Well, the nest isn’t completely empty. As I stretched out on the sofa like a couch potato all night, I was joined by Millie and Luca. But the house is too quiet.
Just yesterday, I was dining at the Crab Shack with Lee and my dad. It was a beautiful afternoon. The sky was a bright blue with only a few wisps of white clouds. There was a nip in the air that suggested October was a day away. In the sun, I was warm, but sitting by the marsh under the trees with the breeze blowing, I put on a jacket for the first time this fall. The food was good, the company was delicious.
Then last night, the house was filled with the smells of cooking (good smells, nothing burning), the clink of wine glasses, and laughter. The mashed potatos may have only been half-mashed, but no one seemed to have trouble eating them.
This morning, dad had to leave, and Lee went to Kansas City. I thought I might use this night to get some things done. Clean the closet. Something.
Instead, I drank a beer, ate a frozen dinner, watched West Wing, and that’s about it. Time for bed.
I can’t wait until my feathered friend comes back home.
I was flipping through a magazine today we got from UGA’s Athletic Department. It offered summaries of the past season for various varsity sports. To my delight, the Equestrian Team was the first sport highlighted, with a huge color photo of a rider on horseback jumping a fence.
For some reason, I also dreamed about the team last night. I dreamed I was at a new college, and was joining the team there. I was nervous about all new people and horses, but I was excited about riding again.
All this made me start thinking. And missing it all. I am so proud of my time with the team, more proud than I am of my degree, anything I ever did with the sorority or any other classes or groups. Is that sad? I don’t think so.
I never doubted I could do those other things. But who would’ve believed I could’ve been on an Equestrian Team? My only experience had been an occasional rent-for-an-hour ride on vacation or weekends.
The team gave me so much. I’d like to think I gave back, but I don’t think I could ever give back enough. It gave me confidence, friendship, and most of all, time with the animals I love.
And it gave me Joker. Anytime I think of the team, I always think of him. That summer I spent leasing him was a wonderful summer. People tease me about that summer being a waste. I stayed in Athens and worked in a yogurt store – not what you’d call useful experience. But the summer was very useful.
When I first rode Joker, I was terrified of him. But my coach kept asking me to ride him again. Before long, I got to know him, and he got to know me. And he wasn’t scary anymore. He was amazing.
He was the most forgiving animal. I would take him over jumps, holding the reins all wrong, pulling in his face. But next time, he’d go right back over it again, forgiving me for my inexperience, never hesitating. And he trusted me enough to overcome some of his own fears. He’d stand quietly while someone trimmed his ears with an electric shaver as long as I stood in front of him and talked with him. He’d only do it for me. Before, he’d toss his head and refuse to allow anyone to touch his ears. But I had earned his trust, and that meant a great deal to me.
Sometimes if I didn’t have time to ride, I’d just go to barn to feed him. I’d lie in the grass while he happily munched his feed, and talk to him. The other people at the barn probably thought I was nuts, but maybe they understood. They love horses, too. He died a few years ago, and I miss him very much.
I wonder, if I were a student now, would I have been able to join the team? Now that it’s a varsity sport, there is a lot more attention on the program and probably a lot more people wanting a piece of it. I wonder if the girls on the team now know how easy they have it? No fundraising, no more hosting meets in a muddy ring in a barn too small for the teams. No more riding to meets in little vans – they get the chartered busses now. Granted, they have new pressures. They have a workout schedule, lots more practices, etc. But I hope they know what a privilege it all is.
And I hope one day I can be around horses again. I hope I can find another bond like the one I felt with Joker. Maybe even stronger, because Joker and I were not together for long. But he taught me to believe in myself, and for that I am forever grateful.
Wow. This dog has some serious ears. Long enough to earn Mr. Jeffries a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records. Millie can’t compete, but that’s probably best. I think having ears that long would be a drag. Get it. Drag.
A wooden deck where you can sit in a plastic chair, feel the ocean breeze, sip a cocktail, and be near your true love – that’s all I require. Tybee provided.
Lee and I were out of groceries and we don’t get paid until tomorrow, so we did the only logical thing. We went out to eat at an expensive restaurant.
The weather here has been gorgeous lately. Warm enough, but with a breeze to keep you cool enough. We ate next the ocean, and finished our delicious meal just as the sun began to set. I took two pictures that I really like, one above, the other here.
