Back to normal...almost

Butch seems to be fine now, if you don't count the problem that sent him to the vet in the first place. Otherwise, he's very much his old self.

I, however, am still struggling a little bit as a result of the scare. I wake up in the night and listen for the breathing of two dogs. If I can't hear two separate, distinct breathing patterns, I sit up, turn on the bedside lamp, and watch to make sure both chests are rising and falling as they should. Butch, bless his good-natured soul, may be getting tired of being rudely awakened by my calling his name or making an unusual noise to test his reaction.

I'm reminded of a complaint my stepfather made about my mother a few months after he'd been hospitalized for a stroke. "I'm tired," he said, "but everytime I lay down to take a nap, Wanda calls 911."

Whew! My boy is back!

That was too close for comfort. Butch continued to improve as the day wore on today. I wouldn't say he's 100 percent yet, but he's very close to it. My relief is immeasurable.

We still face some tough medical choices in the near future if the anal sac infections persist, and there's every reason to believe they will. Obviously, it'll be especially difficult for me to drop him off for surgery again, but I realize that the repeated infections also take a toll on his health.

But those are worries for another night. Tonight we'll cuddle on the sofa and be thankful that yesterday is behind us. Tonight, we'll sleep.

Thanks, dear readers, for your prayers and good wishes. Every word of encouragement felt like a warm hug.

How will I know when to panic?

Butch's surgery didn't happen today. He fasted all night (so did Kadi) so I could take him to the animal hospital first thing this morning, which I did. They told me they do surgeries between noon and 4:00 p.m. and would call me as soon as they were finished.

I got a call around ten saying his pre-surgery blood test results were in and everything looked fine. The next call came a little after two, and the news was not so good. The way I understand it is that after the pre-surgery drug was administered -- not the anesthetic, but the canine equivalent of "twilight sleep," I guess -- Butch stopped breathing. They couldn't get a breathing tube down his throat and didn't proceed with the anesthesia. I didn't have the presence of mind to ask how they got him breathing again, but my next-door neighbor, who's a nurse, says they must have had to resuscitate him.

The vet said they'd wait a few weeks and try again on the anal sac removal, using a different "protocol," one that wouldn't put him under quite so far. She assured me that he's okay and told me I could pick him up after 4:30. That's exactly when I arrived to pick him up and bring him home.

We've been home since 5:30, and he's spent the last two hours crying (a soft whimper), pacing, crashing into furniture. He doesn't seem to have any concept of where he is in the house, although when he finds himself at the back door, he asks to go out.

I fixed him a little soft food, which he ate greedily, but he's not interested in drinking water at this time. I don't want to give him too much and make him vomit.

I tried to hold him on my lap to settle him down, and that worked for about two minutes, then he wanted down and began pacing again. I'm telling myself this is just a residual effect from the medication, but it's scaring me. I'm gonna give it a couple more hours, and if he hasn't settled down by them, I'll take him to the emergency vet.

Please send prayers and good thoughts his way.

Wednesday morning update: Butch is doing better this morning. As I write this, he's scarfing down food from his dish (which he found on his own), and his navigational nose seems to be functioning better. He's bumped into a couple of things this morning, but they were soft bumps, subtle miscalculations, nothing like last night's disorientated crashes.

I decided about nine-thirty last night to see if nighttime procedures would settle him down, and they did somewhat. He didn't want to stay on his bed, so I put his favorite old bedspread (that he slept on when he was a puppy) on the floor by my bed, then pulled the T-shirt off my back and gave it to him. He held the wadded-up shirt between his front legs and drifted off to sleep.

He woke up just before three and began crying again, but after a brief trip to the backyard, he came in, settled down quickly, and slept until the alarm went off a short while ago. He isn't whimpering now.

I think he's gonna be okay. Kim is coming over early this morning to keep an eye on him while I'm at work.

I'll keep you posted.

Connoisseurs of fine water

I feel fortunate to live in an area where the tap water is piped in from the East Baton Rouge Parish water supply. Our water is delicious, right out of the faucet. Those with discriminating tastes, however, find some water sources are better than others.

There's a large water bowl in the den, next to the dog food dish. It holds enough water that Butch, Kadi, Winston and Lucy can all drink as much as they want. I fill it with fresh tap water once or twice a day, and it suits Butch and Winston just fine. Kadi and Lucy, on the other hand, prefer to drink their water elsewhere.

In the hall next to the bedrooms is another water dish, a smaller one that I fill at nighttime. The two dishes are identical except in size, and the smaller dish is filled with the same tap water as the big dish. The boy dogs usually choose to drink water in the den, but Kadi and Lucy show a definite preference for the little bowl in the hall. I suspect their tastes are affected by their delicate sensibilities, that if they were human, it would never occur to them to drink wine from a juice glass instead of a stemmed wineglass.

The best water, however, isn't what's in the bowl in the hall. Both Kadi and Lucy conspicuously prefer to drink from yet a third container, one that holds water from a different source. They are intrigued, I suppose, by the fact that their favorite water isn't always available. When they can get it, they can't seem to get enough of it. No doubt this water tastes better because of the filters through which it passes and the thousands of tiny organic particles that give it its full-bodied flavor.

The other morning Kadi woke me by dancing frantically beside my bed, yipping and nudging me with her nose. She seemed desperate to go outside, and I assumed she urgently needed some bladder relief after a long night. I was wrong. Kadi raced past the dish of water in the hall and past the big dish full of water in the den. When I opened the back door, she bounded out into the yard only as far as the fourth stepping stone, one of the two that sit lower in the ground than the others, one that collects and holds rainwater. There she drank her fill.


I've always been careful with the dogs' water supply, but I'm having second thoughts about it. I wonder if, by being cautious, I've deprived them of some of the finer things of life. One day soon -- on a special occasion like a birthday or something -- maybe I should invite them into the bathroom and open the lid to the toilet.

Velvet Sacks & Subsidiaries

It's a three-day weekend, and it's off to a good start.

