Immortal Beloved

This is Ludwig van Beethoven's Third Letter for his Immortal Beloved. I'm not a romantic woman, not by a long shot. I'm far too practical for that and perhaps even cynical. However... this letter brings me to my knees. Not that I long to feel this, necessarily - more that I'm in awe of his words and his passion. I appreciate it as I would a work of art. I think that this type of longing and angst blossoms in very special circumstances -- a cross country love affair through words, perhaps. A Maverick soul, yearning for his Siren... here it is.

This is The Third Letter, from Ludwig van Beethoven for his Immortal Beloved

"Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved.
Now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us.
I can live only wholly with you or not at all -
Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that
I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits.

Yes, unhappily it must be so.
You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you.
No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never.
Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves.
And yet my life in V is now a wretched life.
Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men.
At my age I need a steady, quiet life - can that be so in our connection?
My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day,
therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once.

Be calm.
Only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together.
Be calm... love me - today - yesterday.
What tearful longings for you - you - you - my life, my all - farewell.
Oh, continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.

Ever thine
Ever mine
Ever ours."

Politics, Elections and other Nonsensical Stuff

Soooo, we have a Federal Election coming up soon. I tend to be a fairly political creature (which my girlfriend Barb thinks is a DISEASE... she will be fairly disgusted with this post), so all the election buzz got me to thinking about why I find politics so facinating.



I was talking to Connor tonight about it all (he has the same disease, poor wee bugger) and while sharing my views with him, I remembered that growing up, during any federal or provincial election, there were 2 signs on the front lawn. On one side of the sidewalk was a Liberal sign, on the other side of the sidewalk was a Conservative sign. My wonderful Mamma was the liberal. My German Catholic father, no suprise, was the conservative.



I remember being small and feeling very excited that we had 2 signs on our lawn instead of only 1 like everyone else. I also remember being proud of my Mom for having a different opinion from my Dad. I remember feeling very proud of her for being vocal about it.



I don't know how I'm going to vote in this election. I'm having a debate in my head about the wisdom of voting for a party vs. voting for a candidate. I don't know what the answer is to that dilemna, but I'm not crazy about the Conservatives or the Liberals, and I'm also not crazy about our NDP candidate (only met him once, to be fair). Today the Globe and Mail said that the Conservatives are tanking in Quebec and that BC may be their last hope for a majority government. That's enough to knock 'em right off the ballot for me. The Liberals? Well, Stephane Dion seems just a little... well... um.... wimpy. I'll just say it. Like the kid who gets beat up on the playground then has an asthma attack afterwards. Not terribly Prime Ministerial sounding, right?

I think I've just been really spoiled by having a few politician friends who are incredibly genuine and sincere people. My beloved Paulie (of Paul and Linda fame) and my darling Corky (of Corky Evans fame) are two of them. These guys have raised the bar for what I expect from a politician. CRAZY things like sincerity and honesty. Charisma and kindness.

I expect them to give a shit, like Paul and Corky.

The nerve.

Sweet Caroline

Tonight was a tough night.

On January 1 of this year, my friend Caroline died from a brain tumour. She was 49. I had the enormous privilege of knowing her, spending time with her when she was sick, and helping to plan her funeral.

Tonight, I snuggled Caroline's grandson, Landon. He is her first grandchild and he was born only weeks ago. I rocked him in her kitchen and told him all about her which was hard but also beautiful. I held him close to me and in the warmth of her home, and told Landon about his Grandma.....

Caroline had the best laugh ever. She had a beautiful voice and her laugh was a giggle that sounded like chimes tinkling. She was inquisitive and smart. She loved to research alternative medicines and organic foods and was very knowledgeable. She even researched her brain cancer... after she was diagnosed, she sat at my kitchen table and gave my children a biology lesson in brain cancer and told them that she wanted them to learn along with her on this journey. She didn't want them to be scared or sad for 'Aunty Caroline'. She wanted them to be interested and educated. She accepted her diagnosis with grace.

Caroline raised three really amazing children with a partner who adored her. Watching Landon's Mamma nurturing him tonight helped me to see that Caroline's legacy lives on through her children. Caroline loved being a Mother. There is nothing that was more important to her than her family. Caroline would have been an amazing Grandma.

