I Always Wanted to be a Writer

  I've wanted to be a writer since I was in 5th grade, but I also wanted to be a lot of other things then, too.  I started taking piano lessons when I was 5 and continued until I was 19. My parents had a plan for me to be a music teacher, and since I was an obedient child, I obliged. When I was 15, I gave my first piano lesson and continued to do that for 45 more years, with just a little time off for babies. It was a good way to earn a living, and I was happy with it. The challenges were tough but the rewards were huge! I had a great sense of satisfaction watching my students grow up to become pianists -- well some of them anyway. But writing was always calling to me.

  In the 5th grade I actually wrote a book which I passed around to all of my friends to read. My cousin folded and stapled pages into a book form and then I wrote out 10 chapters with a pencil. It was a young girl's idea of a love story about the Rose Bowl game, the handsome quaterback, and the beautiful young woman who was chosen Queen, with the chance to ride in the parade perched royally on the back of a convertible There was no such thing as color TV then so the beautiful colors of the Rose Parade with the flowers and seeds on the floats were all in my imagination. I wrote descriptions of floats that I conjured up in my mind and told about the wonderful bands that were seen marching down the street. At that point in my life I had never been out of the state of Michigan, but I pretended I knew all about California living.  It was pre-computer so there was no way to do instant research. I was way too young for a driver's license and my father refused to let me ride my bike downtown therefore there was no way to get to the library. I'm sure the details were quite inaccurate, but I didn't care and neither did my friends. My book was a big hit, and I was proud of it.
  I've always been the kind of person who has many hobbies, and writing was just one of them. Being bored is a concept I know nothing about. There's always something to do; the question is what will I do with my time and how will I make the best use of it. I forged on through the years, writing in diaries (as we called them then) sending long letters home when I was living out of the country, and writing personal notes to my husband and daughters at various times in their lives when bits of encouragement were called for.
  I guess what I'm trying to say is that I've never been disciplined enough to set aside time during the day to practice the craft of writing. I often wake up in the morning and the first thing that comes to mind is an idea for a story or a great first line for a book. I will jot those down on scrap paper only to lose them later; therefore, doing nothing with my great ideas. I don't know why I do that because it is not my true personality. I'm actually a type A; I am a perfectionist in all things -- well let's say I strive for perfection. I like neat tidy lists for everything I do. So I have now come to believe that the reason I never found time to write is because I'm afraid of failure.
  I started this blog dedicated to writing, completely separate from other blogs I write about gardening and cooking. I promised myself that this time would be different. I would open up my heart and pour out my soul. After a few attempts, I see that it is not going anywhere, either. I seem to create stumbling blocks, purposefully blocking my efforts to put on paper what is in my head. Now I'm wondering, do I really want to be a writer or have I been kidding myself for many, many years. If I do, it's time to do something about it or else stop saying "I always wanted to be a writer."
 
Please visit my other blogs: An Herbal Bedfellow for healthy recipes made with herbs, and Thyme for Herbs , a blog about gardening with herbs, daylilies, and other perennials.

Pets

I have a dog.  I constantly tell people he is the best dog in the whole world -- and I might just be right.  He really doesn't do anything wrong.  He's a little copper Shih Tsu, and he's been living with us since he was 10 weeks old, about 2 years now.  His name is Ted.
Ted was very difficult to housebreak, or so it seemed since we brought him home in November and we had to take him out every half hour all throughout the winter. He just wanted to play in the snow and then come inside to do his duty.  But once we made it through that period of his life, he's never failed to amaze me.

Ted doesn't shed, he rarely barks, and loves to hang out by my side wherever I am in the house. Ted gets weekly baths, homemade dog food and treats, and goes to the groomer regularly, where everyone loves him. Ted's never met a person he didn't like -- well, there was that one groomer, but that's another story.
I sometimes feel guilty because I love Ted so much, it seems above all other previous pets, but there's a reason.  I've always had dogs, and I've always loved them.  A few didn't work out and had to go on to other homes and families.  Now that I'm older, I feel guilty about that, too.
When we were first married and my husband was in the Navy, we bought a white Spitz puppy, a snippy little thing who probably didn't get enough walks. She wasn't ready for our young on-the-go lifestyle, and we weren't ready for her, so she went to live with another military family when we had to leave that duty station.