After work yesterday, I got my car inspected, then stopped at the store for groceries. That was my complete list of errands for the weekend, so I was able to stay inside this entire nasty, cold, rainy day, and I'll probably stay in tomorrow and the next day, too.

Today has been a busy one. I've been at the computer almost constantly since right after breakfast, and, for once, I have something to show for it -- two new (subsidiary) blogs.

Blind Dog Running
I started setting up this blog the other day, prompted by the events detailed in last Sunday's "London Googler" post. Today, I searched out all the relevant (and some not-so-relevant) posts about Butch and copied them to the new site. (Since I don't want to eliminate one of my most frequent blog topics, I'll probably always put the Butch posts here first.) Next, I added links to other blind-dog sites, some of which were extremely helpful to me when I first knew that Butch might have to have his eyes removed.

In case you're wondering, there are no plans to have a blog dedicated to Kadi. She deserves it, I'm sure, but she's so busy running the household that I don't think she'll ever find out Butch has own site.

Velvet's Bookstacks
The Q&A-style book reviews on this new blog may not be of much help to other readers, but I think they'll help me when it comes time to cull my book collection. That's a task so daunting I never seem to be able to work it into my schedule. When I get around to it, I'll need all the tools available.

Read the reviews if you like, but please don't let my opinions have much influence over your reading decisions. There are lots of in-depth, informational book reviews online, and this isn't one of them. In fact, this isn't so much about the books as it's about my reactions to them. To paraphrase the old saying about art, "I don't know much about great literature, but I know what I like."

Veterinary veterans 2

Last Saturday I took Kadi to the vet to have her thyroid levels checked. In a little less than two months of twice-a-day thyroid pills, she’s gone from being considerably hypothyroid (levels too low) to just barely hyperthyroid (levels too high). She’s not shedding nearly as much hair now, and she’s lost almost four pounds since she began taking the meds. Low thyroid levels apparently cause weight gain, and Kadi was getting a little porky. The vet seems pleased with her progress and wants us to continue giving her the two pills a day until a recheck in three months’ time.

Monday, first thing in the morning, was Butch’s turn to see the doctor. For the third time in about three months, he has an anal sac infection, and this time the recommendation was surgery. The vet explained the procedure thoroughly (even going so far as to draw dog-butt diagrams on a dry-erase board), which made me feel very comfortable with the idea of having the worn-out, leaking, obsolete-in-the-first-place, anal sacs removed.

For now, Butch is on antibiotics again, to clear up the infection before he has surgery next Tuesday. I’ll be glad when he's finally able to put behind him the discomfort that has recently persisted...um...well, behind him.

I hope both dogs will soon be well enough that we can put an end to the frequent vet visits. They're already beginning to hesitate when I offer a ride in the car.

Perspective and survival, huh? That explains a lot.

Back in December I wrote about how pleased I was that my doctor had changed most of my prescriptions to generic ones and all of them to 90-day refills, which meant I’d only have to go to Wal-Mart once every three months. Sounds really good on the surface, doesn’t it?

The reality was slightly different. When I went to the Wal-Mart pharmacy to get the prescriptions filled, there was a problem with one of the two meds I take for high blood pressure. It was explained to me that Wal-Mart was having trouble getting this particular medication from either of their two regular suppliers. The pharmacist gave me three pills (instead of 90) and told me to come back the next day. She was sure she’d have some then.

Given the condition of my achy knees, my (politely masked) reaction to that instruction was the same as it would have been if she’d told me to go home, hurl my body to the floor, and roll around until I’d bumped into every piece of livingroom furniture –- hard -- at least once. Nevertheless, I went back the next day.

"Oh, I’m sorry," she said after I’d stood in line for half an hour. "They still didn’t send us any of that. In fact, I don’t know when or if we’ll get any more. Here, take these six pills to get you past Christmas, and I’ll fax your doctor tomorrow and see what she suggests."

Needless to say, I didn’t hear from the doctor, and I didn’t hear from the pharmacy. It was Christmas, after all, and then New Year’s right after that. What kept me from panicking was that I hadn’t waited until the last minute to fill my new prescriptions, and I still had a couple weeks’ worth before they parceled out those nine pills.

So, I made it through the holidays, and this past Monday, when I saw that I’d be out of those pills by Friday, I called Wal-Mart. The lady said they’d found a new supplier for the drug I needed. She said she’d order it "right now" and it "should be here tomorrow." I called again Tuesday afternoon. Lo and behold, they not only had the right medicine, but they’d already filled the prescription and it was waiting there for me. Things were looking up!

After work I stopped at home just long enough to let Butch and Kadi outside for a minute, then continued on to Wal-Mart. Bad idea, going there right after work. The pharmacy line was so long that it turned a corner and stretched back across three aisles. I stood in the same spot for about 15 minutes, shifting from one foot to the other, bouncing slightly to keep my knees from stiffening and locking up, realizing I was fidgeting like a child in need of a restroom. Finally, the line started moving. Ten minutes later I turned the corner and saw that I was the eighth person in line. Good. I had a goal then. I could count each customer and measure progress in minutes per person.

By the time I was the fourth person in line, another pharmacy clerk showed up. As the first clerk rang up first-in-line customers, the second clerk asked for names and birthdates to pull prescriptions for people farther back in the line. When I was the third person in line, I gave him my information and watched him find my prescription and lay it on the counter by the first clerk. When I was the second person in line, the second clerk was getting information from the customer behind me. We were moving faster.

And then it was my turn. I stepped up to the counter with my money in my hand and gave the first clerk my name. She picked up a prescription bag, checked the name on it, did a double-take when she realized the name wasn’t mine, looked quickly around the counter and then at the second clerk. "It was right there," he told her. "Did you give it to the last customer?"

We all waited again. We waited while the first clerk burst through the door of the restricted pharmacy area and ran down the aisles in search of the last customer she’d served. The clerk might not have been attentive to detail, but she did earn some approval points for agility. She caught up with the customer who had my prescription and, after a total of about 45 minutes of standing in line, I finally had the elusive pills, and I could go home.

