Tuesday, June 9, 2009

The things that make us kindred

Friendships are made of:

A familiar smile
An inside joke that is still as funny as the first time
Memories, new and old
Growing into new people with the same fondness for one another
Lots of alcohol
Moments of silence where nothing needs to be said

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Today when I was out and about, I saw a fanny pack. Yes, folks, it was a real, live, fanny pack. Those immoral things from the 80's complete with a buckle to fit on...well...your fanny. I never understood the draw to wear a fanny pack. It's not as comfortable as a belt and actually, due to gravity, probably works to pull your pants down instead of holding them up. It's like the backpack's white-trash cousin with less room for junk in the trunk. It's right up there with scrunchies and pink yard flamingos. I think I actually gasped in horror when I saw it round the corner in the grocery isle.

My father used to have a fanny pack that had space for 2 water bottles flanked on each side. He used to take it hiking and I as a child about hip-height, this thing would swing back and forth on his hips with his stride making maneuvering around him on the trail almost impossible. I could see the clear trail ahead but on every other pace that he took this pack would swing its bottles in my face and threaten a black eye. He would pack this thing like we were going to be stranded for days out in the wilderness and heft it up around his wast like he was bench pressing 100 pounds.

The thing most ironic about the fanny pack is that women will often carry a purse with it. So, I'm guessing they have the fanny pack just as an accessory? Maybe they carry their scrunchies in it.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Am I an annual?

Every other spring I am exited and anticipating the summer. This year, there is a hesitancy in my being. I both love and hate how entwined I am with the seasons. Fall: I am in love with the colors, the long lingering summer days, and the last warm rays I soak up with my bare skin. Winter: I hibernate, sleep way too much, cook lots of warm stews, and hide out under blankets trying to warm my fingers with tea and bourbon. Spring: Normally I can't wait to be outside all day, my fingers stained with dirt before I realize dinner time has come and gone and it's still really too cold to be acting as though it's summer. Summer is my prime: happy all day, face turned upward and smiling straight into the sun; big heavy sighs of the flower's purfumes; berries, berries, berries! It can be exausting being so connected to Mother Nature. But this year...

I dont' know what this hestiancy is quite yet. I feel restless and antsy. I feel my body and soul calling me away from here. Is it May? I feel this endless lingering feeling, and it's not just the season.

If you wake up and I am gone: I've gone south for the sake of my blood.

but, but, BUT:

Could I actually leave? My roots, although delicate and not withstanding the harsh winter are firm and tender. Soul: please give me an answer or SHUT THE HELL UP!!!

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Let's take some time off

There is a bounce in my step today. It is only 11AM and I have already accomplished much. Ahh, how good productivity feels! Once all the "to-do" items get checks, on to more soulful work: I am promising myself to paint tonight. But first to share with you my most recent:

This was a gift to my sister for Christmas. I am rather pleased with it.

I got am email from Jason with the subject line: "let's take some time off". Oh, that's music to my ears.

Time off, time off.

Only last year I had all the time off in the world. Not now. But now is better. I don't thrive under the absence of structure - the motivation to get up and shower every day and fix my hair. So, where should we go on our time off? To Mexico, you say? How about Paris? I've always wanted to backpack Central America this time of year - I hear it's lovely. Oh, right. My wallet reminds me: Must stay close. That's ok, le sigh, perhaps next year. Time off anywhere with my love is time well spent anyway, I shouldn't be greedy.

Some rather fun news I must share: I, Devon Gregory, am the new wedding consultant at Caruh! That's right! I have a pamphlet all my own that opens up with my name in bold:

Devon Gregory
Caruh Wedding Consultant

(Just in case you couldn't visualize it! ;-) )

This was my marketing idea for myself, and the boss loved it! Hoorah! My first "wedding show" is Saturday the 21st at Lululemon in University Village. Tell one and all (brides, that is)!

Well, dear friends, the next item on my "to-do" list is calling, must attend to it!

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Vet

Today I took Harley to an veterinarian orthopedic surgeon. Who knew these kinds of people even existed? Harley is a pain in the ass. You can never take him anywhere in the car because the entire time he whines like something is grabbing him by the balls and squeezing with all their might. He even howls. I get so frustrated that by the time we get to our destination, passers-by think I'm the most horrible pet owner in the world and don't love my "handsome, so sweet" puppy as I bark orders at him. If only they knew. And if only they knew what I was about to find out.

