Note To Self

I sit in the morning inhaling coffee in tiny breaths. Whispering to myself as a calling. A gentle internal reminder just to see if the systems are still running. Neglecting the cylinder count as a small way to permit a flaw here or there. Collateral acceptance snuggled in permissive acceptance. I try to be understanding to the engine that reminds me it is showing its miles.

My Birdie reminding me to relax more than I let myself.

Reality blankets like an insulator. Deep, silencing, unyielding. A tight jacket that hugs back like a finger trap. The more I struggle the harder it embraces. There is no feedback that permits relenting.

..And so I sit quietly. Appearances of acquiescence. A body that ages as the soul stirs lifeblood back in. 

Found on the side of the road with head trauma, blindness, pain and fear.
Her rescuer named her Angel. She, over 5 days, has made an (almost) full recovery.
They remind me that miracles are everywhere if you will let them in.

The daily sequence of hours that exist between coffee at my kitchen table, and the cat purring on my pillow each night are fraught with too many needful souls. Furr-iously feverish with chaos sprinkled atop. It is the life I always dreamt of. The life I felt most honorable, needful, and absolute within. The place where mattering means everything. A shadow of credentials accrediting the mastering of a skill. Those three little letters, punctuated to add significance. Bold, erect, commanding, at the end of the name I was born with. They, well, they were and remain, the epitaph I got to carry my entire veterinary professional career. If you are very fortunate you get to write your own obituary early on, and build that legacy as a path you adorn with good intentions and not feel so burdened by clearing the road for anyone elses foot traffic. 

The professional degree was the bait. But, it brought with it a fear that the years of repetition, the endless one note of the same tune, might produce some degree of boredom.

Stripes, Baby Ketchup, and their girls. Reminding me to take joy in being a part of their story.
There is nothing more that I cherish than being able to see them all grow up together.

The highlights are the same. The stories repeat themselves time and time again. Some with nuances that remind me to be a constant student. Others with a pat of reassurance that practice has brought mastery, and others are a harsh, painful, albeit earned reminders that there is work left to be done. All of the repetition remains welcomed. All of the wrinkles were earned. All of what is behind, ahead and around mine for the pile in my nest. 

P.S. I just celebrated 20 years at Jarrettsville Vet. It's a milestone that I had always hoped to reach. When you find your place you can call it home.

Spring 2024. A Party Barn and a New Set Of Twins To Share It All With

 

The first warm day calls us all outside.

To see, and smell the new life.

Frippie likes to lead.

reminding me to stop and take pause,,,

for all the beauty that surrounds us..

Raffles explores the pet cemetary

..while the puppies look for intruders.

Birdie is not the bravest,, but she refuses to be left behind.

The angel that oversees the pets who we have lost.

..back at home.

It is the spring that calls me to stay home. Listen to the first bird sing a hello, just as the sun starts to light the sky. These companions I call my family, are sleeping beside my pillow every night. In the spring the windows are open, the screens in place and beds on every window sill. Promising another day to walk, explore and be grateful for a life that is so full of color and adventures.

Easter 2023

I am so fortunate to have so much of my mom still around me. She loved the holidays,, she passed that along to me. Spring, all things bright, blooming and small and soft were also intoxicating. Anything Spring, any holiday it holds, were her favorites. Easter,, not the religious kind, but the color and new life kind, was the pen-ultimate.

Easter dinner,, My parents house in Staunton Virginia.
Many years ago.

Every year we would make each other an Easter basket. We also always had an Easter egg hunt. The more bright, gaudy and lavish the better. No plastic, no store bought stuff. It was always treasures we collected over the year to save for that bright, albeit still chilly day when the daffodils were just at their peak and the snowdrops had hung their hats and bowed out for season.

One of the many Easter baskets I gave my mom.
I found it tucked away in her keepsake closet as I cleaned her house after her passing.

Here are some of her favorite things.. safely nestled in my old stone home for the next twinkle of a Spring to come calling,

The basket is back at my house,, next to all of the others.
Home is where our hearts lay.

One of my moms favorite Easter collectibles are the cardboard German candy containers

 

There are lots of horizontal surfaces for display,, but there is always one place that gets its own seasonal change-over; the baking counter. Frippie, my beagle, keeps the countertop quiet with her bed below.

The dining room table takes the other center stage for more Easter fare.

Let nature guide your color palette.

Here's to transforming your home in to a pastel speckled hope-springs-eternal inner sanctuary.

Wishing you and all of the colorful people in your life a wonderful Spring holiday,, whichever one makes your heart happiest.