What Have You Learned This Year?

And just in time for Mother's Day . . .

Visit my Mother's Web AudreyFrankAuthor

My mother posted the following on her blog today. She is an author and a role model and taught us we could do anything at any age. Health issues have slowed her down this year - but not so much with her writing, as she has a new novella on Amazon. But it has slowed her down to getting out of the house and being active to do the things she likes.

As I approach my eighty-seventh birthday, I find myself asking have I learned anything this past year? Yes, I have – patience. Patience to endure pain and not feel sorry for myself. Humility and gratitude for the friends who have had the guts to stick by me even when I knew they didn't want to listen to another gripe. My best friend, Claire, (my adopted sister) should get a medal for bravery in the face of turmoil. I have also reached that point in my life when I realize: who matters, who never did. I have stopped worrying about people from my past. There's a reason they aren't in my future. I can never be the person I was, but I can make the effort to be the best I am at this point in my life. Thanks to my daughters Barbara and Pam. They are the joy of my life. Thank you. Lord, for carrying me through the worst of times. If I'm lucky, I'll still be around to celebrate next year.

I kid her we are living in parallel universes. My health has slowed me down this year, I am getting ready to launch a picture book this weekend, and I have hip replacement surgery scheduled for next week. I am out of sync with my normal life, too. It is so hard to walk. Everyone tells me surgery will make me a new person again. I hope so.

We are both learning patience, although, me not so much!

Last week I chatted with a realtor to let her know I want to sell my house as soon as I have had time to get on my feet after surgery and physical therapy. It is not a listing -just a heads up my house could be for sale. For some reason knowing I have put those vibes out to the universe makes it easier for me to relax and do what I have to do the next weeks. If it is meant to be, well, so be it. Someone knows I can be had - well, my house can be had! I am working on what needs to be done the week before surgery; letting the universe know I am ready to sell my house and finding the right flattering attire for physical therapy. I don't own sweat pants or T-shirts for working out. I found the cutest leggings (large size so I can slip in and out without trouble) and tops at Marshalls this weekend so I can be the PT fashionista. As I laughed with a friend. I am not vain. I don't think I look that great - but I know how bad I can look, and prefer not to share that with the world. In pain in pink sounds easier to deal with, too.

My Chinese fortune cookie the first of the year told me all I needed to know. My dreams will come true by the end of this year!

But what is that dream, exactly. I am fickle and it changes with regularity. Right now, as I sit and visualize the days ahead, I see a charming farmhouse, an hour outside of Atlanta, on an acre or two of land (just like the farmhouse in my novel, Danger In Her Words).  A house that will work for me and with me. A writing center with classes, book club meetings, rooms and a cottage to rent to writers who want a picturesque retreat at a nominal fee for their writing getaway. Rooms for friends to visit. A place my mom can move too when she is ready to leave St. Augustine.  A safe haven for my six dogs. It is something I can do, not outside the realm of possibilities, even though my few pain meds let me see this dream in Technicolor!

We all have dreams. Miss April in Paris, one of my dogs from a local shelter, dreams of visiting Paris, the city that shares her name. Her diary, A Dog Dreams of Paris, will be available on Amazon later this month. It is a charming picture book designed by PD King Design. Not a children's picture book, but a book for those who dream at any age.

I hope you will check out my mother's website and books. She writes romantic novellas about people that could be your neighbors! Unlike me, the writer with dogs!

The years pass so quickly. Some we have control of, some control us. I think my mother hit it in her post. I can make the effort to be the best I can at this point in my life. As always, she is an inspiration to me to be my best, no matter what, to be thankful for what I have, and, because of her encouragement over all these years, to dream big.

Everyday is an opportunity to learn something new. What have you learned this year? I love to share stories on how we grow!

Rambling as I like to do, I come back to how I started this most - in time for Mother's Day . . . Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Love you.

 

Silence

In the silence I rediscover who I am.

 

 

There is something so cathartic sitting in silence in the early morning hours. My dogs are fed, they've run the yard, and I am at my computer listening to birds chirping, the soft breathing of the hounds, and the whir of the ceiling fan over my head. It is hypnotic.

 

I look out the window and my yard spans as far as I can see. It is not that my yard is so big - it is just that the right of way to the creek gives me privacy. Space to dream.

