You Do Not Find the Happy Life, You Make It

I used that Thomas Monson quote on my February 25, 2016 blog post, and didn't realize at the time that I would blow up my plans 3 days later and start from scratch. I didn't realize or have any way of knowing just how busy I would be in 2016 making, or constructing and building, that happy life.

Today we hit the 10 week mark of being in our new home! Most days I pinch myself, just to see if it's real. I am thrilled with how it turned out, satisfied with the unpacking pace, and eager to embrace 2017 and find our new normal life again. I got my car into the garage on Sunday, so that truly means we are in and just about all done unpacking, right? ;-) 

This time last year, we stood on a slab in full despair of ever seeing "our dream house" begin. Who knew this time last year that we would turn our world upside down by canceling that contract on February 28, 2016, extend the agony of building, and that I would post quarterly on this blog, vs. my ideal (dream) goal of weekly? Like I have said many times since February 2016, sometimes God shatters your dream to give birth to a bigger and better dream. Yes, yes He does.

I haven't photographed our new home much yet, because we still haven't got everything on the walls, and there's one more piece of furniture I want to reupholster, and there's a box in our bedroom, and the study lacks its built-in cabinets, and the list goes on and on. ;-) But, the holidays are behind me, my oldest son came and went in a Thanksgiving and Christmas swirl, and is now back in Nashville in his last semester of college, the Christmas rush is through and the decorations are put away, the unpacking frenzy is for all intents and purposes finished, and I can sit at my worktable in Scrap Central and breathe. And think. And ponder. And itch to create. And print photos. And cut paper. It feels so good to have a spot again, albeit an unfinished spot. And I am excited for all of the story telling I can accomplish in 2017. 

But before I head fully into a new year in our new home, I wanted to share with you all my layouts I created in June and July of 2016 that documented our old home. I only completed 99 layouts in 2016, the lowest amount of scrapbook pages I've ever done since beginning to scrapbook in 1994. Out of those 99, these are my favorites by far. These photos, these memories, these layouts were so instrumental in helping me hold together my sanity in the dog days of summer 2016 in the hot, cramped, dark apartment. And they pay homage to our beautiful old home, they document her splendor, they let me say goodbye properly to her, and ultimately they open the door for me to fully embrace our new home, and all the story telling it will cultivate, and all the memories it will create. 

Yes, you do not find the happy life, you make it. One day at a time, one story at a time, one decision at a time, one moment at a time. And once you make it, hang on to it, and embrace it. Hello beautiful new home, hello crisp new year, goodbye old home, goodbye 2016.

There's No Place Like Home ~ June 2015 ~ Remembering Murphy Manor

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: October Afternoon, Simple Stories

Title Fonts: Ballerina Script

Nobody Does Fireworks Like Disney!

When I blogged about "You Only Got a Hundred Years", I mentioned cramming life into my days, and making the most of moments. And here in living color is an example of that. When I went to Walt Disney World for my 50th birthday, I was blessed to serendipitously cross paths with a "Disney Master Photographer". As we sat and waited the hour and a half for the Very Merry parade to start, we chatted about many topics, and my ear caught and held onto the phrase "perimeter fireworks". 

When my brain could finally remember this phrase while I was actually sitting at my computer, I Googled it and had a light bulb moment...The idea to be AT Walt Disney World ON the Fourth of July to SEE the perimeter fireworks was born. And being married to my very own Yankee Doodle Dandy, he was up for the idea and the reservation was promptly booked for 2015. We got lucky, in that my work had attached a floater to the holiday weekend, and with the 4th falling on a weekend, we were looking at a four day holiday weekend without any of my precious vacation days needing to be allocated to such a whim. ;-) The boys working at college during the summer months added to the feasibility of trip. Who wanted to sit home alone, when they could go to Walt Disney World and see "perimeter fireworks"?! Not us!