I want to finish this post on a lighter note because Caroline will roll her eyes at me wherever she is if I don't. By the time Katie found out she was pregnant, Caroline was already becoming confused from the cancer in her brain. Didace, her husband, was excited to share the news of Katie's pregnancy with Caroline, knowing how happy it would make her. He sat down on her hospital bed and told her, "Guess what? You're going to be a Grandma....". She processed this for a moment, then lit up and said "That means you're going to be a Dad!"

Caroline had an amazing attitude until the end. She was grateful for the life she lived and the love she experienced while on this earth. She left all who loved her with the gift of acceptance and gratitude and I love her for it. We will all make sure that wee Landon knows just exactly how amazing his Grandma was, and how much she loved just the idea of him.

Barb

I spent this past weekend with Barb who is my best friend in the whole entire universe. I don't know how to begin to define Barb or the friendship that we have, but I'm going to try.

Barb is.... funny. Fucking funny. No one can make me laugh the way she does. We laugh on the phone, at my house, at her house, when one of us is crying, at the mall, out for dinner. You get the idea -- it's pretty much non-stop. My abs hurt everytime I'm with her and somehow, after 23 years of friendship, we don't seem to run out of material.

I met Barb in the summer of 1985 when I went to write my college entrance exams. My Aunt Gay (you will learn about her in an upcoming blog post....) drove me the 3 hours to Calgary and I was fairly terrified. I was only 17 and didn't know a soul at Mount Royal College. After my exams, Aunt Gay and I went to 'The Soup Kettle' to have some lunch. She noticed Barb and told me that she recognized her from the exam room and why didn't I go say hello to her? My eyes almost bugged out of my head. Barb was scary. She was the kind of girl who lipped off teachers, who broke curfew, who SMOKED. In public. I was the kind of girl who was the President of the Student Council, always made it home 5 minutes before curfew and smoked, but only covertly. I didn't want to ruin my wholesome reputation, after all. (This was early evidence of the rebel who lived under that Catholic girl facade....).

That fateful day, I was dressed in nicely pressed blue jeans, a blouse buttoned up conservatively, pink pumps and a ribbon in my hair. No, I'm not kidding. Barb, on the other hand was wearing very tight jeans with high top runners, a t-shirt and jean jacket (cordouroy collar, flipped up, no less) with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and a mean squint in her eyes. My Aunt Gay nudged me until I went over to say hello. (Thank you, thank you, thank you Aunt Gay). I don't remember what I said or how the conversation went, but it was the beginning of this amazing friendship.

I am 100% convinced that one of the main reasons I'm strong and capable (and alive) today is because Barb took me under her wing. When I went to college, I was incredibly naive and trusting. I had been raised in a very sheltered manner and Barb saved me from many scary situations and taught me to be street wise. If we were being harrassed by guys in a bar, I would smile and endure it. She would tell them to "Fuck Off!" in no uncertain terms. I was awestruck. She was also very charming and used her natural charisma to get our needs met. I always accepted my course schedule just the way it was handed to me. Barb, not so much. One time, she made me go with her to talk to our faculty adviser so that she could explain that it was impossible for us to have a 9:00 a.m. class on Friday mornings because Thursday night was ladies night at 'The Longhorn' saloon. They changed our class for us. Again, I was awestruck.

Barb is kind. Everyone around her feels accepted and embraced when they are with her. The home she has created is likely the most welcoming, warm place I've ever been. She has a knack for creating spaces throughout her house and yard that make you want to sit and visit and laugh, and people do exactly that. All the time. Anytime I'm there to visit, friends are constantly popping by to say hello and they are always made to feel welcome. This summer, she had 22 people staying there for the August long weekend. She loved every minute of it.

Barb's house is also the place where I go to lick my wounds. When life becomes 'all too much' or I'm going through something difficult, that is where I go. I know that I can stay in my jammies the entire time, crying on the couch if I need too. She knows just what to do and say to support me. She knows when to bring the kleenex, pour the paralyzer, hug me, tell me to suck it up, or make me laugh. She just knows.

