When John and I still lived in Texas, we became early adopters of the cord-cutting movement. We started with a Play-on subscription and a WD box and found this to be clunky. I still have the Play-on subscription but we quickly pitched the WD and bought a first-generation Roku and fell in love. We have upgraded our players over the years and even bought a TCL Roku tv. We have yet to be disappointed.
This post was going to take a different path and I may come back to that yet, but now the stream is flowing and I just have to go with it.
So way back then, when John found his new job in Ohio, after being unceremoniously relieved from his job – nope still not bitter – we found ourselves in a predicament. For a few months, John would work from home and also spend time in Columbus at the office. It was something like one week in Ohio and two weeks home. Or vice versa. That was all doable in my book, Jack had the remainder of the school year and he would graduate and I had time to get the house ready to sell. Then off to Columbus and our life as empty nesters. But, the new company decided that he should be at the office in Ohio full time starting in January. This really sucked. I had hoped against hope that we would be staying in Texas and he would continue to work remotely. But, no. At this time we had a choice to make. Move to Ohio and make Jack finish his final semester in Ohio or have Jack stay with a friend or split up and let Jack finish his last year at home with his mom.
As you know John moved to Ohio and Jack and I stayed in Texas. We were physically distant and would be for what seemed forever but was actually months. It was not a pleasant time.
My grandma told me a truism once. She said that you should always have dinner with your husband. When asked what should I do with the kids when he was working late or odd hours she said, “So what. Feed them and play with them then send them to bed. Eat with your husband.” Taking heed of this sage advice from very early on, John and I always had at least one meal together. Even if it was his dinner and my breakfast because he worked third shift and came home as I was leaving for work, it didn’t matter we ate together until he had to travel for work. Then we spent time before bed talking on the phone together like teenagers. We made it work. But this long term/distance thing was going to try us. It wouldn’t break us completely but it would try.
When Jack was little and John was out of town I ordered pizza, when the pizza arrived Jack ran to the kitchen to get plates for the dining room table. And I said, “Not tonight. Tonight we eat like Men!” I plopped the pizza on the coffee table and there we ate, no plates only paper towels, in the living room in front of the TV. Jack thought this was the best thing ever!
So when John moved to Ohio and I stayed, Jack would be either at work or his girlfriends and there I ate my soup. In a cup and standing in the kitchen. I didn’t want to bother with actually cooking anything unless Jack was home for the evening. Then on Friday nights, I would get a small frozen pizza, and Max, Boo, and I would eat like Men in front of the TV. It was a lonely existence. Meanwhile, in Ohio, John made real food every night of the week. He likes to cook. I missed our meals together. John didn’t like that I wasn’t eating properly and came up with date night. We would plan a meal to make for date night on Sunday evening. We would buy the ingredients and prepare the meal at the same time and then send pictures to each other of our food. Then we would Skype while we ate and laugh and have a good time. Then came time for the movie.
So now back to Roku. We would watch the same movie at the same time all queued up to start at the count of three. One. Two. Three (press play). Then if you had to go to the potty you would just say One. Two. Three (press pause). This gave us months of Sunday Night Date Night dinner and a movie. That was the most fun we had during this time. I felt that he was still with me and I was with him.
Everyone thinks we are crazy that we didn’t meet for a long weekend somewhere in the middle between Texas and Ohio. The truth was that we knew that either I wouldn’t go back to Texas, or John wouldn’t go back to Ohio, or neither of us would go back, and we would move somewhere else. We had responsibilities so we did what we had to so that Jack could graduate with his class.
But, through all that, we made it. I thank Roku every day for being there for me and John during a very hard time. Early adopters of cord-cutting and being physically distant and socially aware.
A lot has been happening in this strange year of 2020. Everyone is going through a pandemic and not being able to go out or go to work. They call it “social distancing,” but I would prefer to call it – “physical distancing” so I shall from now on. More on that later.
I haven’t written in a while, I was focusing inward on myself. I went to the doctor in December and realized that I now weighed more than I had ever weighed in my life. That was a shock and I cried. Right there on the scale in the hallway in front of other patients and nurses in the doctor’s office. I have always been chubby but this was an awakening.
I went home and told John that I was now too fat and something needed to be done. So I put the bug in his ear and we went to the YMCA. We were never eating poorly but now we were going to eat even better. Funny thing was our grocery bill actually went down. At the YMCA we started walking and I knew that I was out of shape but my plan was to walk for an hour four or five times a week. John walked at work and then walked with me two nights a week. We were having a fun time. John was very motivating. I actually started to lose weight. By the time physical distancing came about I had almost lost fifteen pounds. I had never lost that much weight before and I was feeling great. Stupid coronavirus.
