Doug and I both have always had at least one pet – usually more, truth be told – and at the time we moved to North Texas in 1995, among our ‘baggage’ on the flight were three cats and two dogs. Very large dogs… one not much shorter than a small pony… We still joke about how easily we could have passed for Ma and Pa Kettle as we wheeled our multiple carts and kennels through Customs and Immigration; all we were missing were a couple of chickens and a goat. The amused grins of passers-by confirmed how odd we must have looked, but we didn’t mind. This menagerie was our family.

The years after that move to Texas passed quickly – but so too did our menagerie, and by the summer of 2001, we were anticipating the death of Barney, our one remaining cat. Weary of dealing with repeated loss, we decided it was time to take a break from animals.  Instead, we decided, we would travel. And for our first trip, we agreed upon Ireland – a self-guided pub tour.

On September 3 of that year, Barney died. Caught between relief that his illness was over and sadness at his loss, we took refuge in plans for our vacation. And then came September 11. All hell broke lose in the world and within days, it was obvious that not only would we have to cancel our trip, but we would not be able to leave the country at all, not even to see our families. I was in mourning; everywhere I looked, I could see nothing but loss. Until one afternoon, I stumbled upon Petfinder.com…

They called him ‘Squirtboy’ and truth be told, it was a name that fit. He was tiny, for sure, but the moniker applied in another way, too…and did forever after. “About 12 weeks old”, the man at Animal Control told us, and “Yes, it’s his last day”. He seemed indifferent, this man, almost bored with our questions…until I asked him how a baby so small and so sweet had ended up on dog death row. Looking directly at us for the first time, he explained “We have the right, you know, to go onto people’s property and take away their animals if they are being abused or neglected”. Ah yes. There are fates worse than death. The puppy came home with us.

But first, there was one other task we had to accomplish that day. Buying a new car. So it was that in the very first hour of his freedom, our new puppy went shopping for a Jeep.  While Doug inspected vehicles, Squirtboy inspected…tires. While Doug negotiated with the salesman, Squirtboy sat patiently on my knee.  And while Doug signed contracts, Squirtboy curled up and fell asleep. Right from the beginning, it was apparent that he was a good boy, one deserving of a much better name.

We decided to call him ‘Quinn’, a strong Irish name in honour of our lost vacation. But he was so little and so sweet that we jokingly took to calling him ‘Quinn Thomas Pie’,  or ‘Q.T. Pie’.  It stuck. Variations over the years became ‘Q.T.’ and ‘Thomas’ and forever after, he answered to those as readily as he did to ‘Quinn’.

Within weeks of his arrival, we decided to adopt a ‘brother’ for him so that he would never be lonely. Thus Jack came into our lives. A few months later, we adopted ‘sister’ Sadie as well, and though both new arrivals were wild and rambunctious, often flattening Quinn in their rough play, he greeted each with equanimity and patience. His gentle manner, in fact, helped ease the transition for both new dogs and we found ourselves saying, time and again “He’s such a good boy”.

Quinn & Jack

Never was that more obvious than in the way he handled adversity, for Quinn was plagued with health problems. He had come to us flea-infested and full of worms, and though both conditions were soon put right, one day we noticed that he was starting to lose his fur. The resulting bald patches were covered with scabs, so, suspecting a flea allergy, we took him to the vet. It was there that we learned the devastating diagnosis: Demodectic mange. We had never heard of this, but to us, it certainly didn’t sound serious. We couldn’t have been more wrong. Quinn had a severe case and his immune system had already been so compromised from his early neglect that the vet couldn’t assure us of a cure. She couldn’t even guarantee that Quinn would survive the treatment. And it was a nasty treatment. He endured cycles of dips that left him weak and sick. For three long months, he was yet again a prisoner, this time, in our house. We couldn’t let him be around other animals, save Jack, because of his fragile immune system.  Jack, intrigued by Quinn’s odd behaviour (and smell), harassed him constantly and we had to separate the two to allow Quinn to rest. Quinn, though, handled the boisterous Jack graciously, only once growling at him, and that, at a time when he was desperately ill. Yes, he was such a good boy.

