In a Knot

Carrots from the Garden as intertwined as C& I

Oh, my darling Charles. I love you.

Thinking about you puts a smile on my face and lets my soul relax... just a bit, for a moment or two.

Especially on those afternoons when JB and BW are at each other's throats, bickering incessantly and calm evades the house, or when BW is having an especially difficult time adjusting to life and the changing days.

Thank you for being you, and for all that you do. I would be a shadow of who I am and what I am able to conquer without you in my life.

It was 21 years ago that we stayed up all night, talking, sharing memories. Learning about each other; of who were, used to be and our hopes and fears of 'The Future'.

One of my favorite memories with you thus far in this crazy hectic life is of you walking me home on your way to church so that you could play violin for the service.


Who ever knew that two people could spend more than 10 hours doing nothing but talking? 

Happy Easter my love. 

What Happened to 'Omni'

Whether we realize it or not, each of us has an influence on those around us, even if we have never actually met or if we are completely unaware of those who stumble into our lives.

One who's writing guided my blogging efforts and helped me to define my personal limits of what I share in this little space was a woman of who blogged under the name of Omni.

While I remember many of the details of her blog, of the stories she shared of the life she led, her family and the devastation of an injury she received from a careless developer who backed into her car with a construction vehicle due to his in-attention and later shirked his duties in taking responsibility for his actions, I am unable to remember the name of her blog.

After the death of AunT, I stopped reading blogs for a long while, instead focusing on life here in our corner of the world; school, the needs of the kids, supporting Charles as he navigated the wasteland of administering an estate, and trying to put the puzzle pieces together of the loss we'd suffered.

Once life regained a new balance, I tried to find Omni, to find her blog and catch up with what she was doing. But it was for not - she was lost to the whims and temporary nature of the Internet.

Should YOU remember reading her works, of her life, her husband and two sons, the garden she grew and the grove of fruit trees she and husband took care of, please let me know.

This life is but a temporary plane, but it is longer lasting than the virtual one we sometimes share, and I'd like to let her know that she is missed.

~ Amy

Evelyn's Eggs

At first, we thought it was all hype - the glowing reports about organic urban eggs. The gushing that we've heard from foodie friends and across blogs we read.

But now that we've been eating eggs that our friend Evelyn's brood lay, we are sold, and with deep snow, cold temperatures and no eggs it's hard to go back to those you get at the store.

So, here goes the bandwagon speech... bear with me.

The yolks are so... creamy.  Unlike the every-egg-is-the-same-yellow color from egg to egg that you find in the grocery store, back yard organic ones are all such a bright orange the contents of each one is like a little surprise. You can almost tell which hen laid which egg by the color of the yolk as no two hen's eggs have the same colored yolks! It is the weirdest thing to experience - especially after having eaten nothing but store-bought eggs for all of my life, save the last month or so.

The whites are thick and firm, and the shells are rock hard, they can really take a pounding - they are not at all like the thin shelled variety found in the market.  And, looking at the eggs, you can see a pattern of similarity between them. The colors, the shapes and the size - each little present ...

Some are dark brown, others a soft beige and still others are speckled, as though they've spent a wee bit too much time in the sun.  We've not yet had any green ones, nor have we had white ones. While those are the ones most often found in the Grocery, they aren't as common in home flocks.

Evelyn's eggs have been so yummy that I've spent this spring break reading about and learning as much as I can about hosting our own little brood.

Charles's thinks that it is very nearly a possibility as well. He is adamantly against the minions and I getting a hedgehog... but chickens... Well, he seems to be ok with that.

So far at least. He's even started sharing coop ideas and plans. Is this reverse psychology at work though? I guess we'll see when it comes time to break ground.

This sucks

As I wrote in my post on Squirt, she is a not-so-easily-forgotten character. She greets every person she meets with enthusiasm, love and such affection that they are left feeling idolized and welcomed regardless of their affinity of dogs or how long they have known her.

We have rarely met anyone who has NOT remembered Squirt after only a brief introduction. She is a goofy, talkative, used to be lickative greyhound.

Since moving to River City many, many, moons ago, we have visited the same vet. She helped us with our kitties Rosie and Gertie, our first greys Molly and Herman, and now Squirt, as well as any other critters that came our way and needed attention. Given Squirts personality, we are no longer surprised that the staff at our vet's office rarely remember who we are, but they have yet to forget her. Even when out and about if they see us, it is our goofy girl that they recognize and we need to reintroduce ourselves.

Our vet has known and treated our crazy puppy through all of her insane adventures since the first day she came into our lives at 4 months old. And it hasn't always been easy.

Greyhounds as a breed can be incredibly docile and in adulthood they sleep for an average of 14 hours a day. The reason, we learned through Squirt, was because they wear themselves and everyone around them out their first three years of life. With our pal Squirt though, she didn't grow into her 'adult' stage until she was nearly 5-1/2 years.

It was near the end of her fourth year that we had our first major visit with Dr Cat.  

Our back fence is made of 1x6's that are staggered and offset by 2x6s tipped on their side. A distinct design feature from the 70's, it is impressive that this structure still stands. And, for Squirt, it is fortunate that it is.

While running madly about the yard, she lost track of where she was in her racing loop and ran full speed, head first into the fence. It was fortunate that the slats of the fence were offset because her shoulders hit the fence with a sickening crunch at full force while her head and neck took only part of the brunt as it met the back slats.