After Navy life we settled into a house and decided it was time to try a pet again. Our basset, Chloe, was featured in the newspaper and needed to be adopted from the pound. She was adorable and we thought she would be the lazy type of dog we liked. She  howled like a dying cow whenever we left her ( no doubt the reason she was being adopted out in the first place.)  Since we lived in the city with houses close by, that didn't go over too well. We felt bad because after giving her to someone else, she ended up back at the pound and in the paper again.  Poor thing!

Then there was the dalmatian, Vicki, who was so hyper, nothing could be done with her. She ate newspapers, toilet paper rolls, Kleenexes, and even tried chewing thumbtacks! Clearly we were doing something wrong.
When the new baby came along , our pretty spotted fire dog went to live with a family with older children. She was only 9 months old at the time and had a lot of growing up to do yet. Being a new mother was taxing enough, and I wasn't very excited about having her around my newborn. I never saw any of those dogs again.  I only hope they had a better life with someone who knew more about dogs than I did at that time in my life.

After a while, we felt something was missing without a pet, so we decided to switch to a cat, which had always been my husband's favorite type of pet. Her name was Carmel, a beautiful Siamese. Carmel was haughty, snooty, and persnickety. She strutted around like she owned us and we were there to do her bidding. She cried like a baby and talked to me whenever I asked her a question. I was clearly her favorite.  She would ride across my shoulders while I was working in the kitchen and hover under my long robe in the morning while I was making breakfast, trying to capture a little warmth. She slept in my bed curled up in the crook of my right arm for 16 years. I still miss her terribly.

While we still had Carmel, we decided to give another dog a try. With my husband out of town so often, we felt the need for a watch dog. My brother-in-law had two keeshonds which we liked a lot, so when we saw a keeshond mix at the pet store, (this was in 1982 when it was still ok to buy pets at the pet store) we thought we would save her from that nasty cage she was in. Her name was Tiffany, my girls named her after their favorite Olympic ice skater, Tiffany Chin.  Tiffany had huge feet and beautiful eyes with eyebrows that moved up and down and side to side as she looked at you, and a funny little bump on top of her head.  Too ignorant to know what big feet meant, we took her home.  The Vet burst into fits of laughter and said this is no keeshond.  She'll probably grow to be about 70+ pounds. Turned out she was a St. Bernard mix with German Shepard and Golden Retriever blended in.  110 pounds later, she was by far the smartest  ( and biggest) dog I ever had. She could learn tricks easily with a treat for a bribe.  She talked -- yes, she did.  She could say "out" and "hi." Tiffany would grab my hand and lead me to the treat cupboard whenever she felt a snack was needed.  Did I mention her head came up to my elbow? Was she a perfect dog?  No way, but we were finally getting the hang of owning pets and forgiving them more readily for their little slip-ups.

Tiffany was extremely easy to housebreak so that was nice.  But the odd thing was she, for some reason, got the idea that she was a delicate poodle. She would prance around with a silly grin on her face, giving away the fact that she had just polished off a whole pizza left on the counter or leftover pork chops cooling after a meal.  ( Her head was at counter level and nothing was safe from her drooling mouth -- remember Turner and Hooch?) Tiffany often delicately ate whole packs of gum, much to my daughters' dismay.  She would gently take the foil wrapper off and after chewing to her heart's content, leave nothing but the papers behind to give her away. Then I would hear, MOM!!!!!. And then there was the time I spent hours with my two girls making white chocolate Easter eggs and suckers.  They were finally finished, carefully decorated, and arranged perfectly on a tray waiting for the company which was arriving the next day. Oops, off to the store for a forgotten item. When we arrived home -- you got it, only the sucker sticks were left to show that we had had a very creative afternoon. Still we loved her dearly, and mourned her loss at age 10.
I think we finally had the hang of owning a pet.  It was more than food and water and exercise occasionally.  It was lots of unconditional love.

