Good Bye to our dear sweet Lily

“His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.” – Elizabeth Barrett Browning, her Cocker Spaniel, “Flush”  

We lost our good friend, Lily, yesterday. She wasn’t ready to leave us, but her time had come, and now we are so sad. Lily was a Greyhound, a retired racer who lived the first two years of her life as Octavo. Tall and strong for a female, Octavo was the pick of her litter and had great potential but her race record was all over the map. Sometimes she’d easily power her way into first place, other times she’d barely take third; occasionally she wasn’t in the top five at all.

On what turned out to be her final day of racing, Octavo refused to run. She just stood there, willfully not doing the one thing she was supposed to do – this, it turned out, is what gained her a new life and brought her into ours.

My son and his wife adopted Octavo shortly after she was rescued and quickly changed her name to Lily, which fit her personality much better. Our Lily was a gentle dog with a loving personality, big deep brown eyes and a ready “smile” on her pretty, long-nosed face.

I call her “our” Lily because Mr. Clark and I got to share the pleasure of her company nearly every week. Lily’s parents are teachers who work long hours and have a small yard without a fence. This meant Lily got to spend much of their work week with us, running around our big yard and playing with our dogs, returning to her other life for long walks, dog parks and trips to dog-friendly restaurants on weekends.

Lily came to us seven years ago and during this time, she never, ever did anything wrong. I can’t think of many dogs one can say that about – certainly not the ill-behaved rescues I seem to collect. But as we were reflecting on Lily’s life, we all agreed – she had never done one thing wrong. All she ever did was bring love, light and laughter to those who were lucky enough to know her.   

Greyhounds are a social breed, intelligent and loyal. They are sensitive to what’s going on around them and they enjoy company – dogs, cats, kids, adults, even stuffed toys. Lily loved hanging out with her “Winder Pack” which included three cats; she was always gentle when kids stopped us to pet her and tell her how pretty she was; and in her later years, she most often slept with a stuffed toy nearby.   

When we first met Lily she didn’t run – not at all. But, as she settled in and began to play with the other dogs, she started to remember that running could be fun; then, a bit later, she discovered the sheer joy of her amazing speed again. A racer can reach over 40-miles-per-hour within six strides and in her day, on a good day, Lily was probably almost that fast.

 
It was such a treat to watch her circling our big back yard like a race horse - long neck stretched straight, strong legs pulsing, and what a powerful stride! But, the best was seeing the look of joy on her face. It’s as if once our Lily didn’t have to run anymore, she was free to rediscover that she was, indeed, born to run and run she did, almost every evening.

Lily - like some, but not all dogs - gave more than she took. She was a joyful soul who enthusiastically savored life. She was also goofy and playful and had a mischievous side. Even though her manners were impeccable, she would, at times, stick her long nose up on the counter as if to say, “What’s cooking?” She loved to lick out of nice ice-filled human glasses when no one was looking. And sometimes she’d act like she’d seen something that wasn’t probably there, just to get the other dogs riled up.

A graceful and animated lady, Lily loved to wrestle and toss toys in the air and her downward facing dog (the yoga pose internationally recognized in the canine world as, “Let’s play!”) was frequent and flamboyant.   

As friends go, Lily was low-maintenance, but she did have her opinions and she was comfortable expressing them loud and clear. When Lily thought it was time for the day to begin, she would jump on the bed, put her big horse face near mine and bark excitedly, as if to say, “Wake up! It’s time for breakfast! It’s going to be a great day!”   

If I worked longer than Lily wished in the evening, she would start pacing around my computer desk, howl-howling a bit, to let me know it was time to go play. If I didn’t respond quickly enough, she would use her long nose to knock the computer mouse right out of my hand, repeatedly if necessary, until she got her way and took me outside to make sure I had fun until it was time for her dinner.    

Greyhounds are sight hounds and our Lily was more than great at spotting things. A deer, a cat, a bird, a raccoon, or maybe just a squirrel…Lily’s ears would perk up, her neck would crane, her black nose would start twitching, then standing completely still, she would focus intently. This was followed by a bark, bark, bark! to let her human and dog pack know, “There’s something interesting over there!”

