Whimper

I think my favorite sound in the world is that of a dog dreaming. You know, when they make those little muffled barking sounds? I also love hearing my dogs snore.

Ok now, my least favorite sound in the world- which I have been experiencing yesterday and today is when my dog- or any dog for that matter- whimpers in pain. It's a heartbreaking sound.

Scout had surgery to "repair" her ACL ligament the other day. And of course she's going to have to go though some pain before getting through to the happy days of walking again. She's been whimpering in pain, off and on, both yesterday and today. Especially whenever I look at her. If only she could understand as I tell her that this pain is only temporary, maybe it would be easier to endure. But she doesn't know. All she knows is that right now, she feels crummy. Right now, she has a pink cast on her leg and can't really move. Right now, she'd rather just pee on her leg than mess with trying to walk over to the grass. Right now, (due to her pain pills she's taking) she's a little cross-eyed.

Cesar Milan always talks about how dogs live in the moment. And usually, that is an advantage. But this is one case when I would rather her think about what's to come, rather than what is.

A Few Gray Hairs

The other day at lunch, my friend looked at me and said, "Oh! You've got this one gray hair sticking straight up. Can I pull it out for you?" Oh yes, be my guest! I think gray hairs are the most resilient hairs on my head and have a mind of their own. They are the rebels of the group.

I don't have many grays, but I think if I get more, I will have the thickest head of unruly hair. Now that my hair is longer, I notice more strands of hair left in my hairbrush. No, I don't think I'm going bald. I just think now that it's longer, well, there's just more of it. But I haven't ever seen a gray hair that's come out of my head- unless I, or someone else, pulled it.

I don't pull them just because they are gray. I pull them because they are spastic. They are thick, curly, and go the opposite direction of all my other hairs. Like I said---rebels.

I made a little pact with myself. I'm not getting a haircut (okay, maybe a trim- but not a cut) or getting any hair color put on my head until the day I turn 40. The birthday plan is I'll have a day at the spa, then I'll get my hair cut, colored with some fabulous highlights, and styled. When people see me they're bound to say, "You look marvelous! What did you do?" And my reply will be simply, "Oh, I turned 40."

But until that day comes, I will live with my crazy gray hairs. There's only a few of them. True friends will pull them out for me whenever absolutely necessary.

Stinky Pinky

I survived my trigger finger surgery.

The hand surgeon gave me some false expectations regarding recovery, so I keep thinking something is very, very wrong because I can't bend my pinky without pain. (He had me thinking I'd be playing my guitar within a few days.)

I just had the surgery on Wednesday. Which means it's only been 4 days since I was knifed! Pretty soon, my pinkie is going to start pulling her weight around here, and when she does and I become more agile with the typing, I've got some strange hospital-stay happenings to report.

Preview One example: While in the recovery room, I asked my surgeon if he had other surgeries like mine later that day and he replied, "No. Not like yours. But I do have a hairy one coming up. It's a revision. I don't normally have to go back in, but something just didn't go right on this one. Now I have to reset the bone." Awesome to hear, right after this man had just stitched me up. Hopefully he doesn't consider my hand "hairy". I pray for NO REVISIONS.

MOM

I firmly believe that no one loves you like your mom. I know for sure this is the case for me, anyway.

I have so many great memories of Mom. One in particular I thought of this morning. It's just a small snapshot of a day, but I think of it often because it represents the way Mom made me feel. And it is this~

Mom had coffee with her friends every Friday morning. They'd meet up at a la Madeleine near her house. She'd invite me along, but usually I didn't go. They met sort of early, on the other side of town from me, and it just wasn't something I usually thought to do. I remember one morning I did happen to show up, though. I saw the table of her and a group of about 10 other ladies. I so vividly remember her turning to see me as I walked over to her and with such a happy and surprised look she said, "Well, there she is!", and pulled up a chair for me to sit right beside her. It seemed so sweet to me, because I saw my mom so often, and talked to her daily but yet, me showing up for coffee somehow brought her such joy. I would've thought with so many friends there, my being there wouldn't have really added much. But Mom made it clear how much she loved having me beside her, along with her big group of friends.

Like I said, it was just a little moment, but one that I have thought of often. And it makes me so happy, because I remember, THAT is how Mom loved me.

It's been 4 years now- I miss her every single day. But memories such as this one are still clear- I still see her face, hear her voice, and I know how much she loved me.

I survived my hand surgery. And during the several hours I spent at the hospital, lots of odd things happened. And I kept thinking to myself, "I cannot wait to blog about this."

And I will. Soon! But right now it's a little hard to type, and that post isn't going to be short. So for now, I just wanted to make a comment on something I was reading about and then thinking about.

I was just reading a book I have called Leaving a Trace, which just a little book about journal keeping. I've always kept journals. As a kid- I called it a diary. I've kept them for years and years and years. Sometimes I write daily, and sometimes I go for weeks without writing a thing.

In the book, Leaving a Trace, I was reading about the importance of knowing your journal is private and safe. It mentioned some funny things people have done to be sure that their journals aren't read by others. Da Vinci wrote in mirror messages. Anais Nin kept a "decoy" ciary for her husband. Others write in foreign languages, or on computers and use secretly coded file names, or by using private codes. I so related to this need for privacy, but have never really gone to any extent to lock things down, so to speak. I've sometimes wondered what's going to happen to my journals when I die. Will someone who loves me want to read them? And at that point, will I care? I think I sometimes hold back when writing in my journal- for fear that at some point, someone else will read my private thoughts. But to really, really use a journal properly, I should be as revealing as possible. Right?

I respect other's need for privacy, but I have to admit, if my mom had kept a journal, it would be so hard for me to resist the urge to read it. I'd just want to read anything she had to say.