Showing posts sorted by relevance for query arrival day. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query arrival day. Sort by date Show all posts

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Arrival Day

Today we are celebrating Ebony's five-year anniversary in our family. He has been a blessing beyond my ability to express. He deserves a new post sometime soon, but since the electricity is off at our house for a repair all day Wednesday, this retouched story from the archives will have to do. Happy arrival day, Ebony! The bits of grey in your hair add dignity. (No, you can't have a double bacon cheeseburger with ice cream for supper tonight.)

Try to contain your excitement, buddy... Ebony, July 2013


Three years ago today, Ebony joined our family. After Somo died around Memorial Day 2008, Steinway and Amore were lonely. For at least a week, Steinway would sit on the mat staring at the front door as though waiting for his buddy to return from a walk. Amore missed his fuzz therapist and personal trainer. I missed him, too, but I was still somewhat shell-shocked from his final days and not as quick to look for his successor. Whenever the time came to adopt another, I was already asking God for a healthy dog who would be a good and loving companion for us both.

As soon as A. had returned from a mission trip to Guatemala,  the search commenced. We scavenged petfinder.com for candidates and kept detailed bookmark folders of our favorites. We considered Chiweenies (Chihuahua-dachshund mixes), dachshunds of all varieties, terrier and beagle mixes, and we drove around town meeting and greeting a few but without agreement.

Finally we saw a dachshund mix named Rex. The description said he was super-sized; as it turned out, he was around 35 pounds, considerably bigger than Somo or Steinway or the other pint-sized candidates. After a little research into the shelter where he was living and other possibilities there, we planned an evening visit.

The volunteer couldn't find him at first. A black dog pressed against the back wall of his crate on the bottom of double-decker kennels proved well nigh invisible. Checking and double-checking the tags against the print-out we'd brought, she finally found him and was astonished she hadn't met him before in his four-month residence.

She led him out to the courtyard and handed him off to us. He was tentative at first but quickly warmed up to the Milk-Bones we had brought along. (My husband has a natural way with animals; I'm not too proud to bribe them.)

We interviewed a couple of other candidates. The other strong possibility was a brown, Benji-like terrier mix with a very outgoing personality.

After talking the decision over at home, praying together, and "sleeping on it," we decided on Rex the super-dachshund. Well, actually, my beloved recognized I was smitten and honored my preference.

The next day, July 11, 2008, I brought Rex home while Amore was at work.

No, he wasn't in trouble already. The shelter advised using the crate for housetraining him.

Also, we decided he would be safer there until Steinway decided he was a friendly.
We renamed him Ebony. Not only did he ably fill the roles of buddy for Steinway, fuzz therapist for Allen, and personal trainer extraordinaire for both of us, he has also become our court jester on many needful occasions. When Steinway breathed his last a few weeks before Ebony's first Arrival Day celebration, Ebony helped me through.

There is no "he loves me, he loves me not" fickleness to his affection. After five years, I have no doubt that this little guy loves me. And his treat ball. And his squirrel dude. And his blankie. . .

Ebony's first afternoon at Wits' End

Ebony also inspired one of the very first blog posts here, the poem "Sermon on the Sofa."


Monday, July 11, 2016

Ebony's Arrival Day

June 2016
Eight years ago today, Ebony joined our family. After Somo died around Memorial Day 2008, Steinway and Amore were lonely. For at least a week, Steinway would sit on the mat staring at the front door as though waiting for his buddy to return from a walk. Amore missed his fuzz therapist and personal trainer. I missed him, too, but I was still somewhat shell-shocked from his final days and not as quick to look for his successor. Whenever the time came to adopt another, I was already asking God for a healthy dog who would be a good and loving companion for us both.

As soon as A. had returned from a mission trip to Guatemala,  the search commenced. We scavenged petfinder.com for candidates and kept detailed bookmark folders of our favorites. We considered Chiweenies (Chihuahua-dachshund mixes), dachshunds of all varieties, terrier and beagle mixes, and we drove around town meeting and greeting a few but without agreement.

Finally we saw a dachshund mix the shelter had named Rex. The description said he was super-sized; as it turned out, he was around 35 pounds, considerably bigger than Somo or Steinway or the other pint-sized candidates. After a little research into the shelter where he was living and other possibilities there, we planned an evening visit.