No matter what Lily was doing, she wanted to share – share the excitement, share the joy, share the treat, share the toy, share the sweet smell of the air – just share. She had an energetic, happy-go-lucky personality and her spirit was huge and joy-filled. Even though she was a dog – or maybe because she was such a good dog - Lily lived large and laughed a lot.

“A sweet soul is gone; there is a part of us missing now,” my daughter-in-law said, as we gathered around Lily’s grave in our back yard.   

"Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave and impossible to forget," a man named G. Randolf said.  

 

They both are right. Lily loved us; she loved life; and, she loved to run. She gave more than she ever took. She was a joy to all who knew her.  Rest in peace, dear girl! We will miss you so much!

 

 

Our Italian Holiday - Pt. 1, Roma

 

“To travel is to live.” – Hans Christian Andersen

 

We just got back from 15 days in Italy and it was marvelous. The trip was a serendipitous treat won in a benefit auction, enjoyed by Mr. Clark and I, our grown kids and their spouses. Mr. Clark’s frequent flier miles covered the airfare, so all we had to pay for was food, drink and the sights we saw. And, yes! We saw some wonderful sights! Every day was jam-packed with an adventure or two, as well as so much history and ancient beauty that at times it felt like we really had died and gone to heaven. 

 

We started with a few days in Rome, then spent a week in a small villa in Umbria (just south of that famous Tuscan sun)…After that came a few days in Cinque Terre (a series of five small ancient villages connected by hiking trails, trains and boats – no roads), then two final days in Florence. It was a whirlwind feast of new sights, sounds, smells, tastes and treats. Our family has always enjoyed traveling, but this was, indeed, the trip of a lifetime.

 

Rome (or Roma in Italian) is busy, loud and frantic – racing scooters, like swarms of angry wasps, don’t have to obey traffic laws and aggressive drivers in tiny cars are allowed to stop, turn, honk and swerve at their own discretion. In the summer, Rome is hot and the narrow cobblestone streets are full of tourists. All of this is punctuated by amazing food, delicious wine, gelato on every corner, and more huge, ancient, spectacular sights than can be imagined…I mean literally, than can be imagined.

 

The thing that struck me most about Rome is how very long it’s been there. Roma (the first small settlement) came to be in 750 B.C. The city (and the Empire) reached its’ zenith in about 120 A.D. and then took another 300 years to fall. During that time, people walked many of the same streets and saw many of the same sights we did…It’s unfathomable, even as you gaze at it all and pinch yourself to be sure you’re really there…If you want to get in touch with just how fleeting life is and how insignificant one life can be, stand on the top steps of the Colosseum or look out on the city from a point high in the Forum…And then, reconnect with the meaning of just one life, by standing in the middle of the Pantheon , a place of worship since 25 B.C., and feel your soul awaken again…

 

We stayed in a small apartment within walking distance of everything. It was listed through Air B&B and the Trip Advisor ratings were good. (Trip Advisor is THE source for what one needs/wants in Italy…The vendors themselves swear by it.) The night we arrived, we opened the wood shutters covering our large windows to hear a man singing opera at the top of his lungs, filling our shabby courtyard with what felt like (especially at the end of a nine hour flight) the essence of Roma.  

 

After eating and drinking and hiking our way through Rome, seeing every sight in our travel books and sampling every delight anyone we know had recommended, we entrusted our lives to “the old gods and the new,” rented a van and navigated our way out of the city and into the Italian countryside.

 

Umbria is a land of hills, long devoted to agriculture and by long, I mean centuries and centuries of farmers farming the same piece of land. Because of marauders from all directions, the towns are located in walled cities - ancient, beautiful walled cities - each guarded over by a castle. The entire region looks like a postcard – rolling hills, verdant vineyards, well-tended fields, lush productive gardens, quaint villages and castles, everywhere.