So now, John is home and working in my office and we are sharing a desk. It’s not bad but he hardly ever listens to music. I always listen to music when I work. Ugh. But really not much has changed for me other than this. It could be worse and for many others it is. I won’t complain about this. But, I wondered what I could do to help someone else.
I decided to try an experiment. My granddaughter is six and she lives in Texas and is currently going to school at home. She logs on to her classes with her teachers and learns the normal things a grade-schooler learns. Her mother is also working from home, is pregnant, dealing with a cooped up little girl and my son. So I thought I could “take Aleena off her hands” for a while every afternoon. Even if it is only for five or ten minutes at a time, maybe she can get a little me time in. I thought I could be physically distant and socially there. My plan may be an exercise in futility as she is only six and can’t sit still for any length of time, I will give it try. My plan is to read a book together.
Thanks to the internet, facetime, two Amazon kindles and J.K. Rowling, Aleena and I are off on an adventure. An adventure I took with her father and her uncle. We are off to Hogwarts.
It’s the last part of August which is typically really warm to unbearably hot. But not this weekend. This weekend has been beautiful. The kind of day where there are big puffy clouds in a soft chambray sky and the temperature at 11:17 am is 65°. There is a light breeze blowing through the curtains.
On the three-season porch, John is relaxing on the couch researching ventless propane gas logs for our living room fireplace and listening to the James Taylor station on Alexa.
Boo loves the couch on the porch and is taking the time to spread out and sleep in the calm and coolness of this day, near but not too near her daddy.
Meanwhile, Cooper and MeMe take this opportunity to play and run in the yard and do what puppies do best – live life to the fullest.
Time seems to stand still on a day like this, summer is not quite over and fall is around the corner. Chores are done and work is a million hours away. There is only this moment on this day. This could be the perfect day.
Yesterday my granddaughter turned six. Boy how time flies. For her birthday, her mom took her to every child’s mecca, Chuck E. Cheese. She loved it. Last night I remembered the last time I ever went to Chuck E. Cheese’s and I laughed hysterically until I cried. I am a bad mom and here is what happened. (insert dream sequence now)
Joshua was three going on four and wanted to have his birthday at Chuck E. Cheese. John and I dreaded this request as we had learned from parents in the know that it was loud and really expensive. We were poor. So like any young parents, we scrimped and saved and gave our child what he wanted. Chuck E. Cheese.
My father-in-law wanted to spend the day with Joshua and take him out to lunch and then to the movies and anything else that happened to pop into their heads that day. I remember asking Dad to not give him too much junk food as we were going to Chuck E. Cheese and he said, “Don’t worry. He will be fine.” And off they toddled toward the car with barely a wave or kiss goodbye. Joshua idolized his Grandpa.
Later that evening John and I arrive at Chuck E. Cheese and soon are met by my mother and John’s parents and Joshua. Joshua is so excited and talked all about what they did that day. They went to the movies and he had a large popcorn and pop, two candy bars, they went for lunch at McDonald’s and he had a happy meal and a shake and he played at the playground. And he is so happy that he is at Chuck E. Cheese. I look at my father-in-law and he shrugs and tries to smile. He knows he was naughty.
So we all sit down, order the pizza and while we wait I take Joshua to play some games. My father-in-law who just can’t sit still for any amount of time comes over and takes Joshua to the climbing Jungle Jim/slide thing and the ball pit. When the pizza arrives Joshua is the first to dive in. Now Joshua has never been one to get sick on food. He was small but had an appetite that would have made a professional competitive hot dog eater proud. But this day…this day was just too much excitement. And well, to be as nice as possible, everything came back up. All over the table and of course the remaining pizza. It was not pretty.
We cleaned up the mess and left. On the way home, Joshua asked if we could go again. Here is where I become a bad mom.
Before I knew it, I said, “I’m sorry, but we can’t.”
“Why?” he whined.
I didn’t want Joshua to know we didn’t have money and we couldn’t afford going there again, so I lied. I broke my rule and I lied and now my little boy will pay the price. I said, “Well, Joshua, did you see that wall with all the pictures on it?” (there may or may not have been a wall but I distinctly remember there being a wall with pictures on it.)
“Yes, mommy I saw it,” he said with the honesty of a newly minted four-year-old.
