NOTES TO SELF

I make the worst soft-boiled eggs in the world. My Mother made perfect ones and I do not remember that she poked holes in them or gently gentle lowered them into the water.
The only perfect soft boiled eggs I have ever made were after my Mother died and I went to visit Dad. He was so sad because what he missed was (well my Mother, of course) his soft boiled eggs he had every morning. So I did them for him and even put them in the little cups I knew she had used for them. He was so happy.
I have never been able to duplicate that. I should be thankful that I could do it that one, horribly important time.

I have two kids who turned out ok. At least I think they're ok. They don't do drugs, they've never been in jail, they did not belong to or tangle with gangs. They sometimes remember my birthday and Mom's Day but we never made a big deal of either. One is happily married the other has a lovely girlfriend. I should be very thankful that my children have not driven me into an early grave. And so I am. They are very thoughtful, delightful people.

I have a husband who is the first and only husband I will ever have. We have had some very rocky times but he has overcome alcoholism and I am unbelievable proud of him for that. If he did nothing else in his life, that would have been enough, but he has been a fine Father, and always there for us.  He is a softie when it comes to the kids and the dogs. He is extremely smart, very funny (altho he thinks I don't appreciate it and sometimes I don't) and extremely intuitive. He has a fascinating mind. It remembers the damndest things. I should be grateful that we made it through the rough years and have learned to love each other. And so I am.

And of course, I have all these dogs! And John has always understood about the dogs and helped and been there when the chips were down. I remember my first Belgian. I took Quiller out to run and we did, in a field. It was only about 70 degrees out but he had a heavy black coat and I was stupid and coming back to the car he began staggering. So I carried him to the car (I was much younger) and rushed him home where we found he had a temp of 105. John grabbed him and shoved him into the shower, and began cooling him down: we set up fans in the living room and he carried my dripping wet soul-mate into the living room and placed him in front of the fans. I said "The rug!" and he said
"We'll get a new one." And I thought, this guy is really a keeper. He was there for the birth of our puppies, he was there when each dog began to fade. He has shelled out thousands and thousands of dollars for the dogs. And every time he says NO MORE, I get another....so I am thankful to have the dogs, the goofy things that make me laugh and keep me going, and to have John. I am.

Friends. I have friends. Friends I have never met because they exist somewhere else, and I speak to them on the computer and I care deeply about them, as if they lived next door. I am on speaking terms, more or less, with people all over the world. Because of the dogs. I lost a friend this year, not to death but because I failed to live up to her expected standards. It's too bad because I miss her, but she has made it abundantly clear that I am persona non grata, so that's that. But I have other friends, here and on the computer who are not expecting me to be anything other than what I am, and for that I am very happy, thank you.

Happy Turkey day, a day in advance, to my husband, children, dogs and friends. May you live long and prosper. (Thanks to Mr. Spock for that line.)