The beginning of Demodex

He survived the treatment and we breathed a sigh of relief. But other health issues, minor mostly, were in store. His teeth were a tartar-magnet and required constant attention. He had a bout with ear mites. We started to joke that he was the most expensive ‘free’ dog we’d ever known. And then one day, he lifted a back leg and couldn’t stand on it again. He needed an ACL replacement.

Thus began another odyssey; months of confinement and rehab after surgery; months of walking on a lead, following proscribed exercises; months of watching from behind bars as his companions cavorted without him.

ACL replacement incision.

Enduring being a conehead...

...and months of confinement.

And he never fussed. The day we were given the go-ahead to let him run with Jack and Sadie was joyous for us all. But very shortly thereafter, he injured the ACL in his other hind leg and required another replacement. This time, worried that he would favour his stronger leg and re-injure the original ACL repair, we put him through an even longer rehab period. But he never complained. Such a good boy.

With Sadie, well on the mend from a second ACL repair.

But it wasn’t only health problems and his rough-and-tumble siblings that he had to put up with – he also had to deal with a slightly insane mama who delighted in getting her wild crew involved in all manner of weird activities. There were dog-training classes at first, and he sailed through these. Then there was his stint as trial dog while Mama learned how to clicker-train. And of course, there was off-leash training, a skill he learned very quickly. The after-class free-time, though, pushed his limits and led to the one and only occasion where Quinn ever lost his patience. Perhaps because he hadn’t been exposed to large groups of dogs when he was a puppy, he was never truly comfortable in the off-leash habitat of a dog park. But because he was such an easygoing dog, on this day, I allowed my attention to be diverted by the much more demanding Jack. Suddenly the sounds of a dog squabble grabbed my attention and to my horror, I discovered Quinn was a participant – and unfortunately, the winner of the scrap. It was over as quickly as it had started, but he had bitten Chelsea, the dog of people I barely knew, and she required surgery. The story had a happy ending, though; Chelsea recovered, and I (and my pocketbook) learned a harsh lesson about supervising dogs in a leash-free setting.  No, Quinn  was not such a good boy on this day, though in fact, the fault was mine. And there was one particularly fortunate, though unforeseen, result of the incident – I met Jen, mama to Chelsea and the woman who is my closest friend.

We moved on to agility, and advanced training, and though he would participate, it was obvious Quinn hated it. By now, I’d learned my lesson, and decided that just because Sadie excelled, it didn’t mean that Quinn needed to be pushed. I slowed down and learned to appreciate him for who he truly was – a gentle, couch-potato of a dog who’d rather be brushed than chase a ball.

He still accompanied us on field runs every day, and he was every bit as well-trained as the others, but I never insisted he become the athlete the others were.

Quinn never retrieved. But he obeyed all the basic commands, even understood some directional work - and he could sit and stay with the best of them!

So while even Jack eventually learned “hold” and “fetch”, and Sadie sailed over jumps and retrieved, I allowed Quinn to sit it out on the sidelines, waiting for us to move on to more important activities…like cuddling. But there was one thing he couldn’t escape and that was his mama’s penchant for dressing him up and taking silly pictures.

My patriotic little Texans.

Easter Bunnies.

Santas, baby....

He was never entirely thrilled by such scenarios, but even with me, he was patient. It sometimes seemed that he considered indulging his mama’s strange ideas a small price to pay for everything else that made him happy. And there were many things. Food, of course…any kind of food. He was a chowhound par excellence, and occasionally had to endure diets when his weight started creeping too high. He loved his ‘siblings’ and was never happier than when he was part of his own little pack. And he loved Sadie especially, often searching her out and snuggling next to her when she managed to slow down for a moment.

He was a ‘people’ dog, too, to the extent that he happily greeted everyone he met  – man, woman, or child. He was gentle even when provoked, even by the smallest baby. When my niece Elizabeth, then sixteen months old and visiting from Canada, fell madly in love with him, he at first welcomed the attention. But eventually, it was apparent he’d had enough…Elizabeth was tireless in her pursuit and followed him from room to room.  His response?  He took to his kennel for short periods of time, sighing heavily, until he had built up enough reserve to face her attentions again. When he did, it was with patient grace. Such a good boy.