We opted for the tropical setting of the Polynesian Resort. Whenever we go on super crowded weekends, I'm all bout minimizing transportation time. Monorail properties are the best way to do this. We had never stayed at the Poly, shying away from its dark motif. But a peak at the recent remodel, and the fact that the Grand was booked and the Contemporary undesirable after having stayed there in February, we felt like it was time to try the Poly. {I should add at this point that we have sort of stopped telling people when we are going to WDW. We have annual passes. We have frequent flier miles. We like to go already. ;-)} So, trip booked, and the realization began to set in that we were actually going to take a trip for our anniversary, ON our anniversary!

I should add in here quickly, in case you don't know, that we were actually married ON July 4 in 1987 and it was hot, hot, hot in humid Houston, but it was the Saturday that worked for both our families back then, and, so national holiday aside, a July 4 wedding for us was meant to be. Every since that 1987 Saturday, though, our July 4 holidays have been spent in a whirlwind of extended family cookouts, and excursions with our sons to Sea World, and picnics, and parks, and other various fireworks locations around the state. July 4 growing up was always about family and food and fireworks, and it coinciding with our 1987 nuptials made no matter over that mentality. 

In fact, it wasn't until earlier this year, as we anticipated our July 4 trip approaching, that we even realized we had never been on an "anniversary trip" - just the two of us - ON our actual anniversary! No better way to remedy that than a "tropical stay" in our favorite World, right? ;-) The relaxing atmosphere of the Polynesian seemed to fit the bill perfectly. And being able to watch the fireworks from its beach across Seven Seas Lagoon? Yes, please! It seemed like the perfect agenda for our inaugural anniversary trip. After all, if you get married on the 4th, and want to see some fireworks for your very own anniversary, we learned long ago that nobody does fireworks like Disney!

Would the parks be crowded? Yes - at capacity! Potential of closing early? Check! Would Florida be hot? Yes - it's summer you silly goon! Potential of humid rain? Check! Would we have fun anyway? Yes - absolutely! Potential of new, adventurous experiences? Check! I don't know of anyone that gets more downright giddy about going to WDW than Steve and I. And it is the same excitement for every trip - the same magical anticipation. And we are both perfectly okay with that! Lucky us! ;-) As the days toward July 4 counted down, and as I stared at my Google search of WDW July 4 images, giddy began to describe the mood.

We walked to condition ourselves. We went shopping to buy some shorts out of fabric better capable of handling the humidity. We considered the Chill-e cloth. And passed. We evaluated shoes and regrouped. I planned to go into the parks for the first time ever without a bag. Got shorts with extra pockets. We strategized how we could get there with only carry-on bags, taking just the minimum amount of things. We made our meal reservations. We booked our Fast Passes. We were ready! We were so ready, and so excited, in fact, that we got to the airport an hour before we needed to be there, my aging brain confusing the time we needed to leave the house with the time we needed to be there at the airport. No matter! We relaxed in the terminal, and were ready to go when boarding finally began, and napped on the plane.

The trip was wonderful. It truly exceeded my every expectation.  We loved the Polynesian. Loved. Our "hot shorts" worked great. Reveled in our decadent anniversary dinner at Narcoosee's on the 3rd. We park hopped like young 'uns on the 4th and met Revolutionary Mickey, Donald, and Goofy, Chip and Dale. Took in unexpectedly the Voices of Freedom special holiday concert. Were pleased at the crowd level all weekend.  It was truly a magical July 4th. And the fireworks? The fireworks? Truly spectacular. Stunning. Jaw dropping. 360 degrees of pyrotechnic magic.  I was blown away by the perimeter fireworks, as was Steve. So thankful we saw them July 3 in the park, and July 4 from the Poly beach. We planned immediately to return again for July 4, 2016, wanting more of the big show on our big day. We really learned the meaning of the phrase we coined years ago as a family. Nobody does fireworks like Disney!

Magical July 4th Fireworks ~ Walt Disney World ~ July 4, 2015

This layout was featured in the July issue of Create by Scrapbook Generation which can be seen here on their website. 

