books have to go into tubs (destination: dungeon) and our book cases need a new home somewhere in the house. The carpets in both rooms need a nice cleaning, and their new bedroom needs to be painted.

We have two weeks.

I’m a tad stressed.

SS #219: Superhero

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Sat, 07 Jul 2012 21:06:00 +0000

Rain droplets stippled her glasses and partially obscured her vision as she ran. Her bare legs pumped beneath her, falling out of synchronicity with her arms whenever her toes encountered a rut in the asphalt. The white and pink cotton dress clung to her. Mama wouldn’t be happy. It was her newest dress.

I can fly. She said this to no one in particular. It was her mantra. It had sustained her from the creek to the Johnston Diary, and that had to be a whole mile. She had another mile to go. Maybe. She wasn’t sure. She’d ask Dad to clock it the very next time they drove home from the mill. No matter. She swallowed back a lump and pulled off her eyeglasses, slipping them into her dress pocket where they jangled alongside some fishing weights and the tiny bottle Grandpa had handed to her.

She could have sworn her legs belonged on a sock monkey by time she crested the hill. She set off across the pasture, the humid air saturating her lungs. Feels like the oil on the news, she thought. She’d watched it plume in the Gulf and become fascinated by all the fuss. Now she felt like one of those birds, breathing heavy and wishing someone would come along and make the air come in the right way again. No matter, her mind whispered. I can fly.

A bark of thunder heralded the floodgates of heaven opening above her head. It was like sprinting through the world’s biggest waterfall, or maybe like running in a swimming pool. Water pressed weeds and grass to earth and her toes couldn’t find traction. She took to scrambling, tiny arms pulling and pushing, a water bug dance gone horribly wrong. She doubted herself. She felt her strength waning. She felt those weights rattling around her pocket and knew they would pull her into the earth, down, far down below where even the worms were afraid to go.

“Lori!” Mama’s voice carried across the yard and into the field. The house loomed behind Mama and Dad’s truck sat in the drive. Suddenly the ground didn’t matter. The humidity and the water couldn’t touch her. She really could fly, just because Mama was so close, and nothing in the whole world would be able to stop her. She reached the fence separating the yard from field, and then was across the yard, and before she could draw a breath, she felt Mama’s warm hug.

“Where’s your grandfather?” the woman asked.

The child pointed back the way she’d come, feeling stupid, feeling worn thin like old cloth, unable to articulate what happened, and afraid to say what she thought might have happened while she was running. She clutched at her dress and felt those horrible lead weights grinding against her glasses. Her finger touched something else. Her eyes widened. The bottle. Grandpa’s heart pills. She held it up for her mother to see.

_______________________

The paramedics had proclaimed her a superhero. Dad and Uncle sat in the parlor that evening and took turns trying to come up with a proper name to go with her various powers, each more wild than the next. She lay with her head in Mama’s lap, sleep flicking at the edges of her mind as Mama stroked her hair.

“What do you think, Lori?” Mama murmured. “What’s your superpower?”

“Love,” she whispered back. “Grandpa always says that nothing was more powerful than that.” And then she allowed herself to smile. Grandpa was alive because love gave her wings.

--
Reprinted from my Pembroke Cottage blog (14 June, 2010). I'm cleaning it out to re-purpose it into a home blog.

A Day Off in June

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 06:31:00 +0000

Better Half and I have been so tied up with squadron duties that we haven’t had a day to ourselves in a very long time. Mum and Dad are moving here at the end of August and we have so much to do but we needed to take a day off from daily life.

Today was the second day of Holy Trinity’s Greek Festival in downtown Steubenville. We’ve attended six years straight to savor fried smelts and calamari, delicious gyros with cucumber dressing, and handmade dolmades. The parishioners are delightful and always make visitors feel at home. Hey, opa!

We brought Piper with us (third year in a row for her).

Mmm-mmmmm, good.

Afterwards we took a drive to Cadiz and beyond. Many quaint towns sprinkle the area… “Main Street, USA” takes on invigorated meaning when passing through them. This is small town. This is apple pie. This is the heady laughter of a child playing in a sprinkler, or an elderly couple nestled together on a porch swing. We love it.

We found our way down winding highways and stumbled upon Ferda’s Garden Center. It’s a shame that it took us so many years to find it; they are in the process of selling the business. I fell in love with the center immediately.

For one brief afternoon, Better Half and I daydreamed of what we would do if we could purchase the property. We envisioned a coffee and spice shop nestled in a garden setting. We would rent out space to the community, small “plots” in the greenhouses where people could start their seeds early. We’d invite Phipps interns to work on their programs. We’d hold teas, host book reading groups and dedicate a small area of the upstairs portion of the main building to used books. Harvest festivals, pumpkin patches, rambling leaf-strewn trails and mulled cider would liven up a dreary fall day. Christmas would be an event to be celebrated rather than nightmarishly commercial. Winter would be a time of reflection and hope, and we’d offer horticulture classes as well as invite children to plant their own treasure (which, for $5, would give the child a pot to decorate, a plant to put in it and a lot of dirt to take home for mom or dad to wash off). Spring would be a rainbow of new plants and garden accessories.

Daydreams are nice. This has been my daydream for nearly two decades. It’s rare to find a property that would make that dream a reality yet here it was, mine for the taking, provided I could secure a loan for $400k. Hey, it would include three vehicles, three of which we wouldn’t need.