With my nephews Axel & Nick in 2006.

There was only ever one thing he truly hated and that was thunderstorms. Long before we were even aware of the first distant rumble, Doug and I would know a storm was on its way from the abrupt change in Quinn’s behaviour. He would alternate between being clingy, dogging our footsteps everywhere, and hiding out in his favourite safe place, under the pedestal sink in the powder room. He was so accurate in his predictions that even on the sunniest day, when the weathermen assured us the nice weather would continue, we learned to trust Quinn. Sometimes it would be hours before the storm would hit us – but it always did. We have never been able to figure out just how he knew – it wasn’t always possible for him to have heard the distant thunder – and we’ve theorized that maybe he was sensitive to barometric pressure. We’ll never know for sure – but he was infallible in knowledge.

When the storms would arrive, he would search us out and stay by our sides. In the early days, I tried to help him overcome his fear with a myriad of training techniques, but nothing worked. On the day that I finally accepted that I couldn’t fix this, I also realized something else. His fear wasn’t important. He trusted us, believed in us to protect him, and of all the things that he loved, he loved us the most. That was all that really mattered.

Patiently waiting for a treat - and for Mama to look his way.

One amazingly short year ago, Doug first noticed that Sadie had begun to stand oddly, turning her toes under her foot, and a long series of tests revealed that she had incurable spine problems. Thus began a long watch as she became increasingly crippled and we wrestled endlessly with decisions about how disabled we could let her become. In the autumn, she declined badly, and we accepted that we would not have a lot of time left with her. But she held her ground and as Thanksgiving approached, she seemed to have reached a plateau. Just as we were celebrating the fact that she would be with us through the holiday, Quinn suddenly exhibited a strange trait – he wouldn’t accept his favourite rawhide chewie. On the first day, I wasn’t much more than puzzled…Quinn NEVER refused food. On the second day, I became a bit concerned, but he was still eating his dinner and accepting other treats. On the third day, I knew there was something wrong. He sat in front of his dinner bowl, looked at it for a moment, then walked away and went to lie down. I called the vet.

He had an elevated temperature and swollen lymph nodes, both signs of an infection. I breathed a sigh of relief and took him home with a course of antibiotics. For a day or so, he seemed to improve a bit. He even ate a treat or two. But he continued to refuse his dinner. We knew there had to be something seriously wrong.

There was. A few days later, he was diagnosed with lympho-sarcoma. Incurable, but chemotherapy might possibly give him some extra time. We made an appointment with the oncologist, debated our decision endlessly, second-guessed ourselves a thousand times. If it worked, chemo might give him 8 to 10 months. And then we would have to do this all over again. We cancelled the appointment, put him on steroids and focused on enjoying him for the time he had remaining.

The steroids were like magic. He began eating again and within days, seemed like the old Quinn. He made it through Christmas, and we rejoiced; took lots of photos and reminisced about his very first.

The reluctant reindeer. His first Christmas...

And his last.

He made it through the first two weeks of the new year. We started to relax – he seemed normal, ate well, played with the other dogs. He was, in fact, just Quinn. Just a good boy.

We knew it couldn’t last, of course, and it didn’t. The week of January 15 proved to be the turning point, and by Friday, after a quick consultation with the vet, we made the decision to spend one last weekend with him. But he declined so quickly that by Saturday morning, we finally had to admit that he couldn’t make the weekend. He was vomiting. He was having trouble breathing. He couldn’t get comfortable in any position and had spent most of the previous night pacing. The truth was that we were delaying the inevitable just for ourselves, and it was time to stop. He relied on us, after all, trusted us…and we had never failed him before. We couldn’t do it now.

His last day with us held many similarities to his first. There was a car ride. There were the same people with gentle voices talking to him. There were the same hands stroking him, though he had long outgrown any lap. And there was reprieve from a prison, though this time it was the prison of his own body. His passing was a gentle one, fitting for such a gentle dog, and he slipped away peacefully. If there is such a thing as a good death, his was, and for that I am grateful.

