Up, Up, and Away

I’m super excited because later this week, my husband, two daughters, and I are heading out to explore parts of the world we’ve never seen before. We’ll be visiting several European countries.

I feel blessed, and can’t wait to immerse myself in these other cultures. I’m looking forward to meeting new people and tasting each country’s delicious cuisine.

As happy as I am, this trip has been overwhelming to plan, and for the past few months, I’ve been nervous and anxious about so many things. It’s stressful for me to be thousands of miles away from friends and family, our business, and well… the familiar.

But when I sit on the plane, I’ll take a deep breath, knowing we’ve taken care of as much as we could, and it’ll all be fine. I’m going to be mindful and treasure every minute, because I know this grand adventure will pass much too quickly.

These upcoming experiences will become a part of me, and a part of our family. Special memories that will enrich our lives forever.

I can’t wait to share my travel stories with you, when I return in a few weeks.

Take care!

Jenny

Second image courtesy of here

 

 

Losing a Pet Is Heartbreaking: I’m Heartbroken

Twelve years ago, we met our best friend, Buddy. My husband and I drove to the house where he’d lived the first four months of his life. We were standing in the garage, and Buddy came galloping out, like he was saying, “Hi! I’m Buddy, and I’m fun!”

It was love at first sight.

Half an hour later, we were in the car with our high-spirited puppy, his crate, bowls, and toys.

On the way home, my husband drove and I sat in the back with the new addition to our family. He seemed nervous and snuggled right up to me, so close. It was like he knew I’d keep him safe. Our bond was instant.

I pet his head and said, “You’re such a good boy, Buddy. Don’t worry, everything will be okay. I love you.”

Buddy was the perfect dog for our family. His energy and playfulness filled our home with laughter. He was there in the good times, and there to cuddle and console when times were hard.

He was our protector, our walking partner, and our silent listener. He was never angry with us. He was sweet and demanding, stubborn and smart. All he ever gave was pure, unconditional love.

Our daughters, Mackenzie and Talee, were so close to Buddy, they referred to him as their little brother.

This past weekend our best friend and constant companion became very ill.

I’m grateful that Mackenzie and Talee both happened to be home. The girls gave Buddy lots of love and attention, like always. They played with him in the pool and took pictures. They saw Buddy’s decline.

We had to do what we’d been dreading for nearly 13 years. We had to say goodbye.

On the way to the vet’s office, I drove and my husband sat in the back with our faithful dog. Buddy snuggled close to my husband, and was calm. It was like he knew.

My husband pet Buddy’s head and said, “You’re such a good boy, Buddy. Don’t worry, everything will be okay. I love you.”

Full circle.

That afternoon, my husband, daughter, and I didn’t want to be in the quiet house. We  went out to do some errands. On the drive home, we took the “back way,” a beautiful, serene road with sprawling ranches on either side. We’ve gone this way hundreds of times.

There was something in the middle of the road. We looked closer and it was a gorgeous, majestic deer. We have never, ever seen a deer on that road. We slowed down and watched this amazing animal prance across the road and gracefully jump to the other side.

We all thought the same thing. It was a sign from Buddy, letting us know he’s okay. He’s happy and healthy again. We shouldn’t worry.

Our home feels so empty.

Every single room has reminders of our little guy. One minute I’ll be fine, and the next I’m tearing up and sobbing. It’s the small things that I want back. He followed me everywhere. The kitchen, the office, the family room, the bathroom.

When Buddy was sleeping and I’d walk into the room, I’d hear his tail thump, wagging because he was glad to see me. He loved walks and was super food-motivated. It made us laugh when he’d hop up on a lounge chair in our backyard, and bask in the sun.

One of his favorite things to do was spend time outside when I was gardening or if someone went swimming. The day he died, I broke down when I walked out to the backyard.

I told Talee that losing Buddy is too painful, and I don’t think I’ll ever want another dog.

She said, “Mom, you don’t mean that. He gave us so many years of joy, and you wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

No, I wouldn’t.

In time, there will be less tears. We have millions of happy memories. But right now the sadness and emptiness is raw.

I know we gave Buddy a wonderful life. But he enriched ours in ways that he’ll never know.

Third image courtesy of here

Fourth image courtesy of here

 

Jump In!

This morning my husband and I went on a hike in the mountains and it was hot. Too hot to take our 12.5 year old black lab. But we wanted exercise, so off we went. The wild plants on the mountains were dry and crunchy, and I thought how quickly fire could spread.

When we got home, I was so sweaty and could think of only one thing. The pool. In minutes, I put on my bathing suit, grabbed a towel, and glided into the water. Aah. It was perfect.

