Save Etheria

Thing to Do #17: Redo Laundry Room

2011-07-29T19:55:00.001-05:00

Redecorating our drab laundry room was way down on the household project list. But one day I found a puddle of water under our washing machine and realized it had a leak. My co-worker told me it was probably a $40 fix - just open it up and replace one inexpensive part. Well, after I failed to figure out how to open up the machine (and after my rocket-science in-laws couldn't figure it out either), David and I decided to just go ahead and buy a new washer and dryer. Stackable ones, to give us more storage space.

While we were at it, I decided we might as well paint the wall behind where the new washer and dryer would be, since this might be the last time we'd ever be able to get back there. And you can't just paint part of one wall (like the previous homeowners had done), so it seemed worth doing them all.

Along that same line of logic, we thought we might as well do the floor as well. A nice blue concrete stain did the trick.

I soon realized that the ceiling also needed new paint. Someone (probably the same person who had done the walls) had once started to paint it a light green, then changed his or her mind and painted the rest a pale yellow, then left random spots of pink.

While I was painting the ceiling, I noticed there was no cover on the light bulb. So I had to get a new globe.

I had never noticed that the trim around the doors and windows had never been painted. And neither had the old ratty-looking shelving unit some unskilled laborer had made. Out came the white paint!

Now I needed to organize the storage areas. So I went to Tuesday Morning and loaded up on pretty baskets. While I was there, I picked up some nice floor mats. And of course, an ironing board cover that matched the baskets.

The window looked drab then. So I borrowed a sewing machine and made a curtain - my first sewing project in at least 18 years. Found some fake lemon trees at a garage sale to dress up the sill.

We've always wanted a utility sink. So we hired a plumber to install one. While he was there, we had him fix the leaking gas line we had been putting off repairing. And oh, cabinets. I decided we needed cabinets.

Seven months (and a big chunk of change) later, we had our newly remodeled laundry room.

Occasionally, I spot a puddle of water under my new washing machine. I just ignore it.

Mazzy Rose Griner, 1999-2011

2011-06-27T19:00:00.026-05:00

In August of 1999, I had just graduated college and started my first job. I was on my own for the first time, and feeling a little lonely. So I went to a pet store to adopt a calico kitten. They had one for sale - and it bit me.

I knew that wasn't the cat for me, and although I'd had my heart set on a calico just like the one I'd had growing up, I moved on to the next cage, where I saw a grey and white kitten, about 6 months old - a little older then I was looking for. Still, I picked her up and held her in my arms. She touched my chin with her little white paw. And that's how I met Mazzy.

Those first few months, it was just me and Mazzy. She slept in my arms every night, and loved having me all to herself. But about six months later, I found a calico kitten to bring home.

Mazzy was not pleased.

Months passed, and I was worried these two cats would never get along, despite Callie's many attempts to win over Mazzy's affection.

Then, one day, I came home and saw this:

From that point on, Mazzy and Callie were the best of friends. Seeing them cuddling together always cheered me up.

Those cats were with me through six moves in three states, tolerated two cross-country road trips, and eventually learned to put up with the addition of a dog.

In 2007, Callie died suddenly of kidney failure. Mazzy was never the same after that. I don't know if it was the loss of Callie, the stress of our adopting a new cat she never learned to like, or just bad luck, but soon after Callie's death Mazzy developed inflamed bowel disease. IBD can't be cured, and I pity the cats, cat owners, and cat owners' belongings (oh, and wallets) who have to live with it. We had to pill Mazzy twice every day for the rest of her life and take her in to the vet a few times a year for treatment. We had to put her (and poor Cleo) on a diet of bland prescription cat food and stop giving her night time treats, something she and Callie always loved.

Finally, about a month ago, I noticed Mazzy seemed to have lost more weight than usual and looked dehydrated. I took her in to the vet to be examined. Blood tests showed that her white blood cells were highly elevated, indicating she had cancer. It is common for cats with IBD to develop cancer, so I wasn't surprised. The doctor said she wouldn't respond to any kind of treatment, so all we could do was make her comfortable.

For the past few weeks we stopped forcing her to take her daily pills, added night time treats back into her routine, and showed her lots of love. She purred a lot and didn't seem to be uncomfortable at all - just really tired.

Mazzy died peacefully in her sleep sometime during the night of June 24 - coincidentally, my father's birthday. She never seemed to be in pain, never lost her appetite or ability to walk. She was happy right up until the end.

We plan to bury her remains right next to Callie, so they can cuddle together forever.

Thing to Do #65: Take Alli to church (or, The Day My Daughter Learned How to Lie)

2011-06-27T12:51:00.000-05:00

You may remember a couple of years ago David and I checked out the local Unitarian Church to see if it was one we'd like to attend, especially after we had a child. Well, a year ago next month, we decided to take Allison to church for the first time. And it was the day when my ordinarily honest little angel decided to try lying. Apparently, the Sunday school teacher was the perfect guinea pig for her little experiment.

Lie #1: The teacher asked the children what the nicest thing was that happened to them all day. One little girl shared that her parents took her out to breakfast at a restaurant. Allison, who up to that point had been quiet and pretending to be shy, blurted out that she also had gone out to a restaurant with her parents that morning. Nope. We made blueberry pancakes at home. But I just marked this tall tale up to copy cat syndrome.

Lie #2: I went back up to hear the rest of the service as all the children were settling down at a table to draw a picture of the nicest thing that had happened to them all day. I was looking forward to seeing what Allison had drawn. When I returned to the classroom, I discovered her paper was blank. When I asked her why, she said because the teacher would not give her a marker. Or a crayon. Or even a pencil. What a mean teacher.

Lie #3: The teacher then came up to me and said: "So Allison tells me you're going to her Nonna's birthday party today." The confused look on my face made her follow up with: "So I guess this is news to you?" Yes, considering my mother's birthday is in December, and this was July.

Since then, we've tried taking her back a few times. But it hasn't proven to be a very fruitful experience for her or us. I guess we're just not church-goin folk. At least I can check it off the list as having tried!

Thing to Do #30: Fire a gun

2011-06-01T21:00:00.000-05:00

This Thing to Do also happened to be a 2009 New Year's Resolution. When, on December 30, 2009, I realized I hadn't done it yet, I asked my father-in-law to take me to the shooting range. Unfortunately, it was closed that day. But he understood how important it was that I check off this resolution, so he took me to a top secret, undisclosed, never-to-be-revealed location to let me fire a gun. Into a lake. (Some people here in Alabama refer to this as "fishing.")

Thing to Do #82: Build a Snowman

2010-06-16T12:15:00.012-05:00

When I created my to-do list, I thought I'd have to wait until my next winter vacation up in Illinois for this one. But in December 2009, Alabama got a snowfall that accumulated a whole few inches! Of course, within a few hours it had melted and our snowman's head fell off. But he had a good life while it lasted.

Allison and I finally had another chance to build a snowman this past Christmas while in Illinois, but she wouldn't let me take any pictures of her that time. Which is a shame, because my mother had an honest-to-goodness corn-cob pipe that we stuck in his mouth.

Thing to Do #1: Get eye surgery

2010-06-15T12:54:00.007-05:00

When I was 5 years old my parents informed me during dinner that I had to get glasses. I looked around the room and thought: But I can see just fine.

That was the last time I remember seeing with my own eyes. Until now!

With a prescription of -9 on my left eye and -10 on my right, I'd known for years that I didn't qualify for Lasix. I'd have to get the same surgery that my sister had about 10 years ago, ICL, where a lens is implanted in the eye. I also knew that it was two or three times as expensive as Lasix. But I made a deal with my parents: They'd pay half. Great deal - except that it took me about 5 years to raise my half.

Finally, thanks in large part to our 2009 tax return, I had my portion of the cash, so I booked an appointment. Back when my sister had the procedure done, it wasn't FDA approved, so she had to go to Canada to have it done and wait a couple weeks in between eyes. But since then the FDA has blessed it, and I got to have the surgery performed by a doctor whose office is five minutes from my house. And I had both lens implants done on the same day.

I didn't feel nervous even for a second. I was more anxious than anything. There are a LOT of pre-op tests you have to go through, and you have to wear glasses for two full weeks before the surgery. Had I still been wearing hard contact lenses, I'd have had to wear my glasses for three months, so I was grateful I'd moved to soft lenses a few years back. I was told I'd be awake for the procedure, but I was knocked right out. I remember them putting on a clamp, then taking the other off. Simple as that. An hour later, I had better than 20/20 vision.

I've had a few issues since then, and my vision's still not as clear as I'd like it to be, but it will continue to improve. Overall I can't complain. For the first time since I was five I can get out of bed without having to fumble around the bedside table looking for my glasses, knocking over a glass of water in the process.

Oh, and thanks Mom and Dad!

New Blog. New Posts. New Stuff to Do.

2010-06-01T12:14:00.013-05:00

It's time for a fresh start.

Almost two years have past since my last blog post (and yes, we finally resolved that pesky cat-in-heat issue). While hectic schedules and plain old-fashioned procrastination are on my mile-long list of excuses for not writing, my main reason has to do with the fact that I used this blog to write about what was going on in my life. Around the time of my last post, what was going on was my father was diagnosed with a brain tumor, to which he lost his battle on June 20, 2009. My father was a private man and one of my most loyal blog followers, so I didn't want him seeing his struggles posted so publicly. I also tried to maintain a brave face during that year he was sick, so I did not want to frighten him by reading about my own fears and emotions. So, I stopped.

Lately I've really missed writing, so I'm ready to come back. And while I may occasionally write a post about my dad, I promise I won't harp on it. Instead, I intend to use this blog as a launching pad for a project inspired by my father's untimely death. A project that's all about remembering to live life every day and to always have goals that you're working toward.

It's called 101 Things To Do in 1,001 Days. The object is to make a list of 101 things you want to do, like New Year's resolutions. But because, really, it's not always possible to get those resolutions done in a single year, you get to work within a more realistic time frame of just under three years. I started the project on August 22, 2009, so my deadline is May 19, 2012.

So far, it's been a lot of fun, and I feel my life is more focused. I encourage everyone to try it. It was tough coming up with 101 different goals (I started to struggle around 50), but that just encourages a little creativity. And for those of you who do not have 1,001 fingers to count, here's a calculator to figure out when your deadline will be.

So here we go. 101 Thing to Do #21: start blogging again regularly.

Deja vu

2008-07-31T13:38:00.004-05:00

When I took a trip recently to visit my family in northern Illinois, my grandmother gave me a photo that was taken in July 1977. It shows my mother, standing in front of our old house, holding 4-month-old me while my late Aunt Ann admires my cuteness.

Coincidentally, my visit was in July, when my own daughter was 4 months old. So I was inspired to recreate the photo with Allison's Aunt Cathy. This photo was taken outside my parents' new home, which is just next door to the old place.

It's amazing to me how much Allison and I look alike as babies! Except that she has a cuter forehead...

More blog entries to come - I've got lots of stories and catching up to do! Meanwhile, if you're itching for more Allison photos check out the link to the right, which will take you to our Flickr photo album.

A tooth in a tumor

2008-06-11T13:16:00.003-05:00

I made reference in my last post to a time when my supposedly spayed cat went into heat. For about four days Cleo howled nonstop, pointed her little butt up into the air, and made passes at the dog. When I told the vet about it, she said "she's just enjoying the springtime." And that it probably wouldn't happen again.

Well a few weeks ago, it happened again. This time, she was enjoying the season for a full week.

The vet had me bring Cleo in to do some blood tests. Now, Doc tends to ramble on a lot and toss out a lot of theories, especially in regards to what a cat's issue could be, as they apparently are an enigma to even modern medicine. I usually manage to grasp only a vague sense of what she's talking about. In this case she went on and on about what she must believe to be the common occurrence of finding a tooth in a cancer patient's tumor because a tooth cell somehow got inside a tumor. Similarly, she theorizes, an ovarian cell may have somehow gone AWOL and grown a new ovary somewhere in Cleo's body, where it set up a hormone-making factory that causes her to have heat-like symptoms.