We continued on through Colerain, Bridgeport and parts far beyond. It seems that every town boasts an ice cream parlor. There are small shops that beg to be explored. Old churches rub elbows with derelict homes and gaily festooned cottages.

The Riverside Restaurant in Powhatan Point was our suppertime stop. Better Half ate a thick-slab Ruben while I picked at his fries. Good, inexpensive food. We sat outside and watched the barges travel the Ohio River. More wistful daydreams about that property.

We’ve been married nearly eighteen years but the conversation never gets old. I suppose there aren’t many people out there who can spend an entire day with their spouse and still have something meaningful to say to each other. Thankfully, we’ve never run out of things to say. It helps that we’ve kept a sense of humor over the years.

We wrapped up the day by returning library books (and renewing the one I haven’t had time to read) and finding some pots to tuck plants in. We discovered heliotrope during our garden center exploration and I’ve added it to the front porch. I’ll have to remember to take cuttings at the end of the season – this scrumptiously scented plant (not for eating!) will grow in a mason jar on the window sill, easily transplanted back to the yard come spring.

All-in-all, it was a very nice break from the normal routine.

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 05:20:00 +0000

I really have had "one of those days".

Biogenesis and Abortion

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Tue, 08 May 2012 20:01:00 +0000

Let me be perfectly clear: I do not support abortion. I believe that is it wrong, not because of some antiquated Judeo-Christian moral set, nor because of any desire to take away a woman's right to choose.

I believe that is it wrong because of biogenesis - life arises from pre-existing life, not from nonliving material. The fetus is as alive as the female host carrying it. It is true that it can not survive outside of its host during the early stages of its existence, however I think far less abortions would take place if the need to "terminate unwanted pregnancy" involved termination of the host itself.

The argument can be made that we terminate life in order to eat meat; I can't think of any human being that would eat her own aborted material.

It doesn't matter to me if people disagree with my stance. I certainly won't campaign that the world take away a woman's right to choose.

Ewni'ceph

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Mon, 07 May 2012 02:56:00 +0000

For Sunday Scribblings...

The rich and the poor have this in common: the LORD is the maker of them all. ~ Proverbs 22:2

The offerings given for the sake of God are [meant] only for the poor and the needy, and those who are in charge thereof, and those whose hearts are to be won over, and for the freeing of human beings from bondage, and [for] those who are over burdened with debts, and [for every struggle] in God's cause, and [for] the wayfarer: [this is] an ordinance from God - and God is all-knowing, wise. ~ Quran, 9:60

Baahir sat on the low plaster wall and let his heels bounce gently on the warm beige stucco. He had a game of it, bouncing each foot a set amount of times to match the resonant and uniform thuds caused by the strange hand-cranked machine that was here to dig a new well. The seismic shocks rippled out from the site, rolling along the ground and racing up the wall. Baahir smiled and felt the well’s birth pangs in his chest (for that’s what he thought they were.)

“Water muddy water, up from bottom deep, lapping over bucket, and I drink and drink and drink,” he chanted. He licked his bottom lip and then quickly regretted it; the machine was kicking up dust and the winds had placed a fine layer of powder on his face.

Tiny feet slapped upon the warm stone, and a shock of kinky brown hair heralded his sister’s arrival as she lifted her head and peered at the workmen from her hidden vantage point behind the wall.

“They done?” she asked as she tugged her rainbow colored shirt back into place.

“No, Alia,” Baahir replied. He reached over and tried to pat her hair down, but gave up after a while. Nothing could tame her hair. Not even their mother. Baahir felt a sharp pang of remorse. How much time had passed since the Bad Day?

Baahir helped his sister up so that she could sit next to him. “Do you remember mama?”

“Some,” Alia said. “I remember her laugh but her face is going away.”

The boy put an arm around his sister and pulled her snug against his side. He remembered mama’s face. He remembered the morning she tried to braid Alia’s hair. Mama had said, I will have strength or I will perish trying. Mama always said that when trying to get Alia’s hair into place. Who knew mama would finally be right? Who knew mama would run with each of them uncomfortably pressed into her ribs as she fled towards the scrubby bushes behind the house?

Her heart beat fast. Baahir remembered that, and he could even smell her sweet sweat as it spread across the fabric between his body and hers. She had no air for prayers. She panted and he watched the ground speeding under him, marveling at her feet as they propelled her forward. The jostling hurt badly but neither he nor his sister would protest. They sensed that something was wrong. He felt her wrappings billowing out behind them, around him, his world a prism of mama’s favorite reds and golds mixed with the lighter oranges of her hijab. Their father always pampered mama with beautiful things that he found on his business travels.

The brush was right before them, prickly and sticky, the wild part where civilization... where home... ended. Baahir was afraid mama would run right through it and he tried to hitch himself a little higher up to avoid the nasty leaves and twigs. Mama’s breath left her in a puffed oof then, the same silly sound his sister made when he shoved her between her shoulder blades. Mama didn’t sprawl forward like Alia would do; she staggered a few steps into the scrub and then he felt something impact again. He was dimply aware of a loud crack rending the air. Then they fell, he and mama and Alia, and the scrub swallowed him painfully. He was smothered and frightened. He instinctively curled against mama and pushed his face into her body. He heard her heart beat slowly and then become still. He knew no more.

“Baahir? Baahir!” Alia protested, squirming next to him in the hot sunshine. Her brother was practically squeezing the air out of her. “Ow Baahir!” She pushed his arm off and he slid off the wall.

“Is it the dream, Baahir? The sleeping one where mama doesn’t wake?”

