Lost...but not in translation...

Hey Anne?  This is the purple sofa I wanted to
marry and bear children....

This is going to be a fairly personal episode of the Lettuce, so if that sort of thing makes you twitchy you might want to hit the back button on your browser.

Ever since I moved back to the US on 19 May, 2011, I have been lost.  At first I was lost because I was back in my foreign home.  Let me give you an example.  One of the first things I did was go to Walmart with my parents to pick up some things I needed.  After about ten minutes in the store, I had to go outside and ring My Mister (who was still in the UK and, sadly, didn't get it) and take some deep breaths because it was just too much.  Too much choice.  Too much colour.  Too much light.  Too much.

I had come back here to stop being lost in the UK.  But what I've found is that I wasn't lost when I was there at all.  I was me, the me that doesn't have to be the best greyhound parent or the competent seamstress or the flawless interpreter.  I didn't have a lot of the distractions or responsibilities there that I have here. There weren't as many people there for me to disappoint.  My Mister and I spent a lot of time together because basically we had...each other.

Don't get me wrong, he had friends and family there, but because I was not as outgoing as I could have been, I only had a few friends and my inlaws.  But My Mister and I are different in that way...he doesn't depend on his friends to define him like I do.

I thought that the things that kept me from being lost were in the USA:  Greyhound Crossroads.  The Hounds of East Fairhaven.  Follow That Hound.  My Deaf and Interpreter friends.  Wrong.  Since I've been back, I've had to take a job that isn't really what I wanted to do so that I could afford to bring My Mister and Daisy over from the UK and adopt Clowny.  I'm still in that job because there isn't anything in my field that would offer a comparable salary.  I see things every day that make me regret the cowardice that led me back here two years ago.

I wish I could wind up this post with a happy and confident "but now I'm no longer lost" sentiment, but I can't.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe Christmas if we make it over to visit my inlaws and my adopted home.  Maybe not.  I try to remember that "not all who wander are lost" and see myself as wandering instead...but that refrain is getting old.  Very, very old.  Is this the curse of the repatriate?

One of my expat/repat friends has a statement on one of her signature graphics that says something about coming home to find what has changed is you...maybe that is what's going on after all.

Changes in Attitudes...

Well, the last time I was posting, Clowny was walking.  About a month later, he stopped walking.  That change went hand in hand with Clown stopping prednisone.  He walked around, slowly, at Mountain Hounds in Gatlinburg but for the most part he stayed in our room and was miserable.

He has changed medicine twice and has been to see a holistic vet for acupuncture and laser therapy, but is still not walking.  His back legs work and are responsive to pain, but there is some sort of disconnect in his spine so he can't make them stay under him.

Our lives now are consumed with picking him up to go outside, washing pee pads, washing blankets, pleading with him to eat, and watching him struggle when he slips out of our hands and onto the floor with a crash.

There hasn't been much to blog about, really.  Two weeks after his...accident?  Onslaught of symptoms?  Two weeks after that I finished for the summer at Clemson and have been taking all the interpreting work I can get in order to pay for his treatments and keep all four of us fed.  I want to get out of the house, but with limited funds and his limited mobility, I feel guilty if I'm gone more than a few hours.  And poor Clowny smells like a bad day at the assisted living facility...but being a greyhound we can't bathe him every day.  His fur would likely fall out!

I don't think I've slept more than 2 hours at a go since Memorial Day.  He cries when he needs his pee pad changed.  He cries when he poos.  He cries when he wants water, or when he just needs to roll over.  And thanks to my supersonic hearing that I'm positive I inherited from my mother, every time he cries I wake up.  To be fair, I also wake him when he licks...which he does a lot, probably just to alleviate his own boredom.

I'm also participating in another Camp NaNoWriMo this month, so I'm already feeling a bit guilty about using my writing time here rather than on the Work In Progress.

There are those in my professional life that have been insensitive at best and downright insulting at worst about my dedication to my dog and what it means for my life.  To be fair, the one person I'm thinking of now has also made insulting comments about my choice to put my husband and our life above my duty to my work or how ridiculous is it that I want to have children, so I'm not sure that I should be bothered too much by comments about how much I love my dog.

Anyway, all of this is not a cry for attention or pity, far from it.  We have a wheelchair for Clowny now that we are trying to make work, and the next step after that will be a ramp for him to be able to go in and out the front door.  This post is meant more as a catch up...so that those who do understand why we do what we do for this amazing creature that shares our home and hearts will know what's going on.  Hug your hounds and take every chance you can to see them run, play, and even walk across the room to beg for a treat or just gaze at you.  Trite as it may sound, you just never know when those things will be taken away.