My knees hurt so much I couldn’t sleep last night, but there was a smile on my face as I tossed and turned. I survived the pain-inducing trips to Wal-Mart, and I don’t have to go back for almost three months. Are there any questions about why that makes me so happy? It's all a matter of perspective.

Michael Bergdahl: "From Sam Walton's Darwinian, capitalistic perspective, survival of the fittest was the natural order of things."

London Googler, please come back

I'm not as obsessed with the stat-counter at the bottom of this blog as I was when I first added it, but it's still fun to check it occasionally to see where my readers come from. A lot of folks come from my daughter's website, and some come through links kindly provided by other bloggers. A lot of people find this blog through Google searches, though this blog is rarely what they're looking for. Most of the Googlers don't stick around to read.

Oddly, the number-one Google search term that leads people here is "pictures of octagons." This comes up so often that I imagine finding pictures of octagons must be a common elementary school assignment.

There are apparently a lot of people who wonder whether Crocs and escalators are a dangerous combination, because those folks come here in large numbers, too. I always wonder if they decide to keep their comfortable shoes, toss them out, or play it safe and stay off escalators.

Then there are the people whose imaginations are captured, as mine was, by a song about a cleverly plotted prison escape. Those folks usually Google some variation of "get my lantern get my gun" or other brief snatches of the song's lyrics.

Occasionally -- not often -- someone finds this blog by searching for, well, actual "velvet sacks." This isn't the website those people wanted to find, either.

Up until very recently, it's been nothing but amusing to check out the Google searches that have brought people here, and it didn't bother me that they didn't stay long. A couple of days ago, that changed.

A Googler from London searched with a long string of words along these lines: "dog has primary glaucoma vet says both eyes must come out is it fair to the dog?" (This isn't an exact quote but my best recollection of it. My stat-counter is free, thus limited, and that search had already rolled off before I decided to write about it.) Those words led the person here -- exactly the right place to find some reassurance on that subject -- but the entries about Butch's blindness were too well buried to find quickly. The Googler came to this blog and left almost immediately.

My heart aches for that person. I remember the agony of trying to evaluate the rights and wrongs of an almost-identical situation, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. I want to reach out to that person, to shout, "Come back, wait a minute, let me introduce you to Butch." I want him or her to read how little Butch's blindness has interfered with the quality of his life, how enthusiastically he goes about his doggy-business and how much joy he gives and receives in the course of the average day. I want to say that when the time comes for me to add another dog to this family, I wouldn't hesitate to adopt a blind dog or one with another type of special needs.

What I know now that I didn't know when Butch's eye problems began is that the condition of the animal's eyes is not nearly as important as the size of its heart, and that the capacity of the human heart will grow, too, for every day spent with such a dog.

Blind Dog Running

I think I'm gonna create another blog on just this subject.


UPDATE: Butch's blog is up -- at least the bare bones of it. The information there won't be new to regular Velvet Sacks visitors, but maybe, by putting it all in one place, it'll offer some comfort to someone else who needs it.

Tissue wars and peace and love

Today is the birthday of my sister, she who inherited the cheekbones, the thick, dark hair with the well-defined widow’s peak, and various other features that have always aroused my envy. Along with my daughters, she’s my best friend in the world, and so I will confess here, publicly, that I didn’t always know she’d grow up to be that. And I wasn't always nice to her.

For the same stupid reasons most brothers or sisters engage in childish combat, we fought, too. We battled about toys and clothes that needed sharing, chores that needed doing, privileges that were granted unfairly to one of us and not the other, and, most of all, for our mother’s attention. At least once, I've learned, we must have fought about tissue.

My advantage during our fights was that I was older, bigger and stronger. My sister's advantage was that because I was older, bigger and stronger, most of the blame for our confrontations fell on me. Each of us felt unfairly disadvantaged by the other's position.

We fought for 14 years. Although there are photos of us in which we appear kind, loving, sweet and angelic, both of us agree that those pictures were probably staged.


On the day I married, when I was 18 and my sister was 14, I said goodbye to my family and prepared to leave for my new home, which was several hours away. My sister cried. That was the first time I had an inkling that she might like me in spite of our differences, and I was deeply touched.

Since then, my love for my sister has grown and grown until now my heart swells at the sound of her voice. She shares my family, my history, and my future. We've learned, through the years, that we are alike in so many more ways than we are different, and I don't know what I'd do without her.

On the occasion of her birthday, I’d like to apologize to her for hateful words, painful slaps, and every unhappy tear I may have caused her to shed. I can say I'm sorry now, not because I’m older, wiser, or (finally) a better person than I was then, but because I've uncovered proof of at least one time when my sister may have been as unreasonable as I so often was.

This twice-folded piece of paper (digitally scribbled just now for the sake of privacy) was tucked in the back of my baby book:


This is the backside:


I assume there was Kleenex folded into my sister's note at the time of it's delivery, because the note reads as follows:


I have no idea how I reacted the first time I saw this letter, but it gives me a great deal of pleasure to see it now.

I'm pretty sure you know it already, Sis, but I don't hate you either. In fact, I'll love you always. Happy birthday.

Déjà vu

It's almost bedtime, and I'm ready for it. I never bothered to get dressed all day today. Except for time time I spent sleeping last night, I've spent most of the weekend in front of the TV watching campaign news. I'm especially interested in this year's presidential race because whoever gets the job, it won't be George Bush.

I've enjoyed the TV coverage, especially the debates last night, and have formed some nebulous opinions about all of the candidates. Of everything I've seen and heard so far, nothing made me want to run in here and write about it until just a minute ago.

I just now heard Mike Huckabee say "irregardless" three times in a row. Oh, please, God, not another one who can't speak the native tongue. I don't hold the average person to such a high standard, but I want a president who can speak correctly.

If I hear even one of these candidates say "nucular," I may have to shoot myself.