 

Yesterday the lawn ladies came and trimmed all my overgrown bushes, getting rid of that pesky privet shrubs that grew four feet high and invaded every space that once held cottage flowers. The only bushes that are still tall and proud, my rose bush that drapes and crawls over a pink iron cart in the back bed, and butterfly bushes in the side bed that look like they came out of a maze from Alice in Wonderland. I can see straight across the yard to the farm fence. It was hysterical to watch the dogs' reactions when they ran out yesterday afternoon and sniffed every open space. I can keep track of where the dogs are better now. The yard is fenced, but two dogs, Bertha Barth and Miss Chloe, like to try to dig under the edges of everything. Sadly for those two,  I can catch them in the act. Their antics exposed before they get too far.

 

This morning, my kitchen door is open and there is the faintest hint of fresh air coming through the door and circling out the sunroom window. Time stands still in a world that is way too active. I used to crave company in the morning, wanting to talk to someone, to hear a human voice, to have sound where I sat quietly thinking about how my life used to be. I realize now there is sound everywhere if you listen.  A melody that sings without any voice that needs to be answered.

 

I've worried the past year that the universe has stopped giving me signs. If you know me, you know I follow those signs as though they were a road map. I think my head was too full of what I thought I needed to do, that inner chatter that confused me, rather than show me my path. I love the quote above. It is not mine, but I find it to be so true.

 

In the silence I rediscover who I am.

 

I am due to have hip replacement surgery in May. I have postponed it for months my fear of surgery overwhelming me and the lack of signs from above (yes, my universe includes the man above!) as to what to do and when. The silence of the last few months has finally given me my answers. May. That month that everything seems to happen - love, marriage, death, rebirth, all in May over the years. Now surgery. It will be the rebirth of my getting control of my life again. The silence giving me strength. The universe bringing new friends, a great pet sitter, a diet plan and exercise.  I am learning more about myself as I sit quietly and take deep breaths. Life doesn't always have to be full speed ahead to bring you what you want. This health interim has shown me that I need to slow down to move forward. I needed to clear my head of the image I had of myself that is so out of date. I love that at any moment life can give us an epiphany to help us find our true selves.

 

My heart was sad over the holidays because my life seemed so isolated with my hip and knee issues. Now I have to smile. It was a time of growth, to look inward, to take that silence and rediscover what matters most. I've cleared my demons and the universe has room again to guide me.

 

 

 

 

Remembering Christmas Past

Old white cupboards, hand-crafted primitive signs, and Christmas socks. Fa la la la la....(Photo from Pinterest)

I am feeling very nostalgic this week thinking about Christmas. Slow to put up my decorations, I have spent too much time on Pinterest looking at holiday photos. I pin my favorites to my Christmas board and am amazed to discover that while my life has had many changes, my idea of what a Christmas house should look like, has remained the same. Pinterest has reminded me of this, where in years past, collecting photos I loved out of decorating magazines showed me what I loved.

The magazine photos (from Country Living, Country Home, Victoria, my choices years ago of favorite magazines, before so many new ones hit the market) and my Pinterest board tell me I still dream of a story-book Christmas, filled with children's toys, antique books, garden items, and Charlie Brown trees.

As a former antique dealer (I've removed that title 'antique dealer' from my list of accomplishments, labeling it 'former', but still put in bold letters - COLLECTOR RUN AMUCK.) I loved setting up for the Christmas extravaganza at the old Lakewood Antique Show at the fairgrounds south of downtown Atlanta. That show was the best and I was at my best during the few years I was a dealer there. My husband was still alive, my friends set up with me, I sold like crazy on Ebay so I could buy like crazy at the show. Selling was never the point of doing the show (this is why I wonder how I ever called myself an antique dealer in the first place) - the friendships and opportunity to spend Wednesday (my set-up day) to Sunday (when I skipped out early to avoid the rush at closing) in an environment I loved surrounded by every delight imaginable from old painted furniture, art, quilts, old toys, vintage garden items, antique books - and a food court, with its individual food trucks, preparing junk food at its finest, highlighted the reason for doing the show. In summer you could melt from the heat, in winter you could freeze your butt off. It didn't matter, it was the best of times. I wrote about Lakewood in The Unfaithful Widow. The transition from federal employee to antique dealer, sitting in the stinking hot summer air, listening to The Pina Colada Song on my cheap radio, was heaven to me.

The show I remember most, where I wanted to take my small booth home with me, was the last Christmas extravaganza before Lakewood closed its doors. I had searched for months, storing away my treasures, falling in love with my merchandize, until that Wednesday I loaded my van and my husband's van, and our tiny caravan to the Fairgrounds began.