Mommy loves you, Clowny.  To the moon and back.

On wobbles and stumbles and leaps of faith...

My magic boy, Regall Azkaban ("Clowny")

On Wednesday night, I got home from work and let the dogs out of the bedroom, scolding Clowny as per usual when he bounded out past the baby gate, spinning around like a top and careening into Daisy.  That sort of behavior made putting a muzzle on him impossible and Daisy mad, so it was not winning him any points.  I think I might have even popped him on the noggin to get his attention.

I let them out, I let our foster dog Mannie out, I fed the dogs...all went as it normally did. That evening Clowny had one of his more vacant episodes, but with him being almost 11 and that night there was a thunderstorm on the way, I didn't worry too much.

The next morning, last Thursday, I got up and went to work as normal.  Hubs rang me on my way in to say that Clown had lost complete use of his back legs and it looked like he had experienced a stroke.  I nearly crashed my car.  Of course, I turned around and headed back home, trying to find an open vet practice as I went.  The one we normally use, whom I will call Vet #1, had a voice mail message telling me to call the E-Vet.  I did that, and the nice girl that answered told me that they don't take emergency clients after 0730 because the overnight vets had left.  Sorry?

I then called Vet #2, whom I think will become Vet #1 in the future, and they were not only in the office but said to bring Clowny in right away.  I got back home, assessed damage, cried some more, and Hubs and I rushed him off to the vet.  Massive Steroid Jab number One happened and we took him back home.

That was Thursday.  I worked from home that day, afraid to leave Clowny for too long.  He was dead weight that day, passed out cold for most of it, probably from the massive steroid jab the vet gave him.  I tried to help him move around because I can't lift him like Hubs can, and only resulted in both of us being frustrated and him almost biting me in my face.  Thursday was a crappy day to say the least.

Then Friday happened.  We took Clowny back to the vet for Massive Steroid Jab number Two, and by the time we got ready to leave the vet he was moving his back legs.  He couldn't keep them under himself or stand, really, but he could move them.

I got them settled at home and headed off to work with my head ANYWHERE but in my office at Clemson.  Hubs rang me around lunchtime to tell me that Clowny had RUN ACROSS THE YARD to investigate the men dumping the topsoil that Hubs had ordered.  Run.Across.The.Yard.  He said it wasn't pretty in the least but Clowny was MOVING ON HIS OWN.

Friday night was uneventful other than doing massive loads of laundry.  Greyhounds, it seems, are like small children who have waited too long to tell someone they need to pee.  When you pick either of them up and squeeze the bladder, you are going to get wet.

Saturday morning we checked in with the vet who said to keep him on 25mg of prednisone a day until Monday when we would re-assess.  By Saturday evening, this happened:

That is Clowny, wobbly and stumbling and absolutely certain that he can make it across the yard WITHOUT YOUR HELP, THANK YOU VERY MUCH MOMMY.  And me, in a squeaky voice, proud of his progress and terrified that he will hurt himself and in complete and utter AWE that the paralysed greyhound I'd seen on Thursday was now running, sort of, in the yard.

More leaps of faith to come.  More progress to report.  I have never been prouder to be Clowny's Mommy.  Not ever.  Watch this space.

Sandy Paws and other Peaches

Clowny's paw print, Jekyll

It always amazes me how Sandy Paws is up on me and then is over so fast.  I spend all year waiting, anxiously, to see a group of people that in some ways are closer to me than my own family...and like a flash, I blink and I'm on my way back home.

This year's get together was no different.  My Mister and I rented a minivan (go on, get that out of your system, me in a minivan) and headed down to Jekyll Island with Clown and Daisy.  Those two rode in STYLE...I was even more irritated than normal that the Mister hasn't gotten his SCDL yet because it would have been HEAVEN to crawl back there on the gooshy dog beds and nap all the way to Georgia's Golden Coast.

The hotel where we stayed was okay...older, and definitely not the posh affair of the last two SP events, but homey, in a way.  What was NOT cool was vending from hotel rooms rather than in a large vendor hall as we've done in the past.  You didn't get to see anyone if you were vending, other than those you were staying with or your vending partners.  I was lucky enough to glom (is that a word?) onto Janet Schaffer of Casual Bling and Suzie Collins of Skinnyhound Designs so that I could sell my books.  I sold seven, which is a record for a greyhound event.