The boy rubbed his face with his arm, the angry tears mixing with the dust to form gritty streaks. This was their life now. He was powerless to change it, just as he’d been powerless to save mama. His sister would forever have wild hair because mama had said she would die if she couldn’t tame it.

Loud voices shouted in a foreign language. Alia skittered back over the wall and snaked her way toward the front of the building. Baahir followed, protectively pushing her closer towards the cooler shade provided by a wall. They peered around the corner.

The Ewni’ceph man was there and he was talking loudly to the well digging supervisor. They spoke in the foreign language, bantering back and forth while pointing in the direction of the well.

Alia tapped Baahir on his shoulder. “They give us the shots and some extra mash?” That’s what usually happened when these people showed up at the refugee camp.

“No, I don’t think he’s here for that. No women or doctors with the Ewni’ceph man.”

“He's here to make them dig faster,” she said, and offered her brother a smug grin.

Baahir gazed at the man. He didn’t like the way the man’s eyes looked. They were dark and tired, resigned and sad.

A third figure, a girl much better cared for than Baahir and his sister, carefully picked her way through the loose rubble.

“He speaks English and says ‘I’m sorry, but we’re pulling out of this area. There’s nothing more we can do. I’m so sorry.’ The Ewni’ceph peoples will leave now.” She made eye contact with Baahir; the look spoke volumes.

“What do we do?” Baahir said. “We can’t follow them and we can’t remain here.”

“We do what’s expected of us,” the girl said flatly. “We do what they wanted us to do all along, because it’s why they took our homes and families. We do as they want because all that we have, all the riches of life, are gone.”

“What do we do?” Baahir questioned again.

The girl shrugged. “We die. It’s not as if anyone cares about the rich or the poor of our peoples.”

Baahir shook his head. “We walk through the to the next camp.”

“The road is paved with the dead,” the girl replied. Alia began to cry.

The Darfur Genocide in Darfur, Sudan began in February 2003 when the Sudan Liberation Movement/Army (SLM/A) and Justice and Equality Movement (JEM) groups in Darfur took up arms, accusing the Sudanese government of oppressing non-Arab Sudanese in favor of Sudanese Arabs. . There are various estimates on the number of human casualties which range from around 70,000 to several hundred thousand dead, from either direct combat or starvation and disease inflicted by the conflict. There have also been mass displacements and coercive migrations, forcing millions into refugee camps or over the border and creating a large humanitarian crisis and is regarded by many as a genocide. These refugees faced starvation, disease, and rape, while those who remained in Darfur risked torture, death, and displacement. Over five million people have been affected by the Darfur conflict and life is still bitter for so many children. There is a peace treaty now in place, but that does not change the fact that atrocities happened.

Due to the lack of funding in 2009, UNICEF had to scale-back measures and plan strategies for handing over lifesustaining and life-saving programmes to the government, despite its limited capacity to fund and manage activities. I wrote this short story to reflect how urgently UNICEF needed donations. The organization is still in need of your support worldwide.

Plant Quest

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Mon, 07 May 2012 02:22:00 +0000

Today was our garden day. We thought we’d drive to our Home Depot in Robinson to pick up two Roma plants, two basil, two banana peppers and two ferns. It’s our annual pilgrimage.

The back road to Robinson Township

We stopped to wash the dead bugs from the windshield and met a very sweet Baptist Minister, Jim Rhodes from Mercy Baptist in Weirton. He was a pleasure to chat with and didn’t mind at all that Better Half is agnostic. It would be fun to visit his church one Sunday.

A side detour to Iannetti’s was a “must do!” and we discovered some beautiful basil plants and a gorgeous petunia hanging basket for a phenomenally low price. Iannetti’s always has wonderful plants and employees.

We eventually landed at Home Depot in Robinson, PA, and were disappointed. They did not have any Boston ferns. We did find one Roma plant and made due with a cherry tomato plant. There weren’t any banana peppers. The trip would have been for nothing except that we wanted to price solar lights and pick up some indoor insect killer (it’s ant season).

Ianetti’s was already closed by the time we were on the road back to home. A quick stop at the Robinson Lowes proved useless as well, but we had better luck when we returned to Steubenville: banana peppers and Boston ferns.

Our back deck now hosts young veg in pots. We lost one hanging basket (newly planted basil) but I’m not too worried – we replanted them and put them on a plastic table; they are hardy plants and should bounce back again.

Tomorrow we’ll weed the front and back.

May Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Sun, 06 May 2012 00:47:00 +0000

“The library in summer is the most wonderful thing because there you get books on any subject and read them each for only as long as they hold your interest, abandoning any that don't, halfway or a quarter of the way through if you like, and store up all that knowledge in the happy corners of your mind for your own self and not to show off how much you know or spit it back at your teacher on a test paper.” ― Polly Horvath, My One Hundred Adventures

There are many things that mark the approaching of summer. For us, it is sweeping the back deck, lighting the BBQ and turning on the AC. For me, specifically, it is bringing my laptop outside, arranging myself to avoid the glare of the sun, and catching up on blogging.

I anticipate all the wonderful adventures I’ll have while sitting on the porch, a stack of library books nearby and a cold glass of tea at my elbow. Late spring and early summer are also the only time of year that I bother to light up a cigarette and accompany it with a chilled glass of quality wine. (Alas, having not planned ahead today, I am making due with Turning Leaf!) By the way, I wouldn’t decline a nice cigar and a glass of port were you to offer them.