“Well, that wall is where they put the pictures of every child who threw up in Chuck E. Cheese and they send that child’s picture to every Chuck E. Cheese in the country.”
“Why, mommy?” he asked.
“Those children that got sick can never go back.” I looked at John and he nodded.
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
Mission accomplished. Birthday wish at Chuck E. Cheese completed and banned for life. I am not proud of this. Who am I kidding? Of course, I am. No parent really wants to go to Chuck E. Cheese, I just got out of ever going there again.
This one lie had a rippling effect. Jack, who was not born yet, was not allowed to go either. In that Big Brother Knows way that big brothers use with little brothers, Joshua would explain to Jack every so often how he got banned for life. And Jack would say, “Thanks a lot, Joshua!” and walk away. Poor Jack, but don’t worry he got to do other things. But that was it. Until that fateful day. (Flash forward several years)
Joshua was sixteen and looking for a job. He was having trouble finding one and a friend of his suggested Chuck E. Cheese. Oh, what a tangled web we weave…Joshua said he wanted to apply and he did. He got called for an interview. He was excited and nervous. He was dressed so nice on a hot Texas day he even wore a tie. He looked great. I drove him to Chuck E. Cheese and waited patiently in the car while he went for his interview. After a while, he came back, got in the car and we talked.
“How did it go?” I asked.
“It was going really well,” he said.
“Then what happened?”
“So, she met me at the front and we start walking down the hall, I am you know, keeping my head down. We get to her office and she asked questions which I answered and she told me what the job was going to be and how much I would get paid,” he told me.
“Yes, go on,” I said.
He looked at me and said, “ Then she asked me, ‘Do you have any questions?’”
“And did you?” I asked.
“Yes, I did. I asked her where the wall was.”
Oh shit! “You didn’t!”
“Yes, I did. She asked, “What wall?” and I said, “You know, the wall that has the pictures of every child who gets sick and is banned for life?”
Shocked and trying not to laugh. I said, “Oh, Joshua!”
Then Joshua said, “She looked at me and said, “There is no wall.” She asked me to leave. You know mom, there is no wall.”
“I know,” I laughed and I explained everything. And no, he did not get the job.
Some parents tell their children they are going to take them to Disneyland next year and never do. If you tell a child something at the right age they will remember it for life. I was a bad mom for lying to my child but I knew that it was something I would have to do. If I had said “maybe some other time” I would have been pestered to go and would always be the bad guy for breaking his heart when I said “No” for the umpteenth time because we could not afford it and he would not have understood if I had said “No, we can’t afford it.” He was too young. The moral of this story is that if you are going to tell a lie to a child, see it through. Go big or go home.
The day of my father-in-law’s funeral was mentally and physically exhausting. I was nervous, I was sad, tears near the surface waiting to be released, I was worried, and I became a book thief (kind of, but for all intents and purposes I am). This was not something that I planned, but rather it was something I felt I needed to do. What happened was this.
From the moment we woke that morning in a hotel in Buffalo, NY, we were busy. It wasn’t that sweet drowsy wake up from a snuggle and a kiss. It was more like a hit the ground running, don’t stop or you will cry. I wanted to stay strong for John. I am a failure and I pulled him into my unintentional life of crime.
Family was everywhere. I have never experienced family like my father-in-laws family. From an outsider’s perspective, they are warm and welcoming. My family, on the other hand, are more…um…well…It’s not about them so we will leave that thought just hanging there. Dad’s family, even though I have seen them just a few times in thirty-two years, makes you feel as if you have never been away. It is a truly lovely experience to sit in a group of not quite strangers that make you feel that you have always been there with a “Remember, that time….” But, dealing with family, even nice ones, can be exhausting on a day like this..funeral day.
Funeral day. A day that no one wants. A day where you go to say farewell. A day that hammers home the one true fact, it’s final. No more will you hear a familiar voice, touch a familiar hand or smell that person’s scent in an embrace. I do not like Funeral Day.
So, after all the day’s activities were done, John and I went back to the hotel, changed and waited in the lobby for Jack and Andrea to go to a previous engagement. While John and I sat and chatted, I looked across the room and there was a bookshelf with books, there were knick-knacks too, but I was only interested in these books. And this is where it happened. I became a book thief and corrupted my husband. I am going to hell in a handbasket.