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation 

Paper: Authentique

Title: Silhouette cut file and Kerri Bradford cut file

A Meal Made With Love

This time last week, it was Valentine's Day and I was on a jet plane to sunny Orlando, Florida. Sounds crazy, huh? As Valentine's Day approached, Steve and I just couldn't wrap our heads around what that looked like now, here in the house, just the two of us, when our traditions had run so deeply wrapped around celebrating with the boys, and creating a large, multi-course home cooked meal...for four. We limped through 2014 with Andrew here, and Philip's first year away, eager to provide him with one last year of our tradition, all the while the three of us noticing the empty chair at the table. 

I think in our hearts, Steve and I knew that we needed to do something different this year, more than any other, just to break the expectational mold of, and definition for, what Valentine's looked like for us. When we found out that Valentine's weekend coincided with President's Day on Monday, a three day weekend suddenly held lots of possibilities. And of course, our hearts leaned to one of our favorite places on earth, determined to make the most of our annual passes. 

We planned the trip just two weeks before taking it, and and in Disney trip planning time, that is sort of stunning. We pulled it off, and had a magical weekend. But even while I was in the throes of the Magic Kingdom, and surrounded by balloons, parades, and smiles, it was a bittersweet weekend. Little toddling boys reminded us of our own. We stumbled on things that we knew would make the boys smile. We rode their favorite rides, and walked the seven magical lands with joy in our hearts, but with memories of other trips, and the boys' presence etched on our minds.

While this year we had Valentine's Day dinner at the Grand Floridian cafe, and had the most amazing Shrimp and Grits meal, I did miss my big Italian meal. And it goes without saying that I missed sitting at my dining room table with my boys. Dinner amore'. Dinner made with love. I don't know if I could pinpoint the exact year we started this tradition, but I know it began back in San Antonio, so that could be as many as 18 years ago. I know that preschool years there acclimated them to Valentine's Day, and that set off the shift, the tectonic shift, of our celebration on February 14 every year.

I remember so many years where I would spend the day in the kitchen, preparing the various components of the meals. The Italian entrees changed over time, as the boys matured and their tastes changed. I used to make stuffed shells every year, a batch of meat stuffed shells, and a batch of cheese stuffed shells, using the recipe from Steve's family. 

I would also make, in the early years, the cheesecake recipe I garnered from a college spring break trip to Philadelphia, home of the famous cream cheese. I believe fettucine alfredo was an early addition to the menu, and it has survived across the years, and is one thing the four of us really love, while the cheesecake gave way to Creme Brûlée.

Chocolate dipped strawberries made their debut early in the menu, too, and are one of the family faves, as well. They are set out on the counter early, and greet everyone as they come in from their day, and are just gobbled up in no time. I remember little boy dimpled hands helping me dip them in chocolate across the years. I remember the really large strawberries we could get in the valley, where all the produce was so fresh. 

When we moved to Dallas, and found and fell in love with Maggiano's, Steve decided to try to replicate their fried zucchini into our annual Valentine's menu. It quickly became another family fave, and it's the only time a year that he makes it. The stuffed shells gave way to lasagna, when the boys finally decided they no longer loved the little shells full of goodness. {I secretly love the shells and really miss them.} Another Dallas change was the infusion of Carrabba's into our menu. Chicken Bryan, of all things. Steve's and Philip's favorite.

Across time, over the miles, in three different homes, we have celebrated Valentine's with a meal. Red checkered tablecloth. Candlelight. A table full of tasty meals, prepared by either me, or by Steve, or by both of us, or with the boys helping us. Dinner made with love. Dinner made for love. Dinner amore'. I am not sure when, if ever, the four of us will be together again on Valentine's Day. The boys will go their own ways after college, more than likely. But, I will always have my memories, and wherever any of us are, it is my wish that on Valentine's we can sit around a table, with people we cherish  and soak in the moment, and have our own version of our dinner amore', a meal made with love. 

Dinner Amore' ~ Valentine's Day ~ February 2010

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Crate Paper

Title Font: 2 P's Mister Giggles

Have Suitcase, Will Travel

I'll be the first to admit it's been a bit of a different summer around here. A sign of the times to come, no doubt. Our oldest has been off working at summer camps, home only for about 20 days between Mother's Day and August 16. We supported his choice, completely. We would support it again, and I'm sure between the two sons, we will be called upon to own those words. 

