Author Archives: Debbie

Don’t put the cart before the horse

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A few days ago, I noticed Darling Doggie Dallas was hobbling a bit after he awoke from a nap.

Wondering what was wrong, I ran my hands over his paws and legs (all of them, just to be safe).

Nothing amiss.

I called his vet, who suggested keeping him quiet and watching him. If he’s still wonky tomorrow, I was told, call back.

The next day, he seemed better. I couldn’t bring myself to walk him, but neither did I believe he needed a doctor.

Two days later, he was still wobbly. This, despite the fact he was eating and pottying normally, playing, and in good spirits. So I called the vet back.

He’ll be seven in November, she said. Sometimes they start feeling their age about then, just like people.

What?? Why, that’s barely 42 in human years!

Is it time to put him on glucosamine and condroitin, I kidded.

Sounds like a great idea, they said.

Dallas in profile

Dallas in profile

So it starts.

When we bring a puppy into our homes (and hearts), we know that, because of their shorter life spans, we’ll likely outlive them. In the mad scramble to housebreak, socialize, and train them, we don’t think about that.

We’re far too enamored with their cute little noses. And soft fur coats. And warm brown eyes.

And how they love us unconditionally. Like when we’ve had a hard day and feel no one else understands.

But aging doesn’t rear its ugly head suddenly; we’ve got time to acclimate to it. To look for “old age” signs — a bit more white to the muzzle, an ability to sleep as only old dogs can.

Still, it frightens me.

Triple-D is my soul dog. Sure, I’ve invested a lot of time and money into his care, but more than that, I’ve given him my heart.

The mere suggestion that he’s not always going to be a part of my life brings tears to my eyes.

After all, I’ve been through a beloved dog’s death before.

The gut-wrenching pain, the crying jags, the empty feeling deep in your soul.

And I don’t want to go through that again.

Not on the heels of Domer’s leaving home.

So I’ll put on my Pollyanna hat and focus on the bright side. A Sheltie’s average lifespan is 12-13 years, but they can live 15 years or longer. The Sheltie I owned before Dallas lived to 19 years!

I refuse to think Triple-D is on his last leg. This is just a blip on the radar.

Don’t you agree??

(Nearly) Wordless Tuesday

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Sometimes a picture really does say more than a thousand words.

I’ve long been fascinated with weather. It affects all of us all the time, from the picnickers forced inside because of rain to the farmers frantic over a drought or early freeze.

Today we in Central Illinois are looking forward to the arrival of a cold front. Our forecasters promise us it will bring cooler weather and much lower humidity, two things that spell “relief” in the dog days of July. Since clouds are the harbingers of weather changes, I turned my camera skyward to see if they’re going to be right:

Looking south from my patio.

Looking south from my patio.

Almost looks like snow, huh?

Almost looks like snow, huh?

These toward the north look even more like snow.

These toward the north look even more like snow.

I can only imagine what fun God must have had creating these!

I can only imagine what fun God must have had creating these!

My late dad used to call wispy clouds like these mare's tails.

My late dad used to call wispy clouds like these mare’s tails.

Cirrus clouds indicate a weather change in 24 hours.

Cirrus clouds indicate a weather change in 24 hours.

It's supposed to drop down to 56 degrees tonight -- turn off the A/C and open the windows!

It’s supposed to drop down to 56 degrees tonight — turn off the A/C and open the windows!

Rolling with The Oma

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I’m over at The Oma Today Project this afternoon. Won’t you come by and see my “date” for one of Central Illinois’ premiere festivals??

Here a Car, There a Car. . . .

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Recently, My Favorite Domer (AKA my son) permitted me to go car-shopping with him.

His decision, I’m sure, came after a frustrating day where he found:

  • Car salesmen who refused to take his search seriously.
  • Salesmen who ignored him on the lot.
  • Salesmen who tried to sell him more vehicle than he needed.
  • Salesmen who tried to charge him more than he wanted to pay.

Part of me misses the buying experience Saturn dealerships used to offer. No haggling. No gimmicks.

Just pay the sticker price and take the car.

How refreshing!

But Domer was born too late for that, so he had to suffer the joys of “search and wheedle.”

And he wanted me along for the ride.

He insisted he wouldn’t buy from any place where he had to go inside and hunt down a salesman.

“If they don’t want to try to sell, then they haven’t earned my business,” he said.

Okay. Works for me.

The first place we went, we scoured the lot peeking into car windows and examining stickers.

No salesman (or woman) approached us.

I suggested going inside. Domer didn’t want to, but we did.

Walked the entire length of the showroom, nodding at the salespeople sitting alone in their cubicles.