I walked across the room and stood in front of the books. Then I saw it. I had never felt the desire to steal. Nor had I ever felt the desire to read this particular book. I didn’t even know what it was about. But, I had this urge that was growing, it felt like I would cry out in agony if I didn’t take this book. I picked it up and looked at the cover. I showed John. Then I slid this book for some unknown reason into my purse. To say the least, John was shocked. Now I will not go down alone so I pointed to another book and told John to put the Blade Runner in my purse. I thought it was an appropriate title but then I found out that the book title was not the Blade Runner, it was only highlighting the fact that the movie was based on this book. As an additional bonus, there were bookmarks. In they went! (I said “Handbasket” People!!)
And there it is. I stole The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. It was the first and only thing I have stolen. I brought this book back home with me. My booty. I thought if I took the time to take this book, I might just as well give it a read. I am glad I did. I just finished it this morning. I cried. I cried like I haven’t been able to for my father-in-law and for my own Max. I cried for the characters that died. I cried because the book ended. I needed that cry.
While I like to think that I stole this book in some clandestine way, I didn’t. I didn’t even steal it. What I saw on the back cover of that book was a sticker that said:
Someday in the future, I will return it. But for now, I need it.
In my everyday life, I follow a couple of rules – there may be more but they don’t apply right now. The first rule is simple. Don’t hate. I feel that it takes too much energy from you to maintain that hatred. And it darkens a person’s inner being/soul. Instead, I strongly dislike. And then there is the second rule which is don’t talk about things, other than with your family, that can cause you to lose your friends and/or may cause a person to do you bodily harm. Those are the tough things. Religion, abortion, and politics. These are the minefield topics and they really are explosive. Don’t get me wrong I have very strong opinions on these issues but I silently voice my opinion with my vote. So, today I am going to break that rule.
I love my country. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket but I sing our National Anthem with pride. I support our troops. I vote and encourage others to vote. I often say that if you don’t vote then you don’t have a right to complain about the way things are going. It’s true. You didn’t take the time to participate you don’t get the participation award. I participate and now I get to Bitch!!
So here it is. I really wanted to do a rant on President Trump and how he is like a wanna-be dictator, ruler, tyrant or what have you. It was going to be brilliant. It was going to be awesome. Genius. But, then I thought I heard that he doesn’t think it is American to say negative things about the President of the United States of America (Mr. Donald J. Trump) even though that is exactly what he has done to previous Presidents (Mr. Barack Obama). And then I thought I heard that he feels this should be a punishable offense. Wait!! What??!!? And that anyone criticizing or saying anything bad about America is UNAMERICAN! Really? And then that he either said or tweeted that four duly elected women of the House of Representatives of the United States of America should “Go Back”? Seriously?
So my rant may have changed a bit. So, if I piss the President of the United States of America off with my post is he going to tell me to “Go Back”? I wanted to know exactly where I would be shipped to, as I don’t recall living anywhere before the small town in Illinois, you know, THE Illinois in the good old US of A, where I was born. And I only speak English, the kind of English spoken in small towns in the American version of Illinois. I wanted to know in case I needed to get Rosetta Stone or Babble Fish or some such to bone up on the obscure language whatever it might be of my ancestors, and so I started an account with www.ancestory.com.
Then, just for reference, I googled Mr. Donald J. Trump. According to www.wikipedia.com, Mr. Trump’s grandfather was an immigrant to the United States from Germany in 1885. Apparently, it was easier to cross an ocean than to walk across the border.
As I continued my research into my own family line I discovered that the Trump family is really just a newborn to the new world. I was born and raised in a small town in Illinois but my ancestors have fought for this country through two world wars, one civil war and oh also one revolutionary war. Yes, that revolutionary war. Not a bone spur in the bunch.
Sometimes what it seems that I hear from the Commander-in-Chief is “it’s my yard, my ball and if you don’t like it go home”. But the thing is that there were generations of immigrants that got here before him or any of his people. Mine for instance. In his terms that should give me the right to say the same thing to him. My family was here first, close the door. No more room at the inn. But I wouldn’t and I can’t. After all the Native Americans were here way before my family. In schoolyard bully terms, it’s their yard.
As we all know, or at least the people I care about know, I live in my own world. It’s a world where everyone is nice to each other. I like rainbows, puppies and believe in Santa (because if you don’t he will stop giving me presents). The simple truth is we do not live a world where everyone is respected, loved, wanted or welcomed. I am not perfect, I have my faults. There are people who may even hate me because I am American or that I have grey hair or that I am chubby or a woman or whatever else I may be or may have done to piss them off. There are people who I strongly dislike and people I fear. But, I would not tell them to go back to wherever they may have come from. For one I would not want to piss off the Statue of Liberty who has strong feelings about immigrants. But more so because it is just wrong. It is UnAmerican!