The volunteer couldn't find him at first. A black dog pressed against the back wall of his crate on the bottom of double-decker kennels proved well nigh invisible. Checking and double-checking the tags against the print-out we'd brought, she finally found him and was astonished she hadn't met him before in his four-month residence.

She led him out to the courtyard and handed him off to us. He was tentative at first but quickly warmed up to the Milk-Bones we had brought along. (My husband has a natural way with animals; I'm not too proud to bribe them.)

We interviewed a couple of other candidates. The other strong possibility was a brown, Benji-like terrier mix with a very outgoing personality.

After talking the decision over at home, praying together, and "sleeping on it," we decided on Rex the super-dachshund. Well, actually, my beloved recognized I was smitten and honored my preference.

The next day, July 11, 2008, I brought Rex home while Amore was at work.

No, he wasn't in trouble already. The shelter advised using the crate for housetraining him.

Also, we decided he would be safer there until Steinway decided he was a friendly.
We renamed him Ebony. Not only did he ably fill the roles of buddy for Steinway, fuzz therapist for Allen, and personal trainer extraordinaire for both of us, he has also become our court jester on many needful occasions. When Steinway breathed his last a few weeks before Ebony's first Arrival Day celebration, Ebony helped me through.

There is no "he loves me, he loves me not" fickleness to his affection. After five years, I have no doubt that this little guy loves me. And his treat ball. And his squirrel dude. And his blankie. . .

Ebony's first afternoon at Wits' End

Ebony also inspired one of the very first blog posts here, the poem "Sermon on the Sofa" and the post "I Wait for You," among others.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Ebony's Faaavorites

Today we celebrate the fourth anniversary of Ebony's joining our family. We call it his arrival day, and since we don't know his birthday, this serves for that, too. He requested that I repost his favorite piece. All right, actually I asked him if he wanted to, and he wagged his tail.



If I remember my Temple Grandin reading right, animals have no difficulty staying focused on the present moment.  That is their innate design, though, and no moral virtue.  (They don't have to get to choose like we do.) Even so, not all animals seem to enjoy the present moment.

We've had three dogs in our home over the last 11 years, and our current buddy, Ebony, is the only one who consistently, habitually seems to exhibit joy.  Countless times every day he perks up his ears and wags not just his tail but his whole body in enthusiasm.  No great variety of activity or stimulation is required to provoke his happy dance.  Most of our days conform to a pretty consistent routine, in fact.  However, in Ebony's world there are no ordinary days.  He likes his routine, revels in it, and never seems to grow tired of it.  He is my paragon of celebrating the present moment.

His day starts when ours does:
"Oh, goody! The alarm!  Now Allen-Honey and Sweetie will snuggle with me on the couch while they drink their wake-up juice!  My favorite!"

"Oh, goody! Walkies!  My favorite!"


"Oh, goody! Peanut butter and allergy medicine!  My favorite!"

"Oh, goody!  My morning nap!  My favorite!"

"Oh, goody! Lunch in my treat ball! My favorite!"






"Oh, goody! Another nap and the blankie! My favorite!"

"Oh, goody! Time to help Sweetie with physical therapy! My favorite!"

"Oh, goody! Time to patrol the yard for signs of the nefarious Dr. Miao and her evil henchcats!  My favorite!"



"Blech! Pollen decontamination wipedown!  Not my favorite! NOT MY FAVORITE!!!"
(OK, so that's an exception.)

"Oh, goody!  Allen-Honey's home! My favorite!"
T-minus 3...

...2...

...1...
Blast off!!!!

"Oh, goody! Supper! My favorite!"

"Oh, goody! More snuggles! My favorite!"

"Oh, goody! Bedtime and my Kong! My favorite!"

(Adapted from http://icanhascheezburger.com/2010/11/04/funny-pictures-cat-dog-diary/)


See what I mean? Nothing spectacular or exceptional marks our daily liturgy, but Ebony has a loving family, a safe home, adequate daily food, and more napping spots than he knows what to do with.  In these daily delights he finds joy.

How much more should I, a Christian, celebrate God's daily grace in the ordinary?  Is there any ordinary day, really, for a Spirit-indwelt child of the Most High God?  Or am I just too dull, too calloused, to recognize the extraordinary embedded in the mundane?  Is that why I need hardships that disrupt the routine? To wake me up to the glory I would otherwise miss?