 

The people in Umbria speak little or no English, but are very warm, accommodating and friendly. The food is delicious, all freshly prepared with local ingredients, and the wine is to die for. It’s made from theSangrantino grape which only grows in Umbria – brought from Turkey centuries ago by immigrants. To top this heavenly scenario off, one experiences everything one has read about in Tuscany (Umbria’s wealthy, more well-known sister) for a fraction of the price.  

 

Our villa, Fondo Le Teglie, is a recently remodeled version of a 400-year-old farm house. It’s one of the Il Gusto del Paese properties owned by a woman from Georgia who relocated and started living her Italian dream some years ago. Thankfully this woman is a friend of BB Webb who owns The Carl House and since both are animal lovers, BB convinced our host to donate a week at her villa to Barrow’s own Pup & Cat Co., which is how la famiglia Clark landed there. This place, as well as all of Umbria, is as quiet and idyllic as Rome is loud and busy.

 

The Italians have an expression for what we did at the villa - il dolce far niente, the sweetness of doing nothing – and I can assure you, nothing is sweeter…Next week, more about our Umbrian adventures and the rest of the trip.

 

(I am slightly embarrassed to share this, but friends and family back home seemed to genuinely enjoy vicariously experiencing the joys of Italia through our posts and pictures. Hence, these next few travel oriented columns…Enjoy!)     

 

learning to ride the rain...

"Worry is a misuse of imagination." - Dan Zadra

Gaining wisdom from a mosquito on a rainy day? That sounds like a stretch, yet it happened to me. I like listening to NPR and on a recent rainy morning I heard a piece about how mosquitoes deal with raindrops, which to them are like three ton comets pummeling them from the sky. Needless to say, there's no mosquito umbrella big enough or strong enough to protect them from that, so how do they survive a storm?  

Well, according to a team of mechanical engineers at Georgia Tech, mosquitoes don't dodge raindrops, they ride them. The researchers found this out by firing jets of water at mosquitoes while filming them with super-high-speed video cameras. What happens is the mosquito rides the raindrop until the wind catches its wings, which act like tiny kites and pull the mosquito off the raindrop and back into the wind; then away he or she flies. Apparently, they do this over and over again until the storm ends, with each raindrop ride lasting about 1,000th of a second.

One of the researchers, a man named David Hu, described it as "rather than resisting the raindrop, they basically join together." How Zen is that, especially for a mosquito? I don't know that much about being Zen, but I do know resistance is never part of it. 

This riding the rain business is not without risk, however. If the raindrop is close to the ground when the mosquito hops on and the wind doesn't catch its wings before the raindrop hits the ground, kersplat! Dead mosquito. Of course, the mosquito doesn't know about this risk, so rainstorms must present a series of thrilling rides for those nasty little pests. After all, unlike people, bugs don't worry, right?

This notion of riding the rain rather than resisting it appeals to me and got me thinking about my approach to life's rainstorms, both literal and figurative. I am a worrier whose glass is always half empty. If I were a mosquito, I'd be the only one buzzing loudly and frantically about how the sky is falling and we're all going to end up smashed on the ground. And, in the process, I'd miss out on all of that lovely rain riding...not much of a life approach for a mosquito or a person, really.   

Since I've always lived life on the gloomy side, I tend not to think much about changing my approach. I admire happy-go-lucky types and people who dance in the rain, but I can't imagine being one. Not until recently, when I started thinking it may be time to change my view.

Maybe it's age - it takes a lot of energy to worry all the time - or maybe it's the beginning of wisdom (another symptom of age.)  Anyway, lately I've grown tired of always looking on the dark side and have been consciously trying to focus, instead, on the light. It turns out, this is easier to do than I imagined it would be.

This notion of positive focus is not new. From Phillipians 4:8 ("Whatsoever things are true, honest, just, pure, lovely or of good report; if there be any virtue, any praise, think on these things") to Oprah and Dr. Phil, the power of positive thinking is a known phenomenon. For some reason, it's just taken me my whole life to try it.