Or, as David and I theorize, maybe the vet just forgot to spay the stinkin cat.

Back in January, I brought Cleo in for her last set of shots. The vet told me to bring her back in February to be spayed. But when I went to check out, the receptionist said I didn't need to bring Cleo back for a year - when it was time for her next round of vaccinations. When I mentioned that Doc told me Cleo still needed to be spayed, the receptionist said Cleo's chart showed that had already been done. According to Cleo's records, she was spayed when she was five weeks old (about a month before we met her and decided to adopt her). The receptionist pointed this out to the vet, who said, "oh yeah. We did do that." When I inquired as to why a kitten would have been spayed at such a young age the vet said it was a clerical error.

To this day the vet insists Cleo WAS spayed, and she will not even entertain the idea that perhaps she's thinking of another cat on the operating table. She's sticking with the tooth in the tumor theory. Yet in her 25 years in the field she has never seen a spayed cat go into heat, and the idea is now so fascinating to her that she told me she has some scientist friends who may want to study Cleo. But she wants to see the results of the blood test first.

It has now been three weeks since I took Cleo in for those tests. I have called the vet's office about five times to inquire about the results. I have not heard back from her. Could it be the results show Cleo is the owner of two healthy, perfectly intact ovaries? Impossible.

By the way, the latest and perhaps final theory about Mazzy's condition is that she has irritable bowel syndome. Which basically means she (and Cleo, for convenience sake) can only eat prescription cat food from now on. The stuff sells for about 17 bucks for a very small bag that can only be purchased from your local vet. Sheesh. But Mazzy has shown improvement.

Several of you commented on my last entry (and I'm sure some of you are already planning to make similar comments on this entry) that it may be time for a new vet. Maybe so. I've been sticking with this one for as long as I have for two reasons: 1.) I was really impressed by how well she treated Callie in her final days. She made her comfortable and really tried everything to save her. When we did have to put Callie down, the vet cried. That endeared her to me. And 2.) because we adopted Cleo through her, we get 50% off all her vet bills. Sweet!

But I'll keep the advice in mind. We'll see how things go on Friday when I have to take Jonas in to check out a newly developed limp.

More Cat Drama

2008-05-08T11:09:00.002-05:00

So Mazzy is proving to be a medical enigma. Ever since February she's had what appears to be a common cold or allergies, with sneezing, watery eyes - nothing too alarming. I ignored it while I focused on child bearing, assuming her body would take care of it. But then - gross out warning - around Easter she started throwing up, and it had a red tinge to it. The vet diagnosed it as an upper respiratory infection, and Mazzy (or May-zee, as the vet calls her) was prescribed a complex regimen of meds - an anti-nausea pill to take twice a day, half an hour before eating; an antibiotic to eat with each meal; and a gel I had to smear directly into her eyes twice a day. This conflicted with our weekend plans to visit my parents-in-law, so Mazzy tagged along. I couldn't subject my catsitters to that, even if one of them is the daughter of a vet. Mazzy seemed happier that weekend than she had in a long time. She was social, her fur felt noticeably softer, and her symptoms disappeared. It could have been a cold, it could have been allergies, or it could have been a reaction to a stressful situation at home, which she was relieved from with a trip to the lake house.

Sometime close to the end of April, though, the sneezing and vomiting returned. This time the vet guessed it to be allergies, so she gave us some antihistamines. Two days later, Mazzy threw up all day long, again with a reddish hue, and even peed outside the litter box for the first time in her life. Our vet was out of town, so her husband advised we take her to the emergency vet, where she ended up spending the night.

The emergency vet ran every test imaginable (including an X-ray, which showed something in her stomach. Jury is still out as to whether that something was just FOOD - helpful) and concluded she had some kind of virus (as well as an "unrelated" urinary tract infection, which we were given medicine to treat). They then tested her for two of the three bad (aka, fatal) feline viruses - feline leukemia and feline AIDS - and cleared her of both. The third they recommended our regular vet test for, but statistically it would be a real stretch if she had that one. Good news is, all of her organs are fine. We had been worried about her kidneys and about her suffering the same fate as Callie and were relieved to know that wasn't the case. So, $700 later, we're back to the common cold theory.

That theory would hold if Mazzy didn't have another issue. At her late April visit, her vet told us to watch her weight. She had lost a pound since her last checkup six months before, but that also could have been due to the addition of a kitten in our household. The emergency vet found Mazzy had lost an additional two pounds since then - which was just a matter of days. Another theory was thrown in the hat that she had inflammatory bowel disease, but our regular vet doesn't seem to think that could be the case. Mazzy was fed fluids through an IV during her overnight stay at the emergency clinic but didn't eat any solid food while she was there. That worried the emergency vet, but the second we got Mazzy home that Sunday she ate about three bowls of cat food.

We switched up her food from the weight watchers formula to the fatty-bo-batty formula, and increased the number of scoops we feed her. Since then, she hasn't gotten sick, and her sneezing has been better (we cut her off of those antihistamines, though, since they could have been a cause of the vomiting). The only issue we've had is the bandage covering her leg where the IV had been was on a bit tight. When I cut it off, her foot was swollen to three times its normal size and she couldn't put any weight on it. It's fine now - just looks a little funny from having been shaved around the ankle.

But this morning she got sick again, at least three times between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m. I called the vet and have been instructed to bring her back this afternoon for some kind of injection that will "quiet her tummy." Mazzy will also be given some anti-inflammatory medication twice a day, and put on a bland diet. Sounds like we're just grasping at straws now. Anyone got a dart board and a blindfold?

If all this weren't enough - remind me to tell you the story sometime of how the kitten (Cleo, by the way) went into heat about a month back. Oh wait, she's been spayed. At least according to our vet, who claims Cleo was "just enjoying the springtime."

These cats are making owning Jonas look easy.

Baby photos

2008-05-06T08:40:00.003-05:00

Hi everyone

Just a quick note that I've added a convenient link to this page - located to the right under "My favorite links" that leads to our photo album of Allison. Check back periodically for updates! We just uploaded a new batch this morning if you'd like to check it out.

Meanwhile, I've got a backlog of blog ideas (not all of them baby-related, even!) and will hopefully be posting those soon. For now I'm just looking forward to seeing my mother and grandmother, who will be coming to Birmingham tomorrow night.

Eek! THAT'S where I came from?

2008-04-14T17:29:00.003-05:00

Allison's been a busy girl these past few weeks. She's been awake a lot more during the day, and has even been sleeping through the night (by which I mean she sleeps until 5 or 5:30 a.m., which still forces her parents out of bed earlier than we're used to. But it's a huge accomplishment). She can hold her head up (mostly), scoot when you lay her on her back or stomach and hold her feet, and she's even given us a few sweet smiles.

I went back to work last week, and David is now on his second week of paternity leave. He's learning what I already knew - that taking care of a baby, even one who sleeps a lot, is a lot of work. Both of us had a lot of ambitions at the beginning of our leaves of getting things done around the house and writing that next great American novel we've been putting off. But the three hours between feedings goes fast. It takes her half hour to an hour to eat, then there's a few diaper changes, book reading (David's reading her War and Peace and I fluctuate between Dr. Seuss and the Norton Anthology of British Literature), and rocking to sleep. After she goes down for a nap, there's a little time for picking up all the burp clothes, bibs and blankets scattered all around the house, doing some laundry, unloading and reloading the dishwasher, or checking email. Of course, bottles always need cleaning for the next round of feedings. By the time you get a chance to sit down or realize you're starving for lunch, she's up asking for her next meal. Since she began spending more time awake during the day, we've to cut out the parts where we tidy, eat, and sit down. Yes, she's keeping us on our toes, and we realize that this is the least labor intensive part of her infancy.

But we're not complaining. She's a very good baby. And so far, knock on wood, not colicky. Poor thing does have some reflux issues, which causes her to scream in agony one or two meals a day, but the doctor gave us some medicine to curb that as well as the reassurance that she'll outgrow it by the time she's nine months old. The book Happiest Baby on the Block gave us good ammo for comforting her during the rougher times, although it was a bit hard to read at times (long winded and full of cheesy puns). We've become excellent swaddlers and shooshers.

Anyway, here's a link to some new photos, including some shots of her first trip to the zoo, which she slept through (except for the minute when we snapped the photo below). But I got some very cute shots of her twin cousin Ruby.

Isn't she lovely?

2008-04-05T16:06:00.002-05:00

Thanks to my sister, Cathy, for creating this video in honor of Allison's one month birthday. Thought you'd all like to see!

For another fun video of Allison, check out her dad's blog.

My first month as a mom

2008-03-24T11:12:00.005-05:00

In just two days, my daughter Allison will be one month old. It still feels strange for me to use the term "my daughter," even though I've already grown pretty fond of her. She's a nice girl.

As I start to get the hang of this mothering thing, I finally have some free time to update all of you on our new addition (for photos and stories of her birth and first days, you can check out David's blog). Many of you have already heard Allison's birth story. I am hesitant to talk about my labor as it's bound to make many mothers jealous. But maybe some future first-time moms can hear it and be encouraged that giving birth might not be so bad. But basically, my pain medications worked flawlessly. They made me a bit sleepy, so in between reading I napped. Once in awhile I'd feel a twinge in my abdomen and ask the nurse, "Was that a contraction?" She'd say, "Yes - a big one!" Finally, when it was time to start pushing, the nurse had to wake me up to let me know. After seven and a half hours of "labor" and 40 minutes (which seemed more like 15) of pushing, Allison was born. She weighed 7 pounds, 3 ounces (the same weight I was at birth) and was 20 inches long.

She was diagnosed with jaundice and had to spend four days on a "billy bed" - like a sunbathing booth without a lid. I was upset at first - she would have to be on this bed 24/7 except for feedings and diaper changes, meaning my parents, who were in town for a few days, wouldn't have much time to hold her. But it turned out the bed fit right into her cradle, so she could spend her days with us in the living room. The bed was actually pretty impressive. Allison was wrapped in a onesie-like outfit that was attached to the bed with Velcro. The back of the outfit was sheer so that her back was exposed to a blue light that helps clear away the jaundice. Finally, by her one-week birthday, her doctor said her jaundice was better and she was declared a healthy baby.

Allison's first night at home was a bit taxing - she had terrible gas and was up most of the night crying. David and I took one-hour shifts comforting her and sleeping, alternatively. We figured out, though, that we had forgotten to push the air out of the bottle insert, which caused her to have gas. Since then, she has done well sleeping at night. We sometimes have to wake her for her 2 a.m. feeding and occasionally she wakes us up in the early morning hours. We are tired much of the time, like most new parents, but I'd say we got it pretty easy.

This past week Allison has finally started to be awake more often. She sleeps most of the time during the day, which allows us plenty of down time, but it has been nice seeing her eyes once in awhile (it's still up for debate whether she'll have Balsley or Griner blue eyes).

This past weekend we visited my parents-in-law for Easter. We got some great photos of Allison and her 9-month-old cousin Ruby. Neither of them acknowledges the other's existence yet, but we are excited about the two of them growing up together.

I'm now down to just two more weeks of maternity leave, which makes me kind of sad. I'll miss being home with her all the time. David will take two weeks of leave after I go back to work, then she starts daycare at the University of Tots.

Thanks to everyone for your well wishes and support. As requested (or demanded, in some cases) here's more photos of Allison's first few weeks and her first Easter. Enjoy!