Velvet: The Soundtrack

Subtitle: I Almost Bit Off More Than I Could Chew

UPDATE - JANUARY 5, 2010: It's a new year, I'm in clean-up mode, and the blog is not exempt. I've moved the "soundtrack" list from the sidebar to the bottom of this post. Once in a while I like to print a pertinent post to share with a friend, and the long song list created way too many extra pages. Maybe one day soon I'll be motivated to check all these links and fix the ones that no longer works. In the meantime, please enjoy those that do.

About three months ago, on an afternoon spent searching for obscure music videos on YouTube, it occurred to me that I could add a music feature to this blog. The fact that music has been important to me throughout my life shows up in different ways. Although it wasn't planned, many of the post titles on this blog are musical references. Then there's that whole thing with the ongoing music in my head.

What a good idea it would be, I told myself back then, to write an occasional blog entry about a certain piece of music and why it means so much to me. So many melodies hold memories for me. So many song lyrics speak words I'd like to say or hear someone say to me. Different songs take me different places, geographically or emotionally. Some songs take me back in time. Some of them I've listened to with people who have since moved on...or even passed away. A handful are so-so to listen to but terrific fun to sing. At least one song never crosses my mind at all unless I'm in the shower, but comes belting out of my mouth fairly often when the water hits my head.

So, I started collecting video links. Many evenings and every recent weekend, I've tried to find the songs that have played in the background of my life. It took a lot longer than I thought it would, but it was an entirely pleasant task. It seemed that every song I found reminded me of another one to search for, and the list of bookmarked videos, though certainly not all-inclusive, grew...and grew...and grew until I just finally had to bring it to a halt. There was no good stopping place.

My original plan was to introduce the music feature on January 1st. I thought I'd write a post about two or three songs and what they meant to me, and those songs would be the first links on the "soundtrack" list. Each time I posted anything about a song, I figured, I'd add the song to the list, and that would be the way the list would grow.

Well, to heck with that! Check out the sidebar, about halfway down. Some of these songs are too good to wait, so tonight I've added the whole bunch of them that I've bookmarked up to now.

It's appropriate here to recognize the many, many, many people who have taken the time to put their favorite songs up on YouTube so those of us who are less creative (moi) could link to them at our leisure. Some of those people have shown remarkable talent in the videos they produced. Others might not have been as creative, but they got the songs up there anyway, for people like me -- and you -- to enjoy. The selections I made were based on the music, not on the videos, so if you don't like what you see, just close your eyes and listen for a minute.

Also, I've been advised not to get too used to music on YouTube because any particular video might disappear just as quickly as it showed up. If you find a link that no longer works, please let me know. I'll either delete the link or find another version of the song to post in its place.

The songs I've chosen span nearly seven decades. Most of them I love now for one reason or another, and a couple made the cut just because I loved them when I was a little girl. I apologize to anyone who was hoping for Frank Sinatra or jazz or hip-hop; there's none of that here (yet). There are a few show tunes, a couple of TV talent-show performances, a tiny bit of opera, a smattering of Irish ballads, plenty of good ol' rock and roll, and way more country music than I expected there'd be. I hope that somewhere on this list you'll find a few songs you love, too, and maybe even a few you've forgotten about.

I still plan to write about many of these songs, a few at a time as the mood hits me. In the meantime, if any of them has a special meaning to you, it would be great if you'd tell us all about it.

A Whiter Shade of Pale - Procol Harum

Abraham, Martin and John - Dion

Ain't No Sunshine - Taylor Hicks

All I Have to Do Is Dream - Everly Brothers

All of My Life - Roger Whittaker

Always on My Mind - Willie Nelson

Amazing Grace - Rod Stewart

An American Trilogy - Elvis Presley

Angel - Sarah McLachlan

Angie - The Rolling Stones

Apache - The Shadows

At This Moment - Billy Vera

Baby Can I Hold You - Tracy Chapman

Because of You - Kelly Clarkson

Because We Believe - Andrea Bocelli & Marco Borsato

Bed of Roses - Bon Jovi

Big Bad John - Jimmy Dean

Billie's Theme - Hoyt Axton

Black Is the Color - Judy Collins

Black Velvet - Alannah Miles

Blessed - Elton John

Blowing in the Wind - Peter, Paul and Mary

Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen

Braveheart (Instrumental)

Bridge Over Troubled Water - Simon & Garfunkel

Bring Him Home - John Owen-Jones

Broken Arrow - Robbie Robertson

Candle in the Wind - Elton John

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Cry - Faith Hill

Cry - Johnnie Ray

Danny Boy - Michael Londra

Desperado - The Eagles

Don't Close Your Eyes - Keith Whitley

Don't Cry for Me, Argentina - Lea Salonga

Downtown Train - Rod Stewart

Edelweiss - Christopher Plummer & Julie Andrews

Eve of Destruction - Barry McGuire

Everybody Hurts - R.E.M.

