I Love Corgis!

Courtesy businessinsider.com

As you know, I am enrolled in Poetry 101. It’s been a challenge (that means you, odes), but I have enjoyed it. Thursday I did a limerick (if you want to read it, it’s my last post) about my disdain of math. It was so much fun! Because of that, I have decided to write another couple.

My pooch’s name is Maggie.

She often gets shaggy.

Still, she looks so pretty, but

My dad calls her Haggie.

We also have Wayne.

To walk is really a strain.

My sister got him dog grip socks,

But too bad he can’t use a cane.

Wheels

Courtesy: spokz.co.uk

My involvement with Free Wheelchair Mission (a Christian charity that provides the disabled in developing countries with wheelchairs) has made me realize that though I live in the United States, and the people they help are most likely poor, we have a lot in common. Our transportation, for instance. I could not imagine life without a wheelchair. I have not had to crawl on the ground or lived life stuck in bed. We have many differences—our skin’s hue, for instance—but there are four things that bind us together: Our wheels.

To Mom

Here’s the assignment for day 2 of Poetry.

Courtesy: womenshealthmag.com

My mom, my hero and fellow blogger, is a marathoner. She has a race this Sunday, where she hopes to qualify for the Boston Marathon. Here is my way of wishing her good luck.

Robust sense of determination, like a kid learning to ride a two-wheeler.

You trUly inspire me, like on January first, anything is possible for you.

I caN’t imagine running 26.2 miles; kind of like thinking of infinity.

WheN you cross that finish line an ice-cold fountain Diet Coke will be waiting, which is like liquid heaven to you.

Your caninE supporters will get so excited when we get home, like at dinnertime.

I guess what I’m saying is, no matteR your place, for us, it will be like you won.

Good luck, Mom!

It’s Harder Than It Looks!

Courtesy sayhelloyellow.com

Hi everybody! Things for this blog might seem odd for the next couple of weeks. I’m currently enrolled in Writing 201: Poetry. I guess I figure with Halloween coming up, why not conquer an extreme fear…

For the first assignment, I had to write a haiku.

The  cool autumn day

feels like fall, though in my state,

California, green.

Good Bye, Webster’s

Courtesty illinoisreview.typepad.com

Who needs Webster’s Dictionary when you’ve got The Dictionary of Erin? Here is a preview:

Flangiprop– (adj) An expression of frustration, such as “Flangiprop, this suduku game is impossible.”

Trageldum- (adj) Absolute joy. “Tom and Nancy were in a state of tradgelum at the birth of their first grandchild.”

Lomt- (verb) preparation. “Sarah had to lomt for her vacation to her vacation to Hawaii.”

Polmic- (n) The fastest, best computer on the market. “Apple comes with a polmic probably every six months.”

Loy- (n) Sibling. “My loy were sure annoying as kids.”

Prab- (n) Cozy pajamas. “I love to wear my prab in the winter.”

Erin- (n) One who seems crazy but is just quirky. “If I didn’t know better I’d think she was out of her mind, but she’s just Erin.”

A Refreshing Change

Did you watch “Toddlers and Tiaras” on TLC? I’m ashamed to admit that I did. But in my defense, it was just to have a good laugh. I couldn’t believe parents would let complete strangers judge the “beauty” of their children! And the lengths parents would go to to have them score well: Fake hair. Fake teeth. Fake tans. So much for natural beauty!

I bet pageants like Miss America (I’m proud to say that I don’t watch them) are much worse. You need to be stick thin, have perfect skin, perfect makeup, hair, and nails. Then comes the talent competition. Singing. Dancing. Playing an instrument. It has been done.

However, I saw something from this last Miss America competition. It was so refreshing to hear a contestant—Miss Colorado, a nurse—using the talent portion to talk about treating one of her Alzheimer’s patients. Although extremely pretty, this woman proved that using your brain is a talent in itself.

“…and all was well with the world.”

I’m Not Crazy–Really!

Contrary to what my family would tell you, I am not crazy—maybe a tad on the eccentric side, but not crazy. Another word for me is probably is quirky. Yes, definitely quirky.

This is most evident in my eating—mostly eating lunch. I have some form of peanut butter sandwich every day (I was thrilled when the doctor said that I needed more protein, which peanut butter is a good source of). My sandwich could be peanut butter and jelly, peanut butter and honey, or occasionally almond butter and banana slices.

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Exhibit A, although I was a bit wild today and had a turkey sandwich for lunch. And now that I look at it, the sandwich is pretty close to the 9 o’clock position also. Disturbing.

The sandwich is cut into bite-sized pieces so it’s easier for me to pick up, and I must eat my sandwich row by row, not picking pieces up willy-nilly. The sandwich has to be at 6:30 on the plate. It’s essential. Nothing can be blocking the sandwich. Also essential. Vitamins, calcium, multivitamin, iron, omega-3, and vitamin C: They must be at 9 o’clock.

Chips (a figure of speech—actually either pretzels, string cheese, almonds, popcorn, or some combination thereof) are at either 11 or 2 o’clock, interchangeable with dessert. I’m more lenient with them.

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Exhibit B. Note the tidy row-like consumption of sandwich, sort of like corn on the cob. Sort of.

A psychologist would have a field day with that! Ask me if I care; not in the least, as long as I can have things just so.

P.S. In reading this back, I sound nuts!

The Elder Statesman

You already know that I am the mother of a ten-year-old Corgi named Maggie. But we also have a family dog—Wayne, also a Corgi. You didn’t read his name wrong. His name is actually Wayne. The name is courtesy of my middle sister, Sarah, which really explains some things.

When I got Maggie, the breeder said that though Wayne was older, when she grew up, my dog would rule the roost. He said females are just more dominant. Dad said that was just like people. And there was a huge eye roll, probably, and an Oh please from Mom.

But what Bill, the breeder, said is completely true. Of the two dogs, Maggie is definitely in charge. As they got older, Wayne spent more and more time sunning himself in the Southern California sunshine. Coincidence? I think not.

Wayne is now thirteen. He is now thirteen and a half, actually. My jaw drops whenever I see this saint of a dog. He is now elderly. When I look at him now I see a dog who limps and is extremely slow moving because of a bad foot.

I can hardly talk about it, but when he is in doggie heaven I hope I remember him as the rambunctious little puppy amusing himself by tossing pebbles to himself, not a deaf dog who has a hard time walking. He is my daily reminder that time marches on. That, and what unconditional love looks like: Maybe not perfect, but just right.

Wayne.

Wayne.

A 32-Year-Old Kid

This is truly a stretch, I fear, but our morning routine was really thrown out the window this morning! Usually it’s repeated morning after morning: I wake up at about 6:30 or 6:45, “soak” for a while, and at 7:15 Mom or Dad turns on “Good Morning America.” Medicine at 7:45. It’s like “Groundhog’s Day.”

Now to this morning. I was woken at 3:30! Why the heck? you ask.

This morning, Mom and I did a 5K at “The Happiest Place on Earth.” Translation: Disneyland. Dad was an extremely good sport and was our driver.

I hadn’t been to Disneyland in five years! I forgot how much fun it was—and we didn’t even go on any rides! Just strolling (The 5K was a “fun run” and not timed) down Main Street brought me back to childhood. My favorite “land” was always Fantasyland. Small World was my favorite ride, with Storybook Gardens a close second. They both have wheelchair lifts so I could go on them.

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Despite being tired from lack of sleep, I would definitely do it again. What’s missing three hours’ sleep to feeling like a kid again?