My front garden is already a visual banquet, spring bulbs giving way to early summer delicacies such as woolly lambs ear and tantalizing dianthus blooms, and bleeding hears mounding over the beds edges as haphazardly as a toddler with a crayon and no sense of “staying in the lines”.

Our front garden, late spring 2012

The finches, cardinals and sparrows have awakened me with morning song for a month. Now robins and woodpeckers have added their voices to the chorus. All yield their place to evening frogs and crickets. Fireflies are soon to come, lucibufagen-crammed coryphées joining nature’s ballet and imbuing the humid air with tantalizing yellow sparks.

photo courtesy of www.firefly.org

The carpenter bees have returned, beautiful queens probing my deck posts and beams in search of a nesting place. I adore these placid gems. Their buzzing is hypnotic. They’ll keep the wasps at bay. It takes a lot of effort to piss off a carpenter bee (they’ve survived the slimy confines of Nutmeg’s mouth without offering a sting).

Eastern Carpenter Bee (Xylocopa virginica), our porch 2011

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

I do not know what summer will bring. I would like for it to be productive. I’m in search of a job. I’m part of the Air Force auxiliary (a wonderful organization which I shall not name here lest I represent it in a bad light) and I serve as part of a flight crew, a mission observer during search and rescue missions. This is our busy season. Its public service and I volunteer myself gladly for it. It allows me to enjoy a bit of aerial photography, my favorite hobby. It does not pay, however, and our funds are especially tight this year.

I have only one “honey do”project to work on, thanks to those limited funds. We’ve taken up the carpet in the hall and on the stairs and I intend to repaint everything using leftover paint from our kitchen renovation. I’m absolutely tickled that the contractors left the cans with us.

We’ll also scrap together some spare cash to purchase a few garden goodies. I can’t live without my Roma tomatoes, banana peppers and zucchini. These I’ll grow in pots on the deck, tending them with love and water and fanatically checking them each day to see if anything has grown large enough to eat. Nothing is as satisfying as plucking a juicy tomato and eating it raw seconds later.

Hungarian (banana) pepper bloom, our porch 2011

The sun has set and the frogs have made their locations known. The moon will be close to the earth tonight and we’ll have a lovely treat if the clouds slip away. I’ll join Better Half shortly and we’ll perhaps put on a movie.

April

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Fri, 27 Apr 2012 01:26:00 +0000

April has been sinister, and ends darkly. We've had struggles and have survived them, but who knows what Monday will bring?

I plan to enjoy the weekend as much as possible. I can't do anything about my panic attacks or anxiety (other than tranqs), but I can turn the world off for a few days so that I can recuperate. No phones, no social media. Better Half and I could do with a holiday.

By the way... what did Blogger to with our old format? This new method is awful.

March Update

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Sun, 11 Mar 2012 22:34:00 +0000

Last time, on The Adventures of Aut and Better Half, our heroes were hurtling down Angel Falls in a canoe made of sloth toenails and vines; “Holy Shit! That’s LOUD!” were the final words at the close of the season finale and surly fans surely expected the entire series to be canceled by the network for lack of sponsorship yet a last minute petition by rabid viewers gave executives the incentive needed to sign on for a third year straight. Huzzah.

If only.

Fact is, Aut and Better Half have had Domestic Adventures entailing nothing more than swapping out their dining room and living room habitats for want of better utilized living space. It’s gone splendidly (minus a few hiccups with furniture) and they are now enjoying their “new” downstairs.

Dad’s memorial was held on the 10^th. The IPAS (that’s the abbreviated form of Insensitive Passive Aggressive Sister, if you haven’t kept up in prior conversations) refused to tell anyone where it was held. She gave Better Half exactly one day notice and, of course, that wasn’t nearly enough time to book a flight to Phoenix. He was crushed; I was outraged.

IPAS also contacted one of Dad’s coworkers and said others in his office could come IF they called her first. They’ve had enough of her and her antics. Rather than put up with it, they opted to hold a short ceremony at the office. They brought in a minister and bid Dad a final farewell in the courtyard behind the building. The pictures that they sent us were beautiful.

The only thing standing in the way of justice for Dad is $500, which is needed in order to continue with the attorney who is investigating the case. We will pay it on time, I suppose.

Our concern is that Dad was emotionally abused and bullied. We learn more and more as time passes, bits of shocking information that trickle in like fine sand and chaff the soul. The small grains become a grand tide and sweep us into gritty rapids, and we thump over rocks and choke on dust as we go. The lawyer hands us an ore, albeit an expensive one, and we attempt to navigate this raging course and find our way to solid ground. The whole situation makes us feel as helpless as if we were going over Angel Falls in that canoe. We’ll ride the rush and see it through to the end.

Besides, there’s a lot that can be done with sand…

This photo is from Fishes Make Wishes and is a sand sculpture from an exhibition
down under around the Patterson Lakes area in Australia.

Sunday Scribblings 308: Modern

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Mon, 27 Feb 2012 07:08:00 +0000

"Modern" is relative to the amount of time one exists on this earth. If you live long enough, you might notice that society simply recreates itself.

Meh. Sooner or later we'll come up with something totally new.

Frustrations

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 02:00:00 +0000

It's been almost two weeks since Dad passed away I won't go into details other than to say that we don't have more answers than we did before. It's been a freaking nightmare. The executor, Jeff's sister, hasn't done a damn thing other than evade everyone. Jeff had to post Dad's obituary in the paper today, and that we still don't know the location of Dad's remains. I'm left with the unmistakable feeling that she used Dad for every ounce of breath he had and that she felt it wasn't necessary to dispose of him as he wished once he was gone.

