140 days and counting...(my dog is not a boat)

So Abby and I go walking every morning. Haven't missed a day since she got here. That makes 140 days if you count today. (There were five days in there, where I was in Austin. Amy was babysitting and refused to walk her. Abby jumped up and down on the bed. They walked.)

Lately we watch the moon go to bed and the sun rise. No talking, just walking. Traveling buddies. But its turning cold. The other day, 6:15 am, we stood at the door, all leashed up and ready until the cold air hit our faces. We both hesitated. I pulled the "pack leader" card and pushed us both out the door, but I can see up ahead as the winter comes on that the weather is going to be our enemy. The only real answer is to get Abby a winter coat. I've been cruising the internet to see what's available. I've included pictures of current dog coat styles for your browsing pleasure. Please keep in mind that Abby is not a purse dog...those coats are ridiculous. But I included them so you could appreciate what fashions Abby will NOT be sporting this winter. Katie commented on how the Great Dane coats look like boat covers! Well, she will not be mistaken for a boat once I get her winter boots on her :)

The back 50

The back 50

So I'm turning 50 years old soon. By my reckoning, that puts me at about half way. I expect to get to 100 (give or take a month or two) and so while time isn't actually "running out", I am approaching my "hump day".

The first 50 years were pretty set out for me.

1. Grow up: check (depending on the day)
2. Getting married: check and check again
3. Have children: check then double check
4. Raise the children: check and almost check

That pretty well sums up the front 50. The back 50 isn't quite so mapped out. I'm afraid if I don't consciously create something, then nothing will happen. I don't want to live by default.

So this isn't a comprehensive list, but its a good start, I think.

I want to belong to a global neighborhood. I want to find myself on the back streets of foreign countries. Walking with a purpose and a project. I want to know the people that I pass by and be able to greet them in their own language. I want to inquire about their families and know the name of their dog.

I love words and the sounds they make and the meanings they represent. I love the people that use them and the way they wrap them around their own personality and expression. I want to speak Russian fluently and then maybe French or Spanish or Italian or something.

I want to sing really loud. Really really loud. Heidi got pulled over one day because she and her friends were singing Michael Jackson really loud and the car windows were rolled down. I'd maybe like to try that.

I want to dance, in the middle of the night, with long lines of people snaking and circling around a bon fire or an impromptu band like that night in France.

I'm sure there is more, but I think that's a pretty good start. Walking, talking, singing, dancing. That's not so far fetched, right? Here I go...wish me luck :)

That time

Its that time. The milkweed is out. I see it everyday on my walks. Its all along the roads. Each time I pause and look... just in case I see one. Do you remember? So many monarchs born during those years in the yellow house. That was fun.

A Haiku: Time Zone

I went to bed early.
Couldn't sleep.
Got up.
Did computer stuff.
Should go back to bed.
Don't want to.
I used to call Cami in the middle of the night.
She lived in Hawaii.
She would be on her way to soccer practice.
Cami went on a mission.
Guess I'll go back to bed.

Ode to Amy

I don't know who exactly made Amy my fashion police, but it is a job she took on at a very early age. One look from her would send me back to my closet.

There was a time I was not allowed to go shopping without her. I think the conversation started out something like,"Next time you go shopping mom, I need to go with you." And if on occasion, I would sneak out by myself, I always had her voice in my head as I tried things on. I knew I would have to answer to her when I got home. We didn't always agree, but I know for a fact she saved me from a major fashion nightmare, multiple times.

My most favorite pair of shoes of ALL time came from a shopping trip with Amy. She noticed them on the rack and demanded I try them. They didn't look very interesting to me, but I tried them on anyway. HOW DID SHE KNOW!? Invariable, the times Amy has "dressed" me, or I'm wearing some of her stuff, people notice.

Over the years, I've come to depend on it. Even now, all's it takes is a look, or a comment or even an unspoken energy from her and I realize that I need to tweek the outfit. And she's always right. I'm sure I rarely hit the top ranks of fashon, but without Amy's vigilant eye, I would regularly be quite the embarrassment.

So the other day at work, a group of girls were talking about hair fashion and the current trends. Out of the blue, one of them turned to me and said, " You know, Kathy, you can't wear scrunchies anymore." "Of course!" I replied confidently, "Those are so outdated." (Amy already told me).