Yes, like Jay Z. and Ariana Grande before me, I have problems. But, there is only one about which I intend to blog tonight:
I am wholly addicted to John Green books. And I don't want any help, thanks anyhow.
I have no good reason behind my vice. Sure, these works are pretty good, but they are not the best literary masterpieces to ever grace my bookshelf. For some likely abnormal reason, at my mid-advanced place on life's timeline, these books loudly and clearly speak to my soul.
I started with The Fault In Our Stars. It took me way longer than mostly everyone else to read it, and I have no good reason for that either. My intrigue piqued earlier this year with the Entertainment Weekly article about the movie where John Green, on set with Shailene and Ansel, cried during all the emotional scenes as they were filmed. I am glad I put my mind to reading the book before seeing the movie because doing so the other way around would have robbed me of a fantastic experience I will forever remember. Seriously and melodramatically, the day I read the last 3/4 of that book is one of the best days of my life. Immediately thereafter I watched the movie and…you can guess.
The obsession is still ongoing. To give you a whole picture, I have a two-almost-three-year-old boy in this house who loves the movie almost as much as I do. He got sick the other night and begged me to watch "Fall In Our Stars" to make him feel better. (We did not because: 1. The Steelers were playing MNF, making a movie about kids dying from cancer only the second most depressing thing we could do at that moment in time -- though, somehow, that game ended with less tears than the movie does, and 2. I feel this request odd for a toddler and kind of creepy, and 3. We already had watched it twice in the past day and a half.)
I can't let it go. I respond to analytical queries in my life with lines from the book, like "The world is not a wish-granting factory." This one is my favorite, right behind "I fell in love the way you fall asleep. Slowly, then all at once." (I may only do this in my head, so as not to completely give away how far I am down this particular rabbit hole…)
I watched John Green talk about filming the movie in Pittsburgh (!!!!) and how he loves Pittsburgh (!!!!!) and how he believes that one of life's great joys is the full onslaught of Pittsburgh emerging from the Fort Pitt Tunnel as you enter the city from the south. (As I heard him say that last part, I realized that John Green and I are kindred spirits of the highest order. Then my head metaphorically exploded right off my body.)
It almost took over, so I quickly moved onto Paper Towns. While not quite the genius of TFIOS, it still quenched my thirst for this particular genre of adolescent angst. It haunted me differently and offered my overactive mind a lot upon which to dwell. It also reaffirmed that I especially love the way John Green ends his novels: without a big dramatic flourish, but satisfying nonetheless.
Naturally, I became fascinated with paper towns in real life -- a foreign concept to me until now -- and as I googled, I stumbled upon a TED Talk John Green gave on the subject. John Green in real life is sort of geeky and cute, like I pictured Q in Paper Towns until I saw they cast Isaac from TFIOS in the upcoming movie, and instead began picturing Q as Nat Wolff -- or the other way around. Whichever, I will certainly be on the lookout for that premiere next year, even if I do kind of detest Margo Roth Spiegelman in her entirety.
Now, I've started Looking For Alaska. It can be slightly difficult to get on a roll due to my (and Franco's) consistent TFIOS movie views, along with all the other non-frivolous things grown-ups apparently need to do daily. But, I will get to it. And to Will Grayson, Will Grayson after that. Once I put my mind to a full-on obsession, I am nothing if not committed.
Okay? Okay.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Flying South to the End of Your Life
I am now officially forty years old. It turned out to be a fabulous birthday weekend filled with friends and family in my favorite place in the whole wide world -- Pittsburgh. I had once planned to celebrate in another of my treasured locales, Las Vegas, but when some invited guests (i.e. My Mother) refuse to board the plane, it can be hard to conveniently get across the country. In the end, it worked out to be one of the best ideas I have ever had, if I do say so myself.
The entire weekend proved (unintentionally) to be an endurance test. We did Kennywood, the Pittsburgh Zoo, the Pittsburgh Duck Tour, fireworks on the North Shore, and a Pirates game complete with tailgating on Federal Street. And I managed to drink my fair share of beer in there, too, just to make it more of a challenge. It was magically awesome in every way.
Let's Go Bucs!
So now, we are all back to normal. Which, if you know us, means we are on the go in a big, big way for football season -- a different kind of endurance test, mentally and physically, when the teams you follow intend to stress you into an early heart attack each weekend. I am old now, but neither the Mountaineers nor Steelers seem to care for my overall well-being in the slightest. At least for now, the least likely sports contender of all -- the once lowly Pirates -- is proving the most dependable. (No breath shall be held, as we all know how that sort of thinking usually turns out…)
Being forty does not feel too much different than thirty-nine, which seemed similar enough to thirty-eight. But, in aggregate, I guess I do feel older. I know that forty is the new twenty-three or whatever, but I am glad to be out of my twenties. And thirties. This is going to be the decade when I decide what I want, for good, and make it happen. Since I have never really had very many of my own, heart-felt goals, it feels like a good time to begin.