Our July 2014 Europe cruise that we booked in 2012 had to be cancelled, as the church youth group changed their historical summer camp week - and - yes, you guessed it - moved it right smack into the week we were to be cruising from Spain to Venice. We also supported our youngest son's desire to go on his Senior Beach Camp trip, and knew in our hearts we could not go on the trip without him. Wouldn't want to.

Our youngest did not really want a different family vacation, unless we could go to Alaska. Again. While we loved our trip there, and truthfully do dream of going again, we knew this year was not the year to plan accordingly. I don't know - something or other about two kids in private universities. We asked him to defer that plan, since we are not deferring tuition. He didn't want to go anywhere, and our oldest could not go anywhere.

So, the summer panned out with a grand case against a family vacation. Three strikes. We were out. I'll have to say it's the first summer in over a decade that we haven't had a trip. I'll have to say, too, that it's been harder on me than I imagined. I know, I know. Vacations are hard to plan. They are expensive. You come home more often than not exhausted - and wanting a vacation to recover from your vacation. 

It does seem silly to me when we travel and pay a lot of money each night to stay all squished together in a room that is a mere meager fraction of the size of our house. It's almost a ruse. "Let's get people everywhere to pay exhorbitant amounts of money to stay in (usually) lackluster rooms, share one small bathroom, trip over suitcases littering the floor, battle thermostats that struggle ineffectively, grapple with sheets that itch, and more often than not, tune out noisy crews on the other side of an all too thin wall."

All financial silliness aside, all cramped inconveniences shelved, all tedious master planning ignored, I will confess I love the family vacation. Love. It. Love it. We recently went to a hotel for a weekend, and we did it mainly so that we could be crammed into one room with our boys, just hanging out and being together. There is just something special about picking up little pieces of your every day life, shoving them into a suitcase, traversing this country, and exploring something new - together as a family unit.

Steve and I grew up as polar opposites in this family vacation paradigm. I can remember so very many vacations as a child. My husband took only one in his entire childhood, and it was to his oldest sister's wedding. Every time I ponder the juxtaposition of our pre-marriage travelogues, I cringe for him. I know we can't undo the past, and I know his parents provided for him and his siblings in many other ways, but I just hate that they didn't get to experience the annual family vacation. 

The gift for us as a family that erupted out of his childhood paradigm, though, is a near insatiable wander lust embedded deeply in him, and his commitment to plan and provide for his own family some wonderful trips. He and I started early on, with weekend road trips around Texas. So many fun memories. We started annual vacations early on, too. First for two, then four.

When the boys came, we altered our travel itineraries to mirror their capabilities and interest levels. I have enjoyed, thoroughly, watching my boys age and turn into such good, fun-loving, witty young men. They are just so enjoyable to be around.  In fact, in 2006, they were at such a fun age that we took two trips that year - the Grand Canyon and Sedona in May, and then Colonial Williamsburg in October. We have long been determined to gobble up as much of this short lived goodness while we could. We waited for them to be old enough to remember, and we knew we only had so many summers before the window began closing.

We have had some grand adventures together. I've photographed them all. 1,282 photos of our Alaska trip. 1,131 photos of our New York City trip. I won't dare divulge every trip and its jpegs. I will tell you that I pull those jpegs out and relive the trip - the stories and the discoveries and the laughter and the meals and the obstacles and the memory of everything the pictures tell me, and the details they cajole out of the deeper corners of my mind.

I won't believe yet that we are done. I simply can't. I am taking the summer of 2014 and cataloging it as an aberration. In fact, we have our 2015 trip planned out already. On the books. Deposit paid. I can't believe we are done because I can't believe we will ever get tired of one another. I can't believe we will ever fully quench our desire for adventure. I can't believe we can ever see everything. I know the next few summers will be challenging, with the boys' activities sandwiched in between college semesters.

We are content to let them have their own adventures during this season. We are even planning on having some of our own adventures. But, in my heart, I believe back when I taught them how to pack, when they learned to read, when I printed out a customized packing list for each child, for each trip, that I did more than create travelers. I like to believe that I planted in their hearts the wanderlust for travel, the desire to be an adventurer, the joy in being together. I think they, like their dad, like their mom, will always be ready. Have suitcase, will travel.