The ordinary, messy, beautiful physicality of daily life has been three times hallowed: by creation, Incarnation, and redemption.  Surely this is cause to seek and find ways to celebrate God's involvement in this day.

In chapter 4 of his classic book Orthodoxy, G. K. Chesterton even suggests that quotidian delight reflects the very character of God.
      All the towering materialism which dominates the modern mind rests ultimately upon one assumption: a false assumption.  It is supposed that if a thing goes on repeating itself it is probably dead; a piece of clockwork.  People feel that if the universe was personal it would vary; if the sun were alive it would dance.  This is a fallacy even in relation to known fact.  For the variation in human affairs is generally brought into them, not by life, but by death; by the dying down or breaking off of their strength or desire.  A man varies his movements because of some slight element of failure or fatigue. . . .  The sun rises every morning.  I do not rise every morning; but the variation is due not to my activity, but to my inaction.  Now, to put the matter in a popular phrase, it might be true that the sun rises regularly because he never gets tired of rising.  His routine might be due, not to a lifelessness, but to a rush of life.  The thing I mean can be seen, for instance, in children, when they find some game or joke that they especially enjoy.  A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life.  Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged.  They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up does it again until he is nearly dead.  For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.  But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony.  It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon.  It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them.  It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.  The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical encore.
O Father, I am so far from this joy.  Make me, us, strong enough to exult in monotony.  Work Your delight out in us today; catch our attention with the daily beauties we miss because we are all too grown up.  May we lift our hearts toward you each day with a smile that says, "Do it again, Lord. Encore!"  In the name of the Christ who welcomed little children, in His name we ask this.  Amen.



******************************************
In honor of Ebony, we'd also like to give away a few of his truly favorite things. Please comment on the following post if you'd like to enter.


Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Best-Laid Plans: Part Three

On previous episodes of Best-Laid Plans...
Part One
Part Two


Day 3

Once again, we began with yogurt for me and the full breakfast buffet for Allen. (I might be just a tiny bit obsessed with food right now. Can you tell?) Swallowing had definitely improved with the new and increased medications, but I didn't want to push things. After a brief quiet time, Allen suggested we explore a park Google Maps had found nearby.

The skies had cleared, the air remained cool, and it was a beautiful day to walk in a park that felt far removed from suburban Fort Worth. Ordinarily, we never plan outdoor activities for our anniversary, since it's predictably 100F in the shade in late August. Change in plans #5 was such a pleasant one!




When I was walked out, we returned to the hotel to pack, clean ourselves up, and check out. By this time, I had reached my limit on sweet, soft foods. This does not often happen. Happily, we found some cheddar broccoli soup for me and a hearty salad for Allen for lunch. The thick, salty soup tasted as good as Thanksgiving dinner to me, and the broccoli was in such tiny, tender pieces that I could swallow it easily. Thank You, Lord, for the idea and the provision.

Day 3 of our trip was my grandmother's 90th birthday. She wanted family to come by only a few at a time so we could actually converse, and she allowed Allen and me to share her birthday afternoon with cupcakes and coffee.

I had prayed about this time, since Nonni didn't know about our week's adventures and my swallowing issues. It felt like my swallowing had improved enough with the dietary and medication changes that I could manage a moist cupcake if I took things slowly and stopped at the first sign of trouble. Allen agreed, so we returned to the mall, where a cupcake bakery offered at least a dozen flavors each day. After much discussion, we made our selections, bought coffees, and drove to my grandmother's house.

Happily, this part of the day went just as planned and hoped. All three of us enjoyed the visit, and the cupcakes went down smoothly.





We stopped at our local pharmacy on the way home, only to find that the prescription I needed in preparation for Friday's scopes had not been filled. Calling the doctor, I discovered it had not been called in. That would be change in plans #6. Allen agreed to drive to the medical office at lunch the next day and bring the medicine home to me so I'd have it in time. (See? I told you he was a blessing.)

We returned to Wits' End late in the afternoon, weary and glad to be under our own roof again. The road trip was not what we'd planned, but it actually went better than the previous two I'd been involved with.