Sandy Paws started out as a means to an end for me, and remains so.  I didn't go initially because I wanted to attend an organized gathering with workshops or because I had a stack of books to hock.  I went because I had preadopted an amazing creature called Daisy (FTH Oopsie Daisy) and was now a part of the Follow That Hound family.  So changes to the venue or schedule, ice cream socials and over-priced buffet meals really aren't a factor to me when I think of Sandy Paws.  The only thing that I do, really, that has anything to do with the event, is help sponsor the creation of crowns for the greyhounds named King and Queen of SP (even though my own hounds have never even been nominated...not even after Daisy went to SP 2012 a mere 5 days after a transatlantic flight-turned-nightmare).

Anne and I pay to have someone make crowns that fit the theme of the gathering, and this year was no different...except that prior to this year's SP someone in the organizing group got her pants in a bunch over a design for a Tshirt that the aforementioned Suzie made...for us, the FTH family...because she wanted EVERYONE to know that it was NOT an official SP13 shirt.

Well, duh.  Suzie didn't make it for everyone.  Not everyone is a Peach.  :)  Not everyone is part of the FTH family. But the WAY that the person made it clear to anyone that was listening was just over the top and plain rude, really.  You would think that it would be common sense not to make an enemy of a very popular vendor, but apparently it wasn't.

So jump ahead now to the crowning of the King and Queen at SP13.  Anne and I are there, she has the crowns and I have the bling that Janet made for the winners.  The person with the twisted pants approached us and took the lot, heading up to the front of the room to get things started.  We didn't think anything about it until we heard HER announcing the King.

Problem...part of our sponsorship of the crowns and bling means that we get to present them to the winners. It's a neat way for us to be a part of the gathering and to get to meet the winners...or, like at SP12, crown one of our own as King when Lightning (FTH Lightning) won.  Well, because Anne is a superhero, she charged down to the front with me, Mighty Mouse, trailing behind her to find out what was going on.  We were offered the chance to announce the Queen, but she turned it down, pulling a victory lap back to her table, and I continued on Anne AutoFollow back to the back.

Y'all...I don't have time for grownups that act like children, I really don't.  Not during a swiftly moving weekend with people that I adore that I only get to see once a year.  To the organization's credit, a few of their members approached us afterward and apologized, but you see, the damage was done.  Once again, I'm not "in the know," or a part of the core crowd...and finally, after over a decade of doing greyhound adoption and hanging out with greyhound people...that's okay.  I don't need it, or as my perfect niece Joy says, "I can't use it."

Keep the drama.  I love my Peaches, I know what is important in my life, and I'm off to celebrate it.  GEM and Mountain Hounds ahoy!

13...is the magic number...

Hard at Work...

Some people fear the number 13.  I don't.  Not today at least.  There are 13 more Mondays that I will have to get out of bed at the absolute butt crack of dawn to drive in to Clemson for work before summer break.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate my job.  But I do hate that it isn't in Greenville, the city that I love, the city that I moved back from the UK to be a part of, the city that has the most beautiful skyline I've ever seen, even at ten minutes to seven in the morning when the sun glints off the windows of the SunTrust building...

The last post I made here talked about how I entered Proud Racer: An American Greyhound in Yorkshire in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award.  Well, didn't even make it past the first round of cuts, but that's okay, really.  Mostly.  Yeah, okay, it sucked, but it wasn't at all a surprise.  If for no other reason, my Proud Racer books are hard to categorize because I didn't write them with a specific reading level in mind.  My niece, Mary Catherine, has read them and loves them and she's 10, but to be fair her reading level is much higher than her age.

And I don't say that because I'm her favourite Auntie.  Not.One.Bit.

Right now the #WIP (because I'm hip like that and on Twitter and What.Not.) or Work In Progress is more Everquest fan fiction.  I am looking at it as good practice for "real writing" but I'm finding it to be escapism bordering on addiction, if I'm honest.  The four guys that I played EQ with were amazing, and it was, to quote the man that breathed life into Sathlir Clawsharp (one of my characters), a perfect storm that all of us got together and started playing together.  I miss it.  I miss us.  But the characters in the WIP are not the guys I played with all those nights.  They have transcended those human operators and I fall more in love with each of them with every scene that gets written.

Why can't I do this for a living?  Ugh.