We said we would never have another pet again.  It was way too hard to put Tiffany down.  We lasted three weeks -- then we just had to try again.
 Dolly, named after Dolly Madison, was an adorable chocolate lab. She was the first of the First Lady and President names.  She was the most active of all of the puppies in her litter.  She crawled over the tops of others while they slept, chewing and tugging at their ears. She was the first to climb out of their box.  The breeder said that was a sign of high intelligence. What he forgot to tell us was that was also a sign of high energy, something we were not looking for. Once again Dolly was very easy to housebreak but she loved leather and wood.  I replaced one pair of shoes after another until she finally grew out of the teething stage. Dolly was with me every minute of the day.  I took her to work with me and she slept by my desk, then came home with me and slept at my feet. Her only problem was that she developed separation anxiety. Whenever I left her alone, she howled like a hound dog, (similar to the basset we had had years before)  Even with the windows closed, the neighbors could still hear her.  This time, with no babies or young children around, I decided it was a small price to pay for such an amazing dog. Dolly had a talent; she sang on cue.  All I had to do was say "sing, Dolly" and raise my hands like I was conducting an orchestra and she burst forth with song. She performed readily for anyone who would listen, and took great pride in her joyous songs. Dolly also loved to bring shoes, which had been removed at the door, to any guest in the house and she always matched the right shoe with its owner. Sometimes if I left my glasses on the coffee table, I would find her delicately carrying them to me. Her dry, soft mouth, meant for retrieving ducks without harm, never did any damage and was a welcome relief after the drool and slobber Tiffany had shared.  At age 13, Dolly had to be put down, due to hip dysplasia, total deafness, and the beginning stages of blindness. It was one of the toughest days of my life, and I mourn her still.

When Dolly was 4 years old, someone new showed up in our back yard. A black, dirty, scraggly mutt with no collar was running around from yard to yard in search of food, and love. We offered both.  My husband opened the door and she ran in and immediately jumped up on his favorite chair, then turned around with a grin on her face as if to say, "I'm home."  I promptly told her to get down, and she never jumped up in a chair for the rest of her life. Dogs were often dropped off in our area in the country when someone was tired of them.  It turned out, Jackie was a highly intelligent nine-month-old Bouvier mix. Jackie, named after Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onasis,  never chewed anything or barked much unless Dolly did. She tried her hardest to join in on the singing but only a strange, strangled howl emerged which was quite hilarious. She grew to be 70 pounds equal in size to Dolly.  They were great friends. Jackie quickly attached herself to my husband and became "his" dog.  He was crazy about her. Jackie and Dolly worked as a team without so much as a bark.  One would stand watch at the front door each night and the other would take the back door. They were wonderful protectors. When Jackie was 13, three years after Dolly's death, she ate some of the tainted dog food we all heard so much about, and developed kidney failure.  Rather than keep her on dialysis and medication for the rest of her life, we once again had to make the decision to let her go.  Another very rough day, and weeks following. It was too hard. we decided -- No More Pets.

This time we lasted two whole years. The longing began while we were trying to sell our house, and I guess we needed something to distract us from that awful time. We studied dog breeds and agonized over whether we were ready.  After all we were retired and ready to start a new phase in our life. I did Internet research and soon we knew that what we wanted was a small dog who would not pull us down the street on its daily walk, a non-shedder, and a non-barker, if that was possible. We quickly settled on the idea of a Shih Tsu. We tried to rescue a Shih Tsu mix, but the line was long ahead of us of others who wanted the same thing and we lost out.  It seemed as though small non-shedders were hard to come by at the county dog pound. So back to the Internet.  And there he was, a little copper male. But this particular pooch was not very photogenic, I'd never had a male dog before, and this one sure wasn't very cute compared to the pretty little white girls with spots. Besides that he was on sale -- what was that all about?