I find that if I empty my mind of the chatter and brain brick-a-brack, breathe, focus, listen and feel, the good stuff just starts flooding in. And, I experience things I never thought I'd spend much time feeling, like calm, contentment, peace, happiness and optimism. (Doing something mindless and repetitive like weeding, vacuuming, jogging or mowing helps, as it seems to keep my brain from going back to tensed-up mode...) This all is a welcome change and so far, I'm impressed with my progress.

Like all changes, this positive attitude thing involves one or two steps forward, then a step or two back, but in general, it's getting easier to focus on the bright side and worry less; and, it turns out, I don't miss worrying at all.

The Story People are some of my favorite philosophers and their take on this is, "I once had a garden filled with flowers that grew only on dark thoughts but they need constant attention & one day I decided I had better things to do." Like those mosquitoes, I may learn to ride raindrops and/or dance in rain yet...

 

 

 

Happy Birthday Mr. Clark!

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were? – Satchel Paige

Mr. Clark turned 59 this week - now that sounds like a daunting age – almost 60. The age old (and never cliché when you’re the one asking it) question is, “Where did all the time go?”

One minute you’re graduating from college and the next you’re eligible to join AARP. In between there is a whirlwind of child rearing, family and work experiences, good times, hard times, sad times and so many wonderful memories. And, while 59 may sound “old” to some and “young” to others, part of what all those quickly passing years teaches you is that each and every age you reach is a blessing.

 

If you had asked me what a scary sounding age was at 24, I would’ve said 30. At 30, the answer was 35 and when that pushing 40 thing started to happen, I shut down and took a few years off from counting how old I was. Around 42, when I started hearing that I “looked good for my age,” I got okay with being “old” again and I cruised on through to 49 relatively age-trauma free. In fact, when I took my still mobile and quite feisty 90-year-old grandmother to another grandchild’s wedding in Mexico when I was 45, I realized with some happiness that my life might actually only be half over.

Somewhere in my 49^th year it hit me that I was about to have use the number 50 to describe my age and for a while the thought of that made me unable to remember what year I was born. It wasn’t Alzheimer’s or early onset dementia – it was conscious denial. If I couldn’t tell you what year I was born in, you couldn’t do the math.

My most recent birthday made me 56 which sounds old but feels just fine. With the exception of a few minor aches and pains, I still feel pretty much the way I always have. I don’t feel like I’m nearer to 60 than 50 except sometimes, when the sight of that lady in the mirror catches me by surprise and, somehow, based on how good I feel, she should look younger than that.

Good genes are a key component to aging well; Mr. Clark and I are both blessed with those. His family stays healthy way on up in years and my family, well, the grandmother I traveled to Mexico with just celebrated her 100^th birthday and is still going strong. My other grandmother had a sister who just passed at the age of 106. Imagine that!

Copious amounts of eye cream are another thing I believe in when it comes to aging gracefully. I remember hearing a woman I worked with when I was 22 or so talking about how she managed to look so young at the ripe old age of 38, which at the time sounded really old to me. It was exercise and eye cream…Well, I thought, if it worked so well for her, then taking those two precautions surely wouldn’t hurt me and so far, they have served me well. 

Humidity also helps. Even though I’ve never gotten used to the climate here in the South, friends my age back in my native Colorado have more wrinkles and lack the “glow” I have; maybe it’s all that sweating I do...     

 

Mr. Clark is like me – he doesn’t really look or act his age. In my mind a 59-year-old man is sort of old and stodgy and grumpy and gray – weight of the world on his shoulders, not much fun to be around. Not Mr. Clark, he has the gift of a perennial child’s temperament in that he has a light heart and a cheerful air about him. He’s not a worrier; he doesn’t know how to hold a grudge; and he rarely gets angry. He sings a lot; he likes his work and he has hobbies he enjoys. Those things, I’m sure, have contributed his youthfulness; the only way you might begin to guess Mr. Clark’s age is his salt & pepper hair, now mostly salt, not much pepper.