Life has a way of heading in directions we can’t foresee, sometimes bringing sadness we don’t think we can handle – and sometimes giving us gifts we never even knew we wanted. In 2001, we witnessed great horror, cancelled a vacation and adopted a puppy. Quinn – unplanned, unexpected – arrived at the perfect time in our lives. A true gift, indeed.

In the years since we first met him, we have never made it to Ireland, though we’ve hoisted more than a brewery’s worth of pints. Last Saturday night we continued the tradition, though with just two dogs at our feet this time. For one silent moment, we lifted our glasses, touched them together; then said, in the same breath,

“To Quinn. He was such a good boy”.

To the entire staff of Parkside Animal Hospital in Keller, Texas, our thanks. Your care and attention to our animals – and to us – has helped us through the past few years, and continues to do so to this day. We appreciate you immensely.

Brunch was at Bouchon, a much-reviewed and lauded bistro, and as it is a Thomas Keller restaurant, I had high hopes for it. I wasn’t disappointed. While we waited for our table on the patio, the aroma of fresh pastry nearly drove me crazy – Bouchon is also a bakery. By the time we were seated, we agreed that we definitely needed to try the basket of assorted pastries. Alongside Doug’s superb coffee and my cappuccino, this would have been enough to feed the two of us for breakfast – and maybe a snack later. Chocolate croissants, flat pastries not resembling a crescent in any way, with SLABS of chocolate inside. Strawberry-filled beignets. Almond croissants, flat again, filled and studded with pieces of the nuts. It was way too much, and sensibly, we both tried just a taste. After all, we still needed to eat brunch!

And what a brunch. Doug ordered corned beef hash, and what arrived was a dish of succulent diced meat, topped with two perfectly poached eggs. It was a far cry from the usual mélange of mostly potatoes you find at other places. I succumbed to a signature Thomas Keller dish, a version of a BLT (the waiter’s description was just too much for me to resist – he should receive a commission for his sales pitch!). This was unlike any other BLT I’ve ever had – a slice of toasted French bread, topped with the requisite tomato and lettuce, but with an herb-seasoned mayonnise. Instead of bacon, it was covered with pork belly, diced pieces of crispy heaven…and to top it all off, two eggs, again perfectly poached. The side dish of potatoes with caramelized onions was wonderful, but it was just too much food, so I shared it with Doug. Can you believe we never even thought to take a photo?

The waiter packaged the pastries for us in a pretty box, popped that into a pretty bag, and off we went. On the way out the door, I stopped dead. An oyster bar! Row upon row of oysters, different varieties of the little beauties shining in a sea of ice. Oh, if only I had known this the night before, we could have had dinner at Bouchon instead of Dos Caminos. On the other hand, there was the tequila…

The next event of the day was something I was really looking forward to doing, but, even though Doug was humouring me by participating, I don’t think he was really looking forward to it. Good sport that he is, though, he soon found himself standing beside me gazing at a 40 foot high climbing wall.

I’m sure he was regretting ever having been roped into this. On our earlier visit to inspect the gym facilities in our hotel (part of the Canyon Ranch Spa), I was entranced by the wall, and kept returning to it again and again. This was something I had always wanted to try, and when he realized I was actually serious, Doug agreed to join me… probably because this was my birthday weekend. And because he is well-versed in “Indulgent Husband 101”:)  His only remark, though, was “You do realize this is equivalent to climbing a four-story building?”

Our belayer, Sue, soon had us outfitted in climbing gear…harnesses, helmets, and shoes. What a pair of geeks… though as a cyclist, Doug is used to looking like one (ha ha, Charlie. You too!) But can you believe it? No camera or phone again. We went back later to take the photos that follow.

There were four courses on the wall, ranging from introductory to difficult. After a brief chat and some quick instruction, Sue decided we looked fit enough to bypass the first wall, and started us on the second climb instead. I went first. It was an absolute and total rush and before I knew it, I had reached the top. I tapped the bar at the top, and bounced my way back down the wall (I hesitate to describe my technique as rappelling…). That was fun, too. Then it was time for Doug. Initially he seemed reluctant about the idea of the whole ordeal, but once on the wall, he was Spiderman! Where I methodically picked and chose my hand and footholds, he just flew up the side of the rock face. And loved it, too!

