What Time is It?

I can't tell you how many times I used to glance at the clock throughout my working day. It often felt like one minute took 20 minutes to pass. This week marks my third full week of retirement. Funny how things have changed. I get up and before I know it, the day is over. When evening arrives I ask myself-What did you accomplish today? What did you check off your "to-do" list?

Well, today I organized the pantry. Sounds like no big deal until I tell you my pantry is empty but the trash can is bursting at the seams. What an eye opener to discover canned goods that expired in 2010. Needless to say I didn't get around to the 6 other things I hoped to do, but at least I've saved the household from an emergency trip to a medical center.

Bogey has his own schedule. Eat, rest, play, nap, stretch, play, rest, eat, sleep. For that matter, the visiting grand-dogs follow pretty much the same routine. So far not one of them have reported any dissatisfaction with their lives to me. Are grandiose plans overrated?

Perhaps it's time to worry less about my list and more about doing what I can without sweating the little things. If a task is critical, I'll get it done. If not...well, as Scarlett O'Hara once famously said, "Tomorrow is another day".

Paw Prints in Time

Indy sleeps a lot. His legs twitch and I wonder if he's dreaming of the days when he used to chase tennis balls and go for long walks around the lake. Now he stumbles when he walks and sometimes stands perfectly still in the middle of a room as though bewildered over just where he could be.

He turned 15 years old in March and I know our time together is growing short. Maybe I've been selfish letting him go on as long as I have, but every time I consider making The Call, he perks up and I see a trace of him from his puppy days.

Last weekend I bought some clay, worked it out nice and flat, and then pressed Indy's paw down into the surface. It wasn't the best impression ever made. Indy didn't much care for the process and I hate to overly annoy an old guy who wants nothing more than to nap in a warm sunny spot. Before baking the clay, I put a hole in the top of the piece so it can be hung as an ornament or in a window. 

I figured as long as I had the clay, I might as well do an impression for Bogey, too. Capturing his print wasn't any more popular.

Maybe I'll try again another day. Or maybe not. Who needs perfect?

I suppose my clay pieces are a lot like real life, filled with bumps, irregularities, and occasional wishes for a do-over. But there's something sweet about them, too. The clay is a reminder it doesn't matter what life throws at me. When I see the face of a child, bask in the beauty of a cloudless day, or hold on to the endless love and loyalty of a dear old friend, I get a rare privilege. That's when I understand, just a tiny bit, what it must be like to glimpse heaven. 

Happy Birthday Baby!

Today my one and only daughter turns 27. How can that be? I don't feel much older than 27 myself...until I look in a mirror, that is.

Without consulting me at all, time continues to zoom forward at warp speed. Sometimes I think it would be a blessing to slow down the years. But how could I choose when to apply the brakes? In every year it seems like some wonderful thing or another has happened. I'm optimistically hoping that the future brings more of the same.

Perhaps it's smarter to ignore my image in the mirror. Who needs to consider what that old lady thinks, anyway? It's much more fun to listen to the teenager hidden under the wrinkly facade, who resides deep in my soul. That girl is up for a party anytime.

Happy 27th birthday to my pretty baby!

Marking Time

It's wonderful to have great friends...especially when those friends have more than a few special talents.

Don Wiegand is one of those people. I've blogged before about Don. His studio is more museum than workplace. Outside his geese, ducks, exotic chickens, and peacocks roam the yard. I received my first goose egg (no, not a knock on the head) from Don. It sat in the refrigerator making all the regular chicken eggs look the size of a robin's.

And then there are his bronze sculptures. They're best described as "scary good". It looks as though they could come to life any moment.

When he's not working on a myriad of other projects, Don is kind enough to do hand casts. Last year, on our wedding anniversary, he did ours.

First, oil up hands and arms. Sort of like greasing the frying pan for that "no stick" effect.

Next, get hands in proper position.

Then in comes the gooey pink stuff. If you've ever had a dental impression before, you know what I'm talking about. Hold perfectly still and wait about 5 minutes. Slowly and carefully pull out hands. Then plaster is poured into the impression which sits for a few hours. Finally the bucket is dumped and a giant pink rubbery mound is revealed.

The next task is to carve away the pink stuff. Careful! You could lop off a finger!

Finally! My ring tore a little groove in the cast which makes my hand look like the aftermath of a knife attack.  But not to worry. Don can fix it. About one month later...

Voila! The finished product. Interestingly, the cast captures every line, bump, crease, and wrinkle. In other words, you may not want to biggify this picture.

Though we did the cast last year, a few days ago, on August 21, 2010 we celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary. It got me to thinking just how much our old hands have been through over the years...

Palms together on our wedding day, signing papers on our first home, digging in the garden, scrubbing, painting, pounding a nail, writing endless checks, cradling a baby, applauding accomplishments, wagging a finger of admonishment, carrying a load that sometimes felt far too heavy, wiping away tears, surrounding a loved one with a gentle hug. I guess we really have earned every single mark that's detailed on our cast.

And I wouldn't trade them for anything.