Fresh New Year

Finally, a year that I can look back on and say, "Hey, that wasn't so bad."  In fact, compared with previous years, 2013 could almost be called stellar. 

Because for the first time since 2009, I didn't lose any loved ones, be they two legged or four. No deaths, diseases, or disasters. Biopsies came back negative, paychecks arrived every two weeks, and I found myself smiling a genuine smile again--inside and out. 

Nice. 

Here's hoping 2014 is just as uneventful. I no longer care about losing weight, winning the lottery, or finding Mr. Right. Exercise keeps me fit, I make enough money to keep a roof over my head, and if I need someone to gaze upon me with adoring eyes, I've got my lovely little tiger, Olivia. 

May you be just as blessed. Happy New Year!

Greetings from Santa Paws

"With a dog in your life, Christmas is going to be that much better."
                       ~Author unknown

Wishing a very Merry Christmas to all my friends, be they two-legged or four.

Love, Eileen and Olivia the Greyhound 

Are You Gladys' Daughter?

So there I was at Macy's yesterday, shopping for my "Secret Santa" office gift exchange, when a sales clerk approached me. 

"Excuse me," she said. "Are you Gladys' daughter?"

I glanced at her name tag and instantly recognized the name. Prior to my mom's death in 2009, she had been a sales clerk at Macy's, a job she continued long after she was ready to retire, partly -- I suspected--because she and her colleagues had too much fun on the job. She talked about her friends often, especially Rahima, the woman before me.

I had never met Rahima, but she must have recognized me from my occasional store visits. She told me how much she missed my mother and the good times they shared. She asked, "Gladys had a dog named Sabrina, right?" 

I wondered why she would remember such a minor detail, but confirmed that yes, my mom's German Shepherd had been named Sabrina. 

"Your mother always got confused and called me Sabrina because our names sounded alike," she explained, smiling as she dabbed at eyes that were welling with tears. "Oh how that woman made me laugh. I miss her so much."

This reminded me of a similar incident that took place just a couple months ago. I was in a crosswalk with my greyhound Olivia when a passing car suddenly swung a U-turn and parked along the curb I was approaching. The woman jumped out of the sedan and said, "You're Gladys' daughter, right?"

Uh, yes?

"I'm Julie, her hairdresser. I recognize you from the photos your mom would share with me and remember you have greyhounds," she explained, petting Olivia. She went on to say how shocked and sorry she had been to learn of my mom's sudden passing. "She was my favorite client," she said, hugging me as she started tearing up. "My God, that woman made me laugh. I can't tell you how much I miss her."

Friday would have been Mom's 78th birthday and I've been thinking of her even more than usual. Missing her, but comforted by these two chance encounters. They reminded me of the wonderful legacy my mom has left behind--a legacy of laughter and love.

We should all do so well. Happy birthday, Mom. 

It's Going to be a Long Winter

It would seem I am determined to kill myself. Not all at once, mind you, but slowly, in increments.  
It started two weeks ago when Daylight Savings Time ended and we were plunged into darkness at 5pm. As a dog walker who gets home at 6pm, I hate walking Olivia in the dark because I have extremely poor night vision. When the sun sets, the world around me morphs into ambiguous shades of black and gray. Is that a shrub or a trash can? A fire hydrant or a child?  A motorcycle or a maniac wielding a machete? I usually can't tell until I've practically tripped over it.

And that's what I did a couple weeks ago when a "shadow" turned out to be a curb. I stumbled over it and did what could pretty much be described as a belly flop on the pavement. I landed so hard that people halfway down the block heard the impact (or maybe it was the F-bomb I dropped). In spite of my potty mouth they came running to help me. I just laid on the ground as Olivia hovered over me, probably wondering why her human was strewn across the sidewalk. I was shell-shocked, afraid to move for fear I'd discover something broken or cracked. My right palm had two gaping bloody wounds and my left knee was bruised and swollen, but I was lucky: incredibly, nothing was broken.   

So no sooner had the swelling gone down and the wounds healed before I did it again. Last Wednesday I was working out, which you'd think would be a good thing, right? Well, think again. In my enthusiasm I incurred a stress fracture (tiny cracks in the bone caused by the repetitive application of force) in my left foot. I'm now hobbling around like the 90-year old woman I thought exercise would help me avoid becoming. 

Evenings now find me walking Olivia in a half-blind state, feeling my way through the neighborhood while limping along with my swollen foot encased in one of those medical dork shoes. 

Maybe I should just stay in bed. Call me when it's spring.

Class of '76

Met up with several friends for dinner the other night and immediately, upon setting eyes on each other, we picked up right where we left off the last time we got together. Seamlessly, casually, not skipping a beat in the conversation.

The only thing is, we hadn't seen each other since our last high school reunion, which was seven years ago. Sporadic emails have been our only thin connection throughout the years. And yet, just like that, over Midori margaritas, we resumed the friendships forged back in the 70s, chatting like we'd just seen each other in Mr. Peck's yearbook class or Cassvan's period 5 biology. 

Yes,  our faces are a bit more lined, our bodies a bit more padded, but I don't see any of these things when I look at my friends. Instead, I still see the youthful face of the gal who used to sneak us off campus at lunchtime and drive us to Swensen's for peanut butter milkshakes. I see the well-meaning classmate who encouraged me to keep walking during a grueling 20-mile March of Dimes Walkathon, and then erred about the pick-up arrival time and made us miss the bus. I see the feisty girl who asked me to drive her past Baskin Robbins so she could drop her drawers and moon Linda Sue who was working that night. 

These days it seems our lives are consumed with putting kids through college, saving for retirement, juggling multiple workloads, and caring for aging parents. But maybe that's why we were able to pick up right where we left off in 1976.  Because when we look at each other, we see the people we used to be. And for just a few hours, we are the people we used to be.

Carefree teenagers who drink peanut butter milkshakes without worrying about calories; walk 20-mile marathons without special shoe orthotics; and stick bare butts out moving car windows without modesty (or cellulite).

Liver Toothpaste, Anyone?

Olivia and I were taking our usual afternoon walk through a tree-lined neighborhood when I sighted two little girls up ahead and knew what was coming next: sure enough...

"Mommy, look, a dog! Lady, can I pet your dog?"

I looked to the mother for approval and she nodded with a smile, so I invited the girls, around 4 and 6, over. But first, I gave them instructions. I always like to use these interactions as a teaching moment for young kids.

"Always let the dog sniff your hand first," I told them. "This way, she knows that you're a little girl and not a cookie!" 

The girls giggled and extended their tiny fists. Olivia sniffed the younger one's hand, then moved closer and gently nuzzled the child's chubby cheek. Immediately there was a reaction of a different kind.

"PeeeUUUUU!" the child squealed, backing up and wrinkling her button nose. "She has bad breath!" 

"Well," I laughed, "she hasn't seen the dentist in awhile." And sensing that the child was no longer interested in an up-close canine moment, I turned to leave. But not before I heard the mother, in her lilting Indian accent, use the interaction for her own teaching moment.

"You see?" she gently chided the girls. "This is what happens when you don't brush your teeth!"

Happy Endings

So Shayna and her mom met the homeless kitties at Friday's adoption fair, held at my workplace, and I'm happy to say it was love at first sight. 

After engaging with the playful pair in an empty office for about an hour, both daughter and mother knew that Tuna and Mya were coming home with them. They were going to rename their new pets, but Shayna decided that Tuna was a cute name for a cat. And the other cat's name is Mya, which is an anagram of her mother's name, Amy. Was this destiny or what? 

I'm just so glad that what started out as a painful week, losing Chloe, ended on such a happy note.