I am determined. To do exactly what, I don't exactly know. But I will do it. Because, even though I half-ass it through life, I usually do so successfully. At the last minute.
And, the last minute is getting closer and closer. No time like the present to finally figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. If I ever do solve the riddle, I might eventually write about it. In an untimely manner.
Old people can be difficult, you know.
Kennywood's Potato Patch cheese fries for dinner? Yes, yes, a thousand times -- YES!
The entire weekend proved (unintentionally) to be an endurance test. We did Kennywood, the Pittsburgh Zoo, the Pittsburgh Duck Tour, fireworks on the North Shore, and a Pirates game complete with tailgating on Federal Street. And I managed to drink my fair share of beer in there, too, just to make it more of a challenge. It was magically awesome in every way.
So now, we are all back to normal. Which, if you know us, means we are on the go in a big, big way for football season -- a different kind of endurance test, mentally and physically, when the teams you follow intend to stress you into an early heart attack each weekend. I am old now, but neither the Mountaineers nor Steelers seem to care for my overall well-being in the slightest. At least for now, the least likely sports contender of all -- the once lowly Pirates -- is proving the most dependable. (No breath shall be held, as we all know how that sort of thinking usually turns out…)
Being forty does not feel too much different than thirty-nine, which seemed similar enough to thirty-eight. But, in aggregate, I guess I do feel older. I know that forty is the new twenty-three or whatever, but I am glad to be out of my twenties. And thirties. This is going to be the decade when I decide what I want, for good, and make it happen. Since I have never really had very many of my own, heart-felt goals, it feels like a good time to begin.
I am determined. To do exactly what, I don't exactly know. But I will do it. Because, even though I half-ass it through life, I usually do so successfully. At the last minute.
And, the last minute is getting closer and closer. No time like the present to finally figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. If I ever do solve the riddle, I might eventually write about it. In an untimely manner.
Old people can be difficult, you know.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Life Lessons: Insomnia
When I can't sleep, I like to peruse silly websites to occupy my brain until it mercifully decides to wind down. One of my old tried and true allies has been the website TWOP (Television Without Pity.) It is snarky, sassy, funny, mindless fun. For some reason, as of a few weeks ago, the site is shut down for new content, which stinks for me right about now. At 1:00 am on the dot, I am reminded of other things I love, hate, and despise. I will now list these in no particular order and for no particular reason other than the obvious. (See title of blog.)
My Likes:
**Sam Harris. Look him up. He is smart.
**PostSecret and Frank Warren. I got to hear him speak at Appalachian State last fall, an event seriously on my bucket list. (My bucket list clearly is not what you might call lofty.) I have been obsessed with those books for a very long time. I love the idea of anonymous secrets and a secret-keeper. Every Sunday I wait for the new secrets on the blog. (I have already used this Sunday gem up in the wee hours of today.) A new book will be released in November 2014, for which I am almost giddy with anticipation.
**Old lady nightgowns. Besides being comfortable and perfect for my sense of style, I find them incredibly convenient to have around so that at whatever age it is appropriate, I can begin wearing them around town. That will be heavenly. (I am not there yet, but I will also deem the time when I am there. Thank you.)
**Vintage gloves. I wear these about town already because I can't get enough. I am always on the look-out for new ones as they tend to wear out easily in this modern era. Having said that, it is a darn good thing they only set you back roughly $3.00 a pair.
**Psychoanalysis. Of myself or you or anyone else. But mostly of myself.
**Nostalgia. In small doses until it leads to depression, at which point it might lead into...
My Dislikes:
**Insomnia at inopportune times.
**People. But not any of you fine folks, naturally. Just the annoying ones.
**Bacon, syrup, and ketchup. That's right -- go ahead and boot me out of the good old US of A. I don't like these things. Deal with it. (Or don't. I can't tell you what to do.)
**The Counting Crows. Blech.
**To see anyone bite into frozen things like popsicles or ice cream. (Shudder…)
My Loathes:
**Law school, the decision to attend law school, the legal profession, being a lawyer, regret over being a lawyer, having to tell people I am a lawyer, etc.
**That is all I could really think of for this one because nothing is on par with that or trumps that.
And there you go. Now, you can sleep peacefully knowing these facts. I, however, am no closer to sleep than I was exactly 23 minutes ago when I started this post. You will have that, I suppose.
Sweet dreams and whatnot you lucky devils...
My Likes:
**Sam Harris. Look him up. He is smart.
**PostSecret and Frank Warren. I got to hear him speak at Appalachian State last fall, an event seriously on my bucket list. (My bucket list clearly is not what you might call lofty.) I have been obsessed with those books for a very long time. I love the idea of anonymous secrets and a secret-keeper. Every Sunday I wait for the new secrets on the blog. (I have already used this Sunday gem up in the wee hours of today.) A new book will be released in November 2014, for which I am almost giddy with anticipation.