My Missed Opportunity to be a Hollywood Cliché

2008-02-26T20:53:00.003-06:00

I have been waiting to go into labor for six days now. My doctor was surprised that she didn’t need to send me directly down to labor and delivery when I went in for my regular appointment last Thursday. I was 5 cm dilated at the time. For those of you who don’t know what that means – I’ve only recently learned myself – when the baby comes out, you’re 10 cm dilated. Many women, when they are rushed to the hospital because they’ve begun feeling the pain of regular contractions, are around 2 cm. When they reach 3-4 cm they are in active labor. Monday morning, I had grown to 6 cm with nary a contraction. So basically, this child is ready to fall out. My doctor has scheduled me to be induced Wednesday morning if she doesn’t decide to come out on her own.

Well at 3:30 this morning – my 31^st birthday – we were awoken by the sound of a tornado siren. The lightening flickered like a strobe light. David, my mom and I – each holding on to a pet – hunkered down on the floor of our hallway, the only area in the house with no windows, moments before the barometric pressure dropped. Just then, the front hit – it was the worst storm I can remember since moving to Alabama. This was the storm I had read about a few days ago that was to wreak havoc across the entire country. It started out in my old stomping grounds of northern California. On the Doppler it looked like a hurricane was about to hit the west coast, like a scene that might have been in the movie, Day After Tomorrow.

As the storm picked up strength, we heard a loud crash toward the back of the house, and knew it had to have been caused by the huge, dead hickory tree that stands five feet from the house and has been dropping branches the size of fruit trees for the past few weeks. I was envisioning a collapsed roof or broken window.

If this were a movie, this is the moment that my water would break or my contractions would start. But they didn’t.

Finally, the storm passed, and we looked out back to examine the damage. A branch had fallen, right on my Adirondack chairs in the back yard. It smashed one that my mother-in-law had given me for Christmas, but the one I had built last summer with my father-in-law was still in tact. And the cable line had been knocked down. This was fabulous news. We have half a dozen cables running across our lawn, and I have wanted to get rid of them ever since we moved in. The phone company had come out just the day before and taken down our phone line – which ran parallel to the cable line – and run a temporary line along the ground, to be buried later. It inevitably would have been torn down as well and we would have been without phone service for a few days, I'm sure. The cable line was next on my list to have removed, since we don’t use cable (even if we did subscribe to a television service, we’re dish people). So that was a nice birthday present.

What I really wanted for my bday, though, was my baby. Wishful thinking led to a false alarm late in the afternoon. Called my doc, and she told me to come in. After a brief exam, however, she said I might as well go home and come back tomorrow at 6:30 a.m. to be induced as planned. She said Allison wants her own birthday. But her mercy of not coming during a tornado will definitely be part of her birth story.

The Final Stretch...

2008-01-28T12:58:00.000-06:00

It's hard to believe, but I only have one more week until I'm officially 9 months pregnant. In theory, I could be having a kid this time next month (and wondering whether she'll be a Leap Baby). All in all, it's been remarkably easy - I've had no morning sickness, no stretch marks, and a healthy appetite (as evidenced by the photo shown here, taken this morning. Never knew I could miss my chin so much). So I've had nothing to complain about, though I have been a bit frustrated these past few weeks at how tired I am all the time. It forces me to relax rather than be in my constant state of go-go-go. That and the fact that all of my joints are turning to Jell-O in preparation for labor. If anyone needs a good laugh watch an 8-month pregnant woman try to hold a fork or glass of water (just be wary of the consequences once she gets her strength back in a few months).

But we're all ready to go. My mom came down a few weeks ago and helped us do the nursery, and we were thrown two awesome showers, thanks to my mom, sister Cathy, Aunt Judy, sister-in-law Stacy, mother-in-law Carolyn, and family friend Pat! We've got a pediatrician, day care, and have taken a couple baby classes. Now, we're just getting ourselves educated on how the heck to take care of a baby. I'm reading the book The Happiest Baby on the Block right now, which emphasizes the importance of swaddling. David's Wallace doll has been kind enough to let us practice on him (although I can't say he's thrilled about it).

We're also prepping the pets for the big change. Jonas is no longer allowed in the backseat of the car, for fear he'll smother the kid in his zeal to stick his head out the window. We've installed a system of bars that confines him to the far back. He's been a bit whiny about it so far, even though we set him up with a blanket and some toys to make it feel more homey. Meanwhile, the cats have to be taught not to sleep on the changing pad or in the crib. We came home one night to find Mazzy curled up contentedly on the changing pad on the dresser, as if to say, "Thank you, how considerate of you to put this cozy bed on the dresser for me to sleep upon." Then there's the whole concern about cats stealing a baby's breath while in the crib (or, you know, simply sitting on her face while she's sleeping). So we're using a trick David read about in one of his expectant father books - cover the pad and mattress with tin foil. Tip: don't just put a sheet of foil in the middle of the crib or pad. Cover the whole thing with tin foil. I peaked in the crib yesterday to see Mazzy sleeping in a corner that hadn't been covered.

We're pretty excited, though already missing the idea of sleep. Allison's been kicking around pretty actively lately, and is getting ready for the big day herself by facing head down (thanks, Sweetie). I take her swimming once a week at a prenatal water aerobics class, which is more difficult than I thought it would be but is great for keeping me in shape. Can't say I'm fond of fraternizing with all the other expectant moms, which the class advertises as being one of the perks. While David and I are mostly concerned with how to make our kid smart - shielding her from the mind-numbing effects of TV for as long as possible, reading to her daily, and seeking out a Mandarin-speaking tutor, most of the women in my class are more concerned about finding cute curtains or the right shade of green paint for their nursery. One woman almost strangled her husband after realizing he'd chosen a yellowish green instead of the sage green she'd always dreamed would adorn her child's walls. Don't worry - she broke down in tears and got the paint she wanted.

Happy Fall!

2007-11-21T15:10:00.000-06:00

The leaves have turned (or perhaps completely fallen where you live) and the air is finally getting cool. To celebrate, I thought I'd share with all of you the wassail recipe that has come to be known as Karen's Wassail among my circle of southern friends.

In truth, this wassail recipe belongs to the Macktown Historical Society. Stephen Mack was a pioneer who settled Macktown in what is now my hometown, Rockton, Ill. The namesake of my middle school married the namesake of my high school - Hononegah, disputably the daughter of a Potawatomie Indian chief. There are two stories as to how they may have met. One legend has it that Mack became sick from fever and that Hononegah nursed him back to health. In another, Mack was an advisor to the local chief but was despised by the people because he refused to sell alcohol and firearms to them. So they plotted to kill him. Hononegah reportedly either hid Mack in a barrel or met him in the woods to warn him of the plan. Mack became so grateful to her that he decided to be her husband. (Thanks, Wikipedia, for refreshing my memory.)

As a girl my girl scout troop and I, led by my mother, would dress up in Victorian dresses and help the historical society give tours at Mack's home, just a few minutes from where I grew up. We'd decorate a little Christmas tree with ornaments we'd made in the style of the time and sing Christmas carols from the parlor to visitors. And in the kitchen there was always hot wassail on the stove, filling the entire house with a sweet aroma.

So here you go. Enjoy! And Happy Turkey Day!

Karen's (stolen) Wassail
1 gallon apple cider
4 cups cranberry juice
2 cups orange juice
2 cups brown sugar
4-5 cinnamon sticks

Combine ingredients, bring to a boil, and simmer for 10 minutes. Can be refrigerated and reheated. Serve hot with cinnamon sticks.

The New Addition (no I haven't had the baby yet)

2007-11-09T08:20:00.000-06:00

So I have a rambunctious dog, an indoor cat I have trouble keeping indoors, am still grieving over the loss of my other kitty, and am in the middle of a dozen major house projects. Oh, and I'm pregnant, and have all those life-changing experiences associated with that coming up in the very near future.

What better time to get a new kitten?

We didn't plan on it. I sent David to the vet last week to pick up Jonas from his annual exam, and the vet told him she was thinking of us the other day. Then she showed him The Kitten. David couldn't resist. He held her, played with her, even took her picture. And then came home with those same sweet pleading eyes he had when he first saw Joe's pound puppy photo. The vet said The Kitten loves people, dogs and other cats. Which describes our household. And she's just plain sweet.

We took the weekend to think about it, then decided what the heck. The vet said we can bring her back at any time if it doesn't work out - even six months from now. But it looks like it's going to work out. She's quite the cuddler, and it's actually been really great having a new little bundle of energy running around.

We're introducing her to the other pets slowly. Right now The Kitten is confined to the back bedroom, a paradise of toy mice, scratching pads and kitty beds. David and I trade off spending time with her and with the other pets, around whom we try to act like nothing's different. Mazzy doesn't seem to notice the new addition. This weekend we're going to try putting a towel that The Kitten's been sleeping on under Mazzy's food bowl to get her used to the smell. Eventually we'll move up to letting them sniff each other from under the door, then give The Kitten more and more run of the house. I think she's ready for that step now. She's already made a break for the hallway several times.

Jonas seems to be adjusting much more quickly. He's been very curious about what we've been hiding in the back room. So this morning David let him in. He had him lie down while The Kitten explored around him. Joe showed no interest in her - he was focused only on the treat in David's hand. Reportedly The Kitten thinks Jonas' tail is the greatest toy in the world. After batting that around for awhile she bravely ventured up to his face, and he let her sniff him without growling or making any threatening faces.

Now we need a name. We're really stuck on this point. Ironically we had no trouble coming up with boy and girl names for our unborn child but now sit around the dinner table throwing around names for a cat. So we are now open to suggestions. Anyone got any good cat names? We're feeling the pressure to find one soon before she becomes simply The Kitten forever.

Prison Break, Season 2

2007-11-06T13:41:00.000-06:00

Crazy, I know. Two blog posts in a day from me. I definitely should be safe from Bill's stinky fish email for awhile. But had to share with you a "Guess what Jonas did" story.

We came home from a pumpkin carving party Halloween weekend, fully expecting to hear Jonas' loud and obnoxious barking from the back yard. But it was dead quiet. My first thought was that he somehow had found a new way to escape the yard. But we went inside, and he came running down the hall toward us, excitedly wagging his tail and offering some shredded stuffed animal in his jowls. Next thought: How in the world did I forget to put him outside before we left? We all know how Jonas is banned from being inside because of the terrible things he does to my furiture. But I distinctly remembered putting him and his dinner out back. Then we saw it - a huge hole in the screen of the back window. We'd left the windows open to get some fresh air into the house while we were out. My dumb dog managed to escape his yard to get INTO the house. Who does that?

Then my third thought - where's Mazzy? Not in the house, of course. So David and I grabbed the flashlight and went out scouring the neighborhood for my little escape artist (I'm sure she put Joe up to tearing the hole in the screen). All I could think about as we searched was how much it would stink to have lost both my cats in a matter of months. But by the time we got back to the house, there she was, outside the window (which was now closed) trying to jump back in through the hole in the screen. Phew.

Jonas spent the next day nursing his paw, which he apparently hurt by shreading a huge hole in a metal screen. We had no sympathy for him. Too bad he probably didn't associate tearing screen=hurt paw. We keep the back windows closed while we're gone now.

Progress Report

2007-11-06T12:58:00.000-06:00

Well we've started the house painting project. We're doing the back first so we can perfect our method before painting the more frequently viewed front. Already we've seen improvement in our technique, and it's really starting to look pretty good.

We bought several small cans of different shades of brown paint from Home Depot and painted samples of each on the side of our shed (which we plan to tear down some day). One color was too light, the other too dark, a third too pink. The favorite, however, turned out to be the only one that seemed to require two coats - which means more paint and more expense. I was also nervous at first at how orange it looked when wet. It's called wine barrel - in the photo it's the color on the right and left sides. The far right shows how it looks with just one coat. Now compare that with the wheel barrel in the photo and you can understand why I was concerned.

