What about Hana?

Dogs possess an indomitable spirit for life
that teaches right up to their last day.
from Dogs & Devotion, the Monks of New Skete

After I posted pictures of Buzz and his pal, Jack, Sheila sent me an e-mail asking about Hana. So, as Oprah would say, here is what I know for sure:

Four months after her lung cancer diagnosis, Hana, who is approaching 14, is still with us. We came scarily close to putting her down in late December, after two days in which she didn't eat and barely moved, apparently from arthritis pain. In fact, the vet had already inserted the catheter to inject the euthanasia drugs. I was sitting on the floor next to Hana, sobbing, when she suddenly turned and licked my face: this from a dog who was never a kisser. At that point, I told the vet to remove the catheter because I just wasn't ready to let go.

The vet suggested trying yet another of the new canine arthritis drugs. Although the previous arthritis medication had caused nasty side effects, including cognitive problems, the new drug not only got our girl up and moving, it improved her diminishing appetite. After years of being a picky eater, she has become a chow hound.

Like most elderly dogs, Hana sleeps most of the time. She is quite deaf, although she hasn't yet lost her sight. She coughs more often, and we wonder whether the lung tumor is expanding. On the other hand, although her days as a trail dog are over, she still enjoys twice-daily walks, now usually a slow stroll around the pond in the park across the street. Sitting out in the sun while I'm working in the yard, she still lifts her nose appreciatively to catch the scent of who knows what (coyote? mule deer? mountain lion?) blowing down from the mountains.

About the presence of Buzz in her life, Hana seems bemused. I like to think that, after having lived with other dogs for the majority of her life, she is pleased to have another of her own species in the house, even if Buzz does sometimes act like a herding dog to get her moving from one spot to another. I also like to think that Hana has taught Buzz all she knows about being a Gillette dog, lessons that she learned from Merlin, my beloved first Bouvier.

We don't really know how much time Hana has left. Jim doesn't think she'll see another Christmas, but as long as she can still move and breathe without too much pain, enjoy sitting in the sun, and get a blissful look on her face when she gets peanut butter to cut the taste of her meds, we will keep her close.

Four-Eyed Once More

I started wearing glasses in the third grade. In college, when I thought that I might be walking down the aisle with John C., I got contact lenses. No way would I be a four-eyed bride.

Obviously, I didn't marry John, but I've been wearing contacts for the 35 years since that romance went bust. As I got older, I needed reading glasses on top of the contacts. Since I constantly misplace my reading glasses, I now own 10 pairs, ranging in style from Costco three-packs (a frugal fashion statement recommended by Mike M. and Steve K.) to Kate Spade.

Colorado's dry climate is tough on contact lens wearers, though; by the middle of many afternoons, my eyes are burning. So, while I'm keeping my contacts for the purposes of vanity, as of today, I am the somewhat ambivalent owner of my first pair of bifocals, er, progressive lenses.

At least in my current four-eyed incarnation, I'm sporting Vera Wang frames, a big improvement over the cat-eye glasses of my childhood.

1965: My glasses are awful, but note that
I am wearing a fashionable Madras shirt.

Dog Days

Buzz and his visiting friend, Jack, after a long walk,
followed by a half hour of chasing each other around the dining room table.

A scrap of history

We recently discovered a little piece of historical Paris in Denver's Cherry Creek neighborhood.

During World War I, the Union Française Comité de Prevoyance et d'Economies held a poster design competition for French schoolchildren. The posters' message was to encourage citizens to conserve resources. Each winning poster, which was then printed for distribution, focused on a specific resource, such as sugar, tobacco, or, quelle surprise, wine. Somehow, one of the printed posters turned up at Gallerie Rouge, a small Denver shop that specializes in vintage European posters. Appearing no heavier than a piece of tissue paper, it was in pristine condition on a linen backing.

Although the poster cost more than we have ever paid for a piece of art, we were completely smitten by the image and its back story. Our poster exhorts French citizens to save the gas used in early 20th century lamps. The young artist's name was Jeanne Fapaurnou.

I discovered a website that has images and descriptions of other posters in the series. I'm particularly taken with the poster below, and told the Gallerie Rouge owner that if she can find it for me, I'll buy it, too. ("I am a brave chicken of war. I eat little and produce much.")


Final note: The wine poster in the series is available in a modern reproduction.

Good Friday

I was at a standing room only funeral for a Catholic priest the day Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger was elected to the Papacy. The deceased had been the pastor at my father's parish. Eight months before Father W.'s death from a sudden heart attack, he sat with us one late September afternoon at St. Mary's Hospital while my father lay dying from a stroke he had suffered just that morning. Father W. stayed with us until Dad died, a great kindness.

I never saw him again after Dad's funeral, but attending Father W.'s own funeral was a way of bearing witness to his gift of himself to our family that September afternoon. Just before the final blessing, a priest slipped a note to the bishop who was presiding at the Mass; Detroit's cardinal, of course, was in Rome for the papal election. The bishop broke into a big smile and announced, "Habemus Papam, we have a Pope! But we don't know who it is yet!" The congregation clapped and cheered, an odd occurrence at a funeral, but one that Father W. would have enjoyed.

Five years later, the arrogant behavior of the man who was elected Pope that day and the institution he leads has restarted the nightmares I suffered for many years. I have personally experienced the flabbergasting hostility and arctic chill of the Church closing ranks against children who were abused while in its care, particularly when those children return as adults to finally tell their stories. (In my case, two decades later.)

No wonder I feel that Christ's assertion, "Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God?" doesn't apply to me.

Spring Blizzard

The view from my desk

Home Decor?

When we were first married, we sometimes bought furniture at farm auctions in the countryside around Ann Arbor. As the years went on and we had more disposable income, we just went to furniture stores when we needed something for the house.

When we moved to Belgium, though, the exchange rate was too high for us to purchase new furniture anywhere other than Ikea, so we turned to secondhand stores--Les Petits Riens or the ubiquitous Troc--and brocantes.

To furnish our new Arvada house, I've visited furniture stores and consignment shops. I've also become addicted to perusing the furniture section of craigslist. In addition to furniture and accessories that I'd actually buy (e.g., the bars stools now sitting in our kitchen) recent offerings included the following hard-to-pass-up items:

Eiffel Tower Lamp Base

Driftwood Coffee Table

Elk Antler Lamps

Diorama Coffee Table
"Taxidermied Raccoon and 3 Blue Wing Teal ducks
in naturalized setting.
Lights at night for an elegant look."

As my friend Georgia commented, "Just think of the countless hours of entertainment it would provide your four-footed family members."