crossing my fingers...

So Sipsey has a new pal. His name is Sage. He's a tad bit smaller than she is, but they enjoy all the same things. Namely napping and staring out the window. He's been around for almost a month now and has not been destuffed in the slightest (what can I say? She's a man eater). In fact, he's still got both ears AND a tail. Since Sage came to stay, Sipsey has destroyed a number of other stuffed toys, but there's something special about this guy, and it's more than just his baby blues. I'm assuming it's the fact that he lacks a squeaker, which leads me to believe she's attracted to the handsome, silent types. Aren't we all, Sips? Aren't we all?

I could get used to this....

I'm beginning to realize what my life would be like if I weren't constantly packing the suitcase and being shuttled between airports. I kinda like it :-)

But just when I've become accustomed to weekends spent working in the yard, swimming, and discovering new swimming holes, my editor-in-chief decided we should take our Editorial Retreat to Lake Guntersville State Park for two days this week, AND that I should accept a Press Trip to Door County, Wisconsin for six days in July. Add to this the trip I have planned to Iowa in August and the New Mexico press trip I'll be attending in September, and it seems like once-monthly travel is going to be the way it is now through 2009. I've gotta satisfy that itch, though, right? I'm fortunate that most of my upcoming trips WILL include family (Iowa to visit the fam, Vegas for cousin Tricia's wedding, possibly Iowa for Thanksgiving and then AGAIN for Christmas!)

I've learned a lot about relaxing in the past few weeks, and that it's okay to not have an agenda 24/7. That no one will strike me down if I decide to lay on the couch and watch movies or read my book all afternoon. That it's OKAY to not be speeding along eleventy billion miles a minute.


The downside to all this free time is that it gives me liberty to think, and thinking leads to worrying. Right now I'm completely worked up about the state of our world and the future. I keep trying to tell myself that as long as I'm doing MY part, which is more significant than most people's, that I should feel at ease. But I can't help but feel that everything is going to hell in a handbasket, and I'm just along for the ride. That ache in the pit of my stomach that accompanied me through college is back. I refrain from watching the news, and limit my what's-going-on-in-the-world exposure to NPR, but I think about all the little things people COULD be doing but aren't, and I get upset all over again. Am I the only one that feels this way sometimes?

I've always been susceptible to these fits of bleeding heart liberal passion. It started in elementary school when I first learned about the depletion of the world's rainforests. I couldn't sleep at night. I worked myself into a tizzy 'til I was banned from watching the evening news. In fact, I saved all my Weekly Readers on this subject in Fourth Grade.

Is it just that I need to be worrying about something? Or is it that I feel like I could be doing more? I've given up meat. I've started a recycling effort at the office and am a bit of a nazi about it at home. I use energy efficient bulbs. I conserve water. I'm about to trade in my car for something with better fuel efficiency. I volunteer with the Alabama Environmental Council. What else can I do to help promote a healthier, simpler, cleaner way of living?

My Hiney was Kicked by City Stages

I was oh so excited for City Stages (www.citystages.org) this year. Birmingham’s annual music festival closes off the streets of downtown, transforming the greater metropolitan area into fair food (everything you can imagine, fried and on a stick,) music, and people-watching heaven. Usually the line-up includes one or two big acts (i.e. Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, etc.) that will motivate me to go through the hassle of getting downtown, finding a place to park, and then dealing with the hordes of people who come out of the woodwork once a year.

But this year was amazing. There were bands booked that I couldn’t believe. Diana Ross, Old Crow Medicine Show, The Roots, Galactic, Buddy Guy, North Mississippi Allstars, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals, The Wailers, Ben Harper & the Innocent Criminals, Michael Franti & Spearhead, Shooter Jennings, Citizen Cope, The Flaming Lips. For weeks now I’ve had my schedule written out and organized by time and stage. I even decided to take my excitement one step further and volunteered with the Alabama Environmental Council to man some recycling bins.

Friday night I partied like a college kid. We received VIP passes from a friend, which entitled us to drink for free, and the people at the VIP tent would serve you two drinks at a time. Yeah. I was drinking, dancing, screaming, singing, and having heart-to-heart conversations with strangers. Most of the evening was pieced together by reviewing the photos taken on my camera. I was definitely in rare form. I paid for it all day Saturday, too.

I dragged my butt off the couch for round 2 on Saturday, and was not in the greatest of moods. The recycling duties were not difficult, but did involve standing around for four hours encouraging rednecks to recycle. Luckily, some friends joined me for a few shows and then, nearing the end of my time digging through garbage, Dirk came to meet me with his friend, Grant. Then Tim, who kept giving us VIP passes, decided to grace us with two backstage passes to Ben Harper. Dirk and Grant grabbed them up and took off! I was heartbroken! Ten minutes to go of my volunteer duties, and now my boyfriend who had just earlier that day declared that, “Ben Harper is about as gay as Jack Johnson,” was going backstage, and I, a true fan, was emptying trash bags. Wonderful.