For his birthday, our daughter gave Mr. Clark a card that said, “Men are like wine – some turn to vinegar, but the best improve with age.” Pope John XXIII said that. I don’t know how old he was when he said that, but I bet he was no spring chicken. I do know that if Mr. Clark was a wine, he’d continue to improve with age because as a man, he certainly has done that.

Robert Browning said, “Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be…” and for years I thought that was really cheesy and unrealistic. Not now though; these days I have it posted on the fridge and the thought makes me happy every time I look at it. 

Congratulations Class of 2014...

“Congratulations! Today is your day. You’re off to Great Places! You’re off and away!” – Dr. Seuss, Oh The Places You’ll Go!

 

Another round of graduations has come and gone; another group of hopeful young people has been launched into the world to the tune of “Pomp and Circumstance.” The Class of 2014 now faces the future and whatever comes next…Scary stuff, heady, wonderful, exciting, yet very scary stuff…

 

This year we received six graduation announcements – two were big and thick and fancy with lots of nice photos of the graduate doing things the graduate loves to do – very impressive; one was the traditional format from the high school with a lovely senior photo of the grad enclosed – her hair is a bit tussled and she looks mischievous. My nephew, Riley, announced his graduation from college via Facebook. My friend, Rosie, sent those who have supported her musically gifted son over the years a hand-painted card she did, of him playing the violin.

 

My favorite was the humble invitation I got from a young friend. She’s from a large family and they work hard to be sure their ends meet. On the day before her graduation, she proudly gave me a hand-lettered invitation that proclaimed “Graduation Time!” in dark red magic marker. Inside she’d written the details - Who, What, When, Where. One of her senior portrait photos was included. The graduate looks lovely and hopeful, full of enthusiasm and ambition. Even paying for that senior portrait was probably a stretch for her family, so being included on her small list of people to make an invitation for was a real honor.

 

As I wrote my best wishes in those graduation cards and signed those congratulatory checks, I thought about all the hopes and worries, tears and dreams, energy and love we pour into our graduates. And, when they finally achieve that milestone, whatever our means, we salute them with our best. Some get big parties and lots of presents and much celebration; others get a meal or a cake with their name and some balloons drawn on it; for some, sensing their loved ones' pride is all that’s in store, yet it’s enough because they can feel it, almost palpable, along the football stadium sidelines.  

 

The size of the graduation celebration does not indicate the size of a young person’s dreams or ability to achieve them.

 

My high school graduates are in their 30’s now and while their speeches and marches across the stage happened a long time ago, I remember like it was yesterday. They’re successful and happy, content in the lives they’ve made for themselves. I’m thankful for that and remain ever proud…Yet there was something so poignant and fresh, so energetic and excited about their faces on graduation day - a unique promise, special to its time.  

 

Last Friday night I was in the yard when I heard the strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” float over the breeze. We don’t live that close to the high school, so it was faint and faraway, yet the somber nasal whine of the saxophones was clearly audible at times. In between the phrases of the music, cheers went up, over and over again…

 

I could almost see it all in the peach-colored evening light – the balloons, the banners, the proud friends and families - all of those happy faces, caps and gowns, reflected in the dark glasses of those standing by. 

    

A little later, phrases from the speeches caught the air, punctuated with laughter and applause, following by the reading of the names – the measured, cadenced reading of the names. Every name, no matter how simple or ornate, sounds important when pronounced slowly and clearly over a loud speaker that way…   

Then came the cheering indicating that the deed was done and the throwing of caps had begun, followed by all of those tears and hugs and happy photos on cameras and cell phones alike. By the time I went in, my heart was full and my eyes were teary…Godspeed, Class of 2014, Godspeed. 
I often turn to Dr. Seuss when I’m wondering how to contemplate something or what to say in his light-hearted, yet wise way…From him, I glean these bits of advice for the Class of 2014, and those that came before, and those that will come after: Remember the value of each day, embrace optimism and look forward to what lies ahead, as in, ““Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.”  

 

Never stop learning and growing, whatever shape that takes, as you wander or stride down the path of life: “Think and wonder, wonder and think.” 
Graduation is both an end and a starting point, so, “Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try!”