Right, enough of that.  The point is that I'm writing, and I'm looking forward to Camp Nanowrimo in April and...August?  and then Nanowrimo proper in November.  I'll be writing with the ABNA in mind this time, so maybe come next January I'll be ready to submit a better manuscript and better pitch.

Anyway, ♪13...13 is the magic number...yes it is....♪ (apologies to Schoolhouse Rock...)

Quickie...Cross your fingers, please?

Proud Racer: An American Greyhound
in Yorkshire, by Nancy E. Dunne

Just wanted to give you guys a little heads up that Daisy's second book, An American Greyhound in Yorkshire, has been entered in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest for 2013.  I don't expect that it will go anywhere but...you never know.  Three cheers for Daisy Mei Mei, international dog of mystery...and for her mommy for finally sprouting a pair and going for a contest.  Fingers and paws crossed!

One more...a sort of a flashback post...

Daisy's Eyes, a photo by Nancy Dunne on Flickr.

See that look there?  That one is how my Daisy says, "Seriously?" as in "Mommy, seriously, take the camera out of my face and give me the whateveritis that you're holding over my head to make me look at you, already."

That is how I felt when I posted this back in August of 2011:

Okay, for the last time... 

I was still fairly newly repatriated and I was still fairly raw about the entire experience, mostly due to the fact that the three most important souls in my universe (Hubs, Daisy, and Mills) were four thousand miles away from me.

I'm reminded of that post because now, a year and change later, Simon is here and I've been back from my expat adventure almost two years...and I still have moments where I'm not sure where I am or, even better, where I belong.  I still have moments where I struggle to make myself understood and have the urge to go all Tanzanian Chimp (see?  There is a Big Bang Theory reference for EVERYTHING) on someone that giggles if I say wheelie bin instead of trash can.

We have a new captionist on staff here who loves all things British and I have to say I'm probably rambling on and on to her more than I should, bless her, but she gets it and that's cool.  Andrea, if you're reading this, ta very much. I still say lift sometimes, I still say mobile, and I still ring people up if I absolutely have to do so, and I don't imagine that will change much.

But last night there was a new experience to add to my list of "only other US/UK expats will get this" weirdness:  Last night we saw the Black Watch and Band of the Scots Guards at the BiLo Center and as any good British programme does, it included Jerusalem, the hymn that is the unofficial national anthem of England.

Y'all, I got teary listening to it.  I almost let out a choked sob.  The feeling of belonging but not belonging, of home and homesickness all happening at the same time was just overwhelming.  Hubs got a bit of a giggle out of it, not of my distress but of how surprised I was at said distress, I think.  These were "my people" due to my Scottish ancestry, but they were also "my people" because they were British and I feel like I was getting close to that, for a time anyway.

I said on Facebook: "Well, it happened. I teared up at 'Jerusalem.'"  The only people who have liked the comment are expats or have them in their lives.

And did those feet in ancient time.
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

I would like to say when, but for the time being I will say if...IF we make it back to live in the UK, they will have to burn me out to make me leave a second time.  It is my second home...and I can't wait to go back for a visit, at least.

Spades, Cabbage, and Hazelnut Coffee

I had a memory resurface the other day, and it's a memory I'd like to share here.  Most of you that know me know that a great deal of my life was spent either as a camper or on staff at Camp Glisson, a United Methodist Camp and Retreat Center in Dahlonega, Georgia.

Camp Glisson Staff Photo, Summer 1992

I decided not to crop this picture down to just me, or even point out where I am, because that is not what this post is about.  It's about every single person in that photo, and the impact made on my life by that summer.

I was a camper at Glisson from 1978-1988, missing only two summers (I think...might have been only one). As a preacher's kid, I didn't really have a "home church," so Glisson was my surrogate home church.  Further, as one of THOSE PKs who saw the seedy underbelly that some churches have and how it had the power to devastate my father, I looked to Glisson as the place where I could feel close to God and feel the fellowship of believers that my home churches often claimed but fell short of creating.

Once I graduated from high school in June of 1989, instead of taking one last summer as a camper, I joined the staff and had a marvelous, frightening, overwhelming and amazing summer.  I had never lived away from home before and spent many nights dreadfully and privately homesick.  I painted a rock.  I decorated my own cabin with toilet paper.  I made friends, sang songs, and generally felt so accepted and loved that I thought my heart would explode.  Seriously.  I know that I tend to poke fun at the Kumbaya-like expressions of emotion that sometimes accompany "church," but it's only because I've seen the real deal and I  have yet to find anything equivalent.  