Not a one spoke to us!

Puzzled, we left.

The next place wasn’t much better.

This salesman approached us, made a few cursory remarks, learned Domer wasn’t a big spender and pretty much sent us on our way.

What’s going on here, I wondered.

At the third dealership, no sooner had we parked my car when a young, energetic, pretty sales girl welcomed us, introduced herself, and promptly started showing us cars.

In Domer’s price range. With the specs he’d outlined.

And if she’d had the car he wanted, she’d have made herself a sale.

The next day we traveled far out of town to a dealership where Domer immediately found “the car.”

It was beautiful, shiny, sleek, and looked perfect for him.

After driving it, we sat down with the salesman to crunch some numbers.

Now Domer majored in Finance. He loves numbers.

But I see figures, and my eyes glaze over and I zone out.

When the bottom line total appeared, Domer shook his head.

Too much, he insisted.

The sales manager stepped in, offering a lease.

Domer couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Finally, we found another dealership with another female sales rep. And while they didn’t have the car Domer wanted on their lot, she and the sales manager worked to get a fair price both they and Domer could live with.

And they searched around until they found the right car for Domer.

It was in Ohio.

He drove it off the lot Fourth of July weekend.

Now, if he’d just stop calling it a cash drain!

Rocks can be exciting!

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I think it’s in my DNA to get excited about rocks and gemstones.

After all, my late dad was a geologist and, although he specialized in finding petroleum, he never lost his fascination with rocks.

When I was a kid, rocks were rocks. Boring inanimate objects that didn’t feel or speak to me.

Hard to get worked up over a lump of stone.

Then I went off to college and had to take a science class.

Now I’m more artistic than scientific and that, coupled with a poor background at the high school science level, told me to forgo Biology or Chemistry.

So I opted for Geology.

Really? Geology?

Sure, it made perfect sense. Daddy was a geologist. I figured I’d picked up enough from him to at least pass the course.

Geology was divided into a one-hour lecture class, three times a week, and a two-hour lab, twice a week.

The lecture class was scheduled for right after lunch. When it was hot outside, and the birds were chirping, and Spring was in the  air.

And my old professor, bless his little heart, droned on and on and on, putting most of the class right to sleep.

Where we didn’t give him any trouble!

And the lab? Well, we each received a box approximately 8″ by 12″ by 1.5″ and were instructed to learn the various properties of what was inside.

Quartz and limestone and slate and such.

I, of course, found ways to memorize the markings and colors and feel of my box’s contents. And thought I was set.

Until the test.

When my teacher tricked me — my rocks weren’t there!

I didn’t know these new rocks. They didn’t look or feel the same, and I couldn’t remember properties to save my neck.

Somehow, I managed to pass. To Daddy’s delight.

Fast forward several years and once again, I’m studying rocks and gemstones and their various properties.

In an effort to learn which gemstone is purported to address which ill or need.

So I can expand my beading jewelry hobby into the healing gemstones area.

And I’m endlessly fascinated.

What goes around comes around, doesn’t it?

Someone Special’s Celebrating

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Today’s my only sister’s birthday — I won’t say how many because she’d kill me or retaliate.

That’s the way it is with siblings. We know which buttons to press.

Or not to press.

And it’s always been that way.

When we were little, sharing a room, we had an imaginary line running down its center.

One side for her. One for me.

As we grew, we got separate rooms, but she tended to find mine MUCH more interesting than hers.

Probably because of the diary I kept under lock and key.

Not that I had anything exciting to write in its pages, but she thought I did.

Or maybe because of my closet, with its neatly hung and folded clothes.

No matter that we weren’t the same size. Or had the same tastes.

She was a believer in sharing; I was not.

You can imagine the arguments!

Sis and me after a trip to Texas way back when!

Sis and me after a trip to Texas way back when!

Some time after I left for college, we started becoming friends. Perhaps my late dad’s admonition, “You’ll always have each other” was making more sense.

For a while, we both worked in the same town. Across the street, actually.

And we’d share lunches and secrets, talk about “the ‘rents” and boyfriends, enjoy sun tanning by the pool and drinks on weekends.

I look on that time as idyllic.

Now we’re separated by some 700 miles, but we still manage to stay close.

Phone calls, e-mails, and such make it fairly easy.

Gone are the days when she’d snatch one of my sweaters and wear it to school, whether I approved or not. Gone, too, are the times I’d “rat” on her to our folks or we’d fight over whose turn it was to set the table.

Those two little girls have grown up and wonder of wonders, now they actually like each other.

Just as Daddy always hoped.