Ok, so we took the hour drive to check this place out. it seems they had had two litters.  The little females were 8 weeks old and from another litter than the copper male who was 10 weeks old. He was the last of his bunch and soon to be left behind, therefore the sale price.  The breeder picked him up first, hoping I would chose this little brown runt.  But the fact is he chose me! He was much cuter than his photo, as a matter of fact he was adorable! As  soon as I picked him up, he snuggled his nose in my neck and sighed.  No lie -- he actually sighed.  That was it; love at first sight between dog and owner.
Teddy slept all the way home on my lap,  and has been a good car rider ever since.  He goes everywhere with us that's possible. Ted is actually named after Teddy Roosevelt, but because of his resemblance to a stuffed animal, most people think we named him after a Teddy bear.
Why is he the best dog in the whole world?  Because at first glance, he's the cutest thing you've ever seen.  He's destined to look like a puppy for the rest of his life.  But beyond that, I think he is something else, a combination of all those who went before him.  Teddy has the intelligence of my 110-pound Tiffany in a 15-pound body.  He's loyal and gentle with children like Dolly, and he has a sweet personality, like Jackie.  On top of all that, he's very cat-like; flexible and limber, and very affectionate, like Carmel, the Siamese.  He never gets tired of being held and cuddled. He's given great comfort in the past few months when death and disease came knocking at our family door. There's nothing quite like burying your face in a soft non-shedding dog to lower your blood pressure and give you a sense of peace. I truly think God sent Ted to us at just the right time. He gathered up the spirit of our cat and all of our dogs and recycled them right back to us through Ted. Ted had a tall order to fill and he's more than done his job at two years of age. Other than my husband, children, and grandchild, Teddy is the love of my life.  He truly deserves the title Greatest Dog in the World -- at least in this household.


Please visit my other blogs: An Herbal Bedfellow for healthy recipes made with herbs, and Thyme for Herbs , a blog about gardening with herbs, daylilies, and other perennials.

Drizzles

It's drizzling outside.  One of those dark and wet days that we get in the Fall here in Michigan.  I should got out and get some air but I don't want to, really.  I'm in a bit of a fog, maybe it's the barometric pressure.  My mother always blamed everything on the barometric pressure.  I didn't know what that was until I was in my 30s but one thing I did know is that whatever it was, it sure could play havoc with my head.
I need to go out to get groceries.  I want some exoctic new vegetables and fresh aromatic herbs. I don't like to cook unless I can make something new; something that will wow everyone. I guess that comes from my need to overcompensate.  That need has gotten me in a lot of trouble.  I wish I could learn to hold it at bay for a little while, and just relax.  Sometimes I know I am missing the good things in life by trying too hard.
Should we let our real, born-with personality lead us through life?  When do you force yourself to change and try to become someone or something else?  That wouldn't make me any happier, either.  So for now, I'll remain the O/C personality that I am: the person who always stacks her coins from large to small, counts steps whenever I climb them in my own home, keeps long lists of books I have read and seasons of TV shows I have watched, checks my bank balance online at least once a day and then goes in search of a missing dime when balancing my checkbook. 
I can't be easy to live with.  The need for the pillows on the couch and bed to be positioned just so is overwhelming.  Stacks of mail on the end of the kitchen bar can send me in a tailspin, but don't get me wrong -- my house is far from perfection. It's the small things that bug me.
And then my other personality takes over -- we all have at least two, don't you think? Today with the gray drizzles and barometric pressure looming, I'm going to be the couch potato, TV watching, munching-on-chips-and-cookies person. I enjoy that side of me, as long as she doesn't hang around too long. And when the drizzles are gone, I'll have to face the music, and begin to put things right with the order of my life again.  That makes me happy. That's just who I am.


Please visit my other blogs: An Herbal Bedfellow for healthy recipes made with herbs, and Thyme for Herbs , a blog about gardening with herbs, daylilies, and other perennials.

New Life?

I thought this blog was dead. I haven't written in so long. I guess it's writer's block or just plain laziness. There are always stories swirling around in my head, but I just can't seem to get them down. I'm making one more promise to myself to try to write. This time I mean it. I'm giving this blog a new life!





Please visit my other blogs:An Herbal Bedfellow for healthy recipes made with herbs, and Thyme for Herbs , a blog about gardening with herbs, daylilies, and other perennials.

Journal Entry

Journal entries have been very light. I've been quite busy with the blogs and other things going on. Last week I launched my new business called Tedibles. It's an all-natural dog treat and dog shampoo business; an earth-friendly company. Mike and I are both excited. We already had our first order!
www.tedibles.com



Please visit my other blogs:An Herbal Bedfellow for healthy recipes made with herbs, and Thyme for Herbs , a blog about gardening with herbs, daylilies, and other perennials.