Oh, Alaska! I'll be back someday. Your beauty lives in my heart. The memories remain fresh. And I'd like to believe I'll once again be asking for a table for four. Get ready to serve up that incredible rustic beauty you offer, and save me some salmon. Adventure is out there! Have suitcase, will travel.

Oh, Alaska! ~ Ketchikan, Skagway, Juneau, and Tracy Arm, Alaska, and Victoria, Canada ~ July 2012

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: Echo Park, Little Yellow Bicycle

Font: Pacifico

Unwrapping the Smiles

I know that there are so many facets to the Christmas holiday season. It seems every year that the collision from Halloween to Thanksgiving to Christmas occurs at an ever increasing pace. To Do lists get drafted and edited and added to, and eventually as checked off as they are going to become. Somehow our smart phones are supposed to make getting it all done faster. I can't say that this is necessarily true, but I do know that the 25th of December comes steadfastly and - for now - the Christmas stores close down on the 24th and we live at the end of that eve with what got done...and what didn't.

I always love Christmas Eve. Having a retail hubby, who works so many days and so many long hours in those days, brings a different flavor to our holiday season. We muster through the month, Steve helping me with what he can, when he can. The master-minding of the whole event is solely on my shoulders and I do revel in it. Keeping up with the budget, the gifts to get against the budget, the evening out of it all, the element to create a few great surprises under the tree, the wrapping, the cards, the baking, the meal menus, the trip to see the extended family, and the photographing and remembering - it all falls squarely on me.

We pare down to eliminate the things that don't need to be done, make our way through December, end of workday by end of workday, parse out the beloved weekend time for the big projects and must do's in that moment, and we battle to carve out as many quiet together moments at home, out of the cold and chaos, as we can manage. After all of these retail years, we have very nearly perfected knowing how much we can manage to get done, and, more importantly, we have learned to enjoy the life we have in December as much as humanly possible.

But, come Christmas Eve, I know the end is near. I know that soon our life will return to normal and in between the pre-December 25 shopping frenzy and the post-season retail wrap-up, we get nearly 48 hours of unhurried time. When I get the text, "Leaving the store. See you soon. Do you need anything?" my heart skips a beat and I know that Steve will soon be pulling into the driveway, bringing Christmas home. I always tell him, "It isn't Christmas Eve until you're here with us."

The whole month unfolds into embracing those few hours between him coming home on the 24th and him going back in on the 26th. All of the hard work at that point is deemed "worth it" and the presents under the tree, the fire blazing, the boys home and the house full of the four of us truly is the most wonderful time of the year. 

As the boys have aged, it has added even more to the holiday - their opinions on everything we do, their shopping for their own gifts without any assistance, their being awake longer on Christmas Eve, their remembering of years' past and their excitement over their favorites. Invariably there is some last minute gift wrapping going on by the men in my house. I secretly love to watch them scurry to get it done. But at some point, it all gets done and we settle into the holiday. We have our traditions that I love -  Christmas Eve candlelight service, Mexican food for dinner, the boys' present exchange, the watching of a beloved movie. 

We finally eek out of Christmas Eve all that we can and we turn in to bed, pacing out the time so as to glean as much joy out of the holiday as we can harvest. Christmas morning dawns and we live now in the fullness of phase where the boys may sleep in as long as we allow. Andrew is my early riser and Philip is my night owl who struggles to fall asleep and, accordingly, wake up before noon. He's enough of a kid at heart, though, to make an exception on Christmas morning, being a good sport to wake up when we have kept Andrew at bay as long as we deem acceptable. 

Christmas morning holds its own traditions, too - the gathering of the coffee and camera, the stockings, the usual breakfast foods, and then, finally, the tree. I have recognized as I age that there are some boxes that, by the time they come out from under the tree, I am no longer able to recall their contents. It's somewhat serendipitous to also be surprised as the wrapping paper comes off and the box opened.