 

And, lastly, none of us know what the future will bring. We do know that these and all other graduates deserve our help, love and support in the future as much as they did in the past.

 

So, congratulations Class of 2014: “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.”  Believe that and you have nothing to lose. 

 

 

 

 

"when I'm old..."

“When I’m old I will have a goat and feed him pink roses.” – greeting card

“Menopausal women are invisible,” my friend Rosanne once told me. “It’s like we simply don’t exist. You’ll see for yourself someday. Store clerks don’t see you. Waiters and waitresses don’t see you. Other women don’t see you. And, men, well, to them it’s as if you never existed at all.”

When Rosie said that, I didn’t believe her. I thought she was being over dramatic or having a bad day. But, now that I have joined her club, I see it is true. Once menopause hits, folks don’t notice you like they once did and they certainly don’t see you the way they used to.

I began to experience this when it became harder and harder to get help in stores. I was the same person, with the same wallet, bank account and spending potential I’d always been, but for some reason, my money was of little interest. I don’t remember dressing differently or acting differently, but something must have given me away, because people being paid to help customers were not helping me. I didn’t get the sense they were being rude – they just didn’t seem to see me.  

A little farther down the menopause path, I noticed that men didn’t notice me anymore. I’ve never been a super looker, but most of my adult life I’ve been kind enough on the eye that men give me at least a passing glance. No more; Rosie was right. It’s as if I’m not here - at all and to add insult to injury, even old men act this way.

It’s as if when your hormones shut off, your own version of a Klingon Cloaking Device (Star Trek) turns on. You can see everyone and everything. You’re functioning in the world. But, the world doesn’t see you - you’re invisible.  

 Nowhere is this phenomenon more dangerous than at the hair salon. Apparently, to stylists under the age of say, 35, all “old” women look alike. We seem to be lumped into a group whose heads appear to be so similar that it doesn’t matter what they do to us. Since they can’t envision being as “old” as we are, they lack vision as to the many different ways we “old” women can look. In their eyes our “old” heads have no potential, so it’s no surprise that the tears often fall after the hair flies…

For years I wasn’t that concerned about my hair. My main request was something like, “I’d like to look a little trendy, but mostly it needs to be easy to take care of and stay out of my eyes.” And, for years my hair turned out just fine. Then, in search of a “new look” (at the age of 53) I went to a young stylist a young friend recommended. In the blink of an eye, she’d cut all my hair off and given me the head of an eight-year-old boy.

 

At the time, I wondered what she was thinking and why she had done this to me. Now that I understand the Cloaking Device (similar disasters have happened time and time again…) I understand that the face the young stylist sees in her mirror doesn’t look anything like me and the words she coming out of my mouth sound nothing like mine…Apparently the Cloaking Device has a word scrambler, too.  

Recently, I found a great stylist. She came on the recommendation of a couple “old” friends who always have great looking hair. It’s obvious she’s very talented, but she’s “old,” too, so she gets it. When we sit in her chair and look in her mirror, she sees unique faces and hears different voices…

We were doing great until the weather got hot and after a particularly sweaty day of work in the garden, I yielded to one of those frantic, “I have to do something about this hair now!” panics. Into the first available young stylist’s chair I went and the cut and highlights I left with were nothing I asked for and everything I had not. Where was the “wisdom of age” in that impulse…?

I had an odd flash as I came out of the house to go to my yoga class the other day. As I locked the door, I saw the reflection of an older woman with a roundish menopause body, nicely draped in colorful flowing clothes. Her too short, too uniformly highlighted hair looked okay. She’d obviously put product in it. She looked healthy enough and happy, too.  

 “Who is that woman?” I thought. “Is that me?” I didn’t wonder in a negative way. The reflection obviously has a pleasant, well-blessed life. She just didn’t look like the older woman I thought I’d be…    

One thing I learned from my grandmothers and from some of the “older” women I’ve known is to enjoy the journey, try to age gracefully and embrace one’s eccentricities. My inspiration is Ouiser Boudreaux (Steel Magnolias), who among the many colorful things she proclaimed, said: “Because I’m an old Southern woman and we’re supposed to wear funny looking hats and ugly clothes and grow vegetables in the dirt.”  