This past weekend was one of complete rest and relaxation for me. We watched season 2 of 'Dexter'. We went for a 6 kilometer walk. We drank paralyzers. We slept in her king sized bed with the new fleece sheets. (Fleece!). I made chicken and rice wraps for Sara (Barb's daughter) because it's one of the things I do when I'm there. Jacob (Barb's son) gave me a hug that melted my heart the minute I arrived. We watched 'Wrong Turn 2' and screamed and laughed. Last night at 3:00 a.m., Sara came down to where we were sleeping to tell us that we were laughing too loud which just made us laugh harder. She walked away with a smile, shaking her head at us.

If I could make one wish for Sara, it would be for her to be lucky enough in life to find a friendship like the one I have with her mother.

(Thanks for the fantastic weekend, Barb! Mwah!)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Update: In true Barb fashion, she made me laugh my head off when I chatted with her about this blog post. She told me that she now knows what her Eulogy will sound like and that she felt like she should be eating a ham and pickle sandwich (the kind you ONLY get at a funeral tea). She also pointed out that she did not have a cigarette hanging out of her mouth at the Soup Kettle and I'm pretty sure she's right. She just didn't sound scary enough without it. I pointed out that this is my blog and I am allowed a bit of artistic license. She said that I was just like James Frey (of 'A Million Little Pieces' fame) and that she was going to report me to Oprah. Do you see why I love her???

9/11 and the genius of Serj Tankian

I didn't want the anniversary of the attacks on the twin towers to go by without some form of recognition on my blog. I remember that day well. I was puttering about, getting my little ones ready for school when the phone rang. A good friend called to tell me to turn my television on because the US was under attack. I did and was as frightened and dumbfounded as everyone else that morning. I didn't know what to do.... should I send the kids to school? Should I keep them home? What was next? In the end, I did send them to school and sat under a blanket watching CNN the entire day feeling sick to my stomach.

I had a discussion with a dear friend today about the state of our world and the imperialistic attitude that seems to prevail, especially from the politicians who reign to the South of us. The conclusion that he and I both came to was that generally, society seems to be moving towards a more kind and gentle state of mind. The same can not be said for the 'right-leaning' politicians who continue to gain power through fear mongering. I was feeling fairly hopeless about it all until my son asked me to sit down and watch a video on youtube with him. Connor and I have been somewhat OBSESSED with the music/poetry from the band System of a Down recently. (A shout out to my peeps at work who put up with me forcing them to watch these videos -- "Isn't he brilliant, Shannon? Isn't he? Put away your Holy Water!") The video that Connor wanted me to see was of a song by the lead singer of SOAD named Serj Tankian. The song is called 'Empty Walls' and is about war, specifically the one currently being fought in Iraq. Serj Tankian is American, but was born in Beruit. He is Armenian and has seen his share of violence. He is a peace activist and a poet. He's brilliant and revolutionary. The song and video are amazing, however the video is disturbing, I'll warn you. Not in a gruesome way, more in a "Holy fuck that gave me goosebumps" way. I personally believe that we all need to have our cage rattled in that way now and then.

I digress. I was about to tell you all about the hope that I had after watching the video with my son. What I found hopeful about the experience was that my 14 year old son was so passionate about the topic. Not just passionate, but thoughtful and reflective too. That gives me hope. At the age of 14, he is politically aware and has strong opinions in that regard. He embraced this video because he understood the message being sent and agreed with it. He and I have discussed the lyrics from most of the SOAD music and have enjoyed very meaningful conversations around them. When I was 14, I was worried about my hair and listened to Wham!.

'Nuff said. Hope.

In case you're interested, here is the video of "Empty Walls' by Serj Tankian on youtube. Google the lyrics. It's important.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=rgQb6il94_I

(FYI; this link was previously broken. I fixed it, just so you know.)

Pondering My Yonder

The other night I had a friend come over for a visit. When I originally posted this picture on facebook, she told me that she wanted to "Ponder my yonder' from the seat of that tractor. And so we did. It was a cool night with a brilliant, bright moon (Drinking Scotch, I suppose I should say it was a "Braw bricht moon licht nicht") so it seemed completely appropriate that we would drink scotch. I know that sentence makes no sense. It doesn't need to. Now, this was not just any scotch, mind you, but a single malt called 'Balvenie'. My friend Paul (from a previous post called 'Refuge') introduced me to Balvenie. I love Paulie. I think I've mentioned that before. My first bottle of Balvenie was a gift from Paul for my 40th birthday.