**Old lady nightgowns. Besides being comfortable and perfect for my sense of style, I find them incredibly convenient to have around so that at whatever age it is appropriate, I can begin wearing them around town. That will be heavenly. (I am not there yet, but I will also deem the time when I am there. Thank you.)
**Vintage gloves. I wear these about town already because I can't get enough. I am always on the look-out for new ones as they tend to wear out easily in this modern era. Having said that, it is a darn good thing they only set you back roughly $3.00 a pair.
**Psychoanalysis. Of myself or you or anyone else. But mostly of myself.
**Nostalgia. In small doses until it leads to depression, at which point it might lead into...
My Dislikes:
**Insomnia at inopportune times.
**People. But not any of you fine folks, naturally. Just the annoying ones.
**Bacon, syrup, and ketchup. That's right -- go ahead and boot me out of the good old US of A. I don't like these things. Deal with it. (Or don't. I can't tell you what to do.)
**The Counting Crows. Blech.
**To see anyone bite into frozen things like popsicles or ice cream. (Shudder…)
My Loathes:
**Law school, the decision to attend law school, the legal profession, being a lawyer, regret over being a lawyer, having to tell people I am a lawyer, etc.
**That is all I could really think of for this one because nothing is on par with that or trumps that.
And there you go. Now, you can sleep peacefully knowing these facts. I, however, am no closer to sleep than I was exactly 23 minutes ago when I started this post. You will have that, I suppose.
Sweet dreams and whatnot you lucky devils...
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Life Lessons: Teen Mom 2 Edition
Now, I know what you are thinking about this post: What took you so long?
No, really, I know. I do not need any virtual sideway stares at my choice of crap programs. In fact, I quit the whole Teen Mom franchise (mostly) about a year ago. I mean, I still kept up with the antics by way of snarky websites and watched the various interviews when I needed a fix. I just did not watch the show. It became too much, even for me.
So why in the world did I fall off the wagon? I will give it to you in two words: Robin Thicke.
In addition to whatever other social ills for which he is blamed, he is also behind my renewed DVR-ing of Teen Mom 2. Let me explain…no, there is too much. Let me sum up. (That never gets old.)
My friend Megan and I had tickets all lined up for Mr. Thicke's show at Harrah's in Cherokee. She drove here from the North Carolina coast so we could swoon like regular old fangirls at his extreme good looks. (And talent. Obviously.) And then, without even so much as a consult with us, he cancelled. To try and win back his lovely wife, Paula, with whom he fell out after some alleged questionable hand placement, possible strip club misdeeds, and Miley.
To cope, we did what any 30-something-year-old ladies would do. We drank wine, checked websites for marital updates, and watched YouTube videos of Janelle from Teen Mom 2 explaining how it's not just some random concert, it's Ke$ha (now Kesha, after the dollar sign got left behind in rehab…true story) and that's why she had to get those feathers in her hair and could not turn herself into jail that one time, like 100 arrests ago.
And then, after that fateful night, we had to watch the new episode of Teen Mom 2 and now, I am once again hooked. So, damn you Robin Thicke -- but not too much because he did reschedule the show and we eventually got to swoon appropriately. He even wore his wedding band to go along with the hotness, so I really hope those crazy kids make it work.
And now, after so much pomp and circumstance, here are the lessons learned from (as ol' Scotty P. so lovingly puts it) those little sluts:
**If you are a teenage girl about to have sex, just do not do it. Otherwise, there is that off chance you might get pregnant and be forced into the apparent obligatory dress code: ridiculous multi-colored dyed hair, full-body tattoos (which may or may not contain an homage to the kid), ugly face/ear/who-knows-where piercings, cartoonishly awful eye makeup, plastic surgery, and a lawyer on retainer. Not only is the actual kid a bit of an inconvenience at that age, but all that extra garb must be quite cumbersome to boot.
**With all the cursing, fighting, and general lunacy that goes on around their own toddlers, these girls must presume the kids deaf. Why else would anyone act like that? Unless they have the mentality of a child -- oh, yeah. Right.
**One baby is hardly enough. Neither is one Baby Daddy.
**If you happen to watch with your own 2-year-old (likely not recommended but darn good fun) be prepared for commentary such as, "Why is that baby crying?" and "That kid needs a new house" and "Where'd that baby go? and, finally, "Hush!" (It is similar to my own commentary, actually. Very astute that one.)
**My faith in humanity already hangs by a frail string. This show does not help one little bit.
Does that mean I am once again finished? Nope. I will continue on with this train wreck. (But I draw the line at Teen Mom 3. That is just insanity and I do have standards.)
However illogical it might seem, if the Powers That Be happen to bring back unnaturally red-headed Maci, porn star Farrah, crazy CatelynnAndTyler, and free-jailbird Amber -- well, I might have a party! I would have few friends to invite, since most of those who live within driving distance of me are smarter/more mature/actual adults than I am…
But -- I could always count on my sister and Megan to join! What do you say girls? I don't need an answer -- I know you are both in for the win!
