Musings While Waiting For A Fairy

Here's a photo of my mom in about 1953. I'm the toddler barely visible in the background, playing in front of our house in Milledgeville, PA. She always wore a dress with an apron back then, just like Beaver Cleaver's mom, whatever her name was.

Hold it. How silly of me. She was Mrs. Ward Cleaver, of course. That's what her name was. It would have been rude to call her by anything else back then. A married woman just gave up her own names, first and last, to become "Mrs. Bob Brown," or whatever her husband's name was.  

Isn't it odd how what once felt so ordinary and normal to us can seem, in retrospect, so absurd and even stupid when viewed from the distance of several enlightening years?

I think my mom was fairly comfortable wearing a dress every day. Sometimes she wore "pedal pushers" if she was working outside, but usually a dress. Always, the red lipstick, too. She wouldn't be caught dead without her bright-red lipstick on, a life-long habit she clung to forever. Once, as she was coming to after surviving open-heart surgery at age 80, she opened her eyes, looked at me, and asked, "Where's my lipstick?" She was not joking, either. She was serious about her lipstick.

So there you go, it's Mother's Day, and I've mentioned my mom with fond memories. Now, since I am a mom, I think I should get to do and say whatever I want all day long! What would be your "heart's desire" if you could have absolutely anything you want? 

If I could have a Magic Mother's Day Fairy wave a wand and grant me absolutely anything I wish, it would be ... (right after world peace and a cure for cancer, of course) ... I'd wish to have an endless, lifetime supply of PUPPIES!

I would just love to have puppies around me all the time. When one turned about six months old, then it would just be time to get another one! Puppies, puppies, puppies. I can almost smell puppy breath just thinking about it! Of course I'd get to keep them all. I read that Oprah has 14 dogs, so why can't I? (Don't answer that; the financial reality of this idea isn't being figured into it, that's why it's just a wish, get it?)  I've given this some thought and I think I could get by on a minimum of two baby doggies per year; although three or four would be better. Only large breeds; I have to admit that little dogs are not my thing. I don't hate them (they're not cats, after all), but I just wouldn't want one unless it was the only dog I could have. Any dog's better than no dog at all. 

My vision of a perfect world of forever puppies and puppies forever (FPPF) is just a fantasy. I do think however, that I really would just absolutely love it if it could be real. So just in case my loyal readers, who probably desperately want to cheer me up since they are so burned out on reading my sad stuff, become overly supportive about my FPPF perfect-world concept they decide to take action, I'm ready.

If I get up one day next week and look out my front door to see that 29 puppies in crates have arrived in my driveway, I can handle that. I'd be a bit freaked out, but I could handle it. No problem, really. Kennel license from the county, minor detail. Puppy chow in bulk from the at the feed store, I can do that.

I have already forfeited the thought of ever having a decent lawn, clean floors, or enjoying extended periods of time, like an entire day, let's say, of total peace and quiet with no barking by anybody at anything, including the mailman.

I also have a high tolerance level for whining and chewing, and cleaning up inappropriate pooping and peeing bothers me not in the least. I could worm, give shots, wean, burp, rock, play with and hug puppies endlessly and expertly.

I am even used to sleeping in a room where the air is frequently fouled by dreaded dog farts. Big-dog, really bad, audible dog farts in triplicate, actually. Now that, my friends, is the true sign of a natural-born, dedicated and devoted dog lover. Well then, my little flock of faithful followers, that's about all I can think of to entertain myself and hopefully, you, with at this ridiculously late hour, so it's over and out from my outpost at 45 degrees North. Fret not about me, dear friends. All's quiet on the western front and my fairy may be on her way. Anything's possible.

A Would-Have-Been Day

Roger Henderson

April 18, 1952 - June 4, 2009

Ride free forever, my love.

Those Pink Patches Are Snow

KEY WEST, FL  -- This time of year, living in North Idaho ain't so hot -- literally. The Idaho Panhandle is having what's politely termed, "a late spring." No spring at all, is more like it. It was snowing at the Spokane Airport the day I left for the Florida Keys.

So here I am, wasting away in Margaritaville, searching for my lost shaker of salt, to quote Jimmy Buffet. It sure is nice here. The white-sand beaches and auquamarine-blue, clear waters are as sublimely beautiful in real life as they appear in tourist-luring photos.

This is a trip my husband and I had planned for a long time before he passed away. He wanted to fly here, rent a Harley, then ride the 90-mile Overseas Highway from mainland Florida to Key West. It's hard to believe it's been nearly a year since he crashed his bike and died on the same day my mom passed away. It's a good thing I'm able now to hear the rumble of Harleys passing by without "losing it." There are hundreds of Harley riders here who must have had the same idea as my husband. I can see where it would be a beautiful ride.

So, don't worry if you don't hear from me again for a few days. I'm busy working on my tan.

Building A Dream

This is the time of year when I'm prone to pondering if I should have raised Poodles instead of German Shepherds. Imagine having three 100-pound dogs shedding like crazy in a nice new house that has almost no carpeting.

Thank God for Dustbusters is all I can say on the shedding phase we're in right now. Dustbusting and dog brushing is my daily routine.

As for my nice new house, I finally got a slide show together of it being built. These photos are entitled, "Building A Dream," but the reality was more like, "Living A Nightmare." Even before my husband passed away, I swore I'd never go through the trauma of having a house built ever again.

I'm not sure if all contractors are idiots, or it's just the ones we had. I came to the conclusion the ideal contractor would be a gay man. He would, in a perfect world, immediately understand what I want and do it right the first time.

There is a certain plumber, whose name I won't mention, whom I believe is not only an total idiot, but a malicious one, too. I just can't believe he didn't do some of the ridiculously stupid things he did on this house out of sheer incompetence. It had to have been on purpose, because he and I didn't hit it off, to say the least. He's old, and definitely old school.

When I asked for things he didn't know how, or want to do, he'd just do it anyway, his way. He screwed up a lot around here. Plumbing that works correctly is right up there on my list of big deals when it comes to living in any house, let alone a brand-new one for which you're paying hundreds of thousands of hard-earned dollars.

To say I was, and remain, highly irritated with him is an understatement. I try to not hope I'll open the newspaper someday and read that he was hit by a bus. That's so negative!

At any rate, since nearly all of my followers are women, I figured you'd like to see some interior shots, too. All you fellow artsy-fartsy folks will see how fascinated I was by the arches.

I do love this house and plan to stay here indefinitely if I can afford it. It's a good thing so many people advised me to not make any big decisions for at least a year after my husband died. My immediate reaction was to sell this place, down market or not.

"Too many memories here," I can recall telling a friend. Since then, I've come to realize that after losing someone who was such a big part of me, the memories of him are all I've got now. They're essential to my wellness; he completed me. I need my memories of him to be the person I am.

There's a lot of both of us in this house. Everything I have of his will remain here as long as I do. I find those things comforting now. At first I couldn't stand to even look at them.

So enjoy the slideshow, ladies and gentleman. Putting it together knocked me down a few times, but here it is, and here I am, anyway.

I heard this somewhere and I think about it all the time: Living is My Legacy.