My friend put on my pink wig (because she wanted to) and we drank $70 scotch out of pink 'go-cups'. On a tractor. I was in heaven. We sat there for 3 hours, sipping our scotch, laughing and talking about so many heartfelt things. She's going through some 'stuff' right now. I've recently gone through some 'stuff'. One great truth we agreed upon is that people who endure, survive, embrace and conquer their 'stuff' are interesting folks. As a rule, they are more well-rounded, possess more depth and enjoy a certain amout of wisdom that 'stuff-less' people don't seem to have. My friend and I came to the conclusion that we are both grateful for what we've been through. I thought we were going to simply ponder the yonder of the beauty surrounding us. Instead, I pondered my own personal yonder, as did my friend.

Once we decided to go inside, we got off the tractor and stood up. That was our first mistake of the night (maybe the second... depends on how you look at it). While sitting, we both felt all 'glowy' from the Scotch. Once standing, it was evident that we were more than glowy. We were drunk with a capital 'D'. This was a Tuesday night. A Tuesday night with work the next day! (Although I clearly thought it was Wednesday for some reason....). We were in the middle of a field, in the dark and we were not sober. Does this not scream 'Someone is going to fall down'? Well, we didn't. However we did laugh until we snorted and we found a mud puddle accidentally. An evil mud puddle that tried to eat my Croc. We finally made it to the house with very muddy socks but we were quite sure that we'd been fairly respectable and stealthy. Apparently not. My husband told us that he could hear us 200 feet away from the house.

When my uncle saw the tractor picture on facebook, he commented that it reminded him of a William Carlos Williams poem. I will leave you with it:

so much depends upon a red wheel barrow

glazed with rain water

beside the white chickens.

-William Carlos Williams-

Critters

I like living rurally. I really, really do.... I love that my kids have the opportunity to run wild on 10 acres, building tree forts and swimming and fishing in the creek and the pond. I like that they get to help raise, ride and eat pigs. I like the clean air and incredible view. Here's what I don't like.

• I don't like the bird with it's many, many feathers that one of our cats put in Jack's bed this morning as a 'gift'.



• Today I don't like the dog (yes, I know he was very cute in a previous post... not cute today) who is freakin' HOUDINI breaking out of his pen no matter what I do to contain him.



• I really don't like the packrat that is banging around in my furnace ducts making a lovely winter home as we speak. Do the cats eat him? Nooooooo....

Our 100 year old farmhouse is very quaint but it is not exactly well-sealed, hence the ease with which a packrat can take up residence. This is not our first packrat. No, the first one made a nest out of something very precious that I can't name here because my siblings will KILL me. (Hi Siblings!) The second one.... well, get comfy because this is a story that you will want to hear. It's a gooder.

Packrat #2 made his presence know through the banging noise he made in the furnace ducts and the smell. Packrats STINK. It's too bad, too because they are really cute. (See picture above) They aren't 'rat' in the traditional sense.... they have furry tails and big cute eyes and they are incredibly social. But.... the stink. Wow. But, I digress.

We had been trying to catch Packrat #2 (PR2) for quite sometime a few winters ago to no avail. We bought the correct traps (BIG TRAPS. Packrats are big) and tried various tasty treats on them. Peanut butter? No. Cheese? No. Bread? No. We were growing tired of the banging and stink but were at a loss at how to get rid of PR2. Until, one fateful night.

I had a friend who was in visiting and we were up late drinking wine and laughing on the couch. Len and the kids were sound asleep and we were having a final nightcap when my friend suddenly screamed and jumped up onto the couch. I looked in the direction where she was pointing and saw PR2 sitting in the vent of the fireplace watching us. I did not scream because I am an experienced, rural woman. Uh huh. PR2 was completely unaffected by the screaming and just cocked his cute little head sideways, curiously watching us. I did what any compentent feminist would do.... I ran and woke up my husband. Len threw on his long johns and came downstairs all bleary eyed. At this point I noticed that he was ARMED. He had his .22 in hand, ready to take on PR2. More screaming ensued, now from both of the women in the house. Laughing, we ran back and hid in the laundry room. PR2 simply cocked his head in the other direction, observing the crazy human behaviour.