The antique chipped red paint twin size iron bed was the main attraction. God, I loved that bed and wanted to keep it, but there was no room at the inn. Piled high with quilts it looked ready for a cold winters night. Three tall Christmas trees (purchased at Kroger, of all places) with metal bases, tall trunks leading up to funky green branches filled with white twinkling lights, sat on top of a green painted book shelf. Pitiful trees that defined a Charlie Brown tree to perfection. An 1800's Cottage Dresser, brown, with gold leaf scrolls and tiny roses on all the drawers, sat next to my red iron bed. The booth was filled with all my favorites - old painted chests, a rocking horse some Dad had made for his children, folk art angels, and shiny brite ornaments, some still in their vintage boxes.

My house took on the same feel at Christmas as it did when I was in the thick of being an antique dealer who didn't sell but played a good game of it.  You would think over the years my style would change, evolve, but it hasn't. I still love all the things I've always loved. Sometimes, something new catches my attention and I work it in, like old tinsel trees and vintage-style white trees. But the basis of my Christmas decorating still revolves around the magic of childhood.

I've dilly-dallied enough.  Today I will pull out my treasures and start to decorate. Check back for photo updates this week. In the meantime, enjoy the photos from Pinterest!

 

I have a collection of angels just like these! (Photo Pinterest)

 

 

 

 

Old shiny brites displayed on my favorite shade of blue primitive chair. I'll take that one please. (Photo Pinterest)

 

 

 

A simple table-top tree in an antique German base. (Photo Pinterest)

 

 

 

Antique toys make the very best decorations. (Photo Pinterest)

 

 

 

My love of all things garden related is evident every season! (Photo Pinterest)

A Happy Thanksgiving

Macy's Parade, 1967

Ok - I am the first to admit it. It is hard for me to get away from dogs. So for this Thanksgiving post it seemed so appropriate to share a photo found on the web of the Macy's parade, 1967. The six-pack of hounds here support my use of this vintage image. And who doesn't love Snoopy!

It is early yet, and I am at my computer as always. Sun is peeking through the overcast sky. It is a dice roll, the weather today. It will be sunny in my heart, no matter what.

The dogs have become simply impossible in the morning. I have no clue what has caused them to be so active at 7am. They are like children who have eaten too much sugar. Miss April in Paris jumps off the bed, all sixty pounds of her, racing up and down the hallway, barking, non-stop. Her call to action rallies the other five, who hit the floor, running to the kitchen, waiting for kibble. I drag myself out and putter down the hallway, let them out via the kitchen door, into the yard. I make a cup of instant coffee (yes, sometimes I am the laziest gal in town) and get their bowls ready. As soon as they eat, they crash. They are back to sleep and I am wide-eyed awake. It is a good time to write.

What am I thankful for this year? Everything. I started out the year thinking I needed a huge change in my surroundings. The change I needed was inside me. A reflective year, as I've written about before today on this blog. Health issues, some cash-flow issues, and the desire to be in a different house, in a different state, so far from all that is familiar here. Part of that draw to move, was to be closer to my family. The other part, I had no clue what to do now, six years a widow, in my quiet world. I pushed so hard to find a new life, I didn't know how to relax.

I'd forgotten how lucky I was with my friends here and my family's love only a phone call away. In six years on my own I had found myself. How did I not remember that? Maybe I needed a bit of a shake-up, and this hip of mine, which has slowed me down, allowed me to just be.

Yes, my hip grinding as I walk (and the doctor telling me there is a hip replacement in my future - which I am ignoring for now) has kept me from participating in things that require me to be on my feet for hours at a time. When I hurt, I lay down and relax. Relaxing has given me the time to think. And thinking has made me grateful for all the goodness around me It has cleared my mind to forge a new path, one right where I am for the time being. That does not mean I might not shake-it up later, but for now, I am where I need to be.

I may be slow with my walking, but it hasn't slowed me down for other things I love - like writing, sleeping with dogs, dinner with friends, too much time on the computer, which is like an extension of my body. I have a new project that will launch on Tuesday.

A Cup Of Christmas, an e-book with thirty other writers, is a dream come true. In six weeks it pulled together. Once again, my heart was thankful for the trust these authors have I can actually do this and the spirit in which they participated - they were paid nothing for their time and all proceeds go to First Book, a children's literacy charity. Writers giving back.  I've met these folks - some in person, some on Facebook, all linked together in the world of books, in the last six years as I started to write and find myself. I almost missed that I have a writing community of friends that are part of my new world, as I worried I was more alone this year than ever. Silly me.