Lately, I have been unable to put words to paper in any coherent manner or thought. I have been adrift. Maybe this is what they call writer’s block. I don’t know. John says that he heard that a writer will sit down and commit to writing at least 1,000 words in a day. No matter if those words are non-sensical or full-blown thoughts. So I thought I might try even if it is crap.
I have been trying to write but it always seems something comes up that needs attention, such as Cooper barking at the man who mows our yard, MeMe wanting to play, Mom and I want to chat or a text to/from John, something and anything to avoid actually sitting down and writing. It’s not like I don’t want to write but more like I feel that I can’t and that anything I have tried to write has been crap.
I had an idea for a book. I started an outline, I don’t normally work from an outline as I tend to free write. Then those familiar thoughts come flooding in – telling me in no uncertain terms that I am not good enough to write a book and if I actually did write a book no one would want to read it because it is crap.
At this point, I have written exactly 227 words, not counting anything passed the number seven. That was not the number I was hoping to have achieved. Crap.
Mother’s Day happened. It was a nice day. Then the bad text happened. My father-in-law passed away. He was 96 years old. He lived a nice long life, married the love of his life, and enlisted in the Army Air Corp (before the Air Force was a thing) and became a navigator on the B-17 bomber the Passionate Witch flying missions over Germany and France. He was a father to three boys and a girl, had grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Dad was a doctor and was loved by everyone who knew him. Maybe one day I will expand on all that I want to say about him. But right now I don’t think I can. When someone that you love dies, you just feel like crap.
As with anything in life, there is paperwork involved. John and I sat down to fill out some forms, answered the easy questions first then had to hunt down the answers that we should know but just can’t seem to remember. Finally, all the blanks are filled out, hopefully correctly, it actually took me two tries to fold the documents properly to fit in the self-addressed NOT postage-paid envelope that was provided. Then, since I don’t often send letters to anyone since Facebook is around, I have to hunt down a stamp. I felt amazed that I found six stamps. Four 39¢ stamps and two 37¢ stamps, I have no idea how old they are at this point but they were purchased in the winter months due to the Christmas and winter motifs. Then since I haven’t mailed anything lately I had to research how much postage is for a first-class letter. Just so you know that at this time it is 55¢ and I can’t find a forever stamp anywhere, John to the rescue, he found two. The paperwork is now signed, sealed and stamped. Then, as I feel like this was a job well done, I noticed on the paperwork that came with the form, the fateful words, “or you may submit this online.” What a perfect way to waste a forever stamp. Crap.
Since the last word count, I have only written an additional 384 words. Still not near to the thousand words. Again, crap.
Four hundred words to go. When I was in school, I would pour a glass of wine and whip out an essay as easy as pie. Always an A. Except when I got that one B. That professor did not like my choice of story to read and write about from the selections that she provided the class. It was not my fault that nobody had written about that particular story. If she did not want a student to write about it she should not have offered it. I shouldn’t be bitter, but I am because THAT B was total crap.
There is a quote “write drunk, edit sober” which is attributed to Ernest Hemmingway. According to my research on the internet, all of sixty seconds, this may or may not be an actual Hemmingway quote. Whether it is or isn’t matters not to me. While I don’t condone drinking and driving, writing is a whole different ball game. I don’t mind an occasional glass of wine, or beer, or sure a Martini while writing. Probably not the beer. Only a glass, maybe two. Maybe that is why I can’t find my words to write anything. I have not had a glass of wine. Crap.
It’s only 10:35 am. Too early for wine. That is most ashamedly crap.
In an effort to try and be proactive in this writing thing, I went back and read some of the things I had started and then stopped. I thought that there might actually be something in that junk pile that would be worth writing about and I thought I might expand on these ideas and make some headway on them. Want to know why I stopped writing those? Because they are crap!
Today’s theme, in case you have not noticed is the random musings that go through my mind. Thoughts that mostly are a bunch of crap that have no real meaning, no beginning, and no end. There is not a story here to tell. I wish there was and if there was this would definitely be more interesting. I will post this random thought essay, it will stand as a testament to myself that I wrote 1,000 words even when I had nothing to say but crap.
