Free at last

Paul is about to retire after almost 40 years in public service, 20 of those on the federal bench. He has served with intelligence, decency and fairness. Wow are we proud of him.

So how does he feel about retiring? He's over the moon. Like a kid on Christmas Eve. He literally started the countdown more than a year ago.

Funny how we used to feel bad for people retiring. "Those poor old people." Now it's "Free at last."

Naturally there are occasional annoyances connected to retiring. Somewhere out in the Net Universe commercial organisms also have received word of Paul's retirement. Our mailbox and his email box get daily pitches for insurance, financial management, reverse mortgage, etc. He tries not to think about the gross violation of privacy. There really is no such thing as privacy anymore.

Last week, however, he got a proposition that seems to violate both privacy and good taste: a deal on pre-paid CREMATION!! Really?

This morning Paul made a joke about it. Of course he did. It will take more than the suggestion of his own death to dampen the prospect of not having to work anymore. Of not having to answer to an early morning alarm or to a superior. Ever again.

After 40 long years plus the years he worked as a teen and young adult before he became a professional, he has earned the right to sit back and breathe free.

Dr. Shady

I love this state of Texas and its people. So many different cultures and traditions and perspectives surrounding the meaning of life.

I was reminded of this at a doctor's visit yesterday. I get sinus infections a couple times a year and use a walk-in clinic, not my regular clinic. Way faster. This clinic is owned by a nut. Certified eccentric. I really am grateful for the service provided, but always hope I get any doctor but her. No such luck yesterday.

Through the years I have heard about her remarkable family and their import in the Confederacy. High achievers. Smarties. Did I mention the Confederacy? 

I made the mistake of wearing a Stanford University t-shirt. My husband's line when he wears his and is asked if he went to Stanford: "Yes. To the bookstore to buy this t-shirt."  I repeat this line, she laughs and continues to talk about research there regarding diabetes and Alzheimer's. I'm all in; this is fascinating stuff.

"Don't say anything. The liberals will twist it."

Say, what?

I don't know about reverse doctor-patient confidentiality and if writing this violates some code, but I doubt it because I have no earthly idea what she was talking about anyway as far as liberals ruining the research.

I have come to expect such ranting against liberals from this 70-something doctor, but have never had the guts to contradict. Something I will never say: "I am a liberal and you just spilled the beans to the enemy. Ha!"

In truth I adore this woman. She has built a spectacular business that I will continue to use, and other family members will as well. Her staff is as diverse as any office - or more so - that I've experienced. She gets liberal points for that. I just won't ever tell her.

It's gonna be ok

I heard this morning that bars were opening early tomorrow in D.C. for the spectacle of watching former FBI Director James Comey testify before a Senate committee about what Trump did or did not say.

They are calling it a kind of Super Bowl. 

I, too, am excited about the prospect of Trump being creamed. I worry, however, that it could be like last year's actual Super Bowl. The Atlanta Falcons all but beating Tom Brady's Patriots. It was really a done deal. Until the Patriots came back and changed what we thought was history.

The lesson for me is that tomorrow's super bowl may not have the happy ending I seek. But that is OK. I am patient. I can wait for Trump's crushing defeat because I know it's coming, just as I know the sun will rise tomorrow. It's coming.

But say for sake of argument that it doesn't happen. I can live with that, too.

You see I met the most amazing millennial today.  I can't reveal too much other than to say good is winning over evil. Maybe not at the ballot box, but most certainly in every day life. I saw and heard for my own eyes and ears. This young woman, unknown to most everyone, is making remarkably unselfish choices. She has chosen the well being of someone else over her own comfort. She has placed love of other over love of self. And in such an organic and authentic way. As you hear her story, each piece fits so smoothly that at the end of the conversation you are entranced by the grace of this lovely woman. 

And inspired and grateful and ... yes, encouraged that it's going to be ok.

Love indeed trumps hate every time.

I'll have a hamburger, hold the proselytizing

I was standing in line at a popular burger place with my granddaughters ages 5 and 7.  One was ordering the cheeseburger - plain and dry. The other wanted both a hotdog and corndog. As a grandparent, it is my prerogative to say "yes" to all or none of their requests.  So while a wish for a double order of dogs seemed excessive, it was a no brainer for me to grant.

This place is filled with picnic table seating. Long rows of picnic tables side-by-side. When it's busy, you get a grab-bag of meal mates. Some are friendly, some are not. Either way works for us.

After our order, we head to the fountain drink area. My 5-year-old insists on doing everything herself. Again, an easy granny call. I can even proudly say she never once heard, "be careful." She hears that all day long.  No need to pile on. In fact, that's the point of having grandparents. They do NOT pile on.

I had noticed a seemingly lovely woman enter by herself and now coming over to the drink area. She said to me, "I've never been here. It's really different."

"It's fun. The food is wonderful." Then, feeling overly blessed, I invite her to sit with us if she wanted.

"Over there," I say pointing to the 7-year-old already seated. She followed the direction of my hand but said nothing. No acknowledgement. "Only if you want to .. you're probably getting to go.." Still nothing. I was too forward and had frightened her. No matter. In moments we would be eating hamburgers and hotdogs and French fries.

I was seated a couple of minutes with the girls waiting for my name to be called to pick up our order, when the lone ranger - rangerette? - walked over and sat beside me. Ok. She decided to accept after all. I begin casual chit chat.

