The dance days are over...

Saturday being St. Patrick's Day I made corned beef and cabbage for myself, my husband and a couple of friends whom I thought were joining us for dinner. Let me start off by letting you in on an Irish secret. Corned beef and cabbage is like the easiest thing in the world to make and looks extremely impressive and then you get to tell people you've been cooking it all day. The secret of this: The Crock Pot. In the morning I threw in some carrots, tiny potatoes, chopped up onion and then placed in the beef and filled the pot almost completely with water and some seasoning. Put the lid on top, set the heat for low and then waited for dinner. So friggin' easy, so amazingly delicious.

As I had mentioned earlier I had thought we were having some friends over for dinner. I get a text message from them at 10 asking what we're up to tonight and I tell her "Making corned beef and cabbage, and we were hoping you guys were joining us." We had discussed doing just this the week before but hadn't ironed out details yet, didn't seem like we needed to. She told me that she had been invited out by other people who she told she was free to. I told her that if she wants to go that's fine, but we wouldn't be invited so to let me know if she was planning on showing up to our house for dinner. This was probably a mistake of me because I wasn't fine if she didn't show up. I was actually pretty hurt. This was made all the more difficult that they were hanging out with my ex and his wife. Not that I have a problem with them anymore. Quite the opposite. The last time I saw them she was extremely nice and personable to me and I am nothing if not forgiving of people. But I do know that even though we may be on good making small talk, trading house buying and pregnancy advice, and not insulting each other anymore terms, we're not people that they'd invite out for a night on the town. My friend decided to go on the one outing there was no way we could join. After we had talked months about how much fun we had together on St. Patrick's Day and how we had to do something together this year and because I what, didn't set a time for her coming over she was bailing on me?

She asked if she was mad and of course I said no, because I'm a doormat and let people walk over me all the time. She then spent the rest of the day sending me text justifying her actions: we had just seen each other last week, she hadn't seen them in some time, she just wanted to live up some of the glory of past St. Patrick's days, etc. I knew she couldn't do that with a pregnant friend in tow. Kenny's not a drinker, I am. I can't move on the dance floor like I once could, and more importantly: I don't want to. I was excited for my crock pot dinner and potential game night. I liked thinking I wouldn't have to pay money to spend time with people at a bar where we couldn't hear each other and was full of drunk college kids and high school kids with fake id's. I was looking forward to being a grown up.

Then I started to cry. I realized something about me, about my life now. I am a grown up. The St. Patrick's Days of getting ex boyfriends to drink water after overdoing the liquor and tequila shots were over. The driving drunk friends home only to have them get lost on the way because they're too drunk to tell you where they live. The receiving of hilarious text pictures of aformetioned exboyfriends who fell into ditch puking on the way home that night. I think that's what I'll miss most of all. That was my life 5 years ago. My life now is picking out colors for the nursery. Inviting over the inlaws so all that food doesn't go to waste and then having an amazingly fun evening anyway. Having everyone rave over my ever so easy to make dinner recipe. Playing a game with my sister and brother in law at 9 pm and wondering if it's too late to start another. Cleaning up the dishes in my new remodeled kitchen and putting them in my favorite Christmas present from my parents: a new dishwasher. Having a husband who holds me in his arms as I cry out my death of youthful times and reminds me of happy times we have coming up. Yes, the dance parties of St. Patricks Day are over, but next year I'll have a new mostly Irish lad or lassie to celebrate with and we'll have all new traditions. I can't wait.

The World's Best Puppy

I experienced arguably the biggest loss I've ever experienced in my life this last week. My 15 year old puppy had to be put down last Friday. For the first time in my life I've experienced heartbreak.

I was lucky enough to get Morgan as a Christmas present when I was 12. My mom put a dog bone in my Christmas stocking and told me that we should go find a dog that would enjoy it. This led us on a 6 month journey to find the perfect dog. On May 27th, 1997, our journey was complete. We followed a C.A.R.E. listing to a home with two puppies born on March 25th, a boy and a girl. We had wanted a boy. Had a name all picked out (Homer). But when we got to the home, this baby girl was placed in my arms and immediately started licking my face. We were told she was the smarter of the two. She was not the prettier of the two, as her brother was black and adorable. It didn't matter though, I was sold. I turned up to my mom and said I want her. And then we got to bring her home.