Camera ever ready at my side, I am poised and prepared to capture the snapshots of the day - angling to get the best shots of the faces that I love. See, while they are unwrapping the presents, I am unwrapping the smiles. I love these photos that represent the pure delight on their faces at the unexpected gifts, the little surprises I found throughout my month long shopping endeavors, the secret presents that I grabbed to make the morning moments feel a little bit more special.

To me, the most wonderful time of the year is when you are all together, celebrating the Presence of the Christ child, the presents of the day, and the richness of the traditions you have shared over time and in different spaces to treasure those two ideals. No matter how old the boys get, or where we may end up living, I know that for me, the greatest gift my family can give me every year is to allow me to sit back, watch them delight in the holiday, and capture all the times spent unwrapping the smiles. 

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year ~ Christmas Morning ~ December 2010

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: October Afternoon, Echo Park

Title: Silhouette Cut File by Lori Whitlock

There's Just Something About Puppy Love

As I settle fully into 2014, the perspective I have of 2013 sharpens and clarifies itself and offers me some depth to its context. I made it through 2013, day by soggy, weepy day, pressing on, life requiring of me to continue in its comfortable, if not monotonous, schedule. A few people around me were aware of my situation. I tried to hold it close to me, somewhat ashamed, and somewhat wanting to hold my feelings secretly to my chest, like a rare and valued treasure. What I can fully own now and proclaim is that it was one of the hardest years yet that I have lived in my life. And I am not out of the woods yet. The second launch looms.

There were many wonderful moments last year and many blessings, too. We were all healthy, we were all together, fun times happened, good things came about. Many could look at the data of the year and wonder over my petition to call it a hard year. Let them wonder. Hard times are really only defined internally and sometimes have nothing to do with the events going on around us. And as I fully take in 2013, I will say that, all good moments banked and remembered, it was still one of the hardest years of my life. {I did not say it was my saddest year. I said it was my hardest.} I press on. I remember and tell. I ponder and query. I press on.

Of all the events that occurred in 2013, I will say that one of the bright spots for my heart had its seed planted on February 15...and that seed quickly sprouted to bloom on February 23. {I have never professed to be a slow mover or a patient planner.} But, to be truthfully honest, I guess the seed took root in 2006, and was probably planted back in the '70's.  

Having grown up in a family of 6, with 3 siblings, we were the traditional busy, full house of the '70's, living simply in a 3-bedroom house built in the '50's. Space and time and privacy were hard fought battles and seldom won. I know of only one instance where my mom firmly put her foot down and came out the victor, round after round after round. Working and raising the kids and cooking all the meals and doing all the laundry were enough for her. And so she held her toe at the line firmly on life with a dog and life without a dog.

There were a few marked exceptions. They were somewhat akin to prison breaks: defiant to the rules, freedom hard earned, little ground gained, a brief sense of a different life, and a dismal return to where you started. My dad was a dog breeder early on, and I have no recall of the Besenjis that were around. A black and white border collie followed and her name was Sissy. She was not "my dog" and I am not sure exactly what happened to her, although I can guess, given she was a yard dog and our back was not properly fenced. She was not around in the years after I started kindergarten, so the memory of her is more of a name paired with some photographs.

The one exception that I remember was truly our Christmas miracle. One year the gods deigned to bestow upon us kids for Christmas a puppy. A little floppy eared, wrinkly skinned, soft pawed Basset hound. It was probably 1975-ish. I will concede that my older sister Pattie was probably the proactive pleader that year and had really been angling for a family dog, that she would of course secretly work to make her dog. :-) Dad, always having a soft spot for her, somehow struck a deal with mom to allow it. 

I can still recall the utter excitement of that morning, of watching my sister jump up and down as all 4 of us fought to purchase some of that real estate on the dog's skin. Sister's exclamation during the excitement named the dog. What was meant to be some other name came out as Corky and the name fit and stuck. Corky was a wonderful dog and the only pup I had in my childhood, the only time I watched a dog grow up and bond and witnessed firsthand how they can impact a family. Sadly, Corky did not live for many years, but the memory of puppy breath and weight at my feet and warmth by my side was put away into my vault. He was our one and only failed attempt at a family dog, so my memories of him were all I had for many years.