But after a few hours of drying it toned down to a nice reddish brown, so we took a leap of faith and bought a few buckets of it, along with some black suede for the trim.

Now after two weekends and a few evenings, we have almost finished the entire back side of the house. Here's some before, during and after shots for ya. Rolling is awesome - it gets so much done so quickly. But the way the boards are on our house we have to use a brush to paint the narrow, inset boards. Between that and the trim progress seems slow. I also made the mistake this weekend of walking around the house and seeing how much more house we have to go.

But we'll get there. Especially since we're calling in reinforcements - my parents-in-law - next weekend to help speed things up before the cold weather (and my growing belly) make the work too difficult for me and David to finish.

BEFORE (YCH)

AFTER (YAY!)

Goodbye, mint-chocolate-chip-ice-cream house

2007-10-20T09:15:00.000-05:00

I love my house. I knew from the moment I first walked in it during our house hunt that I wanted it. It's a mid-century modern house with a fabulous Great Room, in which the kitchen, living room, dining area and a sun room are all part of one large area. It's very welcoming, and I knew it would be a great room for hosting. David loved it, too. But there were two things about the house that he hated - the tremendously overgrown back yard and the mint-green-with-black-trim paint job on the outside. He disliked these two features so much he almost didn't want to buy the place. I convinced him that these were easily fixable, and that cleared the way for us to close the deal.

As soon as we moved in last summer we started hacking away at the mass of bushes and thorny vines that were choking the outside. That basically doubled the size of our yard. It's now under control, and next spring we may even be able to start landscaping and adding plants we actually want.

This month, it's time to fulfill the other condition of our house purchase. Painting!

There is a watercolor picture of our house hanging in the sun room. It's the architect's rendition of the house from the 50s, and it shows the outside as a plain but attractive brown - obviously it had just been stained, not painted. David and I really like how our house looks in this picture and cannot understand why the woman who had lived here for 40-some years decided mint green was preferable. From what we can tell in places where the paint is peeling she even had it painted mint green several times over the years. So we are definitely set on going back to some shade of brown, which may be tricky, as we'll have to choose a paint that resembles wood tone because staining just isn't an option anymore.

So to help us choose the right color, I turned to Photoshop for help. Here are some possibilities I came up with:

Dark Brown: I don't mind this color, but David thinks it comes off looking cheap.

Cedar: This shade would closely match our wood fence, and currently is our favorite. But is it too matchy-matchy?

Light Cedar: While not our favorite, this color closely resembles the color depicted in the architect's rendition.

We do know we want to go with a dark brown or even black trim. We've researched colors traditionally used on mid-century modern homes, and whenever we found a brown house it had black trim, and we think it looks pretty good - though I don't think it really works on other styles of houses. The other most popular color palette for mid-century moderns involve painting the house white, which is definitely out of the question for us.

This weekend we're going to make a run to Home Depot for some samples, and maybe a few small cans that we can test out on the back of the house. But feel free to cast your vote for your favorite - or tell us these are all awful.

In the end, we may just say forget it - let's just go crazy and really cement our home's reputation as the most garish in the neighborhood.

Everyone, meet Allison

2007-10-09T19:18:00.000-05:00

Yes, it is strange that this is the first post I've written on this subject. Most of you, my friends and family, know that I am pregnant. For those of you whom I haven't had the opportunity to tell yet, surprise! I am 19 weeks in - that's 5 months if you don't want to do the math - and yesterday David and I learned that we are having a girl. This came as a complete shock to both of us - we were approximately 98.2% sure it was a boy - sure enough, in fact, that we've been calling my belly Jack for the past few weeks. But we are in no way disappointed. We're very excited and happy, and actually seeing her and knowing that she's a her has made this whole experience more real. I'm pleased to share with all of you one of her first photos in human form.

We have decided to name her Allison Guy Griner. She's about 8 inches long now, and weighs just over half a pound. She has four chambers in her heart, a liver, two kidneys, and two hemispheres in her brain. This week, her brain's figuring out how to use her five senses, and she can apparently already hear my voice. We read somewhere that David should talk to my stomach so she can get used to his voice, too. So, of course, he speaks to her in his best Sean Connery voice. Boy, is she in for a surprise.

In case you're wondering, I'm feeling great. I was somehow very fortunate and did not have morning sickness. I'm past the stage where I'm tired all the time so I have lots of energy to do things like dig a 16-foot trench in the front yard. More on that later.

And I'm finally at a point where my belly's big enough where people can say with confidence, "Oh, you're pregnant!" rather than think quietly to themselves, "Is she pregnant, or is she just letting herself go a little?"

European Vacation: Day 9 - Return to Paris

2007-09-25T12:01:00.000-05:00

Our return flight to Paris early the next morning was uneventful, although that day would be the last David would see his bag for another two or three weeks. Our camera was in that bag, which is why I have no photos from the final hours of our trip to share with you.

We enjoyed the best meal of our entire trip on this final evening - a home cooked French Sunday dinner courtesy of Alexia's mother. We drank champagne with our appetizers, a delicious red wine with the main course (a great roast beef), and a sweet wine with dessert. What was really great, though, was getting to spend some time with Alexia's father. I hadn't seen him in nearly 10 years and he was away on a business trip earlier in the week. He came back to Paris while we were in Germany and Prague and was scheduled to leave again a few hours before we returned, but he changed his flight so that he could at least stay and have appetizers with us. It was a short visit but I'm grateful to have had at least a little time with him (and that he and David finally got to meet).

Alexia and her mother shared with us one of their favorite foods - foie gras. It was very good. Neither of them could understand, though, why people refuse to eat it just because of the way the harvested geese are treated. Alexia believes that if they'd just try it, they'd change their minds. She and my friend Dawn would get along great.

During dessert we had a very lively conversation about French politics. Coverage of the candidates in the States had been very limited, and so we got to hear some fun stories of dumb political moves made by Segolene Royal.

Dinner lasted very late, and we had a great time. We had been told David's luggage, which had not made it onto our plane, would be delivered to Alexia's parents' home sometime that night. It never came, so we called and asked that it be mailed directly to our house in Alabama. We then could do nothing but cross our fingers that it would arrive someday.

The next morning we had to say goodbye to Alexia, who had to go to work, and it was very sad to see her go. David and I slept in a little before heading out to a cafe to order pain chocolats and cafe (in French) all by ourselves!

Soon our trip came to an end, and we had to get on the plane for home. Our flight was late leaving from Paris, so when we landed in Newark, NJ, we had to rush to try and catch our connecting flight, which would have left an hour before. In our rush I left a cardboard tube full of Mucha prints in the overhead compartment of the plane. Alas, we would never see them again, despite our efforts over the next few days to get the airline to locate them.

When we got to the check-in counter of the airline that was to fly us to Atlanta, we learned that our flight had NOT left an hour ago - in fact, it didn't even exist. We had flown Air India to and from Paris, and for whatever reason they were unable to issue us electronic tickets. Therefore, they had to mail us paper tickets several weeks before our trip. Sometime between booking and that day standing in the Newark airport the flight number and time had been changed. The new flight had already left (several hours ago - we never would have made it even if our overseas flight had been on time) and we were not even listed as passengers on it. We panicked only a few minutes before the man at the counter assured us that we only needed to go back to Air India and they would fix everything - it was, after all, their fault. We did, and after waiting in a long line along with dozens of very angry fellow passengers, we were given a hotel and meal vouchers and two seats on a flight that was to leave the next morning.

In the end it all worked out for the best. We had been planning on staying in a hotel in Atlanta that night anyway, since we would be arriving around midnight. But as it turned out we got to go to bed earlier and stay in a hotel for free. I would have preferred having David's luggage and my precious Mucha prints, but oh well. Like I said, the luggage was eventually returned to us several weeks later (a tag on it indicated it had been sitting at O'Hare for most of that time), and David happened to know someone who was going to Prague the week after we got back. She was nice enough to mail us some replacement Mucha prints.

And that's it! Thanks for everyone's patience while I took my sweet time blogging about the trip we took way back in May. I'm looking forward to tackling a list of new subjects.

European Vacation: Days 6-8 - Prague

2007-09-20T12:29:00.000-05:00

David and I were actually pretty disappointed with Prague. Maybe it was that we had built it up

so much in our minds over the years. But we found it entirely too touristy. I guess we prefer experiencing tastes of local culture when we travel, but Prague was littered with thousands of souvenir shops selling plastic junk and postcards (although some marionette shops were pretty cool - see above) and restaurants and pubs offering authentic American cuisine. Yet we made the most of it and saw as much as we could in the short time we were there.

Prague Castle was first on our list. It is the focal part of the city, centered on a hilltop that you can see from just about any neighborhood. To get there, you have to cross Charles Bridge, which is probably one of the most photographed sites in Prague. It is a long pedestrian bridge that crosses the river and is decorated with a variety of statues, mostly of saints and Jesus. It's difficult to admire the statues during the day, however, with all the tourists and street vendors. But we still enjoyed strolling across it and people-watching.

Outside the castle gates, which were guarded by statues of giants fighting, we stopped to listen to a small group of musicians who were featured in our guidebook. Vitus Cathedral, located on the castle grounds, was definitely the highlight of the tour. It offered your standard cathedral fair, but one stained glass window was designed by Czech artist Alfons Mucha and depicted historical scenes of the Czech Republic. Mucha is one of the most renowned Art Nouveau artists, and the three of us love his work. We probably bought more Mucha prints during our stay than any other type of souvenir.

Also in the cathedral is a very, very tall bell tower. We were warned - a sign at the bottom of the staircase said there were 289 steps. What we didn't expect was that it would be so narrow - and two-way. Claustrophobes, beware. But it was well worth it. At the top was an open-air balcony overlooking the city and offering plenty of scenic views. Plus we got a great photo of the angel Alexia (and some dude).

Prague castle itself was not all that exciting. Very minimalist, and if you're interested in knowing more about it than that I'll loan you our guidebook. St. George Basilica, located next to the castle, was sad to see just because it looked like it used to have beautiful murals on its ceilings but they were not well-preserved over the years. However, it did have an impressive (and unlabeled) shrine to someone, whose bones I suppose were the ones displayed in the glass case.

Lastly was Golden Lane - a narrow street of very small, overpriced souvenir shops that had apparently been built when humans only grew to be about 4 feet tall. We poked our heads into a few stores but then made our way to a tower where prisoners were regularly tortured. A lot of interesting devices were on display, so of course David and I were fascinated. Alexia refused to venture inside, however, stating that she "did not like torture."

The next day was Museum Day. We of course made our way first to the Mucha Museum. It was small but very nice as well as informative. The gift shop was disappointingly sparse, but fortunately a ton of souvenir shops carried copies of his prints. Afterward we enjoyed a coffee break at Cafe Emporio - a very eclectic little cafe with broken egg shells decorating one wall.

Next was the museum of Communism. The Czech Republic was under Communist rule until only about 20 years ago when the Velvet Revolution took place, and it was interesting to learn what life was like. Propaganda portrayed Americans as evil oppressors.

We wrapped up our museum tour in the Jewish Quarter, which featured several synagogues and a cemetery. In the cemetery, people were buried on top of one another because of limited space, which is why the headstones were so crammed together. It was a very solemn and impressive area. Here and there we came across walls where people left tiny scraps of paper with prayers written on them in the nooks and crannies.

Our last full day in Prague was spent just wandering. We had exhausted all the tourist traps and now just wanted an agenda-free day. We decided to explore the Little Quarter, where we had spent the least amount of our time. We found a Royal Garden that was really pretty. It boasted Greek-influenced statuary, a hedge maze, fountains, and free roaming peacocks (which, under no circumstances, can you walk on the grass to take pictures of, as the nice man in the photo was coming to tell me). A wall that bordered the garden was made up completely of stalactites and stalagmites, like you'd see in a cave. Next to the wall was a large penned-in section that housed several enormous owls. I had no idea they could get that big.