Come on MTV. Help some addicts out!
No, really, I know. I do not need any virtual sideway stares at my choice of crap programs. In fact, I quit the whole Teen Mom franchise (mostly) about a year ago. I mean, I still kept up with the antics by way of snarky websites and watched the various interviews when I needed a fix. I just did not watch the show. It became too much, even for me.
So why in the world did I fall off the wagon? I will give it to you in two words: Robin Thicke.
In addition to whatever other social ills for which he is blamed, he is also behind my renewed DVR-ing of Teen Mom 2. Let me explain…no, there is too much. Let me sum up. (That never gets old.)
My friend Megan and I had tickets all lined up for Mr. Thicke's show at Harrah's in Cherokee. She drove here from the North Carolina coast so we could swoon like regular old fangirls at his extreme good looks. (And talent. Obviously.) And then, without even so much as a consult with us, he cancelled. To try and win back his lovely wife, Paula, with whom he fell out after some alleged questionable hand placement, possible strip club misdeeds, and Miley.
To cope, we did what any 30-something-year-old ladies would do. We drank wine, checked websites for marital updates, and watched YouTube videos of Janelle from Teen Mom 2 explaining how it's not just some random concert, it's Ke$ha (now Kesha, after the dollar sign got left behind in rehab…true story) and that's why she had to get those feathers in her hair and could not turn herself into jail that one time, like 100 arrests ago.
And then, after that fateful night, we had to watch the new episode of Teen Mom 2 and now, I am once again hooked. So, damn you Robin Thicke -- but not too much because he did reschedule the show and we eventually got to swoon appropriately. He even wore his wedding band to go along with the hotness, so I really hope those crazy kids make it work.
And now, after so much pomp and circumstance, here are the lessons learned from (as ol' Scotty P. so lovingly puts it) those little sluts:
**If you are a teenage girl about to have sex, just do not do it. Otherwise, there is that off chance you might get pregnant and be forced into the apparent obligatory dress code: ridiculous multi-colored dyed hair, full-body tattoos (which may or may not contain an homage to the kid), ugly face/ear/who-knows-where piercings, cartoonishly awful eye makeup, plastic surgery, and a lawyer on retainer. Not only is the actual kid a bit of an inconvenience at that age, but all that extra garb must be quite cumbersome to boot.
**With all the cursing, fighting, and general lunacy that goes on around their own toddlers, these girls must presume the kids deaf. Why else would anyone act like that? Unless they have the mentality of a child -- oh, yeah. Right.
**One baby is hardly enough. Neither is one Baby Daddy.
**If you happen to watch with your own 2-year-old (likely not recommended but darn good fun) be prepared for commentary such as, "Why is that baby crying?" and "That kid needs a new house" and "Where'd that baby go? and, finally, "Hush!" (It is similar to my own commentary, actually. Very astute that one.)
Does that mean I am once again finished? Nope. I will continue on with this train wreck. (But I draw the line at Teen Mom 3. That is just insanity and I do have standards.)
However illogical it might seem, if the Powers That Be happen to bring back unnaturally red-headed Maci, porn star Farrah, crazy CatelynnAndTyler, and free-jailbird Amber -- well, I might have a party! I would have few friends to invite, since most of those who live within driving distance of me are smarter/more mature/actual adults than I am…
But -- I could always count on my sister and Megan to join! What do you say girls? I don't need an answer -- I know you are both in for the win!
Come on MTV. Help some addicts out!
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Life Lessons: The Academy Awards Edition 2014
It's Oscar Sunday, bitches! That means it is a holiday for us. I will begin said celebration with self-congratulations to all adults of this household for seeing the nine Best Picture nominees.
And now, a primer of what I learned from this year's crop of contenders:
1. American Hustle: I really need to get as skinny as Amy Adams so I, too, can wear those plunging necklines with super long necklaces. I should also consider a perm. This movie is just plain fun. (Also, Christian Bale = a good motivation for the aforementioned diet.)
2. Captain Phillips: Don't go boating in Somalia. Also, Tom Hanks is awesome, all the time, in every way.
3. Dallas Buyers Club: I like serious McConaughey as much as I like hunky, stoner McConaughey. (And, no matter what fashion choices appeal to me -- and not like I could -- don't try to get that skinny.) Jared Leto is an interesting fellow in so much of his work, and his presence continues to impress. He got to keep both arms in this one, unlike my previous favorite (Requiem For a Dream) so good for him.
4. Gravity: Despite my prediction of a ninety minute panic attack, I quite enjoyed myself. Still, George Clooney or no George Clooney, I can't go to space. Or even Space Camp. It would not turn out.
5. Her: Spike Jonze has an interesting idea of mens' pants in the not-too-distant future. I already hate technology, so his cautionary tale is not lost on me. Plus, Joaquin might be crazy, but so what? He makes everything better.