And something new in the last month, I am going to church. There is a Methodist church on the corner that I've wanted to visit for thirty years. I finally told myself it was time. The sermons are short ( as is my attention span) and relevant to today's world. The pastor is charming and young, breathing life into the church this last year, and into me this last month.  I found a writing group that meets there. On my first Sunday visit, the bulletin announced  they meet there once a week. All of this two minutes from my house. Perfect for the gal who can't get anywhere on time. I can scoot out of my house at the very last minute and find my seat before the service begins.

I look back on this year and wonder what is it that made me so restless. I have wonderful friends, some that go back with me thirty plus years, some new that seem like old souls that connected years ago. I've dwelled on the fact I live by myself, no children, no family in town, dissecting that issue in my writing.  I have my six dogs that are my family here. They ground me on days I feel I may explode into the universe with stress and loneliness.  On days when the world is right, I sit on my couch and look at the six-pack surrounding me, and know I have created this life, different from what I had when married, but one that matches my needs. How did I almost forget that?

Family, friends, community, a passion to connect to others, my writing, a house that holds all my memories of a life well-lived, and a life that continues to grow. That is what I am thankful for today.

Yes, the dogs are glaring at me. I forgot to include them in the statement above. I am so happy to have my six-pack.  They are a group of hooligans, but they bring life to a house that could be too quiet. They remind me a broken spirit can be healed with love. They teach me that the simple things are what count. They teach me to enjoy the moment. They make me laugh out loud and be silly. They remind me, that eating lots of food is a good thing! And I will chow down with friends later today!

Wishing all a wonderful Thanksgiving! May you be as happy as a pup with its head out the car window, inhaling all that life has to offer.



 

October Musings On Life, Change, And Shop Vacs

Listen! the wind is rising,
and the air is wild with leaves.
We have had our summer evenings,
now for October eves.
~Humbert Wolfe, P.L.M.: Peoples, Landfalls, Mountains, 1936

 

 Last Saturday was my first October eve of the new season where I sat outside wrapped in a fleece jacket watching the flames of a small bonfire spark into the night sky. The moment was shared with friends, some old, some new, in celebration of a dear friend’s housewarming. The warmth I felt went deeper than the heat from the fire and the pleasure of being in the company of others. For a gal who lives alone with six dogs, being surrounded by humans is a treat all to itself, but tonight the crisp air filled me with so much more.

 

Writing this today I searched for the right word . . . and found it. Anticipation. Fall brings with it the promise of what lies ahead for the remainder of the year. It renews my spirit. It brings thoughts of family to me, where I am by myself most of the time, with the exception of a pack of hounds. I am lucky to have wonderful friends – but my house lacks the closeness of family. Who knew at age sixty-six I would miss the fact there are no children, no grandchildren, although I surely knew I would miss my husband when he died six years ago. The children thing took me by complete surprise.

 

Those who know me know I am really not a ‘kid’ person. I’ve never been around babies. I love children’s books, antique toys, but I’ve never been in the company of little people for more than a quick visit. My mother had to correct me many years ago when I was trying to get the attention of a small child.

 

 “You are calling to that little girl like she is a puppy.” My mother shook her head and laughed at me.

 

The good news, it worked. The little girl came over to me. I tried not to pat her on the head.

 

 It is not that I don’t like children. Please don’t think of me as Scrooge! It is just that my life-style took me in other directions, and my old friends were of no darn help either.

 

They didn’t have babies. My best friends had older children, teens and above. I have a wonderful nephew, but I missed his toddler years. Now that he and his wife have two wonderful babies, I would practice on them, but they are hours away.

 

 My ‘new’ friends as I like to call the people who are in my life in recent years, all have grown children and grandkids. Married, widowed, single, most have the comfort of family nearby to hold close. They talk about their grandchildren and I talk about my dogs. Would I change how I lived my life to have children now? I know the answer is no. I loved my life then and I love it now. I just have more questions than answers, and I am searching for what’s next.

 

This year has been an odd one for me. I talk about it, write about it, and try to analyze what is different than the previous years. It is the topic of conversation over dinner and margaritas. My friends are patient, thank goodness for that. I bore myself with my questions at times.

 

What happened this year that has brought on the winter of discontent? I had surgery in February. Is that the root of my mood swings? My joints hate me and I am not moving with the freedom I did at the first of this year. I’ve never given in to feeling badly. Why now?