It was quiet and peaceful. Our dog hadn’t come out yet, begging for me to play ball with him. My husband was inside. I gently swam and floated on a pool noodle. I wanted to stay there all day.

It reminded me of when I was a kid and my friends and I would do just that. We’d stay out for hours. We’d splash, play mermaids or Marco Polo, and rest on the lounge chairs, without a care in the world. We’d go inside only to eat and go to the bathroom.

Then I thought about how much fun it was when our daughters, Mackenzie and Talee, were younger. They’d have friends over and swim all day. I loved to watch them jump on rafts and perfect their cannon balls and dives. They’d do headstands and somersaults in the water, and see how long they could hold their breath.

Oh, to be a kid again.

I thought about those simple joys of childhood as I floated on my back, eyes closed. That’s when my reverie ended.

My husband did a cannon ball and made a huge splash. Our dog came out and barked and barked at Alex, wanting to make sure he was okay.

Then the fun began.

Alex and I swam, kicked, splashed, and played ball with our lab. I tried a headstand but was wobbly and fell right over. I hadn’t done that in probably twenty years. After a few attempts, I could hold my pose for a few seconds, and even straighten my legs and point my toes. Alex tried and actually did a great job.

I told him I wanted to stay in the pool all day. He said, “Why don’t you?” Which was really sweet, but I can’t, there’s always too much to do. My carefree childhood days are behind me.

But that hour of floating in the crystal clear water was heavenly. There’s no reason I can’t do it again tomorrow.

First image courtesy of here

Second image courtesy of here

Third image courtesy of here

The Music of My Life

When I was in second grade and made my First Holy Communion, my parents gave me a silver charm bracelet and a record album. I don’t remember who the artist was, but the title song was called “Happy the Man.” I still know some of the words. When I think of that song, I don’t just hear the music.

I feel that time. Living in the house I grew up in, with my mom, dad, and two sisters. My pink bedroom with flowered wallpaper and a canopy bed. My childhood.

In high school I was a cheerleader. During the summer before my junior year, the team and I practiced our routines every morning on the football field. We had a boom box and danced to “We Got the Beat” by the Go-Go’s—over and over and over again. We were 16 years old, excited about prospective boyfriends, new clothes, hair styles, and parties.

I feel that time. Being with my friends. Friday nights at the football stadium. My classes and teachers. Carefree, yet also insecure and desperately wanting to fit in.

One of my best friends got married and I was one of her bridesmaids. My future husband and I were dating. At the reception we slow danced to the song “Lady in Red” by Chris de Burgh. I wore a pink lace dress and wished I was in a slinky red one. The DJ must’ve noticed how in love we looked. He said to us, “I bet you’ll get married next.” I beamed. We weren’t engaged yet, but knew we were meant to be together forever.

I feel that time. On cloud nine. Excited about the future. Imagining myself as a bride.

Soon our first daughter was born. Two years later, our second little girl came into the world. I loved to sit on the glider in their bedrooms and snuggle with them. The smell of fresh baby skin, velvety soft. The tickle of their wispy hair on my neck. At night I’d turn on a lullaby CD. Sweet songs like “All the Pretty Little Horses” made me tear up.

I feel that time. Middle of the night feedings. Quiet and peaceful. Exhausted. Overwhelmed with love.

The years flew by, and Mackenzie and Talee were in high school. They introduced me to all sorts of fun music. Taylor Swift songs, like “Love Story” and “Our Song” remind me of driving them to school in the minivan, our dog in the back seat.

I feel that time. A flurry of activity in our home. Friends. Homework. Curfews and social media boundaries. Football games. The girl’s basketball team. Open houses. College seminars. Graduation.

Music is always with me. It moves me. I not only hear the beat and listen to the words, but I feel the songs. They take me back to a previous time in my life.

Like when my husband and I went to a U2 concert to celebrate his 50th birthday. The Black Eyed Peas were the opening act. I’ll never forget how we danced under the stars and sang to “I Gotta Feeling” (woo hoo… that tonight’s gonna be a good night!)

Music is also there in sad times. Like when my mother-in-law passed away. The funeral reception was at our home. We had dozens of balloons that we handed out to each guest. We played “Harbor Lights” through the backyard speakers. That was her favorite tune to play on the piano. We said a tribute and released the balloons. We watched them float to the heavens until we could no longer see them.

Each song filled with its own special memory.

It isn’t just the songs that are special, it’s the people I remember when I hear the songs play.

First image courtesy of here

Changing Times

When I was growing up, Fourth of July was a huge event. My parents hosted a party every year, with swimming and a barbecue, complete with hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad, corn on the cob, watermelon, and chocolate cake. After dinner we walked to the local park to ooh and aah over the fireworks. We couldn’t wait to get home, because my dad would give us sparklers. We wrote our names in the night sky with the glow of the glittering light.

