I Love Coming Home to Truman

219 days. That's the span of time from my last blog post dated September 17, 2017 to today, April 23, 2018. There's a lot of story in that gap. A couple's ten-day escape, a weekend escape to Florida, eight holidays (Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Martin Luther King day, Valentine's, Presidents Day, Easter), one family vacation during spring break, too many work days, youngest son home for a week during his term gap, year-end and tax season, three calendar seasons (fall, winter, and spring), road trips to Houston and Tennessee and Florida, traveling to Washington for a week of work, another winter with a case of the flu, lots of every day living, and then the horrible, no good, very bad day in January when I got the 11:07 p.m. phone call that my dad had unexpectedly passed away, and it's twin horror that followed five days later when we laid him to rest at the Veterans Memorial Cemetery in Houston, Texas. Yes, lots of story in that gap.

When I think of the blur that 2018 has been since that terrible phone call received in the remnants of  January 29, there are gaps that I cannot make pieces and parts out of, and there are quiet moments of normalcy where I can shelve the grief and keep the lifetime of memories at bay, and can live in this day - of right here, right now, life is good mode, and then there are moments of deep sorrow where I feel much, and remember much, and then feel even more. This grief thing is organic and raw, and honestly, quite puzzling. My dad always expected much of me, and I dealt well with his expectations, I think. Or at least I was always attempting to deal well with them. We had a rough love, but a real love. As a family of deep faith, we rest in knowing he is now in heaven, and we live out our days here until one by one our family chain that was broken in January begins rebuilding on the other side. I think what bothers me the most is that his participation in family events is over, and life as my extended and immediate family knew it is forever gone. There are so many traditional and cherished things that are now forever no more. And we worry about my mom, being alone, living alone, grieving, and everything we are feeling and thinking and doing and pursuing is quite normal, I suppose.

As I muddle through these days, one thing that has been constant (besides my amazing, tender, loving husband) is Master Truman. 

He's such a funny little human trapped in a fur body. He "talks" to us with any one of his 100 different moans and whimpers and groans he makes, not to mention his many varied barks, or just his wagging tail and his mouth parted in his tooth-showing smile. Saturday I sat for awhile in my living room, with him resting on my lap, both of us staring simultaneously through the wall of windows, and through the panes of glass in the front door. Just a girl and her dog. We both love sitting in the brown leather chair because it affords the total panoramic view of the house - everything downstairs - and through the windows and door, everything outside in the side yard, and everything on the sidewalk and street. What I love most about him is he is content to be. To be himself, to be with, to be left, to be greeted, to be walked, to be adored, to be left to nap, to be loved. To just be.

That message has resonated with me of late, as I have allowed my heart to feel, and my mind to remember, and my soul to ponder. It's okay to just be. To wade through each day with its own challenges, to seek the joy, to process the sorrow, to handle the daily minutiae of the ever pressing life. I had a fairly good weekend. I got some fun and productive things accomplished this weekend, and there were big gaps of time that felt normal and where my heart was light and joyful. And it was palpable. And that made me smile inside. Because I could finally feel some hope through the pain and through the sorrow. Not that in any measure am I done grieving, but that, much like storm clouds breaking to showcase the hidden sun, I could see gaps in the pain, and know that the storm of sorrow is transient and mobile, and this weekend I welcomed the break where I could feel the bright light of whatever it is called when you are grieving that you might call non-sorrow, or the absence of sorrow. Yes, it felt like I could see the sliver of shiny silver sun and feel it's warmth and know some joy, sense some hope of the lift from the weight of grief.

And of many things I have wanted to resume these past many weeks, my blogging has been one of them. And as I thought about where in the world would be an appropriate place to pick up the tattered fragments of my blog, I though about my one temporal and real constant during all of this, my sweet dog that has been with me every moment I've been home, and who has been with me on many of my trips this year, including funeral week to Houston, my sweet little Westie. And it seemed fitting really, to circle back to him, as if in some way to pay homage to dad, who made us a lover of dogs, who always had a dog, or wanted a dog, or fought mom so we kids could have a dog (that chapter did not end well), or who was a part-time dog breeder of more than one breed through the years. There was one segment of life of late where dad, both of my sisters, my brother, and myself all had a dog simultaneously, and many of us have had varied dogs over the decades. {One sister's dog is now gone; the rest of us remain dog homes.} And they are/were all house dogs. We are a family of dog lovers, and I can still recall fondly the litters of puppies that were in our childhood home, and know that way back when, our love of the pup was planted in our hearts.