 

Spring and summer found me pulling away from things I loved to do. “It is time to figure out what stays and what goes in my life.” That was my mantra this year. Devote more time to writing. Close out my antique business. And then the most challenging question of all. Should I sell my house and move closer to my family? I’ve lived in the metro Atlanta area since the late seventies. How shocking would it be to leave? How exciting would it be to reinvent myself in a small town close to the St. Johns River where I could see my mother, where my sister and her husband could visit, where my nephew and his family could stop by on their way to Jacksonville.

 

 

I thought the universe had sent a sign it was time to move. There was water on my basement floor last month, after a heavy rain, after a year of my new French drain keeping the water out. But there it was, a small puddle on grey cement, right under my antique wicker sofa. The universe said, clearly and damply, move. It was even more clear to me when the floor was dry after the next rain, and the next. 

 

 

"The universe peed on my basement floor, " I said in language my dogs could understand. "It's time for us to move." I kept that knowledge of the peeing universe to myself and only now am sharing it with you.

 

 

I put my house up for sale the next week. Confident it would be whisked away by an investor. And within two days, an offer I couldn't refuse came in from an investor, who then went on to another house with another offer. My clear vision of moving to a pink Victorian cottage in Florida shifted to my making peace with my house in Decatur. Now I wonder what the universe really wanted to say to me and did I misread my sign?

 

 Friends tell me to relax. Time will sort it out. For a person who doesn’t give time a chance to do anything, I am the one in charge, this is a shock to my system. Perhaps that is the biggest lesson of all for me. I can’t control the real estate market and if moving is truly in my future, I'd better hunker down and deal with it.

 

I woke up this morning, the window in my bedroom open, allowing cool air to surround me, the dogs cuddled up next to me, sharing their warmth, as I had my quilt pulled up close around my neck, partially to keep warm, and partially to keep a dog’s tongue out of my face, and felt energized.

 

It’s October. It’s fall. Anything is possible. Maybe I needed some down time to sort things out. I always jump into things without much thought, allowing the universe to guide me. The universe has been hiding from me too, or maybe the message was relax, it’s not time yet, and I missed that clue, because I am not a patient person. Maybe water on a basement floor is just that, a small leak with no real life changing message. Although I seriously doubt that.  When I find out what it was, you'll be the second to know.

 

 Everything is the same. Everything is different. Sometimes I am a free spirit, sometimes I am plagued with doubts. This year has given me more questions than answers. I am lucky I can take time to pull back and think. It is good if it doesn’t last too long. It is a luxury of living alone, I can dwell on my thoughts without interruption, it is also a curse, not having to answer to anyone.

 

 

The universe that speaks to me, for those who question my sanity, can be described also as faith, the man above, a gut feeling. I roll it into two words, the universe, but faith is my driving force.

 

Fall reminds me that the seasons change and that no matter what I am worrying about, life is full of color and beauty. I am blessed in so many ways.  I never forget that. But sometimes you have to stop and take a step back, in order to move forward. This year has been my step back. I can't wait to spring forward.

 

Maybe the universe will speak to me again on my basement floor. Just in case this conversation is not over,  I went to Home Depot and bought a small 2.5 gallon wet dry vac.  Be prepared for emergencies. At least that is one lesson I've learned from the incident of the water on my basement floor!

 

 

From GoodReads: Barbara Barth's Blog: Dogs, Books, Antiques, Roses - Oh My

I've added a blog to my GoodReads page. Dogs, Books, Antiques, Roses - Oh My.
My first post was added this evening. Just silly ramblings, but that is what I love to do best! Click above and come join me!

From my GoodReads blog:

My dogs are behaving badly this week. I think they are reacting to how preoccupied I've been. Two events are taking place that have me either writing or scratching. I think the scratching is what has the dogs puzzled most. They are used to me sitting for hours at the computer. They are not used to seeing me wiggle about, scratch, and yelp.

1. My blog tour for "Danger In Her Words" with WOW! Women On Writing started May 5th. I've been writing posts for the blog tour and doing a bit of media blitz. So my concentration is focused more than usual. It is amazing how the dogs sit and watch to see when/if I will get up to go to the kitchen and bring them bones. If I move in my chair, six heads jerk up, look around, then sigh and go back to home base. With all the itching going on, I am shuffling more than normal in my chair, which doubly confuses the hounds.

2. I've been working in the garden, planting roses, digging in the dirt. I pulled a few long, three leaf vines off a tall pine tree too. I was quite proud of myself. Until three days later I started to break out on my arms. Poison Ivy. It didn't spread far, but it has a terrible slow burn. The meds make me irritable and a little on edge. The dogs noticed that too. I think I heard little Chloe whisper behind my back to the others . . . perhaps she has fleas.