I was a village camp counselor for the summers of 1989-1991, and then in 1992 I applied to be a section leader.  Camp structure works this way:  Campers, Counselors (in various camps, at that time it was Village, Pioneer, and Sparrowwood), Section Leaders, Camp Directors, etc.  There were four section leaders in Village Camp and I got to be one of them that year, along with three other guys whom I adore to this day.  

What does all this have to do with Spades, Cabbage, and Hazelnut Coffee?  I'll tell you, hang in there.

Ben (Village Camp Director), Marty, Joe, Andy, and I would get together most nights on the porch of cabin B-1 (Boys row, first cabin) to hang out, play spades and, most importantly, drink hazelnut coffee.  My stomach lurches even now to think of how many cups of that I drank without sugar or milk!  It was hard for me that summer...I was still young then and of course, everything revolved around me and my thoughts and feelings...and I was the only female in a group of guys.  But those guys were marvels and made me feel at home...well, most of the time. 

Now back to my memory...Hubs and I got a mini-Keurig for a housewarming gift from my parents, and one of the K-Cups included was "Hazelnut Cream."  As soon as that liquid hit my mug and the smell drifted from the machine, tears sprang to my eyes.  I was 20 years old again, sitting on the screened porch, listening to the drone of the crickets and waiting for my spades partner (whomever had drawn the short straw that time as my lack of card playing ability was EPIC) to either tell me Cabbage (which meant to throw something good) or Garbage (which meant to throw something useless).  To be honest with you, I'm not even sure why I was throwing anything because the rules of that game are a bit fuzzy, but I can hear Ben saying "CABBAGE!" as clearly as I know my own name.

I was happy then, even if I didn't know it at the time.  I was supported and loved, even if my actions and attitudes made it so that I wasn't deserving of such.  I knew what I was doing and I loved my job.  It was a joy to get up every morning, even if it meant waking up with no campers to rouse and no living group plans to implement.  I loved Camp Glisson, and all I have to do to feel that love again is look at the mini replicas of the Dining Hall Porch, Cane Creek Falls, and the Chapel here on my desk...or stick a hazelnut K-cup in the machine at home.

It was all cabbage, all the time...and I have each and every person in that photo above to thank for it.

Just popping back in for a sec...

1. We are getting our fence today. Hallelujah!
2. I'm not at all motivated to be at work, other than to be up and doing something. Although, if there was a job opening for Sit on Couch and Watch Telly All Day, I would be the girl for the job.
3. The Quest continues. Fingers are crossed. That is all.
4. Yes, I'm being intentionally vague.
5. Yes, my listmaking this morning is inspired by my dear friend Liz's blog from last August.
6. I want a Keurig for my office so that I can brew only apple cider all day long.
7. Having just stopped to think what that much of a fibre-filled fruit would do, I think I'm better off with a kettle and Yorks Tea.
8. I need more Yorks Tea.
9. Three day work weeks not only rock but should be the standard.
10. Guess I should get some work done...

What a long strange...year...it's about to be.

Starry, Starry Blackberry Wallpaper

I'm not going to do my standard "Year in Review" post today.  I'm also not going to list resolutions for the new year that I will certainly break.  What I am going to do is tell you my plans for the year, so that this time 2014 I can look at this post again and see how close I got to getting it all right.

A short disclaimer:  This optimism is destined not to last, so enjoy it while it is here.  I'm sure I'll be back to my regular emo ray of sunshine self very, very soon.

This year is going to be very lucky for me and mine.  We have a house.  We will have a fence and a deck soon.  Our basement floor will return to normal.  We will get all our boxes from the overseas move unpacked before summer.  We will have guests from the UK and the US and Canada and wherever else we have friends to come stay with us. I will be having a Eurovision finals party at my house in May. Daisy and Clown will maintain, healthy and happy, as they are today.

Our family will grow.  We've gotten downright scientific about this whole process, and while we will definitely increase the canine population of the house with a larger and fuzzier newcomer, I am confident that we will also add to our family of humans.

I will get something published.  In the past, I have resolved to "make part of my living with my writing" and I've done that. Daisy's book and my others are still available on Lulu.com. This year, however, is when that takes a step up.  This is the year that all my nano-noveling and other pecking at my keyboard will be shared with the world, as well as the year that I truly start to believe that I have a story to tell that people want to read.