Alexia had the brilliant idea next to get ice cream. It was a perfect day for it - sunny and warm. Nearby the ice cream shop we discovered a little bookstore, where I picked up a book of Czech fairy tales for a friend and a novel about the Golem legend. We wound our way back to the neighborhood near our hotel and stopped to view the Lennon wall - a graffitied wall dedicated to John Lennon. Our tour book said the government used to paint over it repeatedly when it first appeared but eventually gave up when they realized people were not going to stop decorating it.

We ate lunch on a patio of a nearby restaurant, where we sat next to a fat kid playing a handheld video game. Glad to see he was enjoying his cultural experience. David and I each ordered a personal pizza - which ended up being way too much food. David, being the good guy he is, decided to give our leftovers to a young homeless man with a dog and very shaky hands. He showed no reluctance to accept it.

It was time for a beer by then, so we found an outdoor bar on Wenceslas Square (site of the Velvet Revolution). Entertainment here was provided by a young group of British men apparently "on the stag." This is a sort of tradition in Britain - a party weekend in Prague similar to a bachelor party. The star of this group was a rather unattractive gentleman wearing nothing but Mr. Fantastic underwear. He was either very comfortable or very drunk because he did not seem at all ill at ease.

For our last dinner in town, David made reservations at a very cool vegetarian restaurant called Clear Head. The tables were decorated with glass beads and illuminated with a blue light. We had a bottle of Moravian wine, which was delicious. I enjoyed a dish made of potatoes au gratin covered in spinach and goat cheese. Alexia had some kind of veggie burrito, and David got a mushroom pasta. It was all very, very good.

During our visit we ate at two other restaurants worthy of note: Klub Architecture and Original Needle House. Klub Architecture (where the cool picture at left of Alexia was taken) I'd definitely recommend as a must if you go to Prague. But get a reservation. We did not have one, yet they were still able to seat us because we arrived early in the evening. But we were only allowed 45 minutes to eat and then get out. The ambiance was awesome - like eating in a very chic wine cellar. The food was even better. Thanks to Mike Gruss for recommending! Original Needle House we came across by accident while looking for a good place to eat. Their specialty was very generous shishkabobs (below). It didn't take us long to learn about a cultural phenomenon in regards to Czech dining. The wait staff does not take it upon themselves to check on you to see if you need anything - a napkin, a drink refill, your check, etc. You pretty much have to flag them down or get up and ask them for whatever it is you may need. We toyed with the idea of never hailing a waiter at Original Needle House, just to see if they'd turn off the lights and go home without ever bringing us our bill.

That, my friends, was Prague. One entry left - our last day in Paris.

European Vacation: Day 5 - Evil Czech Cops

2007-09-06T13:10:00.000-05:00

We were a little nervous about the train journey to Prague - our itinerary called for us to switch trains about five or six times, and sometimes we were only going to have a minute or two to get on board. Turned out to not be as bad as we expected. In most cases, our connecting train was right next to the one we had just gotten off of, and all the other passengers were also getting on that same train. We only had to run at one station, and we did cut it pretty close.

The most interesting part of the trip was on one train in the Czech Republic. The three of us were just sitting, reading quietly, not expecting to get off the train for another hour. An old man seated near us made a whistling noise to get our attention, then gestured for us to get off. The train stopped, and everyone got off and started walking down a gravel road that ran parallel to the tracks. This was it, we thought. We're going to die. Instead, we all got onto a bus, which drove through a nearby town. The whole ride we couldn't help but wonder 1) why were we suddenly forced to get off the train and onto a bus, 2) where were we going? 3) were we still on our way to Prague? and 4) if we were not, how the heck were we going to get there now? Communicating with whistling and gestures can only get you so far in a foreign country where we couldn't speak or understand a word of the language. Even when we tried to say the word for "thank you" we were getting funny looks, like maybe our slang book, written circa 1972 (ie in the middle of the Czech Communist era), was actually telling us to say something like "thanks, Commie!" Eventually, however, we pulled up at another train station, followed our fellow passengers to another train, and got on. We never knew the reason for this odd little detour.

Finally, we arrived in Prague. But our excitement was short-lived. At the train station, we struggled to understand how to buy tickets for the subway. We took our best guess at what type of tickets we needed, then headed toward the entrance. We found no turnstiles like you would in ordinary subway stations. There was a small, unobtrusive machine on a wall near the entrance. Alexia asked if we thought that's what we used to validate our tickets. I foolishly said it couldn't possibly be - that there must be a turnstile up ahead. There wasn't. We got on the subway, thinking maybe we turned in our tickets when we exited. Wrong. As soon as we got off at our destination, David and I were stopped by a man in uniform. Alexia, with her experience of constantly being approached by peddlers within the Metro in Paris, casually kept on walking, thinking this man simply wanted to sell us a watch. Instead, the man told us we should have validated our tickets in the mystery machine near the entrance. He showed us instructions printed on the wall of the subway, and I thought, what a nice man. Giving us a lesson on how to use this system. Then he said we needed to pay him 1,000 koruna. What?!?! Fortunately, we had just withdrawn some cash, which probably saved us from going to jail, but unfortunately we had NO CLUE how much 1,000 koruna was in dollars. Were we to hand over to this man all of our spending money for the next week?

I had remembered reading something in our guidebook about being approached by men on the street demanding that we pay some ridiculous fine. Remembering that, I suddenly wasn't so sure that this guy was actually a cop. I mean, who in the world would fine a foreign tourist who had literally just arrived in town for failing to comprehend a ludicrously complicated subway system? So I took the advice of the guide book and stopped a passerby to ask if this truly was a fine-able offense. He said yes, and a quite common one. I then ordered the "cop" to show me his badge. He did, and it matched up with one pictured along with the instructions on the wall. Well fine, I told him I'd pay the fine, but that I was not about to pull out my money while within his sight. I told him I was going to go stand behind a nearby pillar to retrieve my cash. I was taking a great risk that this man would haul my husband off to some dark Czech prison while I wasn't looking, but hey, I still wasn't convinced he wasn't a scam artist who would tell his buddies outside where to find my cash-laden wallet. Finding David still standing there when I returned, I grudgingly handed over my cash, demanded a signed receipt so that we wouldn't get fined by the next "cop" we ran into, and we were free to go. Poor Alexia! During the whole ordeal, she was standing alone and confused at the top of the escalator, wondering whether her friends were lost or simply too stupid to not buy a watch from a street peddler.

We later learned that 1,000 koruna equals about $40, so it wasn't as expensive as we'd thought. Had we been a native, the fine would have been double. Still, a cab would have been cheaper - and more pleasant.

A note about the photo above: It's the only picture we took of that dreadful subway station. Pretty, but deceiving.

Reunited, the three of us found our way out of the evil subway station and stumbled our way around until we eventually found our hotel. Our first impression of Prague was not pretty, and the rest of the day we tried our best to ignore the sour mood our subway experience left us in.

European Vacation: Day 4 - Sightseeing in Bamberg

2007-08-28T12:35:00.000-05:00

The hotel owner brought us breakfast in bed - rolls, jelly, ham and cheese. Energized, we hit the streets of Bamberg. Our guidebook provided a rather odd piece of advice: Go to the tourist information office and ask for the key to the tower. This tower allegedly offered the best view of the city. So we did just that and - Badadada! (insert sound effect from Legend of Zelda) we found a small key! It was a long, aged skeleton key, and we felt a bit strange being handed it unquestioningly (and without a tour guide attached).

We followed a path to an empty courtyard nearby. Inside we found the door to the tower labeled only with a no-smoking sign. We ascended until we reached a large open room with windows that looked out over Bamberg. The book was correct that this was an incredible view. We took lots of photos, then realized we were not actually at the top. So we continued up another flight, which led to a much smaller room but an even better view. It was also very obvious by then why the door and every few feet were marked with a no-smoking sign. This wooden tower was undoubtedly incredibly flammable.

After returning the key, we walked along a canal to view another feature in our guidebook - Castle Somethingorother. I would take the time to look it up but it wasn't really much to look at. It stood on the other side of the canal, so we couldn't even get very close to it, but it was an interesting mesh of modern and Medieval architecture.

Next we wandered over to St. Stephen's Cathedral. We were hesitant to enter because we could hear organ music coming from within and thought there may have been a service going on. But we took a peek and found it empty save for the organist and an elderly man reading a newspaper. We think the organist was practicing for an organ festival we'd seen signs for around town. This church was really impressive - an all white interior and lots of interesting statuary. A local artist had an exhibit on display there. His work portrayed people, carved in simple but elegant forms out of smooth wood. These were admirable until I came across the statue of Scary Baby Jesus. The orb in his lap represents his power in the world. His expression represents the horrors he would witness throughout his life. The gigantic hand is his own as an adult. Unsure why Adult Jesus Hand is strangling Baby Jesus. Guess that's up for interpretation.

It rained the rest of the day, but we had umbrellas and were in good spirits so we still enjoyed the sights. We saw the Imperial Cathedral, which stands out in the city because of its four spires. What made this cathedral unique was not its ornate decorations (you can see that in most cathedrals) but the cool lighting effects. One altar was lit up in bright yellow and red, and white light illuminated strips of white material hanging in the main chapel. The cathedral also contained a sarcophagus of an emperor and his wife with relieves on the side portraying scenes from their life and death. Above them stood a statue of a man on a horse, known only as the Bamberg rider. No one knows exactly who he was - they think maybe a king, but I guess no one ever bothered to write it down. There also were no signs (in German or otherwise) in the basement where you could view a series of dramatically lit tombs and some saint's knuckle bone, on display in a pretty little box.

We ate lunch in a very authentically German tavern. I ordered a Hellerbier and it came in a clay mug with lots of foam on top. It made me very happy, as you can probably tell by the photo. David ordered another kind of beer that wasn't quite as good. Poor David.

With all the highlights of the walking tour visited, we stopped at a cafe after lunch for coffee and pastries. We then window shopped for awhile before heading to the Spezial Brewery, which makes a different kind of smoked beer. The three of us agreed it was not as good as the beer we had had the night before (and which we eventually bought bottles of to take home to friends). It reminded me of Killian's and didn't have much of a smoky taste at all. Still, we stayed several hours and played cards.

We ate dinner at a nearby restaurant, where Alexia and I shared a German dish that resembles pizza. David ordered what we thought would be fish but ended up being white asparagus wrapped in a crepe and topped with a Bearnaise sauce and ham. He was in heaven. For dessert we had apple strudel and fruit. We drank our last smoked beer (the good kind) as we enjoyed a leisurely three-hour meal. Before bed we packed our bags and paid the hotel owner in preparation for our train ride to Prague the next day.

I almost forgot - Badadada! While in Bamberg, we also found The Big Key!

European Vacation: Day 3 - Germany!

2007-08-02T19:20:00.002-05:00

Thanks for your patience, y'all (look I'm turning Southern!). Time to get back to chronicling our European adventure. On day three, we departed for Bamberg, Germany, our favorite part of the trip!

We got up early, fueled up on croissants and espresso, and boarded an eastbound train. As soon as we crossed the border between France and Germany, things started to get surreal. We suddenly were in a country where we couldn't understand a word that came over the loudspeaker. Alexia studied German a bit in high school, but she was also pretty much at a loss. We had to do a lot of pointing and nodding when ordering sandwiches in the dining car. And in case you're wondering, yes, a large group of children hyped up on candy and screaming in German is every bit as annoying as sugar-high children yelling in English, as we experienced when we found ourselves sharing a car with a school group returning from a field trip. We spent much of that leg of the trip playing cards in the dining car (and wondering if the children were eating any of the butter cookies I'd left out on my seat. I think they might have).