With much gratitude, we ended the day with burgers from our favorite local place. Taking things slow, with tiny bites and long chewing, I was able to finish a child's burger. This was to be my last solid food until after the procedures Friday, so it seemed worth attempting a real meal.

Day 5

The procedures went smoothly and revealed a few minor issues. The doctor stood by his original statement that nothing about my story sounds like esophageal disease to him. His visual inspection showed no esophageal reason for swallowing difficulty or chest pain.

The specific possibility raised by my lupus doctor would not have been apparent on this test in any case. It is our option whether to request another test for that condition, but the issue is not treatable, so the GI doctor advised that we weigh the cost and discomfort of the test against the psychological benefit of knowing whether or not the possible diagnosis is an actuality. We have not decided yet and will wait at least until the biopsy results return in the next week or so.

Day 6

Remember that pesky car key? Yes, it was still firmly lodged in the ignition.

My appetite still had not returned to normal by Saturday night, but we planned a second attempt at an anniversary date anyhow. While I gussied up, Allen went to the next town north of ours for an appointment.

Around the time I was expecting a text from him that he was on the way home, my phone rang from a number unknown to me. It was Allen. He had locked that key in the car with his phone. The set of keys in his pocket was the set without the spare car key. He had called roadside assistance for a locksmith, but it would be 45 minutes before his arrival. (We are a one-car household, so for me to drive the extra key to him was not an option.)

An hour passed. An hour and a half. I was on the phone with my parents trying to figure out what to do next when the garage door opened and the Ebony alarm went off. It was Allen, brought home by a friend to get the spare key so he could return, unlock the car, and drive home. By this time it was 7:45.

Later, he related to me that he had called roadside assistance back on his friend's phone, only to be reassured that the locksmith was at the car right then. "Um, no. No locksmith here." As it happened, the locksmith had arrived in the area early but been unable to find the exact location. He called Allen's phone for additional details 4 times, but he had received the number for Allen's own cell phone, which was locked in the car, instead of for the borrowed phone, which was in his hand.

Change of plans #7 meant my salmon and his steak were carried out to our own table at home and a streaming video on the television.

Tomorrow the car goes to the dealership for key extraction and ignition repair.

That is, unless there's a change of plans.

P.S. Today

When Allen took the car in, the mechanic "pulled a Fonzie," in Allen's words, by pounding the steering column with his fist three times and pulling the key out. That key had stuck because the grooves were worn down. Eventually, the whole cylinder will need replacement because the shavings worn off the old key remain inside, but for today a new key proved adequate. In another unexpected grace, the mechanic only billed us for the key.

---------------------------
Much of my public gratitude for the week appeared in Friday's "letter to God" post, but there's always more reason to give thanks, isn't there?

Thank You, Lord,
that Your grace, mercy, and love never change with our changing circumstances;
that You gave us senses of humor to cope with unpleasant changes;
that we spent our anniversary together;
that You gave me a husband who values that more than his own agenda;

for that beautiful park, so unlike our own, and strength to walk together;
for Nonni's birthday and sharing it with her;
for cupcakes, kids' meals, and carry-out;
for the joy of coming home to one's own bed;
for initially positive news from Friday's tests;
for getting it done and over with;
for Your presence with me;
for a nurse able to start the IV smoothly;
for better swallowing yesterday and today;

for plans made,
for plans changed,
for a new week and fresh start.

For all this and more, I thank You, Lord (#7134-7149).



I Live in An Antbed

Monday, July 11, 2011

Arrival Day

Three years ago today, Ebony joined our family. After Somo died around Memorial Day 2008, Steinway and Allen were lonely. For at least a week, Steinway would sit on the mat staring at the front door as though waiting for his buddy to return from a walk. Allen missed his fuzz therapist and personal trainer. I missed him, too, but I was still somewhat shell-shocked from his final days and not as quick to look for his successor. Whenever the time came to adopt another, I was already asking God for a healthy dog who would be a good and loving companion for us both.

As soon as Allen had returned from a mission trip to Central America, however, the search commenced. We scavenged petfinder.com for candidates and kept detailed bookmark folders of our favorites. We considered Chiweenies (Chihuahua-dachshund mixes), dachshunds of all varieties, terrier and beagle mixes, and we drove around town meeting and greeting a few but without agreement.

