Sophie’s home—and I am grappling with deep thoughts
Sophie was comfortably asleep, so no picture of her at home tonight.
This is my so-so corned beef supper. Horseradish sauce was good. Is that a travesty?
Sophie’s home! Dr. Burneycalled early this morning to say he was pleased with her lab results and behaviorthis weekend (I think that means among other things that she ate, peed, andpooped) and she could come home today. Therein ensued confusion. Jordan andChristian had been out late last night—shoot! They were out all day! So Ithought they would sleep late. About nine, Christian let Crickett out, so Iknew he would follow to let her back in, and I captured him for a talk. It wasconfusing at best. Jacob was supposed to get a ride to school, so we could havehis car—he didn’t do that, although he did put my transport chair out of hisvan (oh, oops! I’m not supposed to call it a van). Christian had a morningappointment but said there was no way he could put himself, Jordan, me, my chair,and Sophie in his car. So he and Jordan went without me in the early afternoon,which was fine.
Once again, I spent themorning in suspended animation, not knowing how the day would work out. I didn’tchange into street clothes because I had a feeling I wouldn’t be going withthem to get Soph. About noon I decided I’d proceed with my day—had lunch, didthe dishes, prepped the dinner—more about that later—and took a nap. Sophiecame home in the middle of my nap, so we had a good visit/loving session. Butthen I let her wander about and re-orient herself, which is what she’s done therest of the day. She fell into old habits quickly—watching me cook from thedoorway between kitchen and bedroom, sleeping under the coffee table by thecouch, lounging on the patio, though she didn’t do much of that because it’schilly tonight and predicted to be in the thirties.
When I was waiting to see howthe day would work out, I read emails, answered a few, did some work on themonthly newsletter but didn’t really put my full weight down. I am reminded ofthe ninety-year-old woman who went on her first airplane ride. Asked about it afterward,she said, “It was okay, but I never dd put my full weight down.” An aside: Ithink putting our full weight down is a problem for many women today. But backto my morning, I didn’t do much productive. Then I read an article for womenabout the third stage of life and how we should put society’s norms, those “should”and “should nots” behind us and do what felt comfortable to us. The gist of itwas you don’t have to feel productive every day. Do what you want, what makesyou happy. (I can hear my father, with his strong work ethic, rolling in hisgrave). I think I’ve got that one, I realize that I work because I want to, notbecause society demands it and, fortunately, not because I have to.
But Sophie presents anotherdilemma. Her care this time and a year ago when she had her first diabeticcrisis was horribly, astronomically expensive. I know many people would frownon the folly of spending that much to keep a dog alive (I joked the firstepisode was the trip to Europe that I never took, so this week was the second Europeantrip, an extended stay). And that’s society’s norm, the standard from which myguilt springs. But the other side is that she has been my companion forthirteen years. She is a living, breathing soul who trusts me implicitly totake care of her. I could never look at her and say, “Sorry. You’re tooexpensive.” And condemn her to euthanasia. Oh, if I lived on the edge I wouldprobably surrender her to a rescue society in hopes they would find a sugardaddy to underwrite her treatment. But the blessed truth is I have the money.It’s my choice to spend it on her. Yes, there are starving children through theworld, and yes, there are a lot of progressive candidates I would like tosupport with more, but the other truth is that Soph looks at me with thoseliquid eyes and as long as she is pain-free and happy, I will keep her alive. It’sa bigger dilemma than the productivity one.
At my age, I would hope to bebeyond worrying about what society thinks. And I almost am—but not quite.
As for the dinner I prepped—itwas to be our belated St. Patrick’s day dinner. I got a fairly expensive cornedbeef because it was uncured (no artificial preservatives), and I roasted itbecause I’d read a lot online that said roasting was the only way to go. Iserved champ with it (mashed potatoes with lots of butter and green onion) andChristian fixed shredded Brussel sprouts, which may have been the best part ofthe dinner. The corned beef was tough though the flavor was great, and thechamp was just okay, nothing remarkable. Not my finest dinner. Sorry, Paddy!
It’s never too late for a goodIrish blessing:
Maythe road rise to meet you
May the wind be at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
Maythe rain fall softly on your fields
And until we meet again
May you keep safe
In the gentle loving arms of God