Had the fence not had the offsets, we would have lost our goofball at that moment.

It took nearly 6 months of medications and limited movement before she was completely back to normal, and even then we've had spells where her neck aches and she can tell is that the weather is changing.

It was during one of her flareups, as we've come to call them, that we noticed she was having difficulty getting up in the mornings, and that after racing about the back yard, that she wasn't able to walk until after a long rest.

Several X-rays and thorough physical exams revealed that our poor girl was far more stoic than she ever let on.  Over the course of time, her lumbar and sacrum had begun to meld into each other, causing the vertebra in her back to pinch her spine and the nerves that control her legs resulting in her difficulty in walking for long distances or after short intense bursts of sprints about the back yard.

Our girl is now nearly 10 years old, which is old age for an NGA racing greyhound. On most days our girl thinks and acts as though she is only about six, but those days where she creaks and moans, and feels pain are becoming more common place.

Usually they are at night, when the cool winter temperatures settle over the house and she needs to get up to rearrange herself. But this last weekend a cold, wet snow fell and with it moist air and cold winds blew through town. 

Sunday was the first time that BW and JB had seen and heard the struggle that our girl suffers from. She'd pulled a muscle deep in her thigh that caused a pain strong enough to cut through her meds. After tending to our puppy and calming the kiddos down, Charles and I began to digest the one thought we've not yet had about our girl.

Our house is going to be very quiet when our over sized puppy has crossed 'The Rainbow Bridge'.

It is the one thing that we are not prepared for. To answer the question of 'Is it time?" We are fortunate in that our prior Greys have led us down this path before, but it truly sucks to have to share this experience with the kids. They've never not known Squirt.

She's always been there to welcome us home, to enforce our daily schedule - herding us to go to bed at a particular time or giving us 'the stare'. She patiently waits for her dinner (the kids uneaten ones) and will actively beg for food when she feels as though she's forgotten. She sleeps on the couch as soon as Charles has gone to work, and moves faster than lightening off of it when she hears his car in the driveway. And every spring, she digs a deep, wet hole in the very middle of the back yard, as though she and Charles are working at odds with each other over the state of the grass.

She is big, she is old, and she is starting to break down and complain. And it really sucks that we have reached our time with her that we need to start creating her list of 5.  Five things that she loves and enjoys. Five things that she wakes up for in the morning. And we know that as time goes by we will slowly reduce the contents of that list.

Though we are so very grateful that it is only a pulled and worn muscle that needs time to heal and we are likely to have many more years of irritation, stories, vet bills and laughter over this four legged wonder, we are also all too aware of the limited time that we have left with our first baby.

And last night, after BW and JB went to bed, the only thing I could say to Charles as we made our list of five, was "This sucks."

And he agreed.

And Squirt exhaled and moaned deeply as if in agreement before falling asleep for the night.

Husbandry

Poor Charles.

I am certain that when we married nearly 20 years ago, he was painfully aware of my passion for gardening. He steadfastly assisted me in turning springs soil, weeded summer's abundance and then held the bags open as the slimy spoils of falls frost were disposed of.

Year after year he patiently maneuvers around the cookie sheets precariously balanced flat surfaces in the dining room that hold tiny pots where little sprouts of green will hopefully appear and then grow into the seedlings for the years garden.

He then overlooks the crumbs of garden soil that trails across our deck, the carpet and the floor of the kitchen and sink and the children and I haul in the harvest.

But, it is our newest interests that he is ever so weary about. Bees. (and chickens). While Squirt has her moments, and is known to drive us all crazy in trying to keep us rounded up and in tow (she has a serious herding streak), she is the one thing that is currently keeping the kids and I from delving in whole-heartedly into setting up a hive this summer, and building a coop in the fall.

So long as we have a dog, we won't be able to have bees. (or chickens).  Charles is rooting for the dog. Who, as it turns out, is turning 10 in April.  That is mighty old for a Greyhound. But don't tell her that. She still thinks she's 5 or 6.  

Without Lines

It was one day, many years ago, when we were driving about, running our standard fare of errands when BW's little voice called out from the back seat "Mama, did you know that without lines there would be nothing?"

At the time I was racing the clock, trying to complete the bane of every mother's existence - the ToDo list - before it was time to pick JB up from preschool. So it was with a distracted, "You are right about that, love" that I responded.

It was recently, while in the midst of a therapy session with BW that the therapist presented us with a thin stack of blank paper and a pen asking us if we had ever played the game 'squiggle'.

The instructions were simple; playing in pairs, one person draws a line, whatever they wanted, and it was up to the other player to use that line to make a drawing.

It was while looking at the clever doodles created as BW, Charles and I took turns drawing simple lines, curves and squiggles that the profound nature of what BW observed at the young age of 3 or 4 took hold. Without lines, there would be nothing.

As the session drew to a close, BW couldn't wait to share this enchanting little game with JB. And later that night the two spent hours drawing, laughing and playing with each other.

It is though, his latest question that has me puzzled, and I am not entirely certain as to go about answering it for either him or myself. Even one of the professors I worked with last semester, and an expert in his field, was unable to completely wrap his mind around it.

Perhaps it is up to BW himself to determine if life is possible in the absence of vibrations of any kind.