I will be doing more things in the name of self-care.  There will be yoga and meditation to quiet my mind as well as a dedicated effort to start running again while my knees will still allow me to do so.

There will be travel.  Watch this space, as I will be filling all five or six of you in on my travels in a more timely manner than I have in the past.  Along those lines, and in combination with the above publishing work, there will be a photo book in the works of our honeymoon trip.  We are fairly decent photogs, me and my Mister, and I want to share the incredible experience we had with others.

I am going to be a better listener and friend, and will spend more time doing and less time talking about doing.  Of course, this blog doesn't count...

Finally, I'm going to look back on this post on 1 Jan 2014 and smile at all I've accomplished this year.  Happy New Year, Lettuce Readers.  Live long and prosper, and all that jazz.

In other news...

That is all.

For my friend Carla, with all my love...

“Where are they?”  Daisy asked, her question directed at thin air.  “And why can’t I see you?  I saw Profile before.”

“Because we’re all together now,” Jeany said.  “Things are different now.  Things are changing.  But we’re all still watching Mommy and now watching Daddy Simon.  You’re the one that has to take care of Mommy now, like Profile taught you.  She is going to be lost without us.”  

“I’m lost!” Daisy sniffled.  “I can’t do this by myself.”

“Yes you can,” Jeany said, her voice fading a bit.  “I’ve got to go, Pup, but we will all be watching and listening.  If you need us, just go outside and look up at the stars.  That’s where we’ll be, dancing around and playing.”
-from An American Greyhound in Yorkshire

I won't say goodbye, because it isn't. I'll just say see you later, because I will, Stardancer.

Carla with FTH Sassy Thang, Sandy Paws 2009

Nanowrimo Update...

So far, so good-but-behind.  Not gonna let this get on top of me like last August, though...

As I may have mentioned already, I'm doing another EQ fan fic this time around and actually, I am seeing results that I hadn't expected.  Characters that I have lived with and loved and fueled and written about for almost ten years now are trusting me enough to show me their back-stories and I'm finding it hard to stay in the here and now because I want to spend all my time in Norrath around the campfire burning in my imagination and listen to everything they have to tell me.  Who knew that two of them met while imprisoned in Lower Guk, or that two others were actually childhood friends?

Anyway, it's proving to be one of the most enjoyable Nanos I've done so far, and for that I am so grateful.  It takes my mind off flooding basements and inoperative toilets and back pain due to corset contortions in a privy at festival two days ago...well, the typing probably isn't helping the back pain but with stories like I'm being asked to tell by my characters I can endure.

See everyone the other side of 50K words!

Xie-xie, Mei Mei.

My Mei Mei and Me at Gretna Green, May 2011

Today I want to talk about my dogs.  Well, one of my dogs.  I know, that's a real departure for me.  Well, hang on to your hats.  Today I want to tell you about my angel, my Daisy, my Mei Mei.

The idea came to me while reading a wonderful article from the SF Gate about how greyhounds heal hearts.  Click here to have a read, it's a good one.  I will wait.  You might need a tissue.

I got into the office today meaning to write about that, and found my entry for Daisy to win Beach Bound Hounds Queen this year (she didn't win, but to me she is more than a silly title anyway):

I pre-adopted Daisy when she was about a month or two old, via the Follow That Hound! Program (now sadly closed).  I watched her race (badly) and then when she retired, she came home to me.  Daisy has always been a light in my sometimes dark world, but I’m nominating her today because she made the difference between me giving up and trudging on during the two years we lived in England. Don’t get me wrong, I love England and the reason I moved there, my husband Simon.  I moved there with Daisy and my two other precious GC dogs, Hunky and Jeany.  They arrived a few days before I did and sadly Jeany took a bad fall down the stairs in the house.  She waited until I got there with her little sister Daisy right by her side, literally.  Daisy stuck by Jeany and gave her comfort through what must have been excruciating pain, which was amazing because Daisy was a little afraid of Jeany.  To be fair, we were all a little afraid of her, bless her sweet Diva Princess heart! Sadly, Jeany did not make it through surgery on her shoulder.  Hunky was devastated.  Jeany was his world.  Once again, my Daisy came through and even though she had never been close to either of them, she was Hunky’s shadow, generally making sure of him, to paraphrase Piglet from Winnie the Pooh.  Hunky gave up and went to be with Jeany about a month after we lost her, and Daisy found herself with a new charge:  Mommy. Losing them so close together was awful.  Going through that while 4,000 miles away from everything and everyone I knew was soul destroying, honestly.  I didn’t want to do anything after that, but Daisy knew better.  She would crawl up on the sofa with me and snuggle up for hours.  She got in the bed with me in the mornings after Simon left for work and did everything she could think of to make me smile and laugh (hard work, that).  She helped me remember what was good and happy and furry and loving in life.  Daisy helped me get out into the world again, and was instrumental in making me more social because people always wanted to meet her and pet her (red fawns are apparently more rare in the UK than here, and especially so when they are as tall as Daisy is).  She rode buses and trains like an absolute trooper, and I never had to start a single day while I was there without her bouncing on the bed and licking me from hairline to chin.  We all say that our greyhounds saved us and not the other way around, but I truly believe it to be true for me and Daisy.  She saved me even when I didn’t want saving, and for that (and the fact that she has traveled outside of the US!) I want to nominate her for BBH Queen 2012.

