When you only have 100 years to live

I've never understood why people- usually women- refuse to tell their age. Yesterday was my fifty first birthday and I have known women who would have given anything to say that but didn't get the chance. Shari, a patient I grew to know and care about, lost her life to cancer last week. I don't recall her age but she was younger than me. She and I sat together about a month ago and she cried because she knew her cancer treatment wasn't working. Even so, she couldn't bear to stop driving to the hospital and spending time she didn't have receiving chemotherapy because she simply wanted to live. Even as I tried to suggest hospice care for her, knowing the chemo was not only futile but was also making her feel worse, I respected her decision to go on. "I can't give up" she said.

I think of the actual people who are the "Five killed by a roadside bomb in Iraq" or one of the thousands just lost in Haiti. Just like that, and your time here is over.

Today I celebrate the first day on my way to 52. Each morning I see the sun rise is a gift that I will never take for granted even if I live to be 100.

Keep the Cheer Going

It's a rainy Sunday at home. Jim is lying on the couch watching the pregame for the Jets vs Chargers. As I tap away on the key board, Nell naps on my lap and Mistie snores softly beside me. Mollie would like to go outside- again- but we are limiting her time in the yard today because she comes in all muddy.

I'm remembering the Christmas just passed, a wonderful time spent with those we love. Inside and out, Christmas lights brightened the dark of winter. This year our street had more holiday lights than I ever remember here and I smiled every evening as I drove home, cheered by all the little sparkly bulbs. Not only did they display more lights, but people also seemed to leave them up later than in the past, keeping Christmas cheer as the long month of January began. Thinking about this, I wonder if, after the difficult year, we all yearned for sources of happiness. It certainly was so with me. As a matter of fact, we have decided to keep a little Christmas tree on our mantel. The lights warm my heart.

Our new friend, Mollie

We have a new friend. Her name is Mollie and she is a Collie-Great Pyrenees mix. Her coat shows her Collie heritage; she has the colors of a sable but perhaps with more cinnamon than tan . Her face and her demeanor are far more Pyrenees. She is calm, devoted and as was indicated it in the description of the breed, she would not take first place in an obedience class. She is about three years old and her first years are known only to her, as she was found wandering and covered in burrs. From the road she was taken to a dog pound where she was discovered by a Collie rescue and removed to a foster home to await adoption. She was with her foster mom for a little over a month when Jim saw her picture on line. We met at a pet store about 2 hours north of Columbus- after we had been approved by a home visit from the rescue group- and invited her to be a part of our family. I felt so sorry for her as her foster mom handed over her leash to us and walked away, as Mollie knew only that one more person in her life was leaving her with strangers.

Today is the beginning of her fourth week with us and we have passed the usual markers of a new animal joining the herd. The cats have stopped hissing and hiding when she is in the room and now walk calmly by, paying her no attention. Mistie, not being a dominant sort of dog, never objected to Mollie's arrival but misinterprets Mollie's attempts to play as the last minute of her life and runs to hide behind me. As Mollie seems to want a canine to play with, we are making arrangements for "play dates" (I hate that phrase. Why can't kids just play together without a date?) with a neighbor dog and Peter's dog.

So far, we know that Mollie likes to be outside, doesn't have much interest in toys, loves to go for walks, and has a bark that would scare me if she wasn't my friend- good for the nights when Jim is working and I'm home alone! We have relaxed our previous "no dogs on the furniture" rule and allow Mollie to lay with us on the couch and get into the bed. At first, I was going to nix that, given her ~80 pounds and envisioning trying to sleep with her taking up 75% of my space. However, she usually lays at the bottom of the bed and always goes down to her dog bed. She is a dear furry person and has become my shadow, waiting at the stairs if I go up and welcoming me home with a wagging tail.

When we met at the pet store I knelt and told her that we welcomed her into our lives and that I hoped she would be happy with us. I promised her that she was coming home. Each day, she seems to know better that she is, indeed, home.