Faithfully - Journey

Feels So Right - Alabama

Fields of Gold - Sting

Fire and Rain - James Taylor

For Rosanna - Chris DeBurgh

Ghost Riders in the Sky - Vaughn Monroe

Go Ask Alice - Jefferson Airplane

Green Fields - The Brothers Four

Have a Little Faith - Joe Cocker

He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother - The Hollies

Heartbreak Hotel - Elvis Presley

Hero - Enrique Iglesias

Highwayman - The Highwaymen

Hold On - Tom Waits

Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte - Patti Page

I Believe - Diamond Rio

I Believe - Frankie Laine

I Don't Believe in If Anymore - Roger Whittaker

I Don't Know How to Love Him - Yvonne Elleman

I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing - Aerosmith

I Dreamed a Dream - From Les Miserables

I Hope You Dance - Lee Ann Womack

I Walk the Line - Chris Daughtry

I Walk the Line - Johnny Cash

I Want to Talk About Me - Toby Keith

I Was the One - Elvis Presley

I Will Remember You - Sarah McLachlan

I Wonder - Kellie Pickler

I Would Do Anything For Love - Meat Loaf

I'll Be Seeing You - Jo Stafford

I'll Stand By You - Carrie Underwood

I'm Movin' On - Rascal Flatts

I'm Not Lisa - Jessie Coulter

I'm on Fire - Bruce Springsteen

I'm Your Lady - Celine Dion

I've Been Loving You Too Long - Otis Redding

Imagine - John Lennon

In Canto - Andrea Bocelli

In the Air Tonight - Phil Collins

In the Ghetto - Elvis Presley

It's a Heartache - Bonnie Tyler

It's My Life - Bon Jovi

It's Not Easy to Be Me - Five for Fighting

Je T'Aime...Moi Non Plus - Jane Birkin & Sergei Gains

Just As I am - Brian Doerksen

Lady - Kenny Rogers

Lady in Red - Chris DeBurgh

Landslide - Fleetwood Mac

Lay Lady Lay - Bob Dylan

Lean on Me - Bill Withers

Les Bicyclettes De Belsize - Englebert Humperdinck

Let It Be - The Beatles

Let It Be Me - The Everly Brothers

Little Things Mean a Lot - Kittie Kallen

Live Like You Were Dying - Tim McGraw

Lonesome Town - Ricky Nelson

Love Can Build a Bridge - The Judds

Love Hurts - Nazareth

Love Hurts - Roy Orbison

Love, Me - Collin Raye

Main Street - Bob Seger

Many Rivers to Cross - Joe Cocker

Mary in the Morning - Elvis Presley

Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin

Me and You and a Dog Named Boo - Lobo

Miserere - Andrea Bocelli & Zucchero

Morning Has Broken - Cat Stevens

My Heart Will Go On - Celine Dion

My Little Girl - Tim McGraw

My Prayer - The Platters

Nessun Dorma - Paul Potts

New Orleans Ladies - Louisiana LaRoux

Night Moves - Bob Seger

Nights in White Satin - The Moody Blues

No Woman No Cry - Ty Taylor

Not Ready to Make Nice - Dixie Chicks

Nothing Compares 2 U - Sinead O'Connor

November Rain - Guns N' Roses

Ode to Billie Jo - Bobbie Gentry

Oh, Donna - Ritchie Valens

Ol' Red - Blake Shelton

Old Dogs, Children & Watermelon Wine - Tom T. Hall

One More Try - George Michael

Only the Lonely - Roy Orbison

Only Time - Enya

Operator - Jim Croce

Over the Rainbow - Katharine McPhee

Patches - Clarence Carter

Patches - Dickey Lee

Patience - Guns N' Roses

Piano Man - Billy Joel

Please Come to Boston - Dave Loggins

Proud Mary - Ike & Tina Turner

Puff, the Magic Dragon - Peter, Paul & Mary

Rag Doll - Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons

Raglan Road - Van Morrison

Reason to Believe - Rod Stewart

Red, Red Wine - Neil Diamond

Red, Red Wine - UB40

Remember When - Alan Jackson

River of No Return - Tennessee Ernie Ford

Roll Me Away - Bob Seger

Scarborough Fair - Simon & Garfunkel

Scarlet Ribbons - The Browns

Seasons in the Sun - Terry Jacks

Secret Love - Doris day

Sentimental Journey - Doris Day

Seven Spanish Angels - Willie Nelson & Ray Charles

Shenandoah - Sissel

Shrimp Boats - Jo Stafford

Silver Stallion - The Highwaymen

Sixteen Tons - Tennessee Ernie Ford

Skin - Rascal Flatts

Slow Hand - Pointer Sisters

Sometimes When We Touch - Dan Hill

Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word - Joe Cocker

Sounds of Silence - Simon & Garfunkel

Stand By Me - Ben E. King

Stupid Boy - Keith Urban

Summer Wine (Caution: R-rated video - Cover it with a Post-It Note if you're bashful) - Ville Valo & Natalia Avelon

Summertime - Fantasia Barrino

Sunday Morning Coming Down - Kris Kristofferson

Sunshine on My Shoulders - John Denver

Superman's Song - Crash Test Dummies

Suzanne - Leonard Cohen

Sylvia's Mother - Dr. Hook

Take My Breath Away - Berlin

Tammy - Debbie Reynolds

The Briar and the Rose - Peter Pringle

The Crying Game - Boy George

The Dance - Garth Brooks

The Dock of the Bay - Otis Redding

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face - Roberta Flack

The House of the Rising Sun - The Animals

The Last Farewell - Roger Whittaker

The Little White Cloud That Cried - Johnnie Ray

The Load Out - Jackson Browne

The Longest Time - Billy Joel

The Man Who Sold the World - Jordis Unga

The Music of the Night - Michael Crawford & Sarah Brightman

The Prayer - Celine Dion & Josh Groban

The River - Bruce Springsteen

The Rose - Bette Midler

The Three Bells - The Browns

The Wall - Pink Floyd

The Water Is Wide - Niamh Parsons

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - Gordon Lightfoot

These Dreams - Heart

They Call the Wind Mariah - Harve Presnell

Three Times a Lady - Lionel Richie

Time After Time - Cindy Lauper

Time in a Bottle - Jim Croce

Time to Say Goodbye - Andrea Bocelli & Sarah Brightman

To Know Him Is to Love Him - Teddy Bears

Today - The New Christie Minstrels

Total Eclipse of the Heart - Bonnie Tyler

Travelin' Soldier - The Dixie Chicks

Turn the Page - Bob Seger

Two Out of Three Ain't Bad - Meat Loaf

Unchained Melody - The Righteous Brothers

Vincent - Don McLean

Vivo Por Lei - Andrea Bocelli and Helene Segara

We Are the Champions - Queen

We've Got Tonight - Bob Seger

What a Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong

What's Love Got to Do with It? - Tina Turner

When a Man Loves a Woman - Percy Sledge

When I Dream - Crystal Gayle

When I Get Where I'm Going - Brad Paisley

When the Children Cry - White Lion

Where Have All the Flowers Gone? - Peter, Paul & Mary

Whiskey Lullaby - Brad Paisley & Allison Krause

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? - The Shirelles

With a Little Help from My Friends - Joe Cocker

Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton

Would You Like to Swing on a Star? - Bing Crosby

You Raise Me Up - Josh Groban

You're Beautiful - James Blunt

Young Love - Tab Hunter

New year, new beginning, clean slate, do-over

Back in November I wrote that Thanksgiving Day is my favorite day of the year. I must have been living in the moment or I would have remembered that New Year’s Day is my actual favorite. Thanksgiving runs a very close second.