Childhood memories I will always remember.

My husband and I carried on my family’s July 4th tradition. Year after year, family and friends congregated in our backyard for swimming and a spread of delicious summer food. Kids splashed and squealed in the pool, perfecting their cannon balls and playing Marco Polo. Our dog ran back and forth along the deck, barking, waiting for someone to throw him the ball.

I’ll never forget the sounds, smells, and tastes from those days.

Our daughters are now in their early twenties. Yesterday they had their own plans for Independence Day. It’s bittersweet. We didn’t host a party this year, and yes, I missed it. But life goes on and we all change. There’s beauty in that, too.

My husband and I had an amazing weekend together. We reminisced but didn’t dwell on what used to be. We had a new adventure. We visited a beach town we love, watched a community parade, took a long walk along the shore, and tried out a new restaurant. We relaxed.

It was much different than the hectic time before a party. We didn’t have to worry about cleaning the backyard, buying dozens of hot dogs, hamburger buns, and corn. My husband didn’t need to make sure the pool was picture perfect and we didn’t have to clean all the patio furniture.

But I missed everyone filling our home with laughter. I longed for the past, when the girls would blow up red, white, and blue balloons and tape them on our mailbox. I missed  streamers hanging in the kitchen window and American flags waving in the grass.

I’m sure we’ll host another Fourth of July party. It won’t be the same. But that’s okay. There are still so many memories to be made.

My husband was more than happy to relax this weekend. You know what he said about not having a party? “Freedom!”

Of course he was joking. I think.

 

First image courtesy of here

Second image courtesy of here

 

 

 

A Moment in Time

This weekend my husband and I are helping our oldest daughter, Mackenzie, move to a new apartment in the city. She’s been living on her own for a year, but I still marvel at how grown up she is at twenty two. Talee is driving up to college this weekend to move furniture into her new house (but will be back home for another month before classes begin). She’ll be starting her third year at the university.

My little girls are now adults, and getting more independent every day. Sometimes this causes me anxiety, unable to grasp how and why life goes by so fast — sometimes at turbulent speeds. I can’t stop it and I can’t catch up.

I’ve been reflecting on some special memories. Moments in my life when I clearly remember thinking, I will never, ever forget this, and I wish I could bottle this memory up and relive it again and again.

The most amazing, peaceful, spiritual moment happened when Mackenzie was seven years old and Talee was five. We were vacationing in Hawaii, on the beautiful island of Maui.

The resort where we stayed had hula lessons every evening, after sunset. One night we were dressed up to go out to dinner. We went downstairs and walked near the hotel lobby.  The warm, tropical breeze felt like velvet on my skin. The night air smelled like rain. It was heavenly to breathe it in.

Just past the lobby was a Hawaiian band; a trio, with one man strumming a ukulele, another man singing, and a hula dancer. Her grass skirt swished as she softly swung her hips from side to side.  Her arms and hands flowed gracefully, like a ballerina’s.

We sat down to watch. There was no one else around. We were being entertained at a private show. Just the four of us. My lovely family.

Mackenzie and Talee were a bit shy, but wanted to learn how to hula. They timidly walked up to the pretty dancer with long, thick, black hair. She smiled and waved them closer.

It was fun to watch our daughters, as they made their first attempt at performing the hula. They moved their arms and little girl hips, trying to imitate the experienced dancer. The sky was black, and a pelting rain fell in the background of the makeshift stage. I snuggled close to my husband and a warmth came over me that’s hard to describe.

Complete serenity. Safety. Love. Total relaxation. No worries. No anxiety.

The four of us, together, at that time, at that place. It brought tears to my eyes because I knew I’d never have that exact moment ever again. I cherished it and wrapped it up around my heart.

I’ve had other “moments” since then. Like when my mom and I went out to breakfast a few years ago. She was waiting for me, sitting at the table for two. The morning sun filtered through the window, softly shining on my mom. She looked vibrant, and so pretty in her sweater and scarf. I will never forget the smile on her face when she saw me.

Another special family moment happened about ten years ago. My husband and I were  hosting Thanksgiving dinner. Our large family was sitting down at our long dining room table.

Everyone was talking, laughing, and passing the delicious food. I looked around at each person. We’re all here. One day that will change. But right now, we’re all here.  I took that moment in and soaked it up like a sponge.

I wish I could turn back the clock and relive those beautiful moments. That’s impossible. So I hold onto the fact that they’re stored away, deep inside my soul.

And I’m at peace with the knowledge that many more “moments” are waiting to happen.