Suddenly, from our hiding place by the washing machine, we heard a 'pop' and we ceased giggling and screaming. Wide-eyed silence followed until we saw my 120 lb. rotweiller trying to squeeze herself through the cat-door that leads into the laundry room; she clearly was not interested in being the next recipient of the 'pop'. More hysterical laughing.

Somehow, my husband managed to 'dispose' of PR2 with one shot and no mess. Amazing. We decided that after all of the drama, we certainly needed another glass of wine and my friend (who is from the city and works in a fancy schmancy lawyer's office) shook her head and said "The girls at work are simply not going to believe this."

Rurally living at it's finest.

Back To School

(Gigi, grade 5 and excited for day one. Connor, grade 10 and showing off his badly injured index finger (from helping me pick rocks). Jack, grade 7 and looking goofy because the only way I can make him smile for a picture is to say something inappropriate. In the picture below, they are all looking to the left so that Jack could show off his new hairdo.)

I have a kid in grade 10. Honestly. How did that happen? I certainly don't feel old enough to have an almost-15-year-old. In fact, wasn't I in high school, like, 15 minutes ago??

When all three of my lovely brats were preschoolers, little old ladies would come up to me in the grocery store and say "Oh, enjoy them, dear.... it goes so fast!!!" Now, you have to understand, a trip to the grocery store with my three wee bairns was a very serious undertaking that required more preparation and patience than anything else I've ever done. Nevermind the car seats and diaper bags. Once we were there, I would put Connor in the grocery cart seat, Jack in a back pack and Bridget in a snuggly. Then, I would try to get groceries while being stopped and subjected to the unsolicited advice of these little old ladies. Subsequently, I would use every ounce of my self control to not run over the old ladies with my cart. In my opinion, at that time, this was not going fast, oh no, not at all.

Here's what I have to say to you today. The little old ladies were right. I really, really hate admitting it, but they were. At the time, I thought they were suffering from memory loss at the very least, but more likely, advanced stage Alzheimer's. How could they forget how HARD this was?? Now, I have literally had to bite my bottom lip to stop myself from saying to young mothers in the grocery store.... "Oh, enjoy it! It really, really does go so fast."

And it does.

Refuge

There are certain places in the world where you just feel happy. A place where everything is right and warm and fuzzy. I'm very lucky to have a few places that feel like that; today I spent the afternoon at one of them, with Paul and Linda at their acreage. I've known Linda for 16 years. She is my husband's step-mother's niece. Yeah. A shirt tail relative who feels more related to me than many of my 'real' relatives. (No offense intended, 'real' relatives :-)).

Since I met Lin, I have been 'Aunty' to her daughters, Sheena and Ebony, and she has been an incredible presence in my life whenever I've needed her. She's married to Paul who brought two sons into the mix, Tam and Mitch, and at one point they had 4 teenagers living with them, not to mention the barage of teenage friends who, to this day, enjoy the household hospitality as much as I do. In fact, when I arrived today, Sheena's friend from "back in the day" was in town and popped by for a visit. He and Lin were sitting out on the back veranda having a chat and he was laughing at the loving insults that Linda was hammering him with. It's her crazy way of showing love (have I ever had a conversation with her that didn't start with "Hi Skank"?) and everyone loves her for it.

Linda is a talented hair dresser and saves me from myself in that department. She did my hair on my wedding day, and also spent the months leading up to that day making and freezing cabbage rolls and perogies so that we could have a homemade dinner at the reception. Cabbage rolls and perogies. Labour intensive food. For 125 people. Who does that??

No matter how often I need to be at their home, for whatever reason, Paul welcomes me with open arms. Even better than that, he usually has a glass of single malt scotch on ice for me. (Balvenie!) Today he asked me how I was doing. I told him I was ridiculously cranky so he quietly poured me a Sambucca on ice. I love Paul. We discuss politics (a lot) and I value his opinion. I like to think he values mine too.

Paul and Linda have raised four incredible kids into thriving, adventurous adults. Sheena is in Australia raising two lovely little monsters and is an absolutely beautiful mother. I see Linda's influence when I watch Sheena parenting Dex and Kodi with a mixture of discipline, intense love, affection, and humour. Ebony is a firefighter, social worker (top of her class and about to take her Masters) and placed 4th in the world as a power lifter (please allow me to brag, Eb!). I see Linda's influence when I watch Eb's determination and compassion. Mitch and Tam are both about to embark on international adventures and I feel Paul's infuence when his son's greet me warmly and hug me even though they rarely see me. Paul and Linda are 'Aunty Lin and Uncle Paul' to my children and my kids feel warm and fuzzy when we go there too.