New Year’s Day edges out Thanksgiving only because I get so excited when I anticipate the arrival of a new year. As much as I enjoy Thanksgiving, I don’t think much about it ahead of time. And when it gets here, my gratitude always seems to be about what is or has been.

New Year’s Day, on the other hand, is all about looking forward. I pretty much keep a running tally in my head of things that need changing in my life, so I don’t have to do a lot of reflection as the new year approaches. I know exactly which things I’d like to do better, more of, less of, differently. I enjoy wallowing in my old ways on the last few days of the year, knowing that once that magical calendar page turns, it’ll be a whole new ball game.

I fantasize that I will instantly become more energetic, more health-conscious, and better organized, and that I will vacuum more frequently. Those goals have carried over from one year to the next for several years now.

More realistically, I promise myself I will drastically decrease the number of times I say “a--hole” during morning drive time, even though the people to whom the term applies will still be on the road. I will drink no more than four Diet Cokes a day, and none after six p.m. I’ll use the DVR to record must-see TV that comes on at nine p.m. or later. That way I can go to bed earlier, read for half an hour or more, and still be able to get a good night’s sleep. Getting enough sleep is problematic for me, and I'm resolved to make it a priority this year.

Yesterday I stripped the bed and washed all the bedding, including the mattress pad, blanket, and bedspread. I wanted to go to sleep in 2007 and wake up in 2008 in fresh, clean sheets. Can you appreciate the symbolism of that gesture?

There were fireworks last night, of course. From just after dark until two in the morning, bombs burst in the air, each one accompanied by a whistle or an explosion of the sort that normally freaks out Butch and Kadi. I felt fortunate that the dogs seemed to be managing their fear better than usual. Butch found a good spot and stayed there without moving, asleep or pretending to be. Kadi’s eyes were visible, her pupils dilated enormously. She stayed close to my side but, in spite of her fright, didn’t attempt to climb on top of my head or shoulders even once. I thought that showed great improvement.

At bedtime I took the dogs outside one at a time, on an extra-long lead, to do their business. In the past they’ve refused to go, but last night they risked it, and at least one of us went to bed happy.

Butch curled up on his bed, and Kadi lay in her usual spot on mine, snuggled close to the body pillow that lies between us. She shivered and panted as the fireworks continued, but her behavior wasn't panicky. At midnight, when the outside noise was at its greatest, I stretched out my arm to pet her. Reaching for her in the dark, my hand encountered a giant wet spot right under her rear end. She may not have panicked in her usual way, but she’d peed in my nice, clean bed and lain right there in it for who knows how long.

So, my symbolic fresh start ended right there in the soiled sheets. But I will not view the peeing incident as an omen.

Happy 2008, everybody!

The battle of the sexes

Apparently the difference between the male and female brain, the disconnect that makes it so difficult for each sex to understand the other, shows up at a very young age.

The walls are thin in my new office. We can almost always hear voices coming from the beauty shop next door, and today I could clearly hear two small children playing on the other side of the wall:

Little girl's voice: "Hello?"

Little boy's voice: "Hello, this is the FBI!"

Little girl's voice: (Muttering too softly to be audible.)

Little boy's voice (much louder now): "NO! I said, 'This is the FBI!'"

Little girl's voice (in a placating tone): "I know you did, but now I want to say, "You have the wrong number.'"

Santa remembered Butch and Kadi

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Angels among us

Christmas of 1968, I think, was the last year my daughters believed in Santa Claus. In this photo, the magic is still in their eyes.


By the following year, due to an unfortunate set of circumstances and a misguided sense of justice, we had spilled the beans to them. It didn't ruin future Christmases, but it put a bit of a damper on that one.

What thrills me now is that we didn't ruin the part of those little girls that allows them to hope and dream, the part of them that even today holds a sense of possibility and wonder. I saw that part of them in their faces on Friday.

Some time ago I wrote about my mother's amazing ability to find a good parking place in the most crowded lot and, more interestingly, the fact that her children and grandchildren seem to have inherited that ability since her death. Except that it doesn't feel like an "ability," exactly; it feels as if we're being guided to just the right place.

That earlier post generated a lot of comments. I certainly understand the skepticism, but the fact is that a year and a half after I wrote that post, nothing has changed. We still get excellent parking spots -- all the time -- and it still strikes us funny and makes us happy. It always, always makes us think of my mother.

This past Friday, my daughters and I decided to have lunch together. It's rare that all three of us are available at the same time, so we looked forward to going to one of our favorite restaurants. Despite plans to get there early, we arrived exactly at noon, just at the peak of lunchtime traffic. The parking lot was so full that cars were lined up in a caravan that extended from the road through the parking lot. By the time we turned into the lot, the cars in the long line were unable either to move forward or to turn around.

We debated what to do. There were so many vehicles in line ahead of us that we felt sure we were in for a long wait. We discussed parking at the restaurant next door or across the street at the mall if we could ever complete one loop through the parking lot and head out onto othe road again. Because of my knee problems, neither of those options appealed to me, so I suggested that the girls let me out of the car as soon as we made it near the front door, then they could park wherever they wanted to. As an afterthought, I added, "Who knows? Maybe Mama-Too will find us something."

No sooner were those words out of my mouth than the cars ahead of us began to move. We watched them, one by one, pass slowly by one row of filled spaces and turn onto the next row, equally as full. Then, as the car directly in front of us made that same turn, taillights came on just ahead and to the left of us. A car began to back out of a space that we were perfectly aligned to pull into. It happened to be a space right in front of the restaurant door, just one row back.