The second climb was more difficult, but we both made it to the top without much trouble. It was time to consider the difficult course. Sue had told us that most beginners just don’t have enough energy or strength for more than two climbs, and that we could quit if we wanted – but we didn’t want to. I was determined I was going to make it to the top of this course, too, even though there was a large outcropping to get over very near the top. Alas, it wasn’t to be. After my third attempt to get over the ledge, my shoulders were aching and my arms were quivering. I had fallen once (good catch, Sue!), taken a break to stretch my arms, and been coached by Sue that, because I was short, I had to take a leap of faith, take both my right hand and right leg off the wall at the same time, and push myself off my left leg in order to reach the next holds. Climbing, it seems, is more about pushing off with the legs than pulling up with the arms, but it is hard to let go when you know you can’t reach the next hold without what is, essentially, a large lunge off one foot into thin air. I had to admit defeat.

Doug, with his longer arms and legs, managed the first part of the climb easily, but then he, too, got stuck at the outcrop. Because he has so much more upper body strength than I, he had been relying on his arms even more heavily than I had, and after a few attempts, it was obvious even from 30 feet below that his arms were quivering. He, too, admitted defeat, and rappelled down the rock face much more elegantly than I.Click to view slideshow.

But we really didn’t care that we hadn’t quite made it. We were both high from the experience, and thrilled with having discovered a new challenge we both enjoy. We will definitely be doing this again, and next time I’m in Las Vegas, I will make it over that ledge!

To celebrate, we headed back up to our room for a nutritious post-workout snack – Diet Coke and the box of pastries. The WHOLE box. But no beer. My trainer would be so proud of me…

(This is already a long post and I’ve only reached 3 p.m.  The next ten hours of our day will have to wait until tomorrow.)

Las Vegas. So many love to hate it. Doug and I, on the other hand, love to love it. We have had many fun jaunts to this decadent desert city over the years, and this past weekend’s trip stands to be remembered as one of our very best.

It was a quick trip – we arrived at the Venetian on Friday and headed back home on Sunday – but though it was short in duration, it was very long on memorable experiences. Friday, after checking in to our hotel, we headed out to grab a burger for lunch, and as “i love burgers” was just a short walk along the indoor canal, that was where we headed. It was a reasonably good experience, but frankly, not because of the burgers. Doug and I are burger aficionados and we are always on the quest for the perfect burger, a task that is thoroughly enjoyable in beef-rich Texas (Tim Love’s “Dirty Love Burger” ranks high on our list of favourites). But living in a state that has such fabulous beef has made us a tad more discerning than most, we find… especially when we travel to other places. Still, ever-hopeful, I plunged in and ordered the ” i love bacon” burger – I mean, bacon, folks! With fried onions! How bad could it be?

“Fairly” was the answer. This was just a mediocre burger at best, hidden under way too many pieces of deep-fried onion. Not even the bacon could rescue it.

Doug, quite sensibly as it turned out, ordered “The Oregon Trail”, which was actually a buffalo burger, and it was much better.

These hand-cut chips were actually very good.

But the highlight of the meal turned out to be the beer. Yeah, we’re beer aficionados too… The beer was a local brew, Tenaya Craft IPA, and while I wouldn’t rank it as the best I’ve ever had, it was pretty good. So, always happy to find a new beverage, I considered the meal a success.

After lunch, it was off to the casino. I’m not much of a gambler, and for a very good reason – I ALWAYS lose. Well, frankly, I think that most people do, and I’m just more honest than most. Either that, or I’m just really cheap, because I really hate giving my money away. Doug, on the other hand, enjoys a certain limited success, and so I watched him for a while. After I’d blown my whole twenty bucks (See? Cheap!)

The man and his favourite Wheel of Fortune machine. He actually won a lot, but of course, he just kept playing til it was all gone...