Recently my father-in-law passed away. Even though he was 96 when he passed I was still taken by surprise. It hurt to say goodbye to a man who I had come to easily call “Dad”. I know my husband and his siblings have a different way of saying goodbye but here is mine.
Dear Dad,
I would love to tell you this in person, but as it stands I will have to hope you are listening. This is my feeble attempt to say “Thank you.”
First and foremost thank you for wanting and having John. Without him, I would not be who I am today. A wife, mother and grandmother.
Thank you for teaching him that his wife is the most important person in the world. Your love with Mom allowed him the freedom to show what it is like to be a true husband and a true man.
Thank you for challenging me and allowing me to challenge you. We had some pretty awesome debates. And yes I still think women firefighters are just as good as men firefighters.
Thank you for teaching the very basics that everyone should know about what to do about when your child gets sick. “The more you put in=the more that comes out”
Thank you for being there when Joshua had an appendicitis, you kept me calm while telling me what exactly to say to the ER doctor, who wouldn’t believe that his appendix had probably ruptured as he never presented with “typical symptoms”
Thank you for saving my mother’s life.
Thank you for being there when Joshua was born, even though I tried to escape and thought everyone was trying to “take my baby”
Thank you for being happy that at the age of 16 months that Jack could throw a baseball with incredible accuracy.
Thank you for not being mad when Jack threw a baseball and hit you in the head because he was not supposed to be able throw a baseball with accuracy and speed at the age of 16 months.
Thank you for coming and taking Shadow to the doctor that final time. And I’m sorry Brandy always tried to bite you in the butt every time she saw you after that.
Thank you for telling me of what happened in WWII.
Thank you for telling me, when John, the boys and I moved to Texas, it was okay.
Thank you for laughing with me.
Thank you for telling me every time we said goodbye that you loved me.
John told me he never wanted a small dog. He felt they were yippy and bratty; he only wanted a medium/big dog. We currently had a black Lab and a German Shepherd-Rottweiler mix. Then one day John said that if we were to get another dog he would consider a small dog only if it was a Jack Russell Terrier. I think he said that because it was probably never going to happen. We adopt and those seemed like a dog that would never be at a shelter.
One morning while I was at work, Bob, a gentleman I worked with popped his head into my office and said, “Does anyone want a free Jack Russell puppy?” My hand was on the phone so fast, dialing John at work, it was like I was The Flash (insert lightning bolt here). I asked John if I could have a Jack Russell puppy. He said quite calmly, “Are you going to take care of it?” I calmly reply “YES!” “Are you going to pick up after it?” Cool as a cucumber I say “YES!” “Are you going to play with it?” Like water off a duck’s back, I say “YES!” Seriously, I thought “what is wrong with you? I am not a kid. We have kids and we have dogs. They are fed and have had their shots and are okay.” But, I just continue to wait and answer his questions. Finally, he says “Okay.” Very (un)maturely I yell, “Whoo Hoo! I love you!” I slam the phone down and run down the hall to tell Bob I can have the puppy! I was crestfallen when Bob said he would bring him to the office in the next day or two. Bob lied.
So, Bob’s wife bought this puppy from a breeder on the East Coast and paid $1500.00 for him and had him flown to Texas. Bob was none too pleased about this and never wanted the dog (he likes cats). So that is where I came in.
Bob brought the puppy to me within the hour and wanted no money in return. Just a good home. I immediately named him Max. Eventually, he would become Maxwell P. Krueger. It had a nice ring to it. Max was about six weeks old, tiny, and was not mostly white. He had a white collar and feet and red hair on his body. He was, to say the very least, unique. I googled him. Since Max had red hair and his birthday was about six weeks prior, St. Patrick’s Day, I said he was an Irish Russell Terrier. He could have been. You don’t know.
My psychology professor told me that true love and soul mates are not real. I heartily disagree. I know my soulmate is John. But, I also believe that a soul can have other souls that are destined to be entwined with each other forever in one form or another. With that said I offer this as Proof of Love. I walked into John’s office carrying Max, I wanted to show him my new puppy, and immediately saw John, I smiled as he walked toward me with love in his eyes. I swear I saw hearts streaming from them. I was so happy. Then he said, “Is that my puppy?” and I looked at him and then at Max who was squirming, trying to reach out toward John. I heard Max say, “Is that my Daddy?” as he reached out toward his Daddy and as John reached out for him and took him from my arms. At that moment, Max chose. John chose. They were in love. It was kismet.