If you look up the meaning of Mei Mei you'll find a variety of answers.  I call her that because, via being a Browncoat myself and learning all my Chinese phrases that I know from the Firefly 'verse, I heard Simon Tam call River that during one episode...and looked it up.  I choose to call her that because one translation I saw was beautiful little girl.  The title, "Xie-xie, Mei Mei," in the 'verse would translate to Thank you, Mei Mei.  Dong-ma?

Daisy came to me at a very turbulent time in my life.  My ex-husband and I had pre-adopted her when she was about a month old, and from that time until she was two I watched every one of her 5 attempts at breaking maiden at JAX and then watched for the results of her races at Sanford-Orlando.  Babygirl got up to grade A there!  In the late autumn/early winter of 2006 I got "the email" from Cathie Lambert, Daisy's "Mama Caffie," saying that my girl was ready to come home.

Profile was sick.  The tumor on top of his skull was getting bigger and was impairing his vision and his ability to eat.  I took him to the vet at Thanksgiving and found out that it was cancer.  Hunky and Jeany weren't young by any means, and my old cat Franny was getting older and more frail with every passing day.  Oh, and I was in the middle of a divorce which thankfully was amicable, and had moved to Montgomery, Alabama which might as well have been the other side of the world from all my greyhound support.  When Cathie emailed me I freaked out and said it wasn't the right time.  But she knew better.  And she was right.

I picked up my Mei Mei in February of 2007 after losing Profile in January.  My heart wasn't ready.  But she knew better.  Daisy came dancing into my life and always seems to know when I need a spin around her own personal dance floor, because I'm missing Profile or Hunky or Jeany or Franny or even Mills, her nemesis.  She crawls up onto the sofa with me, inching ever closer until she is touching me and then she just stays there.  Hours after hour after hour she stays there.  That's what I was talking about in the entry for BBH Queen.

Now don't get me wrong, Daisy is 110% her Dah-dee's girl.  My Mister is, without a doubt, the center of Daisy's universe.  But she has a job to do, and that job is to make sure Mommy is okay, and she does it without fail nor complaint.  She is my angel, my Mei Mei.  Clown brings his own talents to our little family, but it is Daisy that keeps me off the ledge.  Ta very much, Mei.  Mommy loves you to absolute bits.

My Post-Election 2012 Stump Speech

(Disclaimer: This should not shock anyone that really knows me well.)

I'm here today to post as a very happy American.  I've made no secret of the fact that I voted, again, for President Obama and that I'm pleased and relieved and all that sort of thing that he was re-elected on Tuesday.  

Let's do a little factual posting first.  Mr. Obama was elected not only by a landslide in the Electoral College vote, but by a reasonable margin in the popular vote as well.  I'm pointing this out in order to remind those that think that it was some sort of vote counting conspiracy or nefarious business within the Electoral College that won him re-election, that it wasn't.  It was simply that more people cast their vote for him than for his opponent.  Pure and simple.  Your candidate may not have been elected, but mine was elected fairly and according to the election process in our country.

Now then, here's the part that may get me unfriended on Facebook, unfollowed on Twitter and possibly even disparagingly commented about here at the Lettuce.  Friends (and those that unfriend/unfollow), I can take it.  Do what you have to do, that's what I'm doing here, and by hiding posts/people in my Facebook feed until after all of this rancor dies away a bit.