All four of us kids now are dog families. I chuckle inside when I think about it. I guess the beauty of adult life is that you get to cross the lines drawn for you early on, and learn for yourself what your lines are meant to be. Steve and I got our first puppy early on, probably before our second anniversary. I fell in love with a Cocker Spaniel and Teddy came home to live with us until the boys were born. Teddy was discovered at that point to be a biter, so we fostered him to a family with a farm and began the days of diapers and Cheerios, when Fisher Price offered up the only dogs we had in the house for many years.

The year that Andrew started kindergarten, I knew the house would ring too hollow if I were rattling around in it by myself.  Six weeks before he started at Milam, we purchased a Yorkshire Terrier puppy, which I adored and named Harry and promptly spoiled. Harry was my buddy for 11 years and when we had to put him down in May 2012, I felt like my insides were folding down and my heart ripped away a little at the ends. And as 2012 folded into 2013, and the first college launch appeared on the calendar pages of the year I was actually living in, my heart pronounced it had healed enough and was ready to adopt and love and spoil another fur baby. There's just something about puppy love.

In 2006, on a visit to Albuquerque, New Mexico to visit family, I went for a walk outside my sister-in-law's home and saw the two most beautiful white dogs, sitting there beside their owner as he read a newspaper. I found out what breed they were and did research on and off again on them, knowing I could never bring in a "second child" against my Yorkie, Harry. Nonetheless, my heart knew someday I would hope to have a Westie. And someday arrived in 2013. As the winter gave way to spring and the weather began warming up, I started my internet search engines and found the pup I wanted.

A few email exchanges during a workday between Steve and I, and a few email exchanges with the breeder, along with some research on her dogs and talks to her dog adopters, I was sending in a contract, making a deposit and arranging a pick-up day. {I have to pause here to fully acknowledge that I am gifted with one of the most wonderful and loving and supportive men that God ever created. He knows my heart, loves to nurture it, and enjoys my own pursuit of happiness.} I think the only thing that surprised him about my petition for another pup was how long it had taken me to formulate it. 

Pick-up day dawned, oldest son bribed to accompany me on the round-trip 11 hour drive, gas tank loaded, pup accessories packed, and Saturday, February 23 found Philip and I headed out. Our destination was the Little Rock airport, where my wonderful breeder, Nancy, would meet us and I would get to pick up the most beautiful little fluff of white fur I have ever seen. It was love at first sight and a wave of puppy heaven washed over me as I watched his little wiggle-dy bottom prance around on the pebbles while he stretched his legs, got to know us, and prepared for the long ride home to Texas.

I knew when Philip asked if Truman could ride in the back with him, that he was equally enamored with the little fur ball, and it was a sign that our Truman would be more of a family dog than the lap pet Harry had been solely to me. Truman has won each of us over in his own way with his playful antics, his sweet love, his bull-headed terrier west-itude and his desire to be right where we are, in the middle of any and everything. If anyone doubts a dog can communicate, they have never met a Westie. Truman has no trouble letting us know exactly what he thinks and needs and expects us to do. 

I know that while we celebrated his first birthday on December 23, it was on February 23 that I commemorated that he has been here with us now for one full complete year. He has been the bright spot of many a day. He has been by my side for all the tough days. {Yes, he even went with us on the dreaded college drop-off...a culmination of Steve's and Philip's desire to include him and my sense of needing him for the attention diversion he would offer all along the long way from Texas to Tennessee and back to Texas.} He has proven himself to be the best little buddy and has added laughter to so many dark moments. 

Just like my brief moments with Corky over 30 years ago, and then again with Teddy and Harry, Truman has worked his way into my heart and offered unconditionally to me a little heart that in return accepts my love, that greets me warmly every time he sees me, that follows me everywhere, that unconditionally wants to love me back. And that little white fur ball, that little being that I nickname Boo, because he's like a little ghost of a person, makes me so very happy. There's just something about puppy love. And it just might have rescued me once or twice.

Truman ~ Remembering Gotcha' Day ~ February, 2013

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: Bella Blvd., Imaginisce