6. Nebraska: "Beer ain't drinkin'." Words to live by right there. Bruce Dern and June Squibb might be the couple of the year.
7. Philomena: It is indeed "a gold star day" if you can watch Judi Dench onscreen. This one sneaked up on me in a good way. And that ending? With the nuns? Geez Louise, in comparison, my self-restraint needs some work.
8. 12 Years a Slave: White people suck.
9. The Wolf of Wall Street: I love Leo more and more all the time. Especially now that we are all "more mature." I particularly love Leo and Marty together. Also, it's probably good for us collectively that Quaaludes are extinct.
I don't have predictions because everything and everyone is so good. I will lose my mind if Leo wins -- just because. I like Cate Blanchett, but love Amy Adams -- and I'm still bitter about Junebug. Ol' Fassbender should at least get a hug for his realistic portrayal of douchebaggery. Now, I can't think of his hotness the same way again. I don't even know how they made Gravity without actually going to outer space for real. That much genius makes my head hurt.
I am sincerely excited to see how it all turns out. I will miss Seth McFarlane's biting wit and boobs song, though Franco still plays that one semi-regularly, so we are covered. Good luck to all the fine, deserving contenders! I am sure, even having said that, the Academy will screw something up. But that's tradition, right?
Bring it on! And enjoy the show!
And now, a primer of what I learned from this year's crop of contenders:
1. American Hustle: I really need to get as skinny as Amy Adams so I, too, can wear those plunging necklines with super long necklaces. I should also consider a perm. This movie is just plain fun. (Also, Christian Bale = a good motivation for the aforementioned diet.)
2. Captain Phillips: Don't go boating in Somalia. Also, Tom Hanks is awesome, all the time, in every way.
3. Dallas Buyers Club: I like serious McConaughey as much as I like hunky, stoner McConaughey. (And, no matter what fashion choices appeal to me -- and not like I could -- don't try to get that skinny.) Jared Leto is an interesting fellow in so much of his work, and his presence continues to impress. He got to keep both arms in this one, unlike my previous favorite (Requiem For a Dream) so good for him.
4. Gravity: Despite my prediction of a ninety minute panic attack, I quite enjoyed myself. Still, George Clooney or no George Clooney, I can't go to space. Or even Space Camp. It would not turn out.
5. Her: Spike Jonze has an interesting idea of mens' pants in the not-too-distant future. I already hate technology, so his cautionary tale is not lost on me. Plus, Joaquin might be crazy, but so what? He makes everything better.
6. Nebraska: "Beer ain't drinkin'." Words to live by right there. Bruce Dern and June Squibb might be the couple of the year.
7. Philomena: It is indeed "a gold star day" if you can watch Judi Dench onscreen. This one sneaked up on me in a good way. And that ending? With the nuns? Geez Louise, in comparison, my self-restraint needs some work.
8. 12 Years a Slave: White people suck.
9. The Wolf of Wall Street: I love Leo more and more all the time. Especially now that we are all "more mature." I particularly love Leo and Marty together. Also, it's probably good for us collectively that Quaaludes are extinct.
I don't have predictions because everything and everyone is so good. I will lose my mind if Leo wins -- just because. I like Cate Blanchett, but love Amy Adams -- and I'm still bitter about Junebug. Ol' Fassbender should at least get a hug for his realistic portrayal of douchebaggery. Now, I can't think of his hotness the same way again. I don't even know how they made Gravity without actually going to outer space for real. That much genius makes my head hurt.
I am sincerely excited to see how it all turns out. I will miss Seth McFarlane's biting wit and boobs song, though Franco still plays that one semi-regularly, so we are covered. Good luck to all the fine, deserving contenders! I am sure, even having said that, the Academy will screw something up. But that's tradition, right?
Bring it on! And enjoy the show!
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Life and Death in the Winter
I have never been a fan of winter -- what with a childhood spent in western Pennsylvania, where snow routinely ruined my best laid plans. Since we moved to western North Carolina, the winters have grown on me a bit more because the snow doesn't fall as often or with the same vigor. Still, it is hardly my favorite.
But, when Franco joined us in early January 2012, and he and I spent those first, quiet weeks together with winter out our windows, I guess I cracked a little. The contrast between the warmth of that time and the chilly weather is close to my heart. I finally have happy memories of winter onto which to hold.
But, as with everything melodramatic in the world, the light of new life is tinged always with the threat of death. Two weeks ago, in the midst of a brutally cold, snowy week in the mountains, we bid farewell to our Gracie.
Just a shelter pup in the lap of luxury...
Last summer, her kidneys started to fail. And we successfully managed it with special food, fluids, and tender loving care -- until a few weeks ago, when she seemingly overnight went downhill. Those last days saw our lively little lady barely able to move, let alone eat or drink. And, really, a Beagle who does not eat is no Beagle at all.