You may not realize it, but there are people out there in the world that have opinions that differ from yours.  There are people out there that worship a different Diety/Higher Power than you do.  There are people who eat meat, people who hate greyhound racing, and even people who believe with a strong conviction that if you think differently than they do you are, to quote my Facebook feed, morally inferior and/or corrupt.  The truth is, though, that there is NOTHING wrong with those people, they are just different.

I just wanted to post here to let everyone that reads the Lettuce (yeah, I know it's like five of you, but still) know where I stand so that you can make an informed decision about how you and I proceed from this point rather than jumping to the conclusion that because I support President Obama that means I am made of Satan.  Because, to be fair, I'm really not.

I am a Democrat.  I am a Liberal Democrat.  I am in support of equal work and equal pay regardless of gender, sexual orientation, age, ability, and anything else that might differentiate one person from another.  I am firmly in support of the notion that we are here on this earth (not this country, mind you, but the whole earth) to take care of each other and support each other.  I believe that support includes helping others any time that you can.  I believe that support includes sharing what you have with those that don't.  I believe that if you work hard and live a good and fair life, you will not only succeed but have the means to help others succeed.

I think that health care is a basic right just like food and shelter.  While I am not so sure I agree that you should be taxed if you choose to go without health insurance, I'm very sure that sometimes the end justifies the means and that everyone should be able to go to their doctor when they need to go, and not just when they can afford to go.  I believe in Medicare and Medicaid and Social Security.

Need to take a break to hit unfriend?  Because this is only going to get more personal and probably make some people more disgusted with me as a human being (again, another FB quote).

I believe that my religious beliefs are none of anyone's business but my own.  I believe that whether or not I go to church is no one's business but my own.  I do not believe that Go Make Of All Disciples means Get Every Pew In The Church Filled.  I believe that everyone is on the path to their own understanding of the Divine.  I believe that the Divine is one entity that has many faces.  I believe that it is not my place to judge because I don't want anyone judging me.  I believe that in my religious tradition there are mandates such as "Do Unto Others" and "As you have done to the least of these, you have done to me" that are not just suggestions.  

Still there?

I believe that people are born gay/straight/lesbian/bi/whatever, and that is between them and the people with whom they share their lives.  Further, if someone finds another human being that they want to spend their life loving and supporting and being with, then they should have just as much legal right to do that as anyone else does.

I believe that this body my brain is sitting in right now is MINE, and that no one has the right to tell me what I can or can't do with any working part of it.  Further, I believe that every other woman in the world has the same right to make decisions about her own body as I do.  Those decisions include the use of contraception and the ability to make decisions about pregnancy, especially in cases of incest, rape, and other trauma.

I believe that exclusion is a smoke screen for nefarious purpose, and that inclusion is the only way to be a true member of our global community.  And while we're on the topic of the world community, I wanted to just point out that there is a HUGE difference between the "Israel" of Jewish tradition, mentioned in the Bible and other scripture and the Israel that exists as a country today.  One is a body of people, beloved of their God.  The other is a country that is just as guilty of terrorism as any of its neighbors in the middle east.  I believe that the US should seriously re-think its devotion to Israel.

I don't think the US is the best nation on the planet.  We have all kinds of problems.  People are starving.  People are homeless.  Animals are abused.  Schools don't have the money to educate students, let alone produce future leaders.  I think that if the US would stop trying to prove its imaginary superiority and would focus on its own people at home for a change, we might be healthier and happier.

I don't think Republicans are evil.  I think that they are people with a differing opinion than mine.  I don't think the Tea Party should have chosen that name because I believe that in doing so they are denigrating the original act of rebellion that took place in Boston.  Their issue isn't lack of representation, it's changing your mind after you elect representation and then crying that no one represents you.

I believe that President Obama was born a citizen of the United States just like I was.  I also believe that a great lot of the outcry against him is a smoke screen...I think it all boils down to the fact that our country was not ready for an African -American president. 

I have always been proud to be an American citizen and I still am.  My time living abroad gave me a new perspective on what that means and what it should mean, and that's what I'm working to emulate.  The world is not laughing at all of us, Mr. Trump.  If the world is laughing, it's at cartoonish buffoons who declare the end is nigh/gather your guns/prepare for the apocalypse because of the election of one man to power.

Huh, that just gave me a thought.  It reminded me of all the people that were threatened by another man who came to the table talking about love, inclusion, supporting each other, and sharing what we have with each other.  Interesting that some of the loudest voices claim allegiance to that man yet clearly have no understanding of his message.

Yeah, so that's what it's like inside my head these days.  Take this information and do with it as you will.