Finally we saw a dachshund mix named Rex. The description said he was super-sized; as it turned out, he was around 35 pounds, considerably bigger than Somo or Steinway or the other pint-sized candidates. After a little research into the shelter where he was living and other possibilities there, we planned an evening visit.

The volunteer couldn't find him at first. A black dog pressed against the back wall of his crate on the bottom of double-decker kennels proved well nigh invisible. Checking and double-checking the tags against the print-out we'd brought, she finally found him and was astonished she hadn't met him before in his four-month residence.

She led him out to the courtyard and handed him off to us. He was tentative at first but quickly warmed up to the Milk-Bones we had brought along.

We interviewed a couple of other candidates. The other strong possibility was a brown, Benji-like terrier mix with a very outgoing personality.

After talking the decision over at home, praying together, and "sleeping on it," we decided on Rex the super-dachshund. Well, actually, Allen recognized I was smitten and honored my preference.

The next day, July 11, 2008, I brought Rex home while Allen was at work.

No, he wasn't in trouble already. The shelter advised using the crate for housetraining him.

Also, we decided he would be safer there until Steinway decided he was a friendly.
We renamed him Ebony. Not only did he ably fill the roles of buddy for Steinway, fuzz therapist for Allen, and personal trainer extraordinaire for both of us, he has also become our court jester on many needful occasions.


Ebony also inspired one of the very first blog posts here, the poem "Sermon on the Sofa."

Thanks be to God today
~for all His good gifts, including family and pets
~for our three dogs, each so distinctive and loved
~for a happy, healthy too-smart-for-his-own-good Ebony dog
~for a short work week for Allen last week
~for his industry spending time off by painting the outside of our house (still a work in progress)
~for excellent customer service with a faulty grocery item
~for a broken garage door
~for our amazing garage door service provider (If you live on the north side of Dallas and need a referral, please e-mail me.)
~for one minor problem bringing him out to our house in time to discover the spring was about to break, too
~for lunch with a new friend after many unsuccessful attempts
~for the fellowship of fellow sufferers
~for dinner out with my beloved
~for grilled salmon (see above)
~for summer fruit
~for pink roses and yellow orchids on the table
~for cloud cover taking the edge of a hot day
~for good news from a distant friend
~for a new, low-risk supplement to try to increase my bone density
~for blood pressure on the decrease
(from the gratitude list, #801-19)


Giving thanks to God our Father with the community at Ann's...

Monday, March 21, 2016

Vancouver {Lone Star to Last Frontier, 2015}

For the backstory, please see the post "Courage, Dear Heart!"
{If you are viewing this in an e-mail and cannot see the photos, you may wish to visit the Web version of this blog post.}

My family spent the evening of our arrival in Vancouver strategizing how we would spend our one full day there before embarking on our cruise. My dad discovered the Hop On and Off Trolley, which proved the ideal way to maximize the amount of the city we saw within our party's walking limits.


Our journey took us past several public art installations:




To our delight, we also drove past the stadium where the US Women's National Soccer Team had won the World Cup (2015) earlier in the summer:


We left the trolley long enough to tour the Classical Chinese Garden, a peaceful and remarkable quiet refuge in the middle of the urban bustle. Although a number of Japanese gardens exist in North America (with one near us in Fort Worth), this one, according to our guide, is the only Chinese one.


bonsai crape myrtle



Silk double-sided embroidery, free of knots and loose ends on both sides

Limestone sculpted by the sea
Each of the numerous doors and windows framed a different picture as we moved through the gardens.







We reboarded the next trolley which passed the gardens and arrived at Canada Place to eat lunch and change to the Stanley Park trolley line. This was our first glimpse of the port from which we would sail the next day.



On the way to the park, we passed the Olympic torch:

Olympic torch from Vancouver's winter games

We disembarked the trolley again for the Stanley Park Rose Gardens:



Photo credit: my dad (Amore was inside the tree trunk.)




A musician played a traditional Chinese instrument along the path from the garden to the Vancouver Aquarium, our next stop:



Sea Lions

Beluga whale


Moon Jellyfish



The trolley picked us up next to the harbor to take us to Prospect Point and the Tea Room at Stanley Park, where we ate supper and enjoyed the view, grateful for the mild and sunny day God gave us in Vancouver.