The naming process was a long one. We made a big long list of all the names we would want to name her and then had to pick our final 2 which we would vote on. Mom's was Amore and something else equally lame. Mine were Cookie and Pebbles. Dan's was Kimberly (after the pink power ranger) and Morgan (after Geena Davis in Cutthroat Island). Mom though naming a dog after the town you lived in was cool and therefore won. At first I vowed not to call her Morgan, but eventually I came around.

Morgan was my dog. She was the family dog, but she was really my dog. She slept on my bed every night. She would always come to me when my brother and I would have a contest calling her to each of us seeing who she would go to. I took her on walks. I took her to the dog park with my friend Brian. I gave her baths. Hugs. Flower leis as collars.



One time when I took her to lake with my friends I was swimming across it I look back and saw Morgan swimming after me. She couldn't bear to be apart from me for that long. Once she caught up she tried to climb up on my back. It was hard but I got the both of us over to the other side. It was one of those times that I realized how much she cared about me.

Whenever I was upset, Morgan had a sixth sense about it. She would come up next to me and let me know she was there for me. She came up next to me and just sat as I cried. Not begging for attention or anything, just letting me know she was there. It was the most amazing thing.

Then Morgan starting getting old. We were scared there wasn't much time left for her. To help ease the process we adopted Butters, a maltipoo. This actually helped breath new life into her. She was playful again. Running around. Youthful. It was wonderful. For this reason alone, I will always be thankful for him. It was not meant forever. Slowly she was losing ability to walk. On Friday when I went to visit she had gone from 3 working legs to 2. She could barely hold her head up. Mom told me she'd been whimpering the last few days and wouldn't come in from outside. We knew it was time.

We got a vet appointment and took her in sobbing all the way through. In the waiting room my mom talked to the front desk as I made hazy eye contact with the cataract filled eyes of my once playful pup. She gave me one last kiss.I held on to my sweet puppy as the vet gave her something to put her to sleep. She said after she fell asleep we could leave her there and they'd finish the job. I told her we needed to be the through it all. Morgan slowly faded to dream land in my arms, my brother Dan petting her head, and my mom crying at the door. The vet put in the fatal needle as I wanted to scream I changed my mind and wanted to keep her around. I didn't though. I knew that would be selfish. I knew Morgan needed to move on.

After she had past we put her on the table. Staring at her lifeless body, tears running down my face I was glad I didn't wait til this site awaited me at home. Her death involved her favorite person holding her and her other favorite petting her and staring into her eyes, both of us repeating over and over "Good girl. We love you so much." It's the kind of death I want to have when I'm 105 (which is what she was in dog years). I'm so lucky I haven't lived with her these last 3 years. When I come home to work I'm still greeted by 3 kitties, one of who is laying on me as I type this. I can still pretend Morgan is happily playing at my folks house. I'm sure she is in Doggie Heaven. And when I go, I know I'll see her again.

I made a promise to her on her death bed to never love another dog as much as I loved her. That's a promise I feel confident that I can keep.

Check me out, posting on events outside of my own life

Yesterday should have probably been one of those key moments in my life that my grandkids ask me about for their school reports. Osama Bin Laden has been killed. This mastermind behind the tragic 9/11 attacks. Much like the 9/11 attacks, I feel kind of numb to the whole situation. I know I'm supposed to be feeling things, I'm just not quite feeling them. Yes he was a bad guy who hated this country that I love so very very much, but I just don't feel right rejoicing in his assassination. Maybe it's because I'm opposed to the death penalty. I don't think anyone has the right to decide if someone should live or die, even if they made that decision on someone else already. Maybe it's because 9/11 didn't really affect me. I didn't know anyone who was lost on the flights or in New York. It's sad I know, and I can't imagine the pain their loved ones went through. I felt so removed from it. A fact that I have to hide from most people lest I look like a cruel emotionless bitch. I'm worried my lack of "America, Fuck yeah!" attitude at the death of a man who's been in hiding for over 10 years will also need to be hidden from the world. Which is why it's safe here on my blog... where no one will ever see it.

Update: This quote which I just discovered sums it up nicely:
"I will mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that."
-Unknown (some say it's MLK, some say it's a fake. Either way captures what I'm feeling.)