It will cost $1k to retain an attorney, but if Dad is to have any justice (to include having his ashes returned to a family member for proper interment), we need to figure out a way to take this to probate court. We want to know if Dad was taken care of as well as she claimed. A twenty minute consultation with the attorney (he has access to AZ public records) revealed a world of neglect and woe that shouldn't not have happened. We need to make sure that her actions don't cost him his military burial. Sadly, we don't have that money. We have nothing to go on except tears, anger, and sorrow.

One of Dad's co-workers left a lovely tribute for him on the online guestbook. He really was a remarkable man and so many people came to love him. He deserves much better than what his daughter has done to him.

Sunday Scribblings 304: Action

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 04:37:00 +0000

Newton’s Third Law of Motion
Actioni contrariam semper et æqualem esse reactionem: sive corporum duorum actiones in se mutuo semper esse æquales et in partes contrarias dirigi.

To every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction:

or the forces of two bodies on each other are always equal and are directed in opposite directions.

He regarded his sleeping younger brother with a rancorous air, frowning and resisting the urge to show him a finger, just like dad did to the referees on television.

The car rumbled on, small bumps in the road causing them both to jostle. His brother had squirmed in his seat, messing with his belt and using his jacket as a pillow, and his head had rolled to one side and was now gently bumped against the door.

Wouldn’t it be something if a huge bug landed on his stretched neck, biting him until his head was just one big bump? Mom would soak his whole ugly head in a bucket of that pink lotion. Or maybe dad’ll hit a big bump and give him a concussion, and he’s already asleep… and you’re not supposed to be asleep when you got one of those. Maybe he’d be gone forever then. Good.

He wouldn’t hate him so much if only the little jerk hadn’t stolen his favorite Matchbox car. It was the red one, with doors that really opened. He got it for his ninth birthday and he loved it. But he forgot to put it away before bed and his brother had come along that morning and found it. Down the stairs the jerk had come for breakfast, making vrooming noises and running the plastic wheels down the banister. He’d immediately snatched it back, and that resulted in a tattletale's high-pitched caterwaul. Their mother, vexed, took his car and stuffed it back into his brother’s hands. Jamie! Stop tormenting Bobby! Let him play with the damn car. I don’t have time for this!

He glanced at the front seats, at his parents heads. They were looking forward. The tone of their voices told him that they were intent on their adult discussion. A smile crossed his face, one that would make the cartoon Grinch proud, and he slowly raised his arm, coiling back and calculating just how much force was necessary to cross the distance between them to land a stinging attack on the jerk’s exposed ear.

It happened suddenly. At first he thought he had grossly miscalculated or that the road had given dad a really big bump to navigate. He felt himself forced towards his brother. He saw his brother’s small form, already leaning against the door, appear to flatten into it, his neck strained unnaturally from the forces at work on them, his head bouncing around in flow to the impact. Neither would remember the sound of impact until later, when it was dark and no other sounds could block its emergence from deepest memory.

There was a series of tumbles, crunch, crunch, crunch, and crystals sparkled in all directions. It was like in an adventure movie, the kind his parents wouldn’t let him watch because of the content, but it was just like that. Legos, a drink cup, the plastic whistle he thought he’d lost; treasures the car had stolen from them were now tumbling around the interior.

We’re in a big clothes dryer, he thought, and then he closed his eyes because the world was so hard to look at. He found himself falling up, or rather he found that he was still belted into his seat but that the car was upside down. The engine ticked softly and his mother began to sob.

“Jamie?” His father’s voice was hoarse. “Jamie boy, you okay?”

“Yes, Daddy” he said. He glanced over at his brother. The rest of the world froze. He felt his own breath come in ragged gasps, his body beginning to shudder despite the restraints. I take it back, his mind screamed, please God, I take it all back amen. I don’t wish he was gone forever.

His father called to Bobby, and Bobby said nothing. He hung from the seat from his loosened seat belts, a beanie baby with trickling blood replacing plastic beads. His father’s voice called again, fear unfettered, and then his mother began to struggle against her own restrains.

But it wasn’t either parent that Bobby called for when his eyes fluttered opened. His mouth formed into a big O, and he glanced sideways at Jamie. It was his name that Bobby at first whispered. The whisper became a croak, and the croak a wail; a big, beautiful caterwaul that put his previous noise that morning to shame.

Hearts filled with relief and love, the brothers reached out an arm to each other. Tattling and retaliatory attacks on ears were forgotten as they hung in space. His little brother pressed something warm into his hand and he knew by feel what it was.

“I’m sorry I took your car,” was all the younger could say.

It didn’t matter. He’d forgiven him. He’d forgive him a million times even if he stole it a million times.

______________________________________

This week’s Sunday Scribbling is “Action”. I thought perhaps I would take this in the direction of two warring brothers hitting each other in stages of escalating violence until parental intervention but then I thought of Newton’s law if applied to the heart.

The elder brother resented his sibling, hating him in childish fashion until an event occurs that causes him to emotionally spiral in the opposite direction. The ferocity of his hatred is replaced with an equal ferocity of love.

I also felt an action piece would be a good use of topic.

As to what caused the accident: I imagined it to be caused by a careless, texting-while-driving person. I thought I would drive the point home by causing the younger brother to die, ending the piece with “But I was only texting…” but I just don’t have the heart for it today.