It is hard not to dwell on the sadness. We thankfully still have our Emma, but the energy in the house is changed forever. I miss that Gracie, some moments more than others. To quote Franco's absolute favorite movie, Because of Winn-Dixie, she was "a dog who knew how to be a friend." For true.
Ironically, the night before Gracie's end, as she curled sadly, sickly, at our feet, Franco and I happened on a different kind of favorite: Beasts of the Southern Wild. (Which...Scotty P. promptly put an end to, crying something about "inappropriate for a 2-year-old." He's probably right. I am far too hippie-dippie when it comes to movie content to always make the correct calls. I blame the cold PA upbringing. Although, after his tears at being made to stop the film, Franco did come away with this astute critique: "That kid doesn't have any pants." Quite right.)
And from that moment on, an opposite quote lodged itself in my head, refusing to relent:
"No time to sit around crying like a bunch of pussies."
Also, quite right. Life is short for all of us -- painfully so for dogs. For poor Gracie, at only 7 1/2 years, she should have had more time. But time is not guaranteed for anyone, even a spoiled Beagle. We had better get up and live because it all ends in the end. Which may be sooner than we think.
I am very glad that I doted so much on Gracie all the years she lived here. I am glad that she snuggled in the bed with me, that I babied her eccentricities and fancied her every whim. Had I known how short our time together would be, I may have been even more ridiculous.
It could have been better than this? Doubtful.
I want very much to focus on her life, not her death. I want to remember the laughter and fun. She rolled in raccoon poop at the cabin and had to get a bath in the river. (Traumatic for her, hilarious for us.) She outran ol' Scotty P. in a foot race in the wet grass and he bit it on a broken flip-flop, going down in a pile of obscenities as she sprinted on in glee. She would snatch a carrot out of your hand in a blur of drool and snarl so quickly, you might think her possessed. You could rile her so easily, and she got LOUD. Like the rest of us. She loved cuddles, warm fires, endless food, treats, rows with Emma, blankets, randomly chewing non-dog toys, stealing your seat, and poopsicles. All in all, for a small-brained shelter dog who probably had PTSD and a generalized anxiety disorder, she had everything you would want in a pet.
Happiness is… a warm Beagle-cat and a baby.
So, we will not sit around crying like a bunch of…you know. We will focus on the love we all felt. Gracie's remains sit on our mantle now, right above that warm fire she loved so much on cold wintry nights, much like the one on which she died. We saved her and she saved us.
My Beagle and my Bumble, Christmas Eve 2013…maybe my favorite photo ever.
Good-bye Gracie Juliet Stark Poling, May 2006 - January 29, 2014. We will never forget you.
But, when Franco joined us in early January 2012, and he and I spent those first, quiet weeks together with winter out our windows, I guess I cracked a little. The contrast between the warmth of that time and the chilly weather is close to my heart. I finally have happy memories of winter onto which to hold.
But, as with everything melodramatic in the world, the light of new life is tinged always with the threat of death. Two weeks ago, in the midst of a brutally cold, snowy week in the mountains, we bid farewell to our Gracie.
Last summer, her kidneys started to fail. And we successfully managed it with special food, fluids, and tender loving care -- until a few weeks ago, when she seemingly overnight went downhill. Those last days saw our lively little lady barely able to move, let alone eat or drink. And, really, a Beagle who does not eat is no Beagle at all.
It is hard not to dwell on the sadness. We thankfully still have our Emma, but the energy in the house is changed forever. I miss that Gracie, some moments more than others. To quote Franco's absolute favorite movie, Because of Winn-Dixie, she was "a dog who knew how to be a friend." For true.
Ironically, the night before Gracie's end, as she curled sadly, sickly, at our feet, Franco and I happened on a different kind of favorite: Beasts of the Southern Wild. (Which...Scotty P. promptly put an end to, crying something about "inappropriate for a 2-year-old." He's probably right. I am far too hippie-dippie when it comes to movie content to always make the correct calls. I blame the cold PA upbringing. Although, after his tears at being made to stop the film, Franco did come away with this astute critique: "That kid doesn't have any pants." Quite right.)
And from that moment on, an opposite quote lodged itself in my head, refusing to relent:
"No time to sit around crying like a bunch of pussies."
Also, quite right. Life is short for all of us -- painfully so for dogs. For poor Gracie, at only 7 1/2 years, she should have had more time. But time is not guaranteed for anyone, even a spoiled Beagle. We had better get up and live because it all ends in the end. Which may be sooner than we think.
I am very glad that I doted so much on Gracie all the years she lived here. I am glad that she snuggled in the bed with me, that I babied her eccentricities and fancied her every whim. Had I known how short our time together would be, I may have been even more ridiculous.