We were immensely pleased -- but not entirely surprised -- and we laughed and said aloud, "Thank you, Mama-Too." Whether Mother had anything to do with our good fortune, I can't say for sure, but it's wonderful to imagine that she did. Either way, she was right there with us in that moment. Our hearts were full of our love for her and hers for us. We were three adult women, connected in the wonder and mystery of the moment, suspending disbelief and willing to accept at least the possibility that there was an angel among us.

It's the magic of that possibility that I wish for you during this holiday season, along with best wishes for peace and love and hope. Pay attention when you feel any of those emotions. You might just sense the presence of an angel of your own.

The song is "Angels Among Us" by Alabama.
Thanks to estera53 for posting the video and lyrics on YouTube.

Joy!

It's been exactly a week since my last post -- a week of running as fast as possible to touch all the bases and still running (breathless now), trying to reach home plate. (For anyone who's keeping track, that may be the first and only sports analogy I've ever used on this blog.) Thankfully, I'm almost there.

Last Thursday morning, because my prescriptions were all expiring, I went to the doctor. It was time for a check-up and time to discuss all the recommended testing I'd refused up until now because I didn't have health insurance. I'd intended to enroll in Medicare before that appointment, but didn't get it done in time. Nevertheless, we developed a plan for what needs to be done and a timetable for doing it.

I'm really lucky to have a doctor who understands my financial limitations as well as my health needs. The last time I went to see her, she changed most of my prescriptions to generic versions, which meant I could get them filled for $4 each at Wal-Mart. That saved me a bundle of money each month. On this visit she changed the prescriptions to 90-day (instead of 30-day) refills, cutting out two Wal-Mart visits each quarter. She noticed my delight at this suggestion and commented that it would save me from impulse shopping while I waited for the prescriptions to be filled. That's true, but that isn't what delighted me. All I was thinking about was saving the wear and tear on my feet and knees.

After the doctor's appointment, I called the toll-free number for Social Security, planning to set up a time to visit the nearest office to sign up for Medicare. As it turned out, I was able to enroll over the telephone, which saved me both a trip into Baton Rouge and a morning or afternoon of missed work. In addition to assisting me with Medicare enrollment, the Social Security representative thoroughly explained all my options for drawing Social Security benefits. She was friendly, helpful, and knowledgeable (not at all the bureaucrat I'd expected), and I hung up the telephone feeling much more hopeful about the prospect of eventual retirement.

Since that call, I've been scrambling to get certified copies of marriage and divorce documents, the last of which came in the mail today. I'll mail those off tomorrow and scratch that project off my to-do list for now.

My other urgent project this week was to begin Christmas shopping, which I did on Monday and Tuesday nights. Both nights I came home, unloaded bags from the car, then collapsed without putting anything away. I was too tired to even read at bedtime. Last night I stayed home after work, did a little gift wrapping, and once again went to bed early. I'm hoping that my shopping muscles are broken in now and will hold up until I finish.

The good news is that I'm off work now until the day after Christmas. And the even better news is that I realized, at some point in the middle of Tuesday night's shopping expedition, that the Christmas spirit has finally arrived and kicked the bah-humbug right out of me. It's about time!

Puppy Love

Most of the extra trips to Baton Rouge that I complained about two posts ago were trips to the vet for Kadi. She'd had blood work done last year that revealed a liver abnormality, and it was time to test her again to see if anything had changed.

This year's blood work showed the same problem as last time -- no better, no worse -- and the vet said that was good news. Apparently, a dog's liver has multiple sections or lobes. When one goes bad, the others "kick it up a notch" to make up the difference. The fact that there's been no change indicates we don't have to worry about any loss of liver function.

The blood work did turn up one new problem: a low thyroid level. I had to take Kadi back for additional testing, which verified that test result, and now she takes thyroid pills twice a day. She didn't seem to feel bad before all the testing, but they tell me this should make her feel better and -- BONUS -- reduce hair loss.

Once all the testing was complete, it was time for dental cleaning. Unlike Butch, who was born with bad breath but good, solid teeth, Kadi has teeth that accumulate plaque at a phenomenal rate. Now, though, she's all fixed up, and her doggy smile is once more beautiful. In addition, she's had the first of two vaccinations that are supposed to inhibit the growth of dental bacteria. (Boy, do I wish they'd come up with a vaccine like that for humans.) We have to go back right after Christmas for the second shot.

All this animal health care is pricey, but times like last night convince me it's money well spent.

Watching the sentimental finale of "Kid Nation," I got into the spirit of the show and began shedding happy tears -- accompanied, of course, by noisy snuffling. I was focused so intently on the TV that it took me a moment to notice that Kadi had climbed onto the sofa and rested her chin on my shoulder. I turned to look at her and found her staring, big-eyed, right into my face. That's when I realized she'd wrapped both front paws around my arm and pulled it close to her body. Bless her heart. That was very nearly as good as any human hug I've ever had.

It's a small world, after all

My sister called this afternoon and, as usual, we had a delightful chat. After we checked on the well-being of each other's families, she mentioned a bit of news that set my mind off on a six-degrees-of-separation tangent.


This photo was taken in my mother's home on my first wedding day. That's 18-year-old me at center right, holding a cup of lime sherbet/ginger ale punch, and that's the man I'd just married with his back to the camera.

The news my sister gave me in passing today was that the man at left in the photo, in the background, died recently. This was my husband's best man, his former boss, who was an East Texas automobile dealer. In fact, it hadn't been in our plans, but we ended up spending our wedding night at this man's fishing camp -- along with him and his entire family. (If that sounds weird to you, I assure you it felt even stranger to me.)

I didn't know this man well, although we'd socialized with him and his wife a number of times. They were in their mid-thirties and I was half their age. I didn't have a lot in common with them. Often, when we visited them, I managed to avoid adult conversation by calling on my babysitting experience and entertaining their children until it was time to leave. All of my visits with them were before the marriage. We moved out of town right after the wedding, and I don't remember if I ever saw any of them again.