"Sweet Halloween Dreams" by begemott

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 10:58:00 +0000

Give credit where credit is due: This image is circulating the Facebook-o-sphere...

It was so damn familiar. I remember seeing it on deviantART (I've got several really wicked artist friends that I supply with ideas from time to time. This artist isn't one of them, however I had to add him to my watch list.)

The picture is titled "Sweet Halloween Dreams" and the artist can be found at http://begemott.deviantart.com/. This print is available for purchase. A 16x20 is 18.27 USD and other sizes are offered. It is the full image rather than this cropped version. The work is phenomenal.

The caption was not added by the artist but it really does fit the artwork nicely.

Mag 101: Intersteller Fast Food

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 06:09:00 +0000

Intersteller Fast Food

“What is it?” he asked

As his brother offered it

On a woven mat.

“It’s the new earth rage,”

His brother smugly replied,

“They call it ‘sushi’.”

“Ugh! It looks toxic!

Can’t you stick to crop circles?

At least remove bones!”

More (better!) poems and stories can be found at http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

Reacting, Repressing, and Tea

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 14:18:00 +0000

Is it possible to go through life each day with a "clear mind" and in a "meditative state"? Is it possible to divorce ourselves from the world, or to "be one" with it at all times, repressing the natural urge to react in what we perceive to be a negative response (screaming, crying, shouting, biting...)

The students in the monastery were in total awe of the elder monk, not because he was strict, but because nothing ever seemed to upset or ruffle him. So they found him a bit unearthly and even frightening.

One day they decided to put him to a test. A bunch of them very quietly hid in a dark corner of one of the hallways, and waited for the monk to walk by. Within moments, the old man appeared, carrying a cup of hot tea. Just as he passed by, the students all rushed out at him screaming as loud as they could.

But the monk showed no reaction whatsoever. He peacefully made his way to a small table at the end of the hall, gently placed the cup down, and then, leaning against the wall, cried out with shock, "Ohhhhh!"

I remember my last month in my first Real Apartment. I was 18 and had just lost my job. I scraped up every last bit of cash to be found and brought it to the landlord. How sad for him that it was close to $150 in coins and crumpled dollar bills. He was angry. He shouted. He said things to me that were rude. His behavior scared me. Reacting to it in a negative way (screaming back, being spiteful or cursing at him) wouldn’t solve my immediate issue, and I had indeed paid the full rent and was not in the wrong. Why should I be upset just because his reaction to the form of payment was poor? How he chose to interact with the world was his issue and not mine. I shook off my fear as I walked back to my apartment.

How we react to a situation is important. Human beings tend to let Ego (I!) govern their existence. Our reaction is based upon a sense of self (who doesn’t think they aren’t the center of their own little universe?) and how the self is feeling at any particular time about any particular thing.

Cheri Huber, a student and teacher of Zen for over thirty years, explains it very simply it "That Which You Are Seeking is Causing You to Seek".

I have lost my favorite teacup. I have two choices.
I can have lost my teacup and be miserable.
I can have lost my teacup and be all right.
In either case, the teacup is gone.

Gnashing and wailing won’t make a problem go away. The key is to accept that the problem happened, not punish myself or others for a lost cup, and move on.

In the story at the beginning of this entry, I shared the story of the unflappable monk who wasn’t immediately fazed when the students jumped out and shouted. He didn’t spill a drop of tea. He was aware of the situation and did not react until after he had gone to a table and put his cup down. He then leaned against the wall and cried out with shock.

If we are feeling an emotion but telling ourselves to repress it, then it is repressed and repressing us. We become emotionally or physically unwell. If we are feeling an emotion and choose to cling to it, then it governs us and we live our lives in a state of stress and negate our own well-being. Be gracious enough to allow yourself to feel the emotion and then allow it to fizzle away. New feelings and emotions come along every day, after all. Dwelling on the feeling or situation (picking at scabs!) won't change the past.

“Don’t get scared/angry/sad” won't work. Getting scared or angry is natural. We shouldn't punish ourselves for naturally reacting to our environment.

“Do not be scared/angry/sad” is better. It is okay to feel these emotions as long as we don't allow them to define us and how we will be. We can be aware that something has occurred and accept that the situation happened.

This line of thinking opens up a whole new possibility: we can cope with the situation itself.

Memories of Dad Wheeler

noreply@blogger.com (TMTW) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 16:08:00 +0000

Jeff’s Dad passed away tonight after a brief battle with cancer and dementia. His sister Lee had called us the day before to tell us that Dad was going into hospice, and earlier today because his health was rapidly failing.

Jeff and I are devastated. We knew this was coming but we didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. We sobbed and trembled. This was the first time either of us has lost a parent; it’s a horrid fear that I have dreaded facing for many years now.

Dad (Doug) Wheeler was a fantastic father (I leave off “in-law”, thank you very much, he's Dad). He was such a quiet man, gentle and inquisitive. I first met him after Jeff and I were married, and loved him instantly.

His visit to Colorado was the perfect time for Jeff and him to strengthen their father-son bond. Brooks, Dad’s sheltie, made the long drive with him, and the three of them trooped around Colorado Springs while I was at work.

We visited Dad in Phoenix for Thanksgiving shortly after, making the long drive in our grumbling Jeep Grand Wagoneer. Trusty vehicle (Lucas) took us over snowy highways even when semis were sliding back down the long climbs.