Dad found out about the Westie breed through me, and he quickly got a Westie not too long after I did, or who even knows or remembers...I think he may even have bought his first Westie before I got Truman. And as I think on it, I believe he did because I think I remember being exasperated that he got his Westie before I got mine, when I had been longing for one since 2006. Dad was that way - impetuous to a fault, and to the end. And as dad battled cancer and fought to recover from it, his dogs were constantly at his side. And as Truman has tended my heart these last 3 months, I know in a small measure how much comfort dad drew from Layla and Belle during the last 13 months of his life. And as Truman has tended my heart, Layla and Belle have tended mom's. Belle is at my sister's now, with a litter of 5. I told my sister that dad would be so jealous that he missed such a big litter, and I know my sister worked hard to get all those pups here, as one final tribute to the dog breeder hat that dad wore.

When we were compiling photos for dad's service, a photo of him with his two fur babies in his lap was unanimously a definite addition. 

He did love his dogs, and they loved him. And his Layla is now forging her bond with mom, and I know that they are very good for each other right now, and watching mom care for Layla and talk to Layla rips a hole in my heart, and simultaneously makes me smile so big. 

And I like to think that the love our dogs have for us is a shadow or a glimpse of the unconditional and unfettered and ever forgiving love that God has for us. I am reminded when I see Truman wagging his tail that God adores me just as much. And that's the best thing in the world to come home to at the end of day. Yes, the love of Truman has been such a balm for my heart these past 12 weeks. I just love coming home to this little white fur ball boo. I love coming home to Truman.

I Love You from Your Wet Nose to Your Wagging Tail ~ Master Truman's Life ~ Spring 2017

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Photo Play, Imaginisce, Bo Bunny

Titles: Photo Play journal card

It's a Pea-utiful Day in the Neighborhood

It's hard to know where some stories begin and end, but this is not one of those. I have a clear memory in my mind of the events that led up to me talking about scrapbooking with my dear friend Lea, and her mentioning to me that Creative Memories had announced that they wanted to be the resource that Two Peas in a Bucket was. That was such a curious goal of CM, to me, that I felt compelled to check out this website. A few steps down the rabbit hole later, I had registered and thought of my username and created an account. The date was marked on my Two Peas account - June 27, 2006. But, I get ahead of myself. Let me start closer to the beginning.

As with most stories, they do not go where you foresee them going, and they do not end where you see them ending. I guess that is what makes for a good tale. I don't know, though...I have always enjoyed a small measure of predictability. I guess there is a bit of comfort in that. But my tale of Two Peas does not follow my measure of comfort, and so please indulge me the time to share a few words about a website that knew me.

In July, 2005, we moved from deep south Texas to the suburbs of Dallas, via my husband's job. I was a stay at home mom at the time, and the boys were entering fourth and fifth grade the following month. At this juncture in time, I had been a scrapbooker for 10 years and 10 months, and I was using, solely, Creative Memories' products. I had just converted to a digital camera, and I was getting my photos developed at Walmart. We were holed up in an apartment while we waited for the house to finish, with the large portion of our belongings sitting in storage crates somewhere between McAllen and Dallas.

With our house targeted to finish in November, we set about living the temporary life in a furnished apartment, overseeing the construction, running down ideas, and preparing for the move-in day. One of the errands we ran between July and November was to the Hest Fitness Equipment store in Frisco. At that time, it was next to Circuit City. As we drove into the parking lot, I noticed the name of a store between Circuit City and Hest - Recollections. I could not believe my eyes. A store that sold scrapbooking supplies! We wrapped up at Hest, and Steve went into Circuit City while I checked out Recollections.

That little errand probably turned into one of the most expensive elliptical machines ever purchased, because I found at that store a new way to scrap! Ever a lover of color and stationary and office supplies, I felt like I had just found Pandora's box of scrappy goodness. I signed up to take some classes and, one year later, I would end up working part-time there, until just shortly before their owner, Michael's, announced their closure. Recollections opened up for me a creative and expressive way to take a hobby I intrinsically adored and enjoy it exponentially more, if possible. I remember the first class I took used Basic Grey's Color Me Silly collection. I still have that project hanging on my wall. I made friends, I found retreats to attend, I bought copious amounts of supplies, and I scrapped on.