Our first stop was Frankfurt, where we discovered we had arrived late and that our connecting train had already left. Not off to a great start, but we didn't panic. We found a train station worker who spoke better English than we did German, and he printed us an alternative itinerary that would get us back on track (uh, literally, I guess). We had a little time to kill then, so Alexia grabbed a warm pretzel and we headed out to experience some of the sights Frankfurt had to offer.

And here you go. After finding little more to look at other than sex shops targeted toward Americans, we decided to just hang out in the train station for the rest of our stay in this fair city.

We got on our next train and had just gotten comfortable when the ticket collector came by. Unlike the man we'd met at the train station, this guy knew no English. But he saw that our tickets didn't match with the train we were on. We tried to show him our new itinerary and make gestures showing that we knew what we were doing and were okay, but he wouldn't let up. So we spent the next 5 to 10 awkward minutes flipping through the German dictionary looking for a word or phrase that would keep us on this train. I can't remember what we came up with - I think I found the word for "late," but it suddenly appeased him, and he nodded and walked off. Close one.

The countryside between Frankfurt and Bamberg altered from lush countryside and concrete architecture of post World War II Germany to one with more old European charm. Before we knew it we had arrived at our destination, a town that was a little off the road to Prague but that we had chosen for its famed smoked beer. It was so off the beaten path that we had been unable to find a guidebook in the States, so as soon as we debarked we headed toward a little shop in the train station. Trying to look as non-touristy as possible, we scoured the guidebooks and maps until we found one that seemed informative yet somewhat inconspicuous. Now we just had to figure out where the heck we were going.

The woman behind the counter spoke English and started to give us very complex directions to our hotel (which sounded like it was 200 miles away as we stood there with our big ol' backpacks) when a man started talking to her in German. He then turned to us and said he'd show us the way. Gratefully, we followed him. Once outside, we expected him to point in a specific direction, but instead he told us to follow him to his car. I got a nervous and suspicious feeling in my belly - no one is that nice. But it was about to rain, we didn't know where we were going, my bag was getting heavier, and David was already climbing into the passenger seat. As the man opened the door for me and Alexia I did a quick scan of the door to make sure there were door handles on the inside, and seeing that there were, I also got in. Turned out to be a nice clean luxury car, so I started to relax a bit.

The man's name was Check, or maybe Czech, like the name of the neighboring country. As he drove he told us he often visits the Czech Republic to buy antique pocket watch stands. Apparently he's a collector of these unusual knick knacks, and he showed us some photographs of a few. The route to our hotel was full of twists and turns, and the rain did start while we were on our way. He dropped us off and pointed to a building across the street - that's where we could sample the world's best smoked beer, he said. The restaurant across the street, he added, was one of the best German restaurants in town. I'd scored on my random hotel selection. Anyway, we thanked him, and as he drove off I noticed his bumper sticker, which read: I love tourists. I'm glad I didn't see that before. I would have interpreted it in a to-serve-man kind of way.

We again found ourselves lucky to have run into Check/Czech when we entered the hotel. The manager also runs a LaCoste clothing store, which she was about to close before going home for the evening. She didn't speak any English at all and it would have been great fun calling the after-hours phone number she had posted on the door and trying to explain we were her guests and that we needed to get in.

By then it was dinnertime, so we made a b-line for the brewery. It was very crowded with locals and reminded me of a Rotary Hall on a Friday night (for my Southern friends that's the night up north of the weekly fish fry). We ordered three smoked beers, hoping after all the hype that they would be worth it. And oh, were they ever. David had read one review before we left home describing the brew as tasting like water used to put out a house fire. I would say that was way off. It was more like a Guinness with a bit of hickory flavoring. It was delicious, and the best beer in the world at that moment.

While at the bar, Alexia's cell phone rang. We looked at each other astounded, and she answered it. It was her brother's friend who lived in Bamberg. Laurent had been trying to contact this friend for days to let him know his baby sister and friends would be in town. The friend told Alexia he'd love to show us around but that he was in Poland that week. He gave us some useless tips, like don't do the riverboat tour (duh). We just thought it funny - what are the odds that we'd actually know someone in Bamberg, Germany, and that he'd happen to be out of town that same week we visited. Oh well. We probably did better without him.

We crossed the street to the restaurant and ordered more of that wonderful smoked beer. Dinner was incredible. We couldn't read the menu, and no one there spoke English. Alexia ordered something called a Jagersohnitzel, which turned out to be a creamy veal and mushroom dish. David got wiener schnitzel, which he described as good but unremarkable. I ordered something with the word for bratwurst in it, and it was the best meal of the three. That dinner was probably one of the most enjoyable of the whole trip because it was so rewarding after a rather confusing day.

After eating we just wandered the streets of Bamberg for awhile. It was dark and quiet and also clean from the recent rain. All the shops were closed but we just enjoyed the architecture and the peace of the evening. Finally, we headed back to our room for a good night's rest. Tomorrow we would explore this town more.

European Vacation: Day 2

2007-07-13T12:49:00.000-05:00

Alexia's the best. As I mentioned in my last post, David and I slept in until 2 p.m. the day after we arrived in Paris. When we woke up we discovered that our hostess (who had slept a normal 8 hours) had delivered us fresh pastries from a patisserie down the street. Our wonderful breakfast included pain au chocolat, which is SO much better in France than in the U.S. because the French know their pastries and don't overdo it by smothering the whole thing in chocolate. I know THAT sounds crazy - but trust me. It made me happy.

The only touristy thing I had any urge to do while we were in Paris was to see Monte Martre a>again. I had been there once before during a previous visit with Alexia and remember loving it. It feels like a small city inside of Paris but is actually just a really wealthy neighborhood on top of a hill in the center of the city. The area surrounding the hill, however, is inhabited by the starving artists who sell paintings of Sacre Coeur (the large cathedral which is the highlight of the area) and offer to draw your caricature. We lucked out and got beautiful weather despite the forecast for rain, rain, and more rain.

While on top of Monte Martre I had a chance to indulge in another French masterpiece - a sugar crepe. You walk up to a window as you might at an ice cream stand in the States and a man with a hot plate cooks a crepe right there before your eyes and adds whatever ingredients you desire. I like my crepes simple - but what could make a sugar crepe even tastier while maintaining such simplicity, you might ask? The answer is butter my friends. Mmm...

We then walked around and toured the dismembered statuary of the area (the one of the bishop holding his own head stood in the middle of a playground - and there was no plaque with his name or any sort of explanation as to why he was standing in the middle of a playground holding his head).

We wandered back down the hill, craving refreshment in the form of cold beer at a French cafe. The waitresses at the cafe we ultimately chose ignored us thoroughly for a good 20 minutes, so we left and wandered into a bar called The Lounge Lizard, which happened to be American-owned. There we experienced the best service on our entire trip from a California woman who didn't speak a lick of French.

Alexia then took us to a tea shop just down the street called Mariages Freres. If you like tea and are ever in Paris, GO THERE. Here's the trick: the store is divided into two store fronts directly across the street from one another. In the larger of the two you can buy all the tea you want but you can't smell any of it - you can only look at the names (which are in French). I believe there's also a cafe in that store where you can taste, but of course you'd have to pay for a whole cup. But at the smaller space across the street you are free to open any of the thousands of tins of tea and sniff out your favorites. Sure, you can also buy the tea from this store, but if their credit card machine is down as it was when we were there, then you can just write down your favorites and go back across the street.

We dined at an authentic French restaurant that was decorated much like a cheap U.S. diner but offered awesome food. Alexia and I enjoyed various parts of duck while David had tournedos. It was nearly 10 p.m. when we finished but there was still light in the sky. We walked back to Alexia's parents' home to use their computer to find a map of Bamberg, Germany - our destination the next day - and made an amazing discovery: French keyboards are messed up. The A is where the Q should be, and if you try to go to google.com you'll end up typing zzz.google.com (also, you have to do some fancy trickery like going to google.com.us or some silliness in order to get the English version over there). What's that? You want to end your sentence? Don't forget to hit the Shift button as you type in a period. Same goes for numbers. And no, hitting the Caps button doesn't save you that step. Typing an email message was just painful. And so, computers were thereby banished from the rest of our vacation. Shame about that.

Next up: Our crazy train schedule as we venture into a country where none of us knows how to speak the language (unless you want to tell someone there's a boy under the airplane or a dog under a table. The German language lessons David and I had listened to beforehand had well prepared us for those everyday scenarios).

Our European Vacation

2007-06-28T13:12:00.000-05:00

At last! We've been home from Europe for a month, and I'm finally finding time to tell you about it.

We arrived in Paris the morning of May 13 and were greeted at the gate by my dear friend Alexia. She and I met in high school through an exchange program and had stayed friends ever since. We've both visited each other's homes several times, and the last time David and I had seen her was at our wedding five years ago. The last time I had seen her family was in 1998, the last time I was in Paris. So it was a delight to go out to lunch with Alexia and her mother at a very nice restaurant just down the street from Alexia's parents' apartment.

Later in the afternoon Alexia gave us a walking tour of her neighborhood, Republique, and the surrounding neighborhoods. We walked through the Place de Volges, where we saw Victor Hugo's house and listened to a string quintet playing on the street. We stopped for an espresso at a cafe next to the Pompidou Centre and saw the World's Fattest Pigeon (the photo doesn't really do it justice, but if you look closely you can see David standing at its feet).

That evening we dined with Alexia's mother, brother Laurent and sister-in-law Augustina (pictured at left) at one of the oldest restaurants in Paris: Procop. It features museum-quality decor, such as Voltaire's writing desk (conveniently positioned right outside the kitchen door so waiters can stack dirty dishes there); china from the Revolution; and Napoleon's hat. One of the featured dishes was Braised Calf's Head - just like grandmere used to make in the 1600s - but none of us was brave enough to order it. The meal lasted about three and a half hours, and Alexia's family was great company. Her father, unfortunately, was away on a business trip, but we did end up getting to see him later in the week.

Afterward David and I got to enjoy one of the greatest benefits of having your own personal French tour guides - a driving tour of Paris at night. Alexia sped around the city of lights from one major landmark to another while her mother, a history buff, explained the history of each. I enjoyed it, but David must have been in HEAVEN. We saw Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Opera House, to name a few. The most impressive, however, was the Eiffel Tower. I don't mean to sound cliche - in fact I've seen the Eiffel Tower in person many times. But since my last trip to Paris they added a new feature. For the first 15 minutes at the top of each hour after dark, the tower SPARKLES (some of you already know how I LOVE sparkly things). It was pretty amazing. Like pixie dust!

Needless to say we were exhausted when we got back to Alexia's apartment sometime after midnight. We fell asleep, and David and I slept until 2 p.m. the next day.

To be continued...

Happy Birthday, Ruby!

2007-06-15T08:22:00.000-05:00

She's here! My newest niece Ruby was born Wednesday, June 14, 2007 at 5:42 pm. She was 7 pounds, 5 ounces and 20 inches long. She's surprisingly very lively for a newborn - not like I've seen many newborns, but I guess I just expected her to not do much her first few hours. The doctor commented on how she's a very strong kicker (my sister-in-law Stacy can attest to that!), and she was very interested in looking around with her big blue eyes. Stacy's tired but otherwise well, and Jamey was obviously a very proud papa. He's already developing little daddy-mannerisms, like saying "all done" every time Ruby finishes a round of crying. The new family comes home Saturday. Congrats, guys!

Callie update - Conclusion

2007-06-08T08:16:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to thank all my friends and family for their support and condolences through this difficult time. This will be my last post about Callie before I move on to brighter, happier things, like our trip to Prague and the upcoming birth of my niece and goddaughter, Ruby.