I want very much to focus on her life, not her death. I want to remember the laughter and fun. She rolled in raccoon poop at the cabin and had to get a bath in the river. (Traumatic for her, hilarious for us.) She outran ol' Scotty P. in a foot race in the wet grass and he bit it on a broken flip-flop, going down in a pile of obscenities as she sprinted on in glee. She would snatch a carrot out of your hand in a blur of drool and snarl so quickly, you might think her possessed. You could rile her so easily, and she got LOUD. Like the rest of us. She loved cuddles, warm fires, endless food, treats, rows with Emma, blankets, randomly chewing non-dog toys, stealing your seat, and poopsicles. All in all, for a small-brained shelter dog who probably had PTSD and a generalized anxiety disorder, she had everything you would want in a pet.
So, we will not sit around crying like a bunch of…you know. We will focus on the love we all felt. Gracie's remains sit on our mantle now, right above that warm fire she loved so much on cold wintry nights, much like the one on which she died. We saved her and she saved us.
Good-bye Gracie Juliet Stark Poling, May 2006 - January 29, 2014. We will never forget you.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
New Orleans: There's Nothing Easy
The Big Easy. The City that Care Forgot. NOLA. Arguably the best city in the whole wide world. This is where we spent the better part of a week this month...and when I say there is nothing easy, I speak of leaving it. Franco and I might have smiles on our faces thinking of our delicious impending breakfast at The Camellia Grill, but our hearts were breaking at the thought of driving away.
I have been to New Orleans twice before this trip, and on each visit I certainly fell more in love than the last. This time, seeing the city in such gorgeous weather with the best little 2-year-old at my side, I came away totally, irrationally smitten. I am kind of like a stalker now. In a good way.
Ol Scotty P. spent some time in dental implant classes - the entire reason for our trip, actually, was to accompany him and his Implantology class as they were inducted into the International Congress of Oral Implantologists. It took him a long time to earn this distinction, and we certainly celebrated all over the city in his honor!
We rode streetcars. We took a bus tour of the city and cemeteries. (This was a good compromise, as my continued, unnatural obsession with Hurricane Katrina was in full force and a 3-hour Katrina tour may have been exactly the wrong thing for my hopeful recovery.) We walked miles and miles through the Garden District and French Quarter. We watched the Preservation Hall Jazz Band. We visited the French Market and took photos in Jackson Square. We strolled down Bourbon Street with a stylish little guy in love with the stimuli and music and sights to be seen. (THAT was a highlight you should try. In the daytime.) We took a cab. We rode the Steamboat Natchez, where Franco could barely contain the excitement of being on a boat while seeing more boats in the water.
"Seriously!?"
And we ate and ate and ate. Like you do in a city so filled with tasty treats. We returned to our old favorite, The Red Fish Grill, and sampled a new one, Commander's Palace. All the wonderful culture and cuisine was as good or better than the last, pre-Katrina time I visited, and it makes me yearn to return as soon as possible. When we asked Franco about his favorite parts, he talked about a few things and then listed off the foods he ate -- "shrimpies and fries, grits, ice cream and cake on a plate, french toast, gumbo, garlic bread and butter, soup." Afterward, he definitively stated, "That was real good." Yep.
It is always hard for me to leave anyplace I visit. This time, it was especially so. I think seeing Franco come alive in such a wonderful, special city -- much the way I myself do -- really showed me the beauty in being able to give ourselves such wondrous experiences. It surely hits the pocketbook. Hard. But it is worth the subsequent sacrifices to be able to spend those days together in such a marvelous, magical place.
Can you get a helium balloon at one of Brennan's restaurants and come home to clean towels folded into the shape of a dog at home? Nope! You will need a bigger canvas for all that!
And in the end, it is pretty clear: Franco and I enjoy the things a city can offer. We will need to fill this part of our souls as often as possible. Whether it be NOLA (which it will be, for sure, again) or da "Burgh (a perennial favorite for reasons I don't need to explain) we will continue on our merry way, from city to city to city.
And that, too, will be "real good."
I have been to New Orleans twice before this trip, and on each visit I certainly fell more in love than the last. This time, seeing the city in such gorgeous weather with the best little 2-year-old at my side, I came away totally, irrationally smitten. I am kind of like a stalker now. In a good way.
Ol Scotty P. spent some time in dental implant classes - the entire reason for our trip, actually, was to accompany him and his Implantology class as they were inducted into the International Congress of Oral Implantologists. It took him a long time to earn this distinction, and we certainly celebrated all over the city in his honor!
We rode streetcars. We took a bus tour of the city and cemeteries. (This was a good compromise, as my continued, unnatural obsession with Hurricane Katrina was in full force and a 3-hour Katrina tour may have been exactly the wrong thing for my hopeful recovery.) We walked miles and miles through the Garden District and French Quarter. We watched the Preservation Hall Jazz Band. We visited the French Market and took photos in Jackson Square. We strolled down Bourbon Street with a stylish little guy in love with the stimuli and music and sights to be seen. (THAT was a highlight you should try. In the daytime.) We took a cab. We rode the Steamboat Natchez, where Franco could barely contain the excitement of being on a boat while seeing more boats in the water.