"Are you from here?"

"All my life. Grew up here. It's very different now. Where do you fellowship?"

It's been a long time since anyone has asked me that question. Used to be commonly asked here in the South - in the 90s.

"I don't," I tell her.

Her response: "I'm a poet for God."

This woman's idea of breaking the ice is not the same as mine.

Next thing she has her phone out showing us a picture of "Jesus when he's not on the cross. ...I like the pictures when he's not on the cross." My granddaughters are so brilliant. They admire the picture and smile at her explanation. I think the 7-year-old threw in a nod.

I'm not offended by anything this woman presented to us. I was also glad to be a buffer between her and my granddaughters who pretty much dropped out of the conversation once the food arrived.

This woman, who showed no real interest beyond her own life, represents for me a large number of people who long ago lost the ability to think for themselves. She lacked imagination and curiosity. Life is easier and safer for her that way. I can safely say that about her even though we interacted for less than an hour.

I am not sure what was learned or gained. I hope maybe she experienced something she has been missing in her life: kindness? simple pleasure of greasy food? strangers who don't criticize even though they don't embrace?

It was for sure the perfect setting for such an encounter because everything seems better when you're eating the perfect hamburger!!

Squirrel lives matter

The critter appeared confused as she stepped into oncoming traffic. Too far away to warn, I held my breath as the little furry cuteness began her trip across the busy residential street.  A few drivers braked, but not all. For sure not everyone could see her. In my mind I braced for the scream and blood and crunch of cars and more screams ... and did I mention blood?

She made it. How on earth, I don't know.

This scenario happens almost every day with squirrels. I wonder what the stats are on squirrel pedestrian deaths. I mean it seems this time of year the slaughter multiplies in numbers.  No kidding it's not unusual to walk our lovely neighborhood with the dogs and have to navigate squirrel carcass.

When my Jenny, now 33, was about 9 years old, she actually marched outside our home with a sign that read "Slow down you're killing the squirrels." Adorable, right?  And she swears it worked.

Jenny is still that adorable, but it would be difficult to tell her the "success" likely is owed more to a couple of neighbors (that we know about and likely many more) who regularly shoot to kill. For them squirrel season starts when one of the buggers steps foot in their backyard.

Over the years we often think about our sweet Jenny's campaign to save the squirrel - and all animals really. She once drew a picture for a school assignment of her pet graveyard at the house: snakes, lizards, mice, fish, and I don't remember them all. There were a lot. I thought, as a mom, there must be no other child so kind hearted.  Until now.

I just found out through my neighborhood social media site that there exists multiple places in my city called squirrel sanctuaries.  Squirrel Sanctuaries!!! Imagine, if you can, how soft of heart a person/persons must have to nurture such places. They provide instructions on how to humanely catch them and where to take them. Squirrels!

Going forward I now have a new measure for kindness. The litmus test will be whether one is pro-squirrel life or anti-squirrel life. Indeed I will respect all views. I just will give more points to those who, like my Jenny, believe squirrel lives matter.

Ready or not

This is darling Ellie. She belongs to my grandchildren, as evidenced by her costume. Ellie is staying with us this weekend because her masters are going to Oklahoma. Ellie and my grandkids grew up with another chocolate lab, Memphis. He died recently. Very sad. We couldn't stand the thought of Ellie being all by herself. Typically when they leave we go over and feed and water the dogs, just as they do for our dogs. Now that there's just one ... she must stay with us the whole time.

Our Sam the bossy border collie's hospitality will be tested. I am hopeful. 

Who's in charge?

Samantha is a 3 1/2 year-old border collie. She is loved and well cared for; and she pretty much rules Paul. She is not shy about letting him know it's been 10 minutes since he threw a tennis ball.

Sam was adopted on Paul's 60th birthday so she really belongs more to him. When he is home they are inseparable. They have this nonverbal agreement that Paul will walk her a couple times a day in addition to throwing a thousand tennis balls in the backyard and front room. It works. For them.

I don't want to say that Paul refuses to train Sam. It's just that he refuses to train her. The problem, from my perspective, is Sam's behaviors on walks: she pulls, she lunges at passing vehicles, and she barks and sometimes growls at passing neighbors and their well-behaved dogs.

Occasionally I try to discipline. Mostly when Paul is out of town, as he has been for the last few days. Sunday I took her to a busy park with all kinds of traffic, people and vehicle. I planted her at an intersection and we practiced exposure therapy.  Her behavior told me she was terrified. She had about the same look as one poor woman who got the scary lunge and growl greeting as she walked past us. Which explains the reason I felt the need at times to apologize to people and say (lie) that Sam's a rescue dog I was attempting to train. 

"She'll learn!" one kind, kind woman yelled to me.

So this morning on our walk around the neighborhood, I still was feeling that encouragement gifted to me at the park. I holler "good morning" to a couple of women across the street from us, one I know very well.  Elaine. She has her dog off leash (must be nice), but leans down and connects him to a leash as we approach. She is familiar with Sam.

"Paul working?" (Neighbors mostly are used to seeing Paul with Sam and Mika)

"He's out of town. I'm trying to train Sam!" I point to her shortened leash just before Sam lunges at the women and dog.

"Good luck," Elaine says with a tone that means "fat chance."

Ok. Fair enough.

I still won't give up on Sam. Paul isn't home until tomorrow and it's time for our second walk. So here we go ... just not by Elaine's house.