A man and his boy
From that moment it was Max and John, John and Max. Whenever John was home Max was with him. A man and his boy. We had other dogs, we had others in the past, but Max was something different. He was like all the other dogs we had rolled into one small ball of energy super dog. He was brave, smart, loving, loyal, confident, protective, helpful, naughty, funny, conceited, loved home improvement and tools, caring, fearless (except when it came to riding in cars and the dark, he was afraid of the dark) and he could fly through the air just like Superman, he was the hero against the villainous squirrels. Max never believed he was a dog. Max knew he was a real boy.
For fourteen years we had this boy. He was our world, he was Peekaboo’s world. It was like everything we did it was for Max’s benefit and while yes he was the most spoiled dog in the world, he gave us everything in return. Love, laughter, and fun.
Life is bad.
I love my birthday. I was really excited about this year, even though every so often I have to share it with my husband on Father’s Day. I was going to be fifty! I was having a really good year. John took me out for dinner on Saturday, a dinner train around Cincinnati. It was a fun and magical night. I remember asking John if he thought Max would live to Christmas. John said that he thought so. Max loved the holidays. He loved Halloween and seeing the children in their costumes, Christmas because it snowed and Santa Claus came for him and Boo every year, and Birthdays. He loved his birthday most of all, he really looked forward to getting his presents and his happy cake. Every year Max sat at the table where he got his very own Happy cupCake. We would sing happy birthday and he waited until we all clapped then he would begin to eat. When he was done he waited for his presents. He really was a real boy.
The day after the Father’s Day/Birthday celebration, John came home from work and was making dinner and then… Max died. I felt that my world had come to a screeching halt. I cannot tell you what John was going through, but it had to be a million times worse than how I felt. We put Max on our bed and Cooper came to him, his little body just shaking and he cried. Peekaboo who had always adored Max, because Max saved her and protected her, cried tears and curled up next to him hoping to heal him. Begging us to fix him. We could not.
Life is beginning.
Max and Boo
For months after Max’s death, the four of us walked around with heavy hearts. Life was not the same, nor is it now. I want it to go back to the way it was before he started going blind. Before he went deaf. Back when his little legs were not arthritic. I wanted him to stand in the yard when it snowed and watch him look up in the sky at the snowflakes in awe and wonder, then take off running and jumping in the snow. I wanted the wonderful young man that made my husband happy. I wanted to not feel the ache. I knew that Peekaboo was feeling a loss as well. She was always happy, but now she was depressed. I was worried. She slept more and chewed her feet more than usual, nothing made her happy. Cooper was at a loss, he had more separation anxiety than ever. John no longer giggled when he got kisses from the dogs. Everyone felt the loss.
I did not want another dog. It was John that made me think that it was time. He was in Louisville, Kentucky at the GIE tradeshow. They had puppies for adoption and he sat and watched these puppies and would send me pictures of how cute they were. He was worried one wasn’t going to be adopted and wanted me to come to Kentucky to get a dog which ended up being adopted. Louisville is about three hours away. The drive was not a problem but I didn’t think I was ready to adopt. How could I give my heart to another when it was just ripped out and the wound was still fresh?
That night, I thought. It was John who needed a dog. One that would help him heal. It was Peekaboo who needed to come back to life and teach a puppy everything that Max taught her. It was Cooper who needed a friend to help him when he gets scared. It was me that needed to not be selfish and to give them what they needed.
Amelia Pond
So we put the search on and ended up seeing Sophie online and talked to the owner of the dog rescue and ended up driving to Kentucky after all to adopt her. I named her River, which a week later was changed to Amelia P. Krueger as she was having a hard time distinguishing her name from Cooper. She is a Red Heeler and cute as a button. She is smart and loving and does not take no for an answer when she wants to cuddle.
At first, Boo took to the bedroom and stayed there only leaving when she had to go to the bathroom. She took all her meals in bed. She growled at Amelia when she wanted to cuddle, again and again, Amelia tried. Never deterred. On the fourth day, I sat with Boo and told her to stop being a bitch and she had to eat with the Cooper and Amelia. Boo followed me out and ate from then on with her brother and new sister. By the next week, I realized that Boo had a pep to her step and was not spending her time alone. She was coming back to me.
Cooper at first was not happy. He was the baby and that is the way he liked it. He walked around with a teddy bear, named Baby, everywhere he went. While he still misses Max, he quickly realized that having a baby sister isn’t so bad. He has a playmate to play chase and wrestle with and to play tug-of-war. They lie on the floor at my feet while I write or work. He likes being a big brother. But Amelia cannot play with Baby.