We got the word on Wednesday morning that not only had Callie's condition not improved but it was actually getting worse. Soon she would be entering a phase of discomfort. So just before noon we went in to say goodbye and put her to sleep. We got to sit with her for a few minutes, and she purred up until the end. We decided to stay in the room with her, which I am glad we did. It was very peaceful and quick, and the doctor said Callie felt euphoric in her final moments. The vet cried with us afterward.

We spent the rest of the day at home, crying periodically but somehow feeling a bit of relief. At least we didn't have to worry about her anymore. A sadness lingers but the tears come less frequently now. And we are appreciating the hell out of the health and vigor of our other animals, and they are loving the attention.

Yesterday a friend of mine at work, who is a cat lover herself, gave me a very sweet card with the following poem inside. And even though at least one of my dear friends and loyal readers may think it describes the gateway to Hell, I found it very sweet and consoling. So I thought I'd share it with all of you.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable. All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind. They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster. You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart. Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Thanks for everything, Cal. I love ya.

Callie Griner
1999-2007

Callie update - Part III

2007-06-06T11:59:00.000-05:00

She's gone. We were with her. It was peaceful.

Callie update - Part II

2007-06-05T19:51:00.000-05:00

David and I visited with Callie for nearly an hour tonight. The vet took her out of her cage and put her in an exam room where we could sit with her. It was nice. She was in good spirits and purred the whole time. The vet stayed in the room with us for awhile and answered a lot of our questions. Turns out the numbers I originally threw out in my last blog entry weren't exactly accurate (I've since edited that post to reflect what the doc told us tonight). But Callie's creatinine count is definitely higher than it should be. They will be doing another blood test tomorrow morning and call us sometime before 8:30 am. If her numbers go down to a level the vet is happy with, Callie will still have a lot more obstacles to overcome. But one step at a time.

Our friend Valerie, whose father is a vet, told David today that animals can actually enjoy being at a vet's office when they're sick. She said it's a comfort to them to be alone and safe in a quiet room with room service (I'm editorializing a little). I think that's true with Callie. She seems very content and comfortable. The staff lets her out of her kennel once in awhile to explore the room, which she seems to like. It made us feel better to see her like that.

I took advantage of our relatively high spirits to ask the vet some of the tough questions. I know that if we have to make the big decision then we will not physically be capable of asking those questions then. She explained what it would be like for Callie and what we could expect if we decided to be there with her. I'm glad we talked about it. I feel it prepared us a little.

On a brighter note, Mazzy is fine. Her blood work showed no sign of health issues. So that's a relief.

Callie update - Part I

2007-06-05T13:08:00.000-05:00

Callie's condition has not improved - or worsened - since we transferred her yesterday from the emergency vet to her regular doctor. But we do know more about her condition and possibly the cause. It seems a type of treat we had been feeding her might have been contaminated with melamine.

The treats themselves - Nutra brand Max Cat Gourmet Kitty Treats - Albacore Tuna flavor - were not on the recall list. In fact, the company insists that none of its dry food was contaminated. Yet Callie's symptoms match up with those of cats who ate the contaminated food. As a precaution, I brought my other cat, Mazzy, into the vet this morning to get blood work done. Had I realized the company was even on the list...well, you know.

Right now the vet continues to pump Callie with more fluids and is hoping that will lower her creatinine count. From what we understood from our vet, who threw out lots of numbers, a healthy cat's creatinine count should be around 2. A level of 4 is considered dangerous. Callie's is somewhere in the double digits.

So if that number is going to go down it will take some time. The vet plans to do another blood test tomorrow instead of today to allow the fluids and Callie's body more time to work. Again, we've been told that tomorrow we'll know more.

Emotionally I think David and I are doing as well as could be expected. We were able to sleep better last night than the night before because we had a little more to hope for. But I think it will get harder and harder the more nights that pass when she's not at home with us, curled up on one of our pillows and purring next to our heads.

In the meantime, I urge all of you to check your cat and dog treats and foods against the recall list - even if you already have, check it again. I thought I had been closely guarding my pets against the contaminated food but it seems some of it slipped past even my watchful eye. Be suspicious if you see a brand name you use, even if the company claims that the exact food you're using is fine. It appears the list may not yet be complete.

Our weekend emergency

2007-06-04T08:47:00.000-05:00

You know those dreams where someone close to you dies, and it's just so hard to believe and the pain is so acute that it feels real, but then you wake up and realize with great relief that it was all just a dream? Well David and I had that feeling last night - only at the time there was no waking up.

But this morning we have renewed hope that maybe we still can.

We got up this morning fully expecting to have to put our 7-year-old cat Callie to sleep. It all happened so suddenly. She's always been a small cat, but this past week she has been getting thinner and thinner. She's now down to 5 pounds. She's had virtually no appetite, and the past few days hasn't been drinking water. Not that she hasn't wanted to - she spent all of Saturday night stooped over her water bowl. But didn't swallow a drop.

I set up a doctor's appointment on Saturday for Monday morning, but by Sunday afternoon she looked like she had aged 10 years. She could barely walk. We thought she might have an abscess, which she has had before. The symptoms were very similar. Finally, we called our good friend Brett the Vet. He came over, took one look at her, and said we needed to take her to the emergency vet immediately. We're so glad he gave us that advice.

The prognosis was not good. Callie's blood work indicated she was suffering from complete kidney failure. We had two choices: leave her overnight and let them observe her and give her fluids or call it quits. We were told we'd know in 12-24 hours if she had any hope. We elected to leave her, although we were told she did not have very good odds.

So last night was rough. We watched lots of TV to take our minds off of reality. But after each show ended we just went right back to crying. David called his sister to tell her the news about 10 pm, and she and her husband came right over, bearing tissues and blueberry muffins. It helped to talk to them about it. They lost a pet a few years ago who was about the same age as Callie.

Needless to say it was a pretty sleepless night. We mentally prepared ourselves this morning - as best as we could - to put her down.

But when we got to the clinic the doctor said her chances had improved. Callie had produced some urine, meaning the kidneys aren't completely shot. The doctor said it looked like she might have a kidney infection and they had started her on antibiotics. She could still pull through and completely recover. So there is still hope. Callie's spirits have even improved - she was her old whiny self during the car ride to her regular vet.

So that's where she is now. We expect a call from the vet any minute. We're cautiously optimistic - we'd love to take her home tonight but we need to still be prepared for the worst. But at least David and I are now emotionally stable enough to be at work today.

We'll keep you posted. Please keep her in your thoughts.

Jail Break

2007-04-16T20:47:00.000-05:00

I knew this day would come. My cat has figured out the dog door.

I did a lot of research last fall on dog doors, hoping to find the perfect one. I had my heart set for awhile on an infrared door that opens when a digital code is transmitted from a device attached to a dog's collar. The concept seemed popular among other indoor-cat owners. However, I could not find a single good review for this door. But I found my fill of criticisms. A lot of people reported the door fell apart after only a few months. Sometimes the door would open even if the dog just walked near it. Even more often, though, dogs would try to barrel through the thing so fast the transmitter couldn't send its little digital message to the door fast enough. And so, many a dog ended up clobbering its head against the hard plastic flap (which, knowing Jonas, wouldn't really be an issue. Our mutt feels no pain). Despite the door's good intentions, I even found a review relaying how a dog fell asleep next to the door, allowing the cat to come and go as it pleased.

Unhappy infrared door owners frequently ended their tirades by wishing they had just invested in an electronic dog door. So I investigated that possibility for about five seconds - the time it took me to find the price. Keep in mind we'd recently dumped our entire savings into the down payment of our house. And several reviews showed that door also had problems.

Those two varieties of dog door were the only ones designed to keep indoor cats indoors while allowing a dog free range. It was obvious, then, that we'd have to settle on a standard dog door and install it in the laundry room, which we could close off when the dog door wasn't needed. I soon learned, though, that 99.9% of standard dog doors also had made more than just a few pet owners very, very unhappy.

Then I found this bad boy, which we fondly refer to as "the toilet seat." I couldn't find a single bad review about this door. In fact, I couldn't find any reviews. I took that as a good sign - it hadn't annoyed anyone enough for them to take the time to write a complaint.

What makes it so great is not the fact that it can be locked (which I never do - that just seems cruel, even if my dog does have a thick skull) but that it's a hard rather than soft plastic flap. So it's more difficult for an animal smaller than Jonas to push through. And it's weather proof for all those cold Alabama nights.

Still, I knew it would only be a matter of time before Mazzy would figure it out. She's a smart one. She knows she's not supposed to get on the dining room table but that if the lights are out and we're not around then it's apparently okay. She knows that when I pull a spoon out of the drawer on Sunday night it's time for her to get her weekly tuna. And she knows that if she pushes her empty water bowl around on the tiled bathroom floor then I'll come refill it. On a side note, I wasn't at all worried that my other cat Callie would figure out the dog door. She's content just sitting in the bathroom sink all day under a drippy faucet.

A few weeks ago I called Mazzy for her Sunday-night tuna and she did not come. David automatically looked outside and saw her sitting in the mulch under the crepe myrtle. I stepped outside, she saw the tuna spoon in my hand, and she made a b-line toward the dog door, which she jumped through as if she'd been using it for years. I couldn't really be mad at her. I never told her directly she couldn't use the dog door. And she knows she isn't allowed to go through the human door.

Since then it's been kind of annoying having to keep the interior door of the laundry room constantly shut. Every time Jonas has to go out, we have to get up and open the door for him. It's like not having a dog door at all. I tried to train Mazzy one afternoon that using the dog door was bad by sitting outside with the hose, waiting for her to come exploring. But she just sat in the window watching me.

Mazzy seemed to lose interest, however, so we slowly got back into the habit of leaving the laundry room door open again. We figured that if she did get out there would be no way she'd ever get over our 4-foot picket fence. She can't even clear the small gate we put up inside the house to keep Jonas out of the back room (she's a bit back-heavy). This past week or so has been back to normal, and I haven't had to worry about my declawed cat making a great escape. But like I said, she's smart. And she had a plan.

Last night I was preoccupied with a home improvement project and didn't even notice her slip out. But, being Sunday, it came time to call her for tuna time. But again, she didn't come. I spent about half an hour scouring the neighborhood for her after finding she was not in our yard. It was about 10 p.m. and I was starting to get a little worried as my flashlight batteries were getting low. Finally, I heard her crying and the flashlight caught her two green eyes in our neighbors' yard. She ran up to me, I picked her up, and she clung to me, purring while her little heart beat fast. She never does that. Whenever I hold her she squirms to get away. I was relieved and felt sorry for her, so I didn't scold her. I gave her tuna and some love. And I shut the laundry room door. She spent the rest of the night pawing at it and telling me that she wanted to go back out. The cylon plan makes more sense than hers.

Mazzy now wears her collar. The tag has an outdated phone number on it, so I taped a hand-written (and yes, temporary) note to it that reads, "I'm an indoor kitty! If found please call home!" I think she has a microchip in her future. Oh, and maybe one of these.

I'll be back soon. Gotta go let the dog out.

My To-Do Lists

2007-04-10T20:41:00.000-05:00

I love lists. I am constantly making them. Lists of groceries we need, lists of things to do at work, lists of things to do at home.

No, wait - I hate lists. It's nice having a full fridge and pantry. And just listen to some of the things on my to-do lists. For work, I have to update addresses in a database, mail out some invoices, and file away a bunch of paperwork. At home, I have to call the plumber, rollover my 401K, and clean out the bathroom cabinet.

I get bored just thinking about all the things I have to do. Still, I feel constantly compelled to make lists.

I think I just get a kick out of those teeny tiny bursts of joy I feel when I put a check mark next to an item on a list. But what kind of a life is one spent checking off chores and work orders from a list? Time goes by fast, and when I'm old and looking back on my life's accomplishments I want to be able to say I did more than laundry, closet organization and database entry.