And we ate and ate and ate. Like you do in a city so filled with tasty treats. We returned to our old favorite, The Red Fish Grill, and sampled a new one, Commander's Palace. All the wonderful culture and cuisine was as good or better than the last, pre-Katrina time I visited, and it makes me yearn to return as soon as possible. When we asked Franco about his favorite parts, he talked about a few things and then listed off the foods he ate -- "shrimpies and fries, grits, ice cream and cake on a plate, french toast, gumbo, garlic bread and butter, soup." Afterward, he definitively stated, "That was real good." Yep.
It is always hard for me to leave anyplace I visit. This time, it was especially so. I think seeing Franco come alive in such a wonderful, special city -- much the way I myself do -- really showed me the beauty in being able to give ourselves such wondrous experiences. It surely hits the pocketbook. Hard. But it is worth the subsequent sacrifices to be able to spend those days together in such a marvelous, magical place.
And in the end, it is pretty clear: Franco and I enjoy the things a city can offer. We will need to fill this part of our souls as often as possible. Whether it be NOLA (which it will be, for sure, again) or da "Burgh (a perennial favorite for reasons I don't need to explain) we will continue on our merry way, from city to city to city.
And that, too, will be "real good."
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Happy New Year 2014
Last last year, on the eve of 2013, I was going to write a whole blog post about my insightful, surprising discovery that I am Sammi and Scott is Ron from "Jersey Shore" - minus the spray tans, furniture-throwing, and fake hair. (And, in Scott's case, real hair.) That never actually happened because of my perfectionism and lack of time to get it perfect. But, at least now you know that I did indeed discover this and it helped me in my realistic expectation of my relationship during all of 2013.
Whew. I am glad I got that off my chest. Finally. It has been eating at me all last year. For 2014, we already have a few non-"Jersey Shore" things planned:
**We are taking a trip to New Orleans in a week. It is time for Franco to experience one of our favorite places in the country. He is an expert at tailgating in the WVU Blue Lot and so Bourbon Street will be no big deal. It will be fun to see the city post-Katrina, with a 2-year-old in tow. And by fun, I mean both fun and entirely different from the times I have been there in the past.
**We are planning on celebrating both the Steelers and the Mountaineers in their winning seasons. And this plan had better come to fruition or things are going to be seriously depressing around here in 9 months or so. I know we need some outside help over which we have zero control, but whatever. This is going to happen.
**We are going to make real, for true grown-up plans about our money and our futures. Over this we have a lot of control, which makes it scarier and less fun than the last plan. But, sometimes these things happen.
**I am going to turn 40. I sincerely can't wait. I have been so excited for this birthday for the last 5 years or so. I had big plans to visit Las Vegas for the celebration, but I think I might scale it down a bit. (See the previous plan about growing up and money.) I have loved being in my 30's, but it's exciting to think about the possibilities of a brand new decade, wide open ahead of me. I hope it does not let me down.
Until the next time I can steal a few minutes away to organize thoughts…I am done. For now. If you miss me at all, just go find some reruns of "Jersey Shore" and see if you can see what I meant last year!
Whew. I am glad I got that off my chest. Finally. It has been eating at me all last year. For 2014, we already have a few non-"Jersey Shore" things planned:
**We are taking a trip to New Orleans in a week. It is time for Franco to experience one of our favorite places in the country. He is an expert at tailgating in the WVU Blue Lot and so Bourbon Street will be no big deal. It will be fun to see the city post-Katrina, with a 2-year-old in tow. And by fun, I mean both fun and entirely different from the times I have been there in the past.
**We are planning on celebrating both the Steelers and the Mountaineers in their winning seasons. And this plan had better come to fruition or things are going to be seriously depressing around here in 9 months or so. I know we need some outside help over which we have zero control, but whatever. This is going to happen.
**We are going to make real, for true grown-up plans about our money and our futures. Over this we have a lot of control, which makes it scarier and less fun than the last plan. But, sometimes these things happen.
**I am going to turn 40. I sincerely can't wait. I have been so excited for this birthday for the last 5 years or so. I had big plans to visit Las Vegas for the celebration, but I think I might scale it down a bit. (See the previous plan about growing up and money.) I have loved being in my 30's, but it's exciting to think about the possibilities of a brand new decade, wide open ahead of me. I hope it does not let me down.
Until the next time I can steal a few minutes away to organize thoughts…I am done. For now. If you miss me at all, just go find some reruns of "Jersey Shore" and see if you can see what I meant last year!
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About Me
- Stephanie Stark Poling
- Steph's days are complete with little Franco/Mr. Buddy Pants, Pittsburgh Steelers football, Penguins hockey, all things WVU, cold beverages, new handbags, shoe-shopping, pups, and lots and lots of movies. And, of course, her glorious, nutty family.