Dad was a perfect host, taking us all over the Phoenix area after work, and showing us Luke AFB. We explored malls, trekked into the mountains to visit Jerome and other potential places for us to relocate to, and hung out on his back patio. Dad had launched a campaign against rocks in his yard, patiently picking them up (when Brooks wasn’t busy bringing them to him) and he had quite a pile going in his yard. He worked for the AZ EPA for many years, and wasn’t one for water-wasting lawns and landscaping.

We had looked at homes in his Surprise, AZ subdivision (I believe the model was called The Brisas) but were disappointed that the VA would not cover the amount needed to purchase. We put the move to AZ on the back burner, and slowly it slipped away as housing prices shoved us out of the market.

Years later, after our relocation to Ohio, Dad came for a visit. We were so excited to have him here. I was still new to blogging and tried to keep up with chronicling everything, but what I did not capture were all the wonderful conversations we had on the front porch in the evening.

Dad loved to tell stories about his past, and wasn’t ever ashamed of admitting to making mistakes. He loved to invite the Jehovah’s Witnesses in for cold water and a chat. He told of his woes with Lee and Doug Jr, and his happy memories of their childhood (and Jeff’s, although Jeff was a right little shit in his teens). He loved sports, especially baseball and football, but I think he loved napping during games even more. He found joy in watching the local wildlife, be in in AZ or OH. He ate simple meals, lived a simple life and knew how precious peace can be.

These are some of the entries from my blog during the summer of 2006, which was Dad’s last visit with us:

June 17 2006
Dad had arrived the day before, and we picked him up from the Pittsburgh Airport. My reflections the following morning:

I spotted Dad in the crowd and called to Jeff. Dad looks great! He's trim, and as always, has a wonderful smile on his face… Dad enjoyed seeing all the green on the rolling hills (Phoenix is flat and brown.) He also enjoyed sitting on the front porch, listening to the tinkle of the fountain in the yard. Steubenville isn't a busy town, and the night was peaceful. The fireflies have finally come out!

Later, on June 17
Today was the day to partake in all the different festivals going on around Steubenville. Within a few minutes of each other, you could hit the Greek Festival, the Classic Car Show, the Dean Martin Festival, the Lion's Club Block party thingy, and a host of other activities. Our day started in downtown Steubenville, where we caught the parade going down 4th Street.

As the midday sun got to us, we decided to do a lunch at The Ville (fine food and a very good price), and then drove up the 7 to enjoy Yummy's ice cream (soft serve in just about every flavor you could imagine!) Dad has never been to this area, and he got to enjoy all the rolling green hills… The beautiful Ohio River sparkled on our right hand side as we drove to Toronto - not some brown murky sludge, but a cheerful flow of solid river that beacons you to stop, spread a blanket, and bask in the sunshine at its shore. A few barges and some pleasure craft were traveling slowly north, and you could see people enjoying their day out on the water. Yummys was a relaxing stop, and we ate our ice cream under the shade of an umbrella.

Afterwards, Jeff took a nap (the heat doesn't agree with him as far as his medications go), and Dad and I spent a few relaxing hours on the front porch.

June 18 Father’s Day
We had a wonderful Father's Day today. Admittedly, we didn't do much, which is a very nice way to spend a lazy summer Sunday.

Dad helped me weed the backyard flowerbeds while Jeff retreated into the air conditioned house; he is still worn out from yesterday, and we both have sunburns on our necks and noses. Later in the day, Jeff bar-b-qued a London broil (tenderized with rub and some of my marinara sauce), and we made twice-baked potatoes, and broccoli and onions. We presented Dad with a Steeler's Terrible Towel (if you don't know what that is, I don't think I should ever be able to properly explain it!) Later, Dad and I sat on the front porch and enjoyed conversation. It was a beautiful day.

Jeff's Dad, Doug, is a delightful man - a true Southern Gentleman. He speaks softly, and can capture your attention in witty ways as he recalls things he has done in life. He was Air Force, and now works for the State of Arizona. Between those two jobs, he has done just about everything. He is a hard worker, and never hesitated to do what needed to be done to make ends meet. He has known ups, and he has known downs, and all the while, he has kept his head and done his best to get through everything life throws at him. He is always very polite, and will open doors for women. His smile lights up a room. He is a little shorter than Jeff, but they both have beautiful white hair (Jeff just keeps his close cropped so no one notices that he is balding while his father still has a full head of hair!) He loves to nap during football and baseball games, gets up at 2:30 am (before the hot Arizona heat sets in), and loves to read science fiction. There is no one I would rather have as my Father-in-Law.

19 June
Jeff and Dad have spent the day puttering around the house. I came home [from work] and promptly went to bed. Dad really enjoys sitting on the front porch. He's been getting up early to observe the birds and chipmunks at play, and he enjoys seeing all the green. We have a lovely rain this morning (more storms should hit us this week) and he was able to see our morning fog.

21 June
We spent a lovely two days sightseeing the Ohio Valley area and Pittsburgh. Jeff had VA appointments yesterday and today, which was a wonderful excuse for us to all get out and about!

Tuesday was his Physical Therapy evaluation at the VA in Aspinwall complex in Pittsburgh (it looks like things will go well with that.) This hospital is nestled in a densely wooded area, bordered by fine old homes with magnificent front yards. The drive there is a little hectic, as the highway we take has all sorts of merging ramps and various off ramps, but we found the complex with little effort. We took Dad to the Strip after Jeff's appointment, to show him the shops - we also were low on olive oil and I needed some breadcrumbs - so the timing was perfect. We stopped in at the large Italian market there, and at Parma's for sausage. I found some delicious zucchini at the fruit and veggie market, to boot!