We go into the vet reception area and check in. "So handsome!" All the receptionists coo, as my right arm is being ripped out of my socket and the contents of my purse are being flung everywhere. We sit in the metal chairs in the waiting area and I attempt to get Harley to sit. For sanitary purposes, I understand why they have linoleum on the floors, but with an 80 pound puppy, I think it's the most idiotic idea ever. Undoubtedly, every time I wait in the vet lobby with Harley, one of two things happen: 1) Just as I'm settling in and get him to sit, another dog or cat enters the reception area. He bolts to meet this new potential friend and I go flying. He has actually dragged my seated ass across the entire waiting area before. Or, 2) I loosen my grip to reach for a treat to entice him to sit, and he bolts out of my hands, goes slamming into the poor sick kitty in the carrier and all over their unexpecting owner. To which they give me the death stare that says "You evil person! Why would you own a dog if you can't control him? Now Mr. Scribbles here is so freaked it will take weeks to get him out of this carrier and it's all your fault!" I hang my head in shame and hope the nurse is stronger that I am. They're usually not.

It's at this point they usually give us a room that we wait in for quite some time. But this vet's room had a door that was split in half and they only closed the bottom half, which was just out of reach of Harley's sight and all the more enticing to try to look over. Trying not to look like a crazed, mean owner, I tried my best to get him to calm down. The nurse, still cooing over him as he's trying to use her as a ladder to escape the room, handed me all kinds of forms and information on ACL tears in animals. I'm supposed to have read over and know all this information by the time the vet arrives, but given that everyone on the entire block can hear my screaming pup, I opt to sit on the floor with him, petting and praising him just to make him shut up. Thinking that if my husband where here, he would point out how dirty the floor is. But, I don't think about that and just try to calm Harley down.

So, not only is this room filled with smells of other animals most likely in distress and I'm guessing they put out a different odor that says "you're in trouble! Be the worst you can be and your owner will have to take you home on account of possibly getting imprisoned for bad training!", and the half door that's more enticing than a dripping piece of steak, there's also a window which people are walking by on. Now, the only thing my dog can't stand more than ridding in the back of a car, is seeing people walking that he can't go great personally. At one point, I wondered if dogs could get hernias from whining.

About 20 minutes of this - just enough time to thoroughly stress Harley out, and enters the vet. To which Harley jumps on, and to which the vet wasn't so enthusiastic as his bimbo receptionists. We look at the x-rays, which have been crushed en route, and he feels his leg. Yes, a torn ligament. Yes, surgery. Yes, the more expensive one. Yes, it could happen again. That's really all the information I would gather since Harley is continuing to whine excessively and the vet is trying to give me all these terms and a 101 course on knee joints while I can't hear over my screaming dog. But, that's all the information I really needed.

So, we venture back out into the obsitcal course or a reception area. We pass another room with the lower half of the door closed and a husband and wife are quietly sitting with their silent, seated collie. They look at me being drug out the door with a look that says "You poor, son of a bitch." The only good idea this place has is there's a hook to tie your dog's leash too on the coutner so you can have all hands free to pay the enormous sum of money the vet is charging me to tell me something I already know. But, this just means more leash in which to tie himself and me up in. At one point, I think there wasn't a free leg on either of us that wasn't entangled in his leash in one way or another. The receptionists coo. The word "treat" is mentioned and there went the 80 pounds of hyper dog over the counter and into all their papers. Oops. "You said it, not me" was the look I'm sure I had on my face. Back in the car and another 30 minute drive of howling dog.

At one point I started thinking, is this really worth it? By the time it's all said and done, we will have shelled out $5,000 for this whining, destructive, smelly dog. As I look in my rear view mirror at Harley chocking himself on the seat in front of him just to get a better look at the car next to us, which has turned his whines into abbreviated gasping sounds, I really start to question this. Then we get home and every time I get up, his ears perk, his eyes follow my every move, his tail wags, and follows me faithfully around, never leaving my side. He comes next to the couch, sits down on my feet and with those eyes never leaving mine, lays his soft warm head in my lap. But I'm never going to the vet alone again.


The days are short and dark. My fingers never get warm. I stare outside in the gray abyss and loose my thoughts. I have been doing _______ ??? for hours. The dishes still need to be washed, the floors still need sweeping. My love is far away and I am alone. My days run into one another and I loose track of time. This dismal season has captured me and taken me prisoner.

One day, soon again, I will feel the warm sun on my face and the breeze on my bare legs.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Beautiful Death

I have been enthralled with the autumn colors as of late. The rich reds, deep yellows, piercing oranges. They can move me to tears. But it occurred to me the other day: this beauty I love so much is caused by death. Not the death of the entire tree of course, but that of the leaves themselves. The tree sheds the leaves in order to save up its energy for the long winter ahead. It can't go on living and support its leaves at the same time.

I found this interesting in comparing it to my own life. I feel a "death" coming on of sorts. Or, at least I am hoping for one. The death of my anger. My insecurity. The lashing out of things in me that is "otherly". Things in me that need to be brought to the grave and buried in order for the source of my nourishment, my growth, to continue on and live to see another spring. But, in order for me to live on, I need to recognize the signs telling me to shed those parts of me that will only cost me my life. The nights getting longer, the day cooler. So, as I enter this valley of winter, I will try to drop my leaves, seeking inner nourishment for the time ahead. And I think it will be beautiful.