My evolution continued. In June 2006, I attended for the first time the Great American Scrapbook Convention in Arlington, Texas, over near the ballpark. Steve had heard about it on the radio and my youngest son pointed out a billboard one day while we were driving. I checked it out - and hit another major milestone - another reaching the point of no return. I found bargains on the stuff I was seeing at Recollections, and I found things I had never seen before, and I seriously began my scrappy stash building. And the desire kindled to further develop my storytelling art form.

And in the summer afternoon conversation where I told Lea about Recollections and the scrapbook convention by the ballpark, she told me about Two Peas. The timing was ideal. We were settled in the new house, a scrap corner upstairs had been carved out, the boys were at a great age for the indulgence of a hobby, and I had found a little local scrapbook store to fuel my fire. Having an online resource was icing on the cake. Two Peas in a Bucket, for those unaware, was established in 1999 by Kristina Nicolai-White and her husband, Jeff. Two Peas was like a three-legged stool to me: online inspiration via the garden girls, classes and gallery, a 24/7 message board community, and the Two Peas online storefront. And over time, each of those components was very significant to me in their own right.

Their tag line that appeared at the top of their website for so long, "Live Life. Scrapbook It.", was a clarion call for my heart. I loved Two Peas from the beginning. If I had to catalog the beginning of my love affair, I would have to say that the inspiration from the gallery was probably the biggest initial draw. It was truly inspiring, and undeniably amazing, to see the work of other scrappers from all over the world. Here I was - such a newb at shucking my CM solid card stock and embracing patterned paper - and trying to take in all the design elements of the newly found tools and supplies I was seeing online and at Recollections. I could spend any given amount of time strolling the gallery and getting ideas.

As I grew braver, I ventured over to the message boards. I lurked, as a reader only, for a long, long time before gaining the courage to post anything. As the boys got older, though, my time available to be online increased, and any given day you would find me "Pea-ing". See, each user was assigned a Pea number and we had to give ourselves a username, a Pea name. Avatar photos were optional. Some of us used real photos of ourselves, and some used pictures of their dogs or kids or favorite iconic images -  coffee cups, flowers, Disney characters. You grew to learn people by the familiarity of their recognizable Avatar photo. And I grew to love posting on the threads and sharing ideas and challenges with other scrapbooking Peas. We shared not only ideas, but we shared events and classes, and earned badges for our efforts. Our virtual flair was just all that - and it came with a Bucket to put them in.

We joked that Peaing was addictive. It was. I became a regular poster to the message boards, and at some point in 2008, I uploaded my first card project to their Gallery of projects. The more familiar I became to others, and they became to me, the more I was out there. Not only did I post replies on the Message Boards, I even began starting conversation threads. I became "A Fixture". The website was always up, and I was always logged in. I learned to turn to the Peas for any question I had on scrapbooking, and even, on the fitting occasion, I would venture to the NSBR (Non-Scrapbook Related) board, asking about vacations or questions about the kids, seeking guidance or input...from all of these Peas. My family would know it was sound knowledge if I heard it from the Peas. If I couldn't find an answer, I only needed "to ask the Peas." Someone somewhere knew it and/or had done it. 

It may sound and seem silly, but it really was a tightly knit community of mostly like-minded souls. The common thread of scrapbooking offered an environment with people who could "get me". They could understand searching for one more piece of that certain patterned paper, struggling to mange amassing amounts of jpegs, offering help to title a layout, ad infinitum. The issues were as endless as the ideas. And I'm not even kidding when I say that my husband and sons would not be surprised at all if I told them something I had learned from the Peas. Oh, the power of the Peas. 