Some years (and another husband) later, I was reminded of this man when I learned that his daughter had moved to Atlanta, Georgia and had just won the title of "Miss Georgia." I saw her on TV and was horrified to realize I was old enough to say truthfully that I once piggybacked a Miss USA contestant. She had grown up to be a beautiful woman. Ted Turner liked her enough to give her her own talk show when CNN was in its early days.

For those of you checking out the six-degrees-of-separation thing, there's me, then the pageant queen I piggybacked, then Ted Turner. That's just two degrees. If we take it one degree further, Ted Turner married Jane Fonda -- who, coincidentally, is my eighth cousin, twice removed. (Yes, I'll admit it: I'm distantly related to -- but separated by only three degrees from -- Hanoi Jane.)

Anyway, back to the immediate story:

According to what my sister told me and what I've read on the Internet since her phone call, this man who was best man at my first wedding became somewhat politically active in the years after we left there. One of his good political friends was Charlie Wilson, the flamboyant Texas congressman who is the subject of Charlie Wilson’s War, a book by George Crile. I haven't read the book yet, but after reading this excerpt and finding on page 10 the names of my husband's best man and his daughter, I definitely will.

The book has been made into a movie that's due out this month. I saw an Oprah show about the movie and was interested in seeing it even before I discovered the connection. It has a great cast, including Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, and (you guessed it, Kim) Philip Seymour Hoffman.

So, here we go: First there's me, then there's my husband's best man, then there's Charlie Wilson, then there's Tom Hanks. That's four degrees. But wait; it gets better.

Tom Hanks did another movie you may remember called Forrest Gump. Holly, better known to some bloggers as CreekHiker, worked on that movie. Isn't that cool? Holly (in Los Angeles) and I (in Louisiana) were separated by only five degrees long before we ever heard of each other.

(Sigh.) I love this game.

Gimme shelter

This is one of those times when the ordinary functions of life, the mundane processes we repeat to get from one day to the next, seem burdensome and unmanageable. I don't know why.

Maybe it's the weather. With the outside temperature changing from 84 degrees one day to 38 degrees the next, I can't seem to set my thermostat correctly to make my home comfortable. Wardrobe decisions are equally iffy, so I shiver or sweat at any given moment.

Or maybe it's all the little decisions nagging at me right now. My prescriptions are on the last refill, which means I need to make a doctor's appointment, which I didn't want to do until after I signed up for Medicare, which I've postponed because I haven't been in the mood to sift through the various plans and make choices. I'm be-whiched.

It could be the three extra trips to Baton Rouge this week, trips that used to take twenty minutes and now (post-Katrina) can take twice that long at the wrong time of the day. The trips I made took place, of course, at exactly the wrong time of the day -- either before work or after -- replacing precious stop-and-smell-the-roses hours with take-care-of-business time.

It may be the holiday season. It lost a big chunk of its appeal for me when my children grew up, and now that my grandchildren are either grown or practically so, I no longer see the magic of Christmas through their eyes. Now, unfortunately, it's just another deadline.

The main thing, I think, is that it's just so easy for us introverts to run out of emotional "gas" when we don't take the necessary quiet time to reflect and "refuel." Lately I've been too distracted to notice and appreciate the little things that normally nourish me: The brightest star in the night sky. The movement of light and shadow as the sun goes down. Brown leaves dancing in the air in front of my car as I drive the curvy river road. Hundreds of identical acorns in the driveway and one funny, bald-headed one, its empty cap lying right beside it. The leaning tree beyond our back fence and the few clusters of green leaves engaged in some sort of endurance contest on its otherwise bare branches.


I'll make it through the end of the work week, because making it is what I do, and then I'll crawl inside my shell and stay there until I can come out again with my head on straight and my rose-colored glasses balanced perfectly on the tip of my nose. I hope you'll wait for me.

Another volley fired in the garbage wars

My ongoing love-hate relationship with the local "waste management" company has been the topic of so many posts that I don't want to tackle the job of creating links to them. If you're all that curious, you can go to the blue bar at the top of this post, type the word "garbage" in the white box at the left, then click on "search blog." Otherwise, I'll just note here that the battle continues.

For more than ten years now, my neighbors and I have clustered our cans side by side at the curb. We've done this out of consideration for the trash collectors, thinking this arrangement would save them some steps. Apparently, the company has recently managed to eliminate a few jobs by mechanizing the physical process of picking up and dumping the cans into their truck. That's fine. Whatever. But if they wanted us customers to begin doing things differently, it would have been nice if they'd mentioned it up front.

Instead, they surprised us. I came home for lunch on trash-pick-up day and found this (click the photo to enlarge it):


I cropped off the company name and contact numbers just to be nice. And to not get sued.

As you can see, my neighbors and I unknowingly violated the "improperly placed cart" rule. And, in case the explanation on the card wasn't detailed enough, somebody kindly wrote a few words to explain it in more clearly: "Cart need to be divide apart." Well, all righty then. I get it now, and I will divide cart apart in future.

If you look closely at the photo, you'll see what appears to be a white circle at the upper left. The circle is actually a hole in the card. There's a slit from the edge of the card to the hole, so I assume the card was designed to hang from the garbage can handle. Instead, this one was lying in the driveway and another one just like it was in the middle of the front yard. After I traipsed through the wet grass to get the second card, I had to deliver it in person to the neighbors.

There's no telling what kind of problems we might have had if the card had blown away and the neighbors didn't know cart need to be divide apart. They might not understand why I put my garbage can off by itself on the other side of the driveway from theirs. They might think I believe my garbage isn't as stinky as theirs. Or they might decide I must have had a good reason for moving my can, which could lead them to put theirs right next to mine again, on the side of the driveway where we've never put them before.

We'd have the same problem all over again. Then the garbage picker-uppers would think we're really stupid.