Afterwards, we headed home and I set the men to cleaning while I started my marinara, stuffed peppers and meats. Company showed up right on schedule (my Aunt Helen, Cousin Linda, and Keith and his wife and 2 boys) and we sat down to a huge Italian feast. My Aunt and Cousin absolutely adore Dad, and are so glad he his considering relocating to Ohio. Sorry, no pictures yesterday.

Today was the other VA appointment, again in Pittsburgh at the Highland Drive complex, and Dad was treated to a drive through one of our favorite Jewish neighborhoods (excellent kosher deli there!). I remembered my camera this morning, and took a few snapshots around the VA complex. There is a cozy garden area just behind the building Jeff's doctor is in, and I often sit outside and read my book or smoke while Jeff is being seen upstairs. It is a tranquil place, and I was so happy to share this favorite green nook with Dad. The small garden is surrounded by a high wooden fence, and if you didn't bother to leave the smoking area, you would never find it. Heavy stone benches and tables offer a cool place to rest, and small green trees and shrubs, plus my favorite rock, adorn the inside of the fence proper. It has become slightly overgrown, which only gives me reason to love it more, and birds chirp in the trees overhead.

We stopped by the CEKSF on the way home, in search of a light jacket for Dad. Oakdale really is a charming community, and the scent of freshly cut grass and approaching rain only made the trip all the better. Clothing Sales and the PX were a bust, as they didn't have anything, but I did spot the perfect birthday gift for my Mum (and will return there next week to pick it up!)

On a whim, we drove back to Ohio and headed up the 7 towards St. Clairsville - the Ohio Valley Mall has a lot of shops - and Dad got a chance to see the lush rolling hills. Luck was with us, and we found a nice dark blue light jacket for Dad (who, being from a desert climate, finds or crisp summer mornings a tad chilly.) We had a refreshing rain, and I captured some houses in the mist, as well as the photo below of Jeff and Dad (and his purchase find!) A stop at the Cracker Barrel for lunch, and we headed back. Jeff thought he'd be funny, and started snapping pictures of road signs, as my parents will be heading along this route in a few days. Needless to say, the man took pictures of every turn and sign they would need to look for during their trip from I-70, complete with shots of the corner of our street and driveway! I emailed them to Mum just now.

We are back at home, the men are napping while I work on this entry. I'm fairly exhausted - seven hours of driving does wear one out!

We are really going to be sad when Dad leaves for home, but we are all hoping that things work out well so that he can return here soon, perhaps to stay! It's been wonderful having Dad visit, and Jeff and I are blessed to have him in our lives.

22 June
… I routed home, and picked up Jeff and Dad. We soon found ourselves back at the DMV… A massive storm hit as we waited in line, sheets of rain pouring down, and Dad was able to appreciate a true summer storm, having waited outside to enjoy a cigarette.

23 June
Today was the last day of Dad's visit. It was raining today, as if Ohio, too, was sad to see him leave and openly expressing its tears.

I took my shower and found Dad and Jeff sharing their last few hours of the visit on the front porch. Dad loves spending time out there, watching the birds and chipmunks at play. He loves the green tree and the friendly neighbor's. So, part of me will always think of our front porch as Dad's Porch, the place I always knew I could find him when I came downstairs.

It has been wonderful having Dad here. It did Jeff's heart a lot of good - he has missed his father! They shared laughs over military careers, and talked about the future. I suppose many daughter-in-laws would be grumpy over having her husband's family visit; I am not one of them. Dad is a blessing in our lives, and I can't think of anyone who could replace this handsome Southern Gentleman in our lives. There is no "in-law" tacked onto his title in my heart - he is a Dad in the fullest sense.

We drove up to the airport under rainy skies, and parked. The airport was not crowded today, and we stood in line with Dad as he confirmed his ticket and checked his bag. And then the moment came, when we could have to say good-bye, as we could not follow him beyond the security checkpoint. Dad thanked us for our hospitality, and we reminded him that he would always be welcomed in our home... his presence made it feel like home, to us! We hugged him and kissed him, and turned away, and Jeff put his arm around me as I began to cry as we walked. I was already missing him - we both were. There is no sweet sorrow in partings; there is only sadness because the one you love has to leave. None-the-less, we comforted ourselves in knowing that we would all meet up again soon. It was not a final good-bye - only a farewell until we see you again!

Jeff and I stopped at Cracker Barrel by the airport, just to sit and nibble on stuff. I saw a plate there which had a beautiful painting of a bird. I thought of Dad, and how he loves to watch the birds, and bought it. It sits upon my Victrola, so that, as I gaze out the front window, I can see that plate out of the tail of my eye, and remember a very special gentleman who so enjoyed all the beauty of our new home state.

We love you, Dad!

We will miss Dad, and never forget his quiet ways. Part of me is doused in the deepest grief, but part of me knows that, had he a choice, Dad would have preferred to slip quietly and quickly, not a burden upon family or placed long-term in a home or hospice. Had he a choice, a real choice, he would have chosen to live much longer, exploring the world through long drives interspersed with short naps.

We’ll don’t know the state of his estate, and Jeff has asked if Lee can take money from the estate to fly him out there so they can settle matters and make arrangements. We don’t know if Uncle Neal and Aunt Jan will be able to fly out. We've never been through this process and suddenly everything looks imposing.