Happy Birthday, Sis — Love you!

How to Win Customer Loyalty

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Do you know what might be one of the best companies in the world, at least as far as customer service?

Expedia.

Now this isn’t a paid endorsement, merely one person’s opinion.

Expedia is awesome!

Recall that Domer and I just returned from our failed trip to Ireland.

One of the hotels we’d booked (for a four-night stay) was through Expedia.

When we decided to come home early, we spoke with the hotel desk clerk and were told they couldn’t refund our payment because we’d booked through Expedia. Then they provided us with phone numbers to call upon our return.

Since then, I’ve been trying to get my money back.

Aer Lingus, the airline, turned me down. But the parking company kindly refunded me and so did the first hotel we didn’t stay at.

All I was waiting on was the abbreviated stay at our last hotel.

Yesterday, I received a call from Expedia’s Customer Service Department, wanting to know who we’d spoken with at the hotel desk and whether we’d received a receipt.

Neither of us could remember a name; we had no receipt.

The Expedia rep said the hotel told them they had no record of our leaving early.

Uh-oh. I started hearing the faint sound of Cha-Ching again.

This morning I was going to call the hotel and beg the manager to substantiate our claim.

It proved unnecessary.

Expedia just called and said they’d honor our request for a refund — whoo hoo!

I told her the only thing I had to prove we’d left early was our stamped airline tickets, copies of which I’d be glad to forward.

No need, she said. Your refund will arrive in seven to 14 days.

Happy Dance!

You know, it’s easy to see why companies with superior customer service are successful. Customer service is one of the tenets of business. It’s what enables people to return goods without hassle, speak with a real person over the phone, and feel prices are fair and treatment is gentle.

I think this quote sums it up perfectly:

There is a spiritual aspect to our lives – when we give we receive – when a business does something good for somebody, that somebody feels good about them!

— Ben Cohen, Ben & Jerry’s

Making Progress on Domer’s Move

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I’ve just returned from The Land of the North, where My Favorite Domer will be moving later this summer.

Our journey was necessitated because Domer rather likes — and needs — a place to call Home, yet he obviously didn’t have one since he’s never lived North.

(Other than four years in South Bend, which often felt like “North”!)

We packed the car on Sunday and took off, Google maps in hand, prepared for an eight-hour road trip. Domer took the wheel first, giving me a chance to file my fingernails, place some phone calls, and read.

Some time after lunch, we found ourselves in the Podunk region of a neighboring state, watching as farm after farm flashed by, enjoying the bucolic scenery of cows and hay, corn and trees.

But we were on a two-lane state highway, and Domer was “lucky” enough to have several slowpokes in front of him — with no easy way of getting around them.

“Can’t we go any faster than 50?” he wondered aloud.

Not really, I said. The road is twisting and turning, you’ve got hills and No Passing signs.

“I can’t stand this! The idiot in front of me is just far enough behind the guy in front of him that I’d have to go around the whole lot of them, and there’s no time.”

Poor Domer.

Want me to take over, I asked.

“What more could you do?”

He had a point.

Eventually, we landed in The Land of the North, checked into a hotel, and decided to look around.

How can one city have so many confusing road signs, I wondered.

Normally, I have a great sense of direction. Sure, the compass inside my rear view mirror helps, but still.

These streets felt as if they were going north when they were going south, east when they were actually west, and I felt much like somebody had blindfolded me, spun me in circles, then instructed me to walk a straight line.

We learned it was easier for Domer to play navigator and me to drive.

Fewer angry words, too!

Because it was after-hours for leasing offices, we opted to eat dinner and get an early start the next day.

DAY ONE:

Armed with a map and a list of addresses, Domer and I set out in hopeful spirits.

The first couple of places we checked felt a little sketchy.

Nice enough, I suppose, and certainly reasonable in price, but nothing to write home about.

“Remember,” my sister had advised me, “Shacks are cheap for a reason.”

She knows this, having helped lease apartments for her two kids several times now, and I’ve never felt the need to experience everything for myself when I can learn from others!

Finally, I sensed Domer’s growing frustration and suggested we look at something on the pricier end of his list.

“I can’t afford that,” he whined.

(Yep, by that time both of us were whiny!)

We’ll just look, I said. You can’t compare if you don’t have anything to compare to.

(Where had I heard that before??)

Long story short, we both fell in love with the “fancy” place, and if all works out, that’s where Domer will live.

A place that’s safe. And clean.

One that fits his budget and has amenities (like snow-removal and private entrances).

A place I wouldn’t mind living myself.

If it weren’t in The Land of the North!

