Joe

We have a five year old Newfoundland, named by my husband for his father, Joe. Joe was a Christmas gift to Adrian. Lord Byron said of one of this magnificent breed that he was "beauty without vanity, strength without ferocity, and all the virtues of man without his vices." Not a bad tribute, was it, for dog or man (or for that matter, woman)? After five years with Joe, I must agree. Joe is an exceptional dog.

Joe is as strong as some teenagers. At nearly 150 lbs, he is big and powerful. He has no idea. He lets himself be bullied by our two quite diminuitive cocker spaniels. They can curl their lips, emit the lowest possible, barely audible snarl, or even just look at him in a certain way, and Joe cowers. I really don't know how these two small canines have managed to so buffalo Joe. Confronted with their hardly ferocious growls, Joe will easily leave a rib eye steak. Countless rain and even a couple of snowstorms have found the hulking Joe searching for shelter while the cockers claimed the comfort of the straw strewn dog houses and dared Joe to intervene.

One of the very few moments of aggression we have ever seen from Joe toward these spaniels inexplicably happened once after the smaller dogs were groomed. With fresh shampoos and haircuts and coordinating bandanas tied smartly around their sweet smelling necks....well, it was all just too much for Joe. He promptly stripped both coiffed cockers of their bandanas and ripped the triangularly tempting neckties to shreds. I guess for each of us, there is that last straw, that some little something that is just too much for one person (or dog) to take, that something that sends one right over the edge. And how often is it the little thing? After our gentle giant gladly yielded food, treats, and shelter to his, pardon me but, wimpy brethren, unbelievably, it was the bandanas that sent Joe over. Is there a bandana in your future? Mine happened today!

"G" rowing Up

Recently when trying to "search up" as my daughter says, Blogspot, I must have brushed over the computer keys a little too lightly. You've done it, right? I was quite surprised to find that what I had actually searched was the shorter and quite different g spot. Oh my, with Drew looking over my shoulder, I braced myself for the sure to come and completely unavoidable onslought of a ten year old's questions to which I have become so accustomed recently. Our conversations and legendary Q&A sessions in the past six months have covered everything from, "Mommy, did you learn about that swamp thing in SC history?" to "What does it mean when someone says 'screw you?'" In the case of the former I did manage to answer that he may have been referring to the "Swamp Fox," not Swamp Thing, possibly an unintentional morphing of a sci fi movie with today's history lesson. But, in the case of the latter, I simply found myself considering the downside of public school education. With so many kids of so many backgrounds from homes of so many and such varied levels of parental involvement and example, my little boy is growing up much faster than I wanted or intended, even in a school I consider a great one.

Drew's unending questions and endless curiosity do lead me to believe he is very bright. I have told the story of sitting down for Thanksgiving Brunch at the quite elegant Ballantyne Resort with my sister's family and my own. As we placed our drink order, Drew repeatedly interrrupted the process, with his nonstop, "Mommy....But Mommy.....Mommy, I need to ask you something.....Mommy, it's important!" Finally turning to my son to glean the source of his impertinent impatience, I found that Drew's urgent question was, "Mommy, don't you think these napkins are folded to look like the Sydney Opera House?" With deep shame, I admitted that I had absolutely no idea what the Sydney Opera House looked like or whether it resembled this carefully, fancily folded napkin. So, for this highly expectant, possibly high brow offspring of mine, what was going to be my answer to the inevitable question, "Mommy, what is a g spot?" I racked my brain for suitable g words....giraffe... girls (no, steering clear of that altogether)....gorilla....I seemed to be looking to the animal kingdom for my rescue.

Just as I decide on gorilla, here it came, "Mommy." "Yes, Drew," I answered, now armed and ready. "Mommy, where is the Gatorade?" Gatorade. Now why didn't I think of that one?

Lessons

Birthdays are often a time of reflection. I borrowed my daughter's birthday to garner a few life lessons. First, have you heard of Daniel Kirkley? If not, you will. He is a rising star in Nashville, his genre (yes, I watch American Idol) Christian Rock. Last night I learned he is already a star. In town for a brief visit, Daniel took two hours out of his week-end to make a surprise appearance at my daughter's 13th birthday party. In a word......WOW! Daniel's soulful lyrics and his amazing talent on the piano, even on my out of tune piano with sticking pedals, filled my home with song. This handsome young singer's startling good looks and his remarkable voice are only part of who Daniel Kirkley is. There is a warmth you cannot miss, a peace and joy and a finding of one's self that radiates from him as well as from his music. Daniel didn't really know any of our guests, but he pulled up a chair and instantly connected as if we were all the very best of friends. His totally disarming smile and engaging charm and wit drew us all in. I know both his mother and father. I don't know why his exceptional, quite undeniable charisma surprised me. Everyone present here last night knows beyond doubt, they were part of something special, one of those undeniable moments in time. We were in the presence of a star. I wish for my daughter that she remember this evening, this moment in time, and the magic Daniel Kirkley brought into a young girl's 13th birthday party. I know I will.