It’s hard to imagine a hurricane is raging just up the coast. Tybee was tranquil and serene, and I count myself lucky to live so near.
Millie and I had our picture made this week for a promotional thing at work. She loves to have her picture made. I think the picture turned out well, except for one thing.
We were taking the picture in front of a busy street. We never let Millie off the leash because we know she would never come back to us, but I unclipped the leash for the photo’s sake. I still wanted to keep a firm grip on her. I also wanted to be hugging on her in some way to show affection for my pet.
But if you look at the picture close up…
… it really looks like I’m strangling her. Millie’s tongue is dangling not because it’s hot, but because she can’t breath because I’m pushing on her windpipe. I’m really not. I’m just holding her and hugging her. But still. Really.
Governor Sonny Perdue’s office puts out a lot of press releases, very few of which excite me personally. But this one excites me very much.
An Ikea store is opening in Atlanta! This is very good news for me, and very bad news for my debt situation.
As the press release points out, the nearest Ikea right now is in Woodbridge, Virginia or Houston, Texas. Lee and I took a camping trip to Virginia last year, and made a rather large detour to Woodbridge for the sole purpose of shopping at Ikea.
It was an overwhelming experience. Pulling into the parking lot, I felt like a child seeing Disney World for the first time. The store is mammoth, with so much great furniture at affordable prices. We spent about 3 hours in there the first night, looking in every section at every item. I had a notebook and pen out, and we made a list of all the things we liked. We even ate dinner there. Swedish meatballs and lingonberry juice, in honor of the store’s Swedish origins.
That night in the hotel room, we prioritized. We made an “A, B, C,” list of things we really wanted, decided how much we could get, then made our official shopping list. The next day, we managed to spend about an hour and a half in the store just getting the items on our list and looking at everything else one last time.
Since that maiden voyage, we have toyed with the idea of returning to Woodbridge to go to Ikea again. But the long trip there has always stopped us. Who wants to spend money on gas and a hotel room? Those are dollars that would be better spent in the store! Now, Atlanta’s four hour drive will seem like a short commute, and well worth the cost of gas.
Yay, Ikea!
Now if only we knew where we’d be living by the time the store opens…
In this rare moment, the two mortal enemies bond together for one important cause: to see who can leave more hair on the sofa.
No matter what you may think about politics, all the anticipation surrounding a Presidential visit is pretty intense and, I think, cool.
When I got to the base yesterday, I could see immediately that things were different. The guard at the gate had an M-16 in his hand. After signing us in and issuing credentials, soldiers herded all the media to the landing strip, where the Secret Service gave us all a thorough check. Our bodies were scanned by metal detectors, our equipment and bags were checked by a police dog, and then hand checked by agents. The dog lingered a bit near our gear, because my photographer had brought her lunch. But luckily, we all passed.
Then we were herded to the tarmac to wait. The livestock comparisons continued as we were positioned in an area I heard referred to as the “press pen.” The photographers set up on top of a flatbed trailer. I stood on the tarmac below surrounded by temporary metal gates to keep me from going crazy and running across the airfield.
The place was crawling with secret service. The agents looked just like you’d expect, too. Dark suits, ear pieces, always talking into their closed fists. BlackHawk helicopters were constantly circling the skies nearby. My favorite security features were the three snipers on the roof. They kind of freaked me out. I didn’t make any sudden movements. They each were dressed in black SWAT-looking gear, with huge binoculars with which they constantly scanned the horizon. Next to their feet were very large sniper rifles. Yikes. I told my photographer to warn me if any red dots appeared on my forehead. There was something wierd about knowing they could take me out in one easy pull of a trigger from a long distance if I just looked at them funny. One guy especially looked like a real bad ass. I later learned his name was Earl. He was my favorite. You don’t mess with Earl.
A big, black Suburban pulled up full of big guys in more SWAT gear. These guys were huge. A secret service agent came over to brief us all on how everything would happen. He was really nice, and funny. When I talked about shooting something (referring to video), he kindly asked, “Please, call it photographing.” I asked him not to tell the snipers what I’d said.