Seriously, I like to kid about life! My dogs are my best friends. Rescue dogs who rescued me! I'll bet you have dog stories of your own.

It is a great week in spite of the scratching. I am excited about my tour. Women On Writing is the best site to learn and grow. My David Austin rose, planted over a decade ago, is finally blooming its lush delicate pink blossoms, and I'm still planting knock-out roses by my picket-fence. This time cautious about what evil lurks close-by.

My fantasy life is coming true! Dogs, roses, writing, antiques, art, and the best of friends. I am blessed.

Book Talk With Barbara Barth is a blog where I post about other authors dreams, books, and fantasies. Would love to have you join me there.

Write me!

Driving Miss Bertha

Bertha Look-A-Like from the web.

 

 

What no dog bones? Six long faces stared at me last night. Midnight to be exact. And the six faces belonged to the six-pack.  I forgot one of the house rules . . . never, ever, ever, forget dog bones. We ran out. I didn't have a back-up plan. If I'd been a perfect dog mom, well, I'd have gotten in the car and driven to the 24-hour Kroger, but I was fat and sassy, having eaten out earlier in the evening with my boomer girl-friends at a Greek Pizza place. My tummy was full. I didn't need any more treats myself. It wasn't as if the dogs hadn't eaten supper. They did not have treats for bed.

 

If this was a children's story, I'd toss the keys to Bertha and send her out shopping with my debit card. But this is real life, so I did my best. I reached in the huge bag of kibble and pulled out a heaping handful of Iams mini-chunks, and, cleverly disguised as treats, handed a tiny little morsel to each dog as they stood there trying to see what I was dishing out.

 

Chloe was excited. Her tiny mouth was just the right size to make a mini-chunk seem maxi. Rascal, her roly-poly self, wiggled until I thought she would pop from excitement. I plopped a mini chunk in her mouth and she had no idea she'd gotten anything. She swallowed it as it hit her big pink tongue. She stared me down, one blue eye and one brown eye looking at me in disbelief. Bray, barked, and pranced about, his black hair flowing out as he raced up to me and then slipped backwards, not sure what he was staring at between my fingers. Being the skittish one, he wasn't sure if that morsel was friend or foe, or there at all. Perhaps I was trying to trick him. I could see he was worried. Being of good spirit, I offered him two mini-chunks, and his tiny pinkish black tongue darted out and grabbed them, so quickly, but gently. Then he turned and dashed out of the room. Miss April In Paris was game for anything. She grabbed her mini-chunk with gusto and ran into the sunroom with the tiny treasure wedged between her teeth. Annabelle, her lazy old self, was already asleep in the bed and had no idea she was being short-boned.

 

Bertha was not to be so easily convinced. She lives for bones. She behaves for bones. She expects bones at night when she is crated. She is the only dog that sleeps in a crate by the bed, the other dogs sleep with me. Bertha has a bit of a history . . . and at night she is best in her bed in her crate. She doesn't mind at all . . . because there are bones to reward her for being the odd dog out of the nest. There were no rewards tonight. Bertha went to her crate and curled up, one eye looking suspiciously at me, the one who forgot the bones. I tossed her twelve mini-chunks, which she picked at with her huge mouth until, one by one, she found them, and delicately ate them. It is amazing to watch her wide mouth so tenderly nuzzle a mini-chunk. She could lop off an arm with that over-sized jaw. She flung one last glance at me and turned her back to go to sleep.

 

I was exhausted worrying that I'd failed the dogs. They were happy to be in my bed and the bone incident was long forgotten. I could hear them snoring as I tip-toed down the hallway. Suddenly I was hungry. Starved in fact. It had been five hours since dinner, perhaps I should get a snack.

 

What goes around, comes around. I opened the fridge and stared at its well lit empty shelves. I pulled open the cupboards and all that greeted me was a can of tomato sauce, an odd assortment of spices, and several boxes of Barilla pasta.

 

No chips, no dip, no salsa . . .  oh yes, and no dog bones.

 

That was last night. Today I've been writing all day at my computer, getting ready for my blog tour with Women On Writing (WOW) that starts on Monday. I haven't left the house and it's almost seven pm.

 

Excuse me. I must run. . . Kroger is calling and I'm heading to get groceries. There will not be a repeat performance of last night. And since I am the only one with a license . . . just saying . . .