We took a tour of the hotel after that, and as I had never seen the Palazzo addition, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Yes, it’s all fake, and yes, it’s tacky-glam, but Vegas is so much fun if you can let go of pretensions and snobbery, and relax into the moment. After all, this is really just Disney World for adults. I love it! Even the super-fake water features…

Why no... I didn't safari to Victoria Falls in a sundress and heels...

... I merely accompanied this man to a much tamer version. Complete with lily pond. (Love the purse, Doug...)

We headed back to our room. Well… there was a stop at Sin City Brewing Company to quaff a quick one… okay two. Gotta count the traveller. These were also IPAs…  not nearly as good as the Tenaya, but they hit the spot. Afterward, we relaxed for a bit before venturing out to dinner.

Okay. Above I just recounted how, living in Texas, we enjoy an elevated standard of beef, and how that can make us picky when we travel. So, with the sheer number of Mexican and Tex-Mex restaurants we frequent at home, you wouldn’t think we’d pick a place called “Dos Caminos” for our first dinner of the weekend, would you? Wrong. But this place came well recommended by multiple ‘foodie’ sites, received high praise from local Las Vegas food writers – with Hispanic surnames – and even looked elegant and promising when we checked it out earlier in the day. And our meal actually started out well.

First, we had a tequila tasting, anejos in a flight, and it was a great way to start a meal. With it, we ordered the signature guacamole trio, and it, too was wonderful. But the accompanying chips were just plain awful. They were tasteless and insipid and seemingly stale, and so we sent them back. The replacement basket wasn’t any better. I guess we should have paid the extra charge to have raw vegetables as an accompaniment, instead. But ever optimistic, we enjoyed the end of the guacamole and tequila, ordered a margarita (quite good), and waited for dinner to arrive. What followed was a prettily arranged meal that looked much better than it tasted. Oh, it was adequate, but certainly nothing to write home about.

My "Cochinita Pibil". Slow-roasted suckling pig, sauteed plantains, habanero pickled onions and achiote sauce. Billed as Hot! (two flaming skulls), but believe me, it wasn't.

Doug's "Dos Enchiladas". Chicken in corn tortillas, with mole poblano and tomatillo verde (at least I think that's what he had...)

It was an average meal, watered down for the average indifferent eater, but priced at a level that only an enthusiast wouldn’t mind paying. I couldn’t help but compare it to a recent meal of pit-barbequed pig at Baja, a pretty little restaurant near us, in Southlake. The food at Baja, authentic Mexican, was three times as good as this, and the price was less than half. Sigh. But they say travel broadens the mind, so I decided to just chalk this up to experience. And the amount of tequila I’d ingested certainly helped

So at the end of day one, we certainly hadn’t hit any home runs with the meals we’d had – and not even the decent quality of the beverages really made up for that. But our luck was about to change – though not in the casino! Day two was about to give us pay-back for our optimism.

But that’s a story for tomorrow.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Beer, Birthdays, Food, Restaurant Reviews, Restaurants ]]> http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/2011/08/03/eating-las-vegas-or-maybe-that-should-be-drinking/feed/ 7 IMG_0139 paythepiper IMG_0135 IMG_0137 IMG_0139 IMG_0141 IMG_0147 IMG_0151 IMG_0156 IMG_0159 http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/2011/05/31/barbeque-and-of-course-beer/ http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/2011/05/31/barbeque-and-of-course-beer/#comments Tue, 31 May 2011 12:48:37 +0000 paythepiper http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/?p=6527 ]]> Another “B” post… no baseball this time, but most definitely beer.

And barbeque. It was Memorial Day weekend, after all. So we fired up the smoker, and a few hours later, this is what we ate:

We nailed the brisket this time, Charlie… absolutely wonderful. Seriously… and not just because we were drinking Jockamo…

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Barbeque, Family, Memorial Day ]]> http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/2011/05/31/barbeque-and-of-course-beer/feed/ 3 DSC_0120_2 paythepiper http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/2011/05/30/rangers-vs-royals-and-a-lot-of-food/ http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/2011/05/30/rangers-vs-royals-and-a-lot-of-food/#comments Mon, 30 May 2011 20:37:16 +0000 paythepiper http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/?p=6520 ]]> Sunday afternoon at The Ballpark in Arlington. What fun!