Buy the cd, "Where Healing Starts."

I learned that all the men in my family look great in pink. Not only pink but pink feathers. Who knew? The birthday girl's hat resplendent with, of course, hot pink feathers was modeled by every guy in the house, with the possible exception of the aforementioned Daniel Kirkley. And, they all looked great. Kind of scary, but they all looked comfortable. I repeat, who knew?

I learned that it is impossible to completely surprise an inquisitive, yes even nosy middle school girl. I don't know why I even tried. I don't know exactly when she knew, but at some point this child knew something was up. She may not have known precisely what or precisely when or precisely who, but she knew something. A woman's instincts and intuition......she will go far.

Finally, I learned that when it comes right down to it, these fledgling teen-age girls are still simply little girls at heart. They had the most fun squeezing helium out of the balloons and modeling their "Mickey Mouse" voices, or as they called them, their "Fred" voices. They giggled like three instead of thirteen year olds. They rubbed cake icing on each other's faces. They played "x box." Will we keep these girls "little girls" one more year? I surely hope so. Maybe by then someone will tell me who Fred is. That's for another lesson.

Springing Forward

As April approaches, with the winds and the pollen and the blooms comes one of my favorite traditions.....The Metrolina Expo. Each April and November my sister or sisters, depending on who of us three is available and has a little mad money to spend, make the trek to Exit 16, Sunset Avenue, just north of Charlotte. With my passions for furniture and furnishings and my love for the quirky, the slightly off magnetic north, Metrolina is the perfect place for me. Several of my most beloved pieces of furniture were sought out and found at Metrolina. The vast expanse of treasures and the lure of the hunt draw me there twice a year, every year. The vendor stories draw me in...are they true...does it matter? Why buy a new armoire when you can find an armoire that once held Marie Antoinette's nightie and arrived in Statesville via a fifth cousin's second wife's estranged daughter, twice removed. The joy is in the history, don't you think?

Some of my past found treasures include antique silver napkin rings with names or initials of personal significance engraved. Who might have thought that I would find a truly old ring engraved with "Doc," an apt tribute to my father, the ultimate general practitioner of medicine or one scripted with "Joe," my husband's late father and currently my 150 lb Newfoundland. And how many hours did we spend searching for these items that we didn't even know we wanted or needed? No matter, the thrill truly is in the hunt.

I love my French armoire, my linen press, the several chests of drawers, my Oriental coffee table, the botanical prints, jewelry and charms, and the list goes on of my favorite Metrolina treasures. But, what I love most, no doubt, is the time I have spent there with my precious sisters, sharing an apple dumpling and/or (usually 'and') Eastern NC barbeque. The mini doughnuts and funnel cake are perfect side items to the great conversations, the catching up with the two women I admire most. I feel the anticipation as I pull through the gates....not excitement for furniture finds, but an opportunity to share a hug, a laugh, a secret, maybe a tear with sisters.

The Expo is really just an excuse. Check it out with someone you cherish!

My stunningly beautiful twelve year old daughter has alopecia areata. There, I've said it. For the longest, I couldn't bring myself to do so. Her alopecia has now progressed to the point that I believe it is or soon will be alopecia totalis. Her hair is gone. Her brows are thinning. She has little or no arm and leg hair.


But what this twelve year old has is confidence and courage. She has a quick sense of humor and wonderful warmth. She never complains; she never has asked, "Why me?" The only moment of question and/or fear that I can remember in this now two year journey was when she asked, "Mommy, how do you know what I have is alopecia and not cancer?" Once assured that cancer didn't cause hair loss, rather the treatment of cancer could, she has rarely stumbled.


She doesn't cry, though I have. She doesn't worry, though I rarely stop. She does most if not all the things she wants to do. I pushed her to try out for cheerleader this year until I stopped to realize that the requisite tumbling and cartwheels could cause her to lose her wig. That's just it. My daughter has handled this so well that I forget she is dealing with it at all. Her stylist once said, "This girl's wigs have fun!" Indeed, they have frolicked in the surf at Garden City Beach. They have visited Atlantis on Paradise Island in the Bahamas. They have played in the slides of the Great Wolf Lodge. They have occasionally fallen off.


She loves Justin Bieber. She likes "The Situation." She loves her cat. She loves her dad. She adores her mom. She loves her niece and nephew. She loves her ipod. She has one of the best laughs I have ever heard. She reaches out to those of disability. She's like so many pre-teens. She is bald.


I thank God that her illness is not life threatening. At the same time, the impact of an alopecia diagnosis for a pre-teenage girl in her and our world is not minor. She holds her head high. She lives her life. She is learning and teaching resiliency. She is learning and teaching to overcome.


What a true lesson in strength this child has taught me. What a powerful person is nestled inside this daughter of mine, just waiting to become all she can be. I can't wait to see.