Half-year Review of Goals

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We’ve reached the half-way mark of 2013, and I figured now was as good a time as any to review my New Year’s Resolutions and openly admit my failures let everybody know how I’m progressing:

1) Blog twice a week. It appears I’m on track. From what I understand, the trick to a successful blog isn’t the number of posts. It’s substance. And coming up with interesting, well-written posts twice a week isn’t easy. I admire bloggers who do. And I’m offering a sincere Thank You to those who’ve been sticking with me. I’m honored to call you “friends.”

2) Finish my novel. Nope. Not yet. I’m one of those writers who prefer not outlining — if the story bores me, it will bore my readers. But that means I have no guide as to where it’s going, so it’s not surprising I painted myself into yet another corner. I got deep into the middle of my story, then asked myself, “Is this believable?” When I grudgingly had to admit it wasn’t, I decided to go back to the beginning and rework it. Armed with a better storyline and a semblance of an outline, I’m hoping all is not lost. Whether I can actually type The End by Dec. 31 is another story!

3) Learn a programming language. Sigh. No. But at least I’ve started. I bought a few books and found some helpful sites online to teach myself the things I need to know to be competitive and successful in my business. But it’s going to take time. Perhaps I should modify the goal by moving it to an “ongoing” column with other lifelong learning and techy things?

4) Lose five pounds. I realized after I set this goal that I’d neglected to weigh myself. You know what that means? Ascertaining success is going to be next to impossible! Okay, but I’m more concerned with having my clothes fit. Not baggy and sloppy, not snug and constricting. That’s a better measuring stick anyway, right? And since I’ve already noticed improvement — my jeans almost look like the Jones family moved out of the seat, and I’ve had to start wearing a belt to keep my shorts from dropping down ’round my knees! — I’m counting this as a Win. Don’t be jealous. Be inspired. If I can do it, so can you!

5) Set up an author Website. Not finished yet, but coming along. I have colors, fonts, and skeletal design complete; my problem to date is photos. I’d hoped Domer would return photographic duties for all the times I “shot” him. But he doesn’t want to, so I’m opting for a professional. That just might work out better anyway, as it’s going to take a special person to get me to relax in front of the lens!

Ta-Da! This wasn’t so painful after all. Now, how are YOU coming with your goals for the year??

How do I Save these Items?

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In the midst of the hubbub my life has become, I’m trying to finish My Favorite Domer’s senior year Memory Book before he takes off for The Working World.

My consolation is that this task is almost done, and if he wants any more memory books, he’ll have to compile them for himself!

Still, it’s been a labor of love. And I enjoy reliving with him those precious memories.

Now some things are fairly easy to preserve, even for a non-scrapbooker like me.

Things like ticket stubs. Photos. Boarding passes. Notes and letters. Football schedules with game results. Programs from award ceremonies.

But it’s the odd-shaped things that have me stumped.

And if anybody has realistic suggestions on how to preserve them, please let me know!

Need an example? How about this:

Band hat

Band hat

How do you save a Band hat? Don’t ask me Why he needs it, or Why the Band parted with it. It is what it is — a memory. And just looking at it, I get teary-eyed. All those football games, Bowl games, marchouts, friends. He’s not parting with this, and that’s that!

Or this:

Leprechaun Legion hat

Leprechaun Legion hat

Domer got this as part of the basketball pep band one year, and it’s never left. It’s a huge, foam, green hat with a gold shamrock on one side. Leprechaun Legion, by the way, is the student fan section at athletic events.

Does he need it? Will he ever wear it again? Probably not. But we’re not getting rid of it, either.

Or how about these:

Beads

Beads

Domer got these “Mardi Gras beads” during the women’s basketball trip to New Orleans for the Final Four tournament. You probably can’t tell, but the gold “beads” are actually small basketballs. Cute, huh?

I have no idea how to preserve something like this. Perhaps he can simply hang them on a doorknob and recall the fun he and his Band buddies had, eating jambalaya and beignets, hoisting a tall cool one, and watching basketball.

Or what about this:

Mortarboard

Mortarboard

We’ve got the tassel preserved in a photo frame with his picture, but this hat is a bit cumbersome. What does one do with a used mortarboard?

But the best of the lot is this thing:

Horse mask

Horse mask

A horse mask?? Seriously? I’m supposed to save this?

Absolutely, he says. We had all kinds of fun wearing this thing. It was worth every penny!

You paid good money for a horse mask?

Sure, I did. And I’d do it again, too.

Well, okay, but even Dallas seems to think there’s something amiss with a horse in his living room:

Dallas and the horse

Dallas and the horse