It was a hot but breezy day, and we started out in our seats. But as the shade began to disappear, we adjourned to the air-conditioned Upper Home Run Porch and the temptations of the all-you-can-eat buffet. Oh, and the siren song of beer, of course!

The all-Ironman crew...

...well, with one hold-out...

Time for a swirl!

...and some peanuts. (We've already eaten the hot dogs, chicken sandwiches, and nachos.)

Heading for home. My handsome husband.

Oh, and the Rangers won, too. A perfect day!

I love baseball. My husband loves baseball. My father-in-law loves baseball. My mother-in-law is a good sport who tolerates baseball. But the one thing we all have in common? We love to eat. So the “all you can eat” tickets we had to the Rangers vs Royals game were a great idea. In a superficial, totally fun sort of way, it doesn’t get much better than baseball, beer and junk food.

But beyond beer and baseball, today is bittersweet for me, because it is also my mom’s birthday. She would have been 75 today, and while one birthday shouldn’t be any more important than another, this is one we did talk about – for obvious reasons in the last year, of  course, as it was one she really hoped to attain. But also, in years past, because my mom was exactly 20 years older than I. That one weird little fact always made some birthdays more important to us than others… For instance, when she was 50, I was 30 – we always shared important “milestone” birthday years.

And 75 is certainly a milestone year.

But this time, she isn’t here. And on this milestone birthday of hers, I was occupied with people other than my mother, watching an activity  she didn’t much care for, and drinking a beverage she actually hated.

Yet  I know she was smiling. Even though we couldn’t share this day, I like to think she knows I spent it with family. Enjoying something that I love. And sharing the experience with those who love it too.

Love has many incarnations, I’m learning, and sometimes, it isn’t until we’re forced to change that we can actually see them.

Happy Birthday, Mom. I miss you. But as I’m sure you already know, I’m okay.

Mom's 74th birthday, 2010. And the card was true - she remained young in spirit to the end.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Family, Life, Mothers ]]> http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/2011/05/29/baseball-beer-birthdays-and-love/feed/ 1 IMG_0889 paythepiper IMG_0889 http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/2011/05/28/vicarious-vacations/ http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/2011/05/28/vicarious-vacations/#comments Sun, 29 May 2011 02:11:33 +0000 paythepiper http://paythepiper.wordpress.com/?p=6494 ]]> So…today, Jennifer sent me this pic, accompanied by the following text: “View from the Kiva Coffee House between Escalante & Boulder, Utah. Headed to Boulder for the day. Late breakfast at Hell’s Backbone Grill then on to Burr Trail & wherever that leads us. “

Jen, Larry and the “girls” (Ellie, Katie and Abbie) are on a much-needed break from real life and I’ve been cheering them on from the sidelines. But I didn’t even realize how much I need a vacation too, until I saw this. And I’m not even a fan of the desert…

Envy. Complete, and total.

Have fun, dear friends.

It was a private joke, a little jest based on the fact that Doug has never wanted a tattoo of any kind – that is, until he took up triathlon. The crazy sport that changed his life – our life! – in so many ways, also changed his mind about getting a tattoo. He suddenly decided he wanted one – not just any tattoo, of course, but an Ironman tattoo. An M-Dot.

But first, he had to actually complete an Ironman, for this is not a tattoo to be sported lightly. It must be earned. And Saturday night, Doug did just that. What was once a dream, a goal seemingly far in the future, became a reality the moment he crossed the finish line of the Memorial Hermann Ironman. With a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride, and a 26.2-mile run – 140.6 gruelling miles in total – under his belt, he joined that small group of  people who can officially wear the title of Ironman. And I, accompanied by his mom and dad, was lucky to be there to witness the moment.

One day very soon, he will be sporting real ink, the tattoo that he has earned the right to wear. For now, though, the “M-dot” is just a fake – a small joke from a wife who knows that his accomplishment is anything but.

Congratulations, Doug.