Cloaking Device or not, you could do a whole lot worse than that…

Happy Mother's Day!

(The photo is of my Mom, whom we lost a long time ago...I never stopped missing her.)

“God couldn’t be everywhere, so He made mothers.” – Yiddish proverb

 

A trip through the Sunday sale papers the week before Mother’s Day tells mothers everything they should be. We should be fashionable and well-dressed. Our hair should be shiny, with no hint of gray. Our makeup should be impeccable and perfectly applied - not too much, not too little.

 

We like shoes, cute comfortable pajamas and fancy bras and underwear. We also like chocolate, nice smelling candles and wine (in moderation, of course.)

 

Mothers are supposed to look young, act young and be fit. (The purchase of exercise wear and anti-aging products are necessary for this…) Moms are supposed to smell good and have soft skin. Exfoliation is important; so is expensive perfume.

 

Jewelry is always a welcome gift, as are flowers or a pretty potted plant. Massage or pedicure gift certificates and bath products are also popular, as moms do, occasionally, relax.   

 

Mothers are creative and they need tools to help them create. Things like fancy cameras, fancy cookware, kitchen gadgets and new appliances are always a hit. And, mothers like clean; does this mean we like to clean? I’m not sure about that, which means a new vacuum may not be the way to celebrate Mother’s Day.  

 

We like to read, watch movies and listen to music. Romance plays a big part in all of this, according to the sale papers, so romantic books, cheesy music and either tear-producing dramas or romantic comedies are what Mom wants.  

 

One of my favorite Mother’s Day offerings this week was a bright hammock full of colored pillows; another was a monthly membership to a wine club offered at momswhoneedwine.com For a mere $39.95 per month (plus shipping and handling) Mom can get a bottle of red and a bottle of white (both from small California vineyards) plus tasting notes, recipes and pairing cards. Imagine that…!

 

New trends in what moms want include iPads, iPhones, other phones and Keurig coffee machines. (K-cups not included…)

 

So, now that we’ve been told what all of us moms should be and/or want, let’s take a moment to look at what we really are and/or do...Moms are caring and loyal, loving and faithful, sometimes funny and always on your side. Moms are proud and supportive, quick and fierce when defending our young, and always ready with a kiss on the head or a big warm hug.

 

Many of us love our kids more than almost anything else in life. Most of us worry a lot. We want the best for our children and we never stop praying for them, hoping for them and being interested in their lives.

 

I know this is not all mothers. There are abused children and moms who just aren’t very nice. But I like to think, at least on their best days, all moms want to take good care of their children.

I also like to think that even though being a mom may not be a lot of women’s favorite job (it sure was mine…) they try real hard to get it right.

 

This Mother’s Day, my family has arranged the perfect gift for me and there wasn’t a single sale paper involved. We are spending the day before Mother’s Day at Noah’s Ark Animal Sanctuary. This is a nonprofit that rescues animals of all kinds – over 1,500 animals from over 100 species.

 

Noah’s Ark is located in Locust Grove, GA, just north of Macon, about an hour and a half away. I don’t remember how I discovered them, but I Facebook friended them and their posts are some of the most amusing I see. They have lions and tigers and bears (oh, my!) as well as monkeys, baboons, exotic birds, ostriches and a variety of farm animals.

 

One of the most touching saves they’ve made is of a bear, lion and tiger who were seized as cubs from a drug lord. The three, “BLT” as they call them, were tied up together at the drug lord’s and have remained best friends ever since. The bear’s name is Baloo, the lion is Leo and the tiger is Shere Khan. I really hope they’re out when we visit…

 

So, Happy Mother’s Day to us moms, everywhere. We may not be all of the things the sale papers say we should be, but we’re pretty darn close - downright awesome in so many ways. I hope the day finds you spending it with some of the folks you most love and who most love you, relaxing and happy, in a blessed way!