Then finally, in the distance, you could see a plane coming. The white tarmac was dotted with dark specks that were secret service agents, all looking in different directions. Air Force One touched down smoothly. This is a very very very big plane, and I couldn’t help but be impressed. It’s not every day you get to see in real life the plane that has carried so many of our nation’s world leaders to so many important places to do so many important (though sometimes stupid) things.
The plane’s door swung open, and moments later, the President appeared. I was positioned directly in front of the door, maybe 50 yards back. He gave his standard Presidential wave, and I realized he was waving at us in the “press pen” because there was no one else in our direction. I resisted the impulse to wave back because I knew he was waving for the cameras and not for me. It just seems natural to wave back when someone waves at you, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot.
He marched down the steps, shook the hands of some very excited people, and posed for a photograph. Meanwhile, the press corps had filed out of a back door on Air Force One and were getting the great shots (or should I say photographs?) up-close. Then, G.W. headed toward Marine 1, the helicopter that would take him to Ft. Stewart for his speech. He saluted two very spiffy looking Marines, boarded, then the doors closed. The rotors kicked up a lot of wind and dirt, then the helicopter lifted off the tarmac and he was gone. All of that security for just 10 minutes on the ground.
I walked out of the house yesterday, and suddenly felt that I could breathe again. A wonderful cool breeze played across my skin, and I stopped in my tracks, afraid to disturb it.
The weather has been so hot lately. The highs have been in the 90s, but the heat indeces have been well above 100. It’s the kind of heat that you could almost swim through, thanks to the stifling humidity. Simply walking from your car to the door is enough to make you break a sweat. It’s not abnormal for this time of year, but that doesn’t make it any less hot.
But when Tropical Storm (or was it a depression by then?) Henri blew through, so did cooler temperatures. Right now, it’s 68 and it feels like heaven. I’m trying to soak in as much of the cool air as I can, because I know there are more 90s coming before we cool off for good. But in the meantime, I’m drinking coffee, thinking about Halloween and turtle-neck sweaters, and looking forward to a new season.
When describing Millie to people, I often say, “She has 2 speeds. On or off.” One minute she can act like a Jack Russell on speed, flying through the house at a breakneck pace. The next, she can fall immediately into a deep, snoring sleep.
Yesterday, she proved once again the truth of my description.
I got off work a little early, and decided to take her to the park for a walk. As soon as I started fishing around in the closet for her doggie-poo bags, she got terribly excited. She began crying and frantically running from me to the door, me to the door. Once out the door, she pulled and jerked all the way to the car, trying to sprint while I wanted to walk. A neighbor remarked, “Looks like Millie is going to walk you.” Indeed.
At the park, she was her usual boisterous self. She would run, then stop to sniff, then run, then stop to pee. Repeat.
When we walk in the park, I always try to pay attention to her energy level. The heat index around here these days is usually between 105-110 degrees, and I don’t want to push her.
But yesterday, she was keeping up well when I finally decided to head toward the car. We were on the home stretch and she was walking a step or two behind me, when I felt a great tug on the leash. It’s not that uncommon, because she’s always locking her legs to sniff something. I pulled, got more resistance, then turned around to look.
She was lying in the sand, with her front legs stretched forward and her back legs splayed out behind her, panting and looking up at me like, “I’m tired. I’m just going to chill here for a little bit.” I pulled and tugged, urging her to get up. Instead, her legs left track marks in the dirt where I dragged her. A couple was strolling by with their two perfect children in their two perfect strollers, looking at me and my dog curiously. “Why is she doing that?” the woman asked.
I wanted to shout, “I don’t know! Because she’s Millie and this is what Millies do!” Instead, I muttered something about her being tired. Then, I wrapped my arms around her, and hoisted her 50 pound body into the air and put her legs underneath her.
We walked a few steps, and plop. She was down again.
I looked at her with a mixture of amusement, disdain, and fear. Was she okay? Was she having a heat stroke? Was I really going to have to carry my dog to the car because she was too lazy to walk?
This time, when I picked her up, she growled at me. Oh yes. This is the reward I get for a walk in the park.
We sprinted to the car. I was hoping not to give her another chance to lie down, and if she did, I wanted to have covered as much ground as possible. We finally made it to the car, and she got in. She was perfectly healthy. Just lazy. Good grief.