John was all for getting Amelia. Although, he tried to be a bit more cautious about totally bonding with Amelia. It’s like he was still hurting and was keeping a piece of his heart shielded from being hurt again. Ameilia does not take no for an answer. She comes running up to you and stands on her hind legs, puts her arms up wanting to be picked up. You do it. You have no choice in the matter. Then she kisses you and snuggles into your neck and chest and is content. When she did this over and over, John had no choice, he gave his heart. He started to heal.
For me, Amelia is doing wonders. I still cry for my boy though not as much as before. I am crying as I write this. Amelia and Cooper are at my feet and Boo is sleeping in Max’s bed that I put in my office. I am glad that my little family is on the mend. Max would not want us to be miserable forever. Maybe he sent her as a gift to us. It’s possible. I am glad that we were able to bring a new member into our family. We all love Amelia the Red-Healer.
Recently, John and I decided to adopt a puppy. It has been four months since our beloved Max has passed. Peekaboo and Cooper are not as happy and honestly neither are we.
I think that we really need a new love in our lives. Someone that Cooper can play with, and someone Boo can take care of, and someone that needs us. So we want a puppy. I know, I know you can not replace one dog with another. Trust me. Maxwell P. will never be replaced. But, I think Max may have helped us find the puppy that will be the right amount of naughty and fun and love for our family.
Over the years, we have adopted dogs. We would meet them then say “ok we like this dog lets take her home”. But, somewhere things have changed. You have to search on the internet as most rescues do not seem to want you to visit the dog to see if you even like the dog before filling out paperwork and being ‘fully vetted’ which includes a home visit and vet recommendations and personal references contacted prior to a ‘meet and greet’ with the intended dog. Seriously? Yes, seriously.
My questions are: do you really want to have this dog adopted? Do you really think that what most people write on an application is 100 percent true? Why do you need to judge my house before I can even look at a dog? Why does no one want to talk to me personally?
I found a rescue that did just that. After my initial contact about if this puppy was still available, I received a phone call. She asked questions and I answered willingly. I asked questions and she answered. It was a great conversation. A ‘meet and ‘greet was set up for Saturday and we decided to adopt this ball of fur that is adorable.
Sunday night I received an email saying that I was conditionally approved for adoption by another rescue based on the outcome of the home visit. I wrote a letter to respond and thought I might share it.
Here it is:
October 29, 2018
To Whom it may concern,
The Krueger Family would like to take this opportunity to inform you that at this time your adoption services will no longer be required, as this position has been filled.
While we were applying to your agency we were also interviewing you. I would like to take this opportunity to provide you with some feedback.
We were under the assumption after having adopted several dogs into our family throughout the years that we would be granted ‘meet and greet’ prior to filling out adoption paperwork. Our thoughts were that we would not waste anyone’s time with paperwork if we did not feel this puppy or dog would fit into our family. But instead, we were to submit paperwork and deemed worthy even before we were to see if we would like to continue with this particular dog.
We were judged solely on an application that felt more like a mortgage application. We were not judged on who we are as we were not even spoken to by an actual human. Just the occasional email and lucky to get that. This process felt cold and impersonal and frankly caused us some wonder about the legitimacy of some of the “rescue” groups.
Even after submitting the paperwork we were not guaranteed that we would be even considered for the puppy/dog that we inquired about. Adoptive parents search and search. We go to rescues and shelters and we search the internet to find a face that could possibly fit our families. One that will love us as we will love it. But, to go through all this process to be told it is no longer available is not really fair to anyone. And can be a waste of time if you do not have a dog that fits that particular families needs.
The rescue that we chose to work with, upon my inquiry to see if the puppy was still available immediately called me. We spoke for over an hour and set up a ‘meet and greet’ with the puppy and then filled out an adoption application. References were checked. Puppy is now adopted and part of the Krueger Family.
Thank you for your time and for the efforts you are making on behalf of these pets but sometimes having that human touch is necessary when finding a great home for a puppy or dog.
Thank you for your consideration,
The Krueger Family
John, Shari, Peekaboo, Cooper and River
I hope this doesn’t offend anyone, whether adopting a child or an animal, adopting is the best thing you can do. But sometimes the way the agencies go about it can make a person feel less than, but I know that I am a good mom to my babies. I love them and adore them and I just wanted this to be more of a personal experience from beginning to end and only one rescue stepped up and provided that for all of us.