Paul and Lin love each other like crazy. They are openly affectionate and respectful with each other and they laugh together often. They have worked their asses off to be this happy and I go to them for advice for my own life knowing that they will always be honest, compassionate and most important of all, they will call me on my shit. I love them for that.

Today Linda cut Jack's hair, poured me a pink lady and let me raid the basil in their garden so that I could make a batch of pesto in her kitchen. While we were there, Sheena called from Oz and gave Bridget hair advice over the phone. Paulie puttered in his beloved gardens and all was right in the universe. It was a perfect sunday afternoon spent with two of my favourite people in the world. Thank you so much, Paul and Linda -- for everything.

(Linda, don't you dare complain about me being too
sweet to you in this blog post, you freakin' skank.)
xoxox

What's Up Doc?

Three months ago, I took a trip to 'the city' with my son, Jack. While there, we decided to make a stop at the pet store to visit the critters -- not to purchase a critter, mind you -- just to look at them. As we rounded the corner to the pet store, I noticed a patch of grass where a young couple had parked with their dog and her 12 puppies. Before I could think, I gasped and pointed them out to Jack. Of course, Jack begged me to stop. Not to purchase one, mind you.... oh, no. Just to pet one. Jack loves animals... when we had pigs, he named all of them and even rode them when they were big enough. He is a cat whisperer (I swear to God) and just seems to have a way with all creatures great and small.

Last October, we had to have our 13 year old Rottie-girl put down. Her name was 'Mandy' and she was the sweetest, most gentle dog I've ever met. She was enormous and, well.... a Rottweiler, but even our vet said that she was one of the most submissive dogs he's ever met. Our kids grew up with her.... Bridget learned to pull herself up from crawling to standing by grabbing great handfuls of Mandy-skin in her hands. Having her put down was the hardest decision I have ever made, bar none. In hindsight, we left it far too long. She was ready to go long before we were ready to let her go and I honestly wasn't prepared for just how painful it would be to say goodbye. I swore that I would not put myself through that ever again.....

Back to Jack and the puppies and 'the city'. As we approached them, I could clearly see that these fat little sausages had rottweiler blood in them. Jack snuggled them and loved them and smelled them and played with them and fell in love with a little boy-dog. I told him over and over that we were not getting a dog until a lovely little girl-dog wiggled her way into my heart. After calling my husband (Pleeaaassseee!!! You won't have to do ANYTHING) and getting the 'go ahead', I jumped in the car with Jack, raced to the bank to get the required amount of cash and raced back. The little girl I fell in love with was gone. The little boy who Jack fell in love with was still there. I did NOT want a boy dog and firmly believed that the little girl-dog being gone was a clear sign from the universe that I am not supposed to have another dog. However, when Jack looked up at me (with his very own puppy dog eyes) and said "But Mom, he chose me", I was a goner. I'm not sure who was more shocked at my 'Yes', Jack or me, but indeed, I did say 'Yes' and off we went with our new little sausage-boy-dog.

We named him 'Doc' because we all love the movie Tombstone and we especially love Val Kilmer's portrayal of Doc Holliday in it. It was also the ONLY name we could all agree on. Everywhere we go, people think we're yelling "Dog!! Dog!" when we call him, but somehow 'Doc' really does suit him and he often channels the mischievious, trouble-making spirit of Doc Holliday. He still has 'accidents' and it makes me crazy. We ('we' meaning my husband who wasn't going to have to do ANYTHING) built him a pen which he regularily digs out of. We live on a highway so this is a bit of a dicey situation. I have had moments of 'What the fuck was I thinking???" but overall, I have fallen in love with this little guy. As I type this, he is sleeping in my favourite wing-backed chair, snoring. Who knew? And... when I watch Jack on the ground with him, wrestling and laughing his head off, telling me that Doc is his best friend, I don't mind so much that I've had to rip out my carpet.

I wanted laminate anyway.