That's why I have another list. A fun list. It's a list of things I want to try, to do or to learn. Things like write a book, make painting a hobby, and travel the world. There's also some personal improvement goals on the list, like exercising and eating healthier, but working on those tasks has introduced me to things I've really come to enjoy, like yoga, rollerblading, and spinach salads with strawberries, pecans and Gorgonzola.

I've always carried such a list around with me in my head. Occasionally I'd write down the things I really wanted to do in a journal I'd never open again. Then, just over a year ago, I chanced upon a book that has helped me to not only list the things I want to do but to take steps to do them. Voila! More lists! The Girl Scout in me was especially drawn to this book, which is called (yes, I know it's cheesy) "You Can Do It! The Merit Badge Handbook for Grown-Up Girls." It included badges like "learn how to knit," "build a website," and "travel the world," but it also had some wild ideas I'd never thought about. Like start a rock band. Fly a plane. Open your own business. Walk on fire (yes, walk on fire - hot coals, actually).

It wasn't until after I'd checked out a few of the entries and started to build my list that I read about the author, Lauren Catuzzi Grandcolas. She was one of those "live life to the fullest" kind of women. She was dedicated to mastering new skills, loved the outdoors, and celebrated her 30th birthday by learning to sky dive. She started to write this book with the hopes of encouraging other women to achieve their goals and realize their dreams as well. She died September 11th aboard United Airlines Flight 93. After her death, her two sisters picked up where she left off and completed the book. I highly recommend it to any of you (guys, I won't tell). Proceeds from the book support charitable causes of interest to Lauren, such as college scholarships, a neonatal unit at a Texas children's hospital, and a shelter for abused women and children.

And now, it's time to share with you some highlights of my ultimate to-do list:

1. Travel (halfway done - just need to GO to Prague!)
2. Fire walking (it just had to make the list)
3. Champion a cause/activism
4. Be an author (the blog's helping - but I hope to have some short stories ready for you soon)
5. Redo a room (goodbye dingy laundry room)
6. Learn a new language (I've been working on Brazilian Portuguese for a couple years. But really should learn some German and Czech in the coming weeks...)
7. Play an instrument (friend Greg's planning on giving me trumpet lessons soon)
8. Home maintenance
9. Art appreciation
10. Gardening
11. Entertaining
12. Make your own badge (oh, the possibilities...)

Completed thus far:
1. Budgeting
2. Yoga
3. Become well-read (a big accomplishment for me, who normally reads maybe a book a year)
4. Knitting (which I learned after two scarves just isn't my thing)
5. Painting (some friends and I meet once a week now to create masterpieces)
6. Fitness and nutrition

So...what's on your list?

Prague or Bust

2007-04-03T22:51:00.000-05:00

In 38 days, David and I will be on a plane, heading toward a destination we've talked about visiting since before we were married. David has dreamed of visiting Prague for even longer than that. So nearly a year ago, we decided to set a date. At the time, we were still getting settled in Birmingham. David had just started a job in a new industry, I was still looking for work, and we were squatting with relatives. What better time to plan a European vacation? But here we are, 10 months later. In that time we've gotten out of debt, bought a home (aka gotten back into debt), I got a job as David grew more comfortable in his, and we raised enough money for our dream vacation. How exhausting! But we're very excited. We've got our plane tickets and the start of an itinerary. We leave May 11 and fly into Paris, where we will meet my dear friend Alexia. The next day will be spent recovering from jet lag, sipping coffee at a cafe, and hopefully having dinner with Alexia's parents and brother - my French family whom I have not seen in nearly a decade. Hopefully I can also meet my French brother's new wife! On Sunday David, Alexia and I will hop a train and head toward Germany. The current plan is to spend the night in Bamberg, a small town north of Nuremberg that was reportedly unscathed by the World Wars. It also reportedly is famous for smoked beer. Finally, we'll take another train to Prague. There's so much we want to see, but instead of boring all of you now with what we want to see I'll bore you later with the details of what we actually did see. Don't worry, Mom, I'll try to resist recording every moment of this trip, like what I ate for breakfast. Unless, of course, the breakfast is really, really good.

A Confession

2007-03-28T22:08:00.000-05:00

David and I did something very uncharacteristic a couple of weeks ago. Something we've never really done as a married couple - at least since our wedding day. I was shy about telling any of my friends, worried it might make them squirm uncomfortably. I confided in my sister-in-law but made her swear to secrecy. Now, here I am. Ready to come clean with all of you.

We went to church.

I expect some of you might have just reacted to this with a shocked gasp, a feeling that the world just stopped for a moment. Or maybe you just choked on your cereal a little bit.

Others of you may be thinking the opposite. Good for them! They've found Christ. They won't be burning in Hell after all. But before any of you get too excited, let me warn you that we didn't go to just any church.

It was a Unitarian church.

Now, we've been warned that there is a stigma associated with Unitarianism and that our joining the church might not sit well with some people. But for those of you who know me and David well, the fact that we chose a Unitarian church might actually make sense.

Unitarians don't preach any particular doctrine. To be Unitarian you don't even have to believe in God. This concept leads many outside the Unitarian church to believe it's a heathen religion, one that is lacking in morals. But in actuality, the Unitarian church embraces all religions. It invites anyone from any religious background through its doors, and it teaches concepts of all faiths. Then, it steps back and lets people make their own decisions. It only asks that they be good people. Best of all, in my opinion, it doesn't try to force you to be good with the threat of Hell or the promise of Heaven. That was always a big issue for me. I was raised in the United Church of Christ, which was actually described to me by a Unitarian as "the closest you can get to being Unitarian while still being Christian." But by being a Christian faith it did rely heavily on the idea that if you're good you go to Heaven, if you're bad you go to Hell. I never understood why you couldn't be good just to be good. Why are people taught that they'll get something in exchange for being a good person? But the guilt part was the worst. I grew up feeling guilty about so much, and spent many hours as a child being scared of Hell. So the concept of being good for the sake of good without worrying about what comes after life is very appealing to me.

It may be more surprising to you that David would go to church with me. As you may know, David is agnostic. But if you know David at all you also know he is on a constant mission to learn. He's always reading, listening, observing. He minored in religious studies in college so he could know more about the history and concepts of various religions (and so he could always have a good argument). So really, it's not so hard to believe that he'd be interested in attending a church that focuses as much as it does on religious education. I had wondered myself, however, how his agnostic beliefs would fit in at a church, even a Unitarian one. But I began to understand how truly diverse Unitarianism is while David and I were sitting down after the service with a couple who gave us a mini-orientation of the church. First, a woman walked in on our discussion and asked, "Is this the pagan meeting?" The couple told her no, the pagan meeting was taking place down the hall. Then the minister came in to talk with us awhile, and he further explained the concept of multiple beliefs being accepted at the church. He specifically mentioned agnostics and atheists. When he said atheists, the woman leading the orientation shot up her hand and smiled, indicating she fell into this category. That surprised even me and put me more at ease as it also further opened my understanding and comfort of Unitarianism. It really is about the kind of person you are, not about what you believe.

Still, you may be wondering, why did Karen and David decide to go to church? They don't need to be told that they can be good people without needing incentive to be so. They can read books to learn about different beliefs. Well, I'll try to explain.

First, lately David and I have been wanting to do more for our community. David sold his soul (oh sure, pun intended) to the world of advertising, where he spends much of his time convincing people they need to put themselves into debt by taking out a loan or that they can't live without a certain product or that a certain kind of snack cake is mmm...so delicious! I work at a nonprofit that aims to improve the overall welfare of women and children in our community, but the daily drudgery of my work and the fact that I get a paycheck keeps me from feeling I'm doing something out of the goodness of my heart. We've talked about doing volunteer work in our free time, but what free time do we have? So we're attracted by the opportunities that are offered by the local Unitarian church. Once a month, we can make a casserole that will feed a hungry family. We can donate items such as old clothes and eye glasses that will be given to those who need them. The church works with Habitat for Humanity to help build affordable housing, and there's even opportunities to lobby legislators to support state policies that improve the lives of low-income people. The list of opportunities goes on.

We're also looking ahead. We plan to have children someday, and we want them to be good people. We don't want them to be taught to feel they have to be good or else, well, you know. But we don't want them to miss out on the benefits of church just because we want to protect them from the teachings we disagree with. They can learn valuable lessons in morality and being considerate and caring of others. We also want them to think for themselves and to be exposed to different cultures and beliefs. From what we've learned of Unitarianism, it is a good fit for what we want for our children.

I don't see David and I as attending church regularly each Sunday. We can pick and choose what services we'd like to attend and which events we participate in. There's a sermon on Islam coming up that I am interested in hearing, and we are thinking about going to Passover dinner next week. I'm hopeful that this experience will help us fill some voids in what is otherwise a full and prosperous life.

I admire your work

2007-03-22T17:18:00.000-05:00

I've contemplated lately following the trend of starting a blog. I had planned, when and if I ever got around to this endeavor, to mourn the loss of the Balsley family website I had built two years ago. It was an effort to use technology to help keep my extended family up to speed on what was going on in each other's lives. I lost steam, however, when I eventually realized I could never be as effective at collecting and distributing family information as my grandmother is by nature. And so, this spring I allowed my domain name ownership to lapse without renewal.

What ultimately drove me to start this blog, however, was my discovery today of a loss of a completely different nature. I'm not sure what made me think of my college friend Chuck Cass today out of the blue, but whatever it was prompted me to do a search on Google for him to see what he was up to these days. The first hit was an obituary, dated November 2005. He was 31 years old and had lost a 3-year battle with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

I was shocked, of course. We had kept in touch through email for a couple of years after college. Then, as it often goes, we both just got busy with other things in life. I guess I took it for granted that I could always drop him a line someday when I thought of it, as I probably would have done today.

We were photography students together at the University of Illinois and we and our classmates spent a lot of time together working into the wee hours of the morning on projects in the basement of Greg Hall. We also worked together at the student paper in the photo department. Chuck was an incredible photographer. He was probably born to be a photojournalist, a career which he did pursue and in which he succeeded. He was gentle and quiet, but he was one of those people who, when he did speak, made you laugh. I remember one day we were sitting beside each other in the computer lab when I suddenly felt something in my contact and had to take it out to rinse it. I deftly sprinkled it with solution and popped it back in. Chuck - who was also damned to wear corrective lenses - watched me, smiled, and casually said, "I admire your work." It's one of those you-had-to-be-there kind of experiences, but there was such humor in his remark that I often think of that moment when I take out my contacts (which, admittedly, I do with some amount of pride because of his keen observance of my uncanny agility).

Throughout the rest of the afternoon I became aware that Chuck's death was affecting me more than I would have expected. I read several articles people wrote about him. They all described him perfectly. I may not have known Chuck as well as many people, but the words used by those who were close to him truly captured his spirit. I guess that shows what an open and true person he was. Mike Davis, former visual director of Sun Publications, where Chuck worked as a photographer, had this to say: "Occasionally we get to work with people who are just plain nice to be around and who can make photographs that are reflections of their own character. Chuck Cass was that person - never complain, always make more of the situation than you thought was possible, come out smiling and asking questions. I'll miss him."

What shook me the most was an audio slideshow created in memory of Chuck. It profiles his cancer treatment through photos as well as his own words, which he recorded while going through chemotherapy. It brought tears to my eyes but a few laughs as well, seeing his friendly, smiling face and quirky personality shine through. The show is followed by some of Chuck's own photography. If you have a few minutes, I encourage you to take a look.

To Chuck, I'd just like to say I'm sorry we lost touch. I will miss your friendship but hope you are at peace. Oh, and I really admire your work.

Photo by Chuck Cass