From the Peas, and with the Peas, and through the Peas, I learned about digital scrapbooking, non-chronological scrapbooking, layout kitting. I found out about events where I could take classes - Creating Keepsakes University, Creative Escape, Big Picture Classes. I met real life "scrapbooking celebrities" Stacy Julian, Heidi Swapp, Tim Holtz. I discovered blogs and followed bloggers - May Flaum, Ali Edwards, Cathy Zielske. I fell in love with scrapbookers whose style I admired - Nichol Magouirk, Susan Stringfellow, Allison Davis. I moved my scrap studio downstairs and set it up a la Wookiemouse (a Pea named Stacey), spending 26 weeks tediously organizing every rub-on and spool of ribbon I owned. I learned to stamp and ink and wet and dry emboss. I fell in love with punches and sketches and die cutting. I found my niche. Truly, truly I found my niche. I found the perfect compendium of ideas and people who could help me execute on any idea they shared, or any idea I could dream up. The support of the Peas even led me to try out for a design team, and it was truly a thrill to be selected as a member of the Sketch Support Design Team. Oh, the power of the Peas.

Far beyond meeting my initial desire to find a relevant, 24/7 scrapbooking resource, and far beyond the practical information and inspiring ideas, Two Peas offered me friends. There are Peas whom I have met in real life, Peas I have traveled with, Peas I have retreated with, Peas I have had in my home. I would never have dreamed all those years ago when setting up an account on a website, whose name relates none whatsoever to scrapbooking, that it would be a life-changing event. I share this little glimmer of my story, in the full knowledge that there are over 400,000 other stories that mirror mine, to pay homage to a place that I was proud to be a part of. And I was truly proud to be a Pea.

Two Peas announced on the 25th of June that they would be closing down their website at midnight on July 10. The inevitability, or even the predictability of a loss does not make the pain any less. I wasn't surprised at the announcement, but I was not prepared to grieve as much internally. I can't speak to all the factors that culminated in their decision to close, but I can speak to how incredibly sad it makes me to know that such a rich compendium of caring and sharing, a resource organically grown over 15 years in the garden of their tending, will shut down and be accessible no more. 

I have spent the last five days mining data - checking my bookmarks, copying down ideas, saving images. I grieve when I think about the gallery of Katie Watson, Kelly Goree or Candice Greenway being deleted, never really to fully resurrect, since they no longer scrap in the public eye. I get nostalgic when I think about Rusty Pickle, Daisy D or Scenic Route having layouts in the gallery, and tagging their collections. These lovelies were fallouts of the recession and economic downturn, now out of business, whose collections are residing solely on the shelves of hoarding scrappers. I recall Scrapbooks, Etc. and Simple Stories and Making Memories placing publishing calls and sigh, as these magazines are published no more.

Two Peas goes down, and takes with it a chronicling of the very effort it set out to bolster, the cataloging and remembering of life. {Live Life. Scrapbook It.} No matter what continues to happen to my beloved industry, one that continues to compress and digitize and minimize, I will always know in my heart the special place that Two Peas held in the industry. I will always remember the rich development it offered me. I will forever cherish the friendships I have with my Peas. There will always be a little corner of my world where it was good to be Peanut 266613, where life was chronicled and cared about, where it's a Pea-utiful day in the scrappy neighborhood. 

I keep with me the knowledge gleaned in the garden. I continue to grow and develop. I am truly thankful to have been a Pea. And I am thankful that I will maintain the friendships I have with the Peas. Taking down a website won't take away the power of the Peas - the beautiful souls of the ladies I know and continue to scrap and yap with. Oh, the power of the Peas. Rest in Peas, dear Pod of mine. I will always remember the hay days of Two Peas in a Bucket and how it was the home for my scrapbooking heart, the place where my happy scrapbooking story began. It's always a Pea-utiful day in my neighborhood.

Peanut 266613 ~ Becoming Pennyscraps ~ February 2010

Sketch Credit: Cathy Zielske, Design Your Life via Big Picture Classes

Paper: Imaginisce

Font: 2 Ps Old Type

This layout in and of itself speaks to the impact of Two Peas. This is a "digi template" that I created in Cathy Zielske's Design Your Life class, taken in 2010 on Big Picture Classes, using some digi paper for the large dots. I trimmed the template down, and matted it on real Imaginisce green patterned paper.

Two Peas changed over the years. We all did. I am thankful I had some screen captures of the earlier, more playful look. That was the look of the Pod I loved.

A snapshot of my public profile. After hitting 5,000 posts, you could edit the title that appeared under your screen name, creating your little personal message. There were always puns using PEA as a substitute syllable for anything remotely similar. For the longest time, my self-given title line read "It's a Pea-utiful day in the neighborhood." My Peas were the neighbors of my heart.

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