It all worked out in the end, though, and Dirk was able to borrow another pass and send someone back to get me. I even got in the pit for a split second! We felt very special.

I was planning on heading back down yesterday, but my age showed up and reared it’s ugly head. Mentally, I was ready to go, but my body wouldn’t let me. It might have had something to do with the lack of sleep and the flowerbed I decided to spend the morning planting. Anyway, Dirk and I got a few good movies in (everybody rent “Lars and the Real Girl!”) and I finished my book (EVERYBODY MUST READ “The Yiddish Policemen’s Union!”)

the birthday of the sips

Sipsey chose us in the summer of 2006. Dirk and I went to look at a litter of Golden Retrievers, after researching and mentally preparing ourselves for dog ownership for three months. When I met her, I knew right away. All of her litter mates were passed out sleeping, but Sipsey was bouncing around the room. The breeders had actually barricaded their living room with pillows and chairs because Sipsey was always escaping. Then when Dirk snapped the above photo, everything just clicked. Being a photographer, I need a photogenic dog, right? And it doesn't hurt that she's a descendant from the original Air Bud from those children's movies!

We started taking Sipsey everywhere and letting her experience everything. She took road trips to North Carolina, the beach, and even as far away as Iowa. She was a little nervous about swimming in rivers at first, and would crawl up on me and wrap her little paws around my arm. In the first six months of her life, she'd been swimming in Appalachian streams, swimming pools, the Gulf of Mexico, and even broke through the ice at Pizza Hut on the lake in Ida Grove!

Sipsey is happiest when she's the center of attention, and hates when we call her a bad girl, ignoring her is the best punishment. She'll crawl up on our laps, lay her head on any part of our bodies close by, and give us love licks 'til you can't help but smile and forgive her anything.

Now that we live in a house, Sipsey's favorite thing to do is lay on the deck and sun herself, or stare out the front picture window for hours on end, watching cars drive by, squirrels, birds, joggers, anything that passes by (I call this Doggie Television). She transitioned well to the doggy door, and now we don't even have to go outside to play fetch with her. We can throw the ball out the bedroom or bathroom windows and she'll run out her door, down the steps, fetch it from the yard and bring it right back to us.

We had Sipsey's official birthday party last weekend with all of her best doggy pals (Frostie Paws frozen dog treats for each of the 10 dogs present, and margaritas for their owners), but rest assured she will be getting a Happy Meal for her REAL birthday tomorrow.

Yes, I am "that" annoying dog owner (but hey! it's better than being a cat lady, right?) I'm sure everything will change once I have children, but for now, Sipsey is my child. She's also been one of the best things that has happened to me since moving to Birmingham. There's nothing like getting home after work and knowing she'll be there to greet me like I've been gone for ages. She's also the hardest part about traveling, because she'll literally crawl on top of my suitcase when I'm packing. We throw around the idea of getting another dog, and part of me is excited for Sipsey to have a friend, but part of me is sad, because then it would never be just Sipsey and me ever again. She's my buddy, my pal, my constant companion. My hiking partner, my napping partner, my laying outside on a quilt friend. Last night, as I was sobbing over Otis on the couch, Sipsey just crawled up on my lap and looked up at me with her deep brown eyes. The hardest part about having a dog is knowing you'll outlive them.

Ode to Otis...

I got the call I've been dreading this morning. Every time I leave Iowa from my biannual visit, I say good-bye to Otis, knowing it might be the last time I see him. Bryan Van Norman, Will, and I got Otis in March 1997. We thought we were going to pick out a puppy, what we got was a puppy the size of our full-grown yellow lab, Shadow. Otis was not the eaiest dog to live with. He ate through garage doors, he destroyed thousands of dollars worth of tools, furniture, etc. Daddy got out the shotgun on more than one occasion. But when you look into those big brown eyes, it's like looking at King Kong. A gentle giant.

And when Daddy was stationed in Fort Hood, Texas for 18 months, Otis was the only one on the farm keeping Mama company. I'd call her and hear her talking and ask, "Who are you talking to, Mama?" "Oh, just Otis. He wanted to hear about my day."

I could go on and on with Otis stories, but I won't, because I'm already tearing up. He was diagnosed as being clinically obese back in the 90's, and he's now topped out at around 160 pounds. Recently he's developed hot spots on his face and eyes and has been having a difficult time standing up. Part of me is holding out hope that his hot spots will clear up and he'll be fine. But a larger part of me is bracing myself for the inevitable. Boy, will I miss that dog.

If you have any memories of Big O, please share...