The Price We Pay for Love

Cats are jerks.
They are jerks because sometimes they pee on your bed, or your dog's bed, or your kid's princess bean bag.
They are jerks because they can't be bothered to accept your love when it's convenient but insist upon it when it's not.
They are jerks because if they throw up, it's always on the carpet or a comforter.
But mostly, they are jerks because they leave us before we are ready for them to go.

Holden left us Thursday morning. 

He was 16, or thereabouts.

His decline was swift; I brought him to the vet the previous Thursday because he'd stopped eating. After some blood tests, a liver infection was determined, and we picked up a prescription of antibiotics as well as some canned food for him to enjoy.

He ate two small meals but then refused anything else. Then he peed on my bed and the couch in short succession.

In a panic, I took him in again on Tuesday, and we had a urinalysis done as well. His urine was extremely diluted, but there was no infection, and there was no fever. 

He'd lost half a pound since Thursday.

At that point, the vet knew it wasn't just an infection, but she gave us an appetite stimulant to see if that, combined with some force feeding in the meantime, would bring him back around.
But even in this attempt, she wasn't optimistic. Having seen him Thursday and again Tuesday, she saw such a change that she….she just knew.
We had the discussion.
But I really really really really really really really hoped that things would change.
But they didn't.

Have you ever force fed a pet? I don't recommend it. It's heartbreaking. And not only did I have to force feed my baby boy the stinkiest food on the planet; I also had to force two pills down his throat.
It tore me up.
When he continued to refuse food, I knew.
He was tired, and it was time.
We decided to let him go Friday. That decision to wait was a little selfish; I know. But we still had a small hope that the appetite stimulant would, in some miraculous way, bring him back.
Hope springs eternal, after all.
Thursday morning, he couldn't walk. I ran into the bathroom, where Husband was showering, and let him know, and he called the vet.
But Holden, who always hated car rides, had no desire to make one more trip. He lay himself down, and I knew that his time was close. I petted him, and I told him that if he needed to go, I understood.
A few minutes later, he was gone.
I was holding on to him. I held him as he came into our lives, and I held him as he left.

Holden was my first Christmas present from Husband when we were first dating. Underneath the Christmas tree at his uncle's in Pinetop in 2000, I opened a package that contained a gift certificate to the Arizona Humane Society. He knew I loved cats, having grown up with them (Punkin, Scooter, Tiger, Blackie, Fanny, and Roy, throughout my first 18 years), and that I wanted to have my own cat as an adult.

So, over the Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend in January, 2001, we took a field trip to the Humane Society, planning to bring home a cute little kitten.

But alas, there were few kittens that day, so we meandered through the adult cages.

In one of the bottom cages, two golden, beseeching eyes looked up at me, begging to get out.

We took him to the private "preview"room, and it was all over. 

I was smitten.

A gorgeous, orange white creamsicle of a cat.

We were told he was three years old and had been relinquished because "he pees on things."

And he was all mine.

And he did pee on things. Everything, it seemed like. But then our vet at that time diagnosed him with urine crystals, which, common in neutered males, is extremely uncomfortable. After changing his food to a low calcium prescription diet, he barely peed inappropriately (except for when he got pissed about Zooey coming into our lives, but I'll let that one go - new puppies can be traumatic for a cat).
We had almost-fourteen almost-pee-free years together.

Wherever we went, Holden went with us. He was our first little family member.
When we moved to Michigan so Husband could complete his master's degree, Holden came with us. He learned to live in sometimes-harmony with my in-laws' cat Pepper and Akita Chili (who rolled him exactly once).
When we moved back to Arizona, he came back and happily took to being an "only child" once again, likely relieved that the damn Akita was no longer in his midst.
When we moved into our house, he claimed his space quickly.
When we brought Zooey home, he was pissed but at the same time relieved that the upstairs was (until Zooey stopped peeing on the carpet because she couldn't tell that it was Not Grass) his domain.
When HRH was born, he claimed her, and her room, as his.

While he was loved by all members of our family, including Zooey, he was always My Cat. He knew, somehow, that I was the one who chose him and helped him find freedom from his little cell at the Humane Society. I was the one who cleaned his toilet. I was the one whom he woke in the mornings to feed him.

He was my boy. And I was his human.

Last night, I dreamed that it was a few days ago, and I brought Holden a can of food. Instead of refusing it, he perked up and ate it all, regaining the vigor he had lost.
You can make of it what you will; I know it's his way of saying he's OK now. He's not in pain. He's happy. He's comfortable. He's free.

Run free, my sweet boy. Thank you for the years of love that you gave to us. You were the first member of our little family, and we our house will never be the same in your absence. 

I will never forget you. 

Grief is the price we pay for love.

And despite the pain, I'd do it all over again.

I love you, Kitty Man.

Six

Yesterday was Zooey's sixth birthday.
Surely she didn't care about presents and fanfare, but HRH did, so after I picked her up from school, she convinced me to stop at the store to get party hats, candles, and a balloon.
Considering the day I'd had, I was only too happy to get my dog a birthday balloon if it brought joy to my little girl.
So, things I've learned:

1. Holding a phone, dog treats, and a party hat while trying to put a balloon around a dog's leg is not the smartest or easiest feat ever.
2. Coonhounds have no fear of eating a lit candle when said candle has been plunked into an easily accessible pupcake. 

Narrowly averting disasters makes any birthday party more exciting.
Thankfully, I did get Zooey and HRH to take a few cute (albeit fuzzy because kid and dog) snaps to commemorate the big 0-6 before letting Zooey dig in to her treat while HRH enjoyed a chocolate-sweet potato muffin.
Happy birthday, sweet Zooey. You're my running buddy and constant companion. I hope you live forever, because I can't imagine my life without you.

Her birthday present - the Kong Wobbler

"Give me the entire treat bag for this."

The birthday girl and her party planner

"Take the damn picture - I want my pupcake!"

Going...

Gone. Who needs to chew? Or breathe, really.

Do you have birthday parties for your furry family members?

Pat's Run 2014 Recap

I'm not sure that it was wise, but I convinced the ortho to give me clearance to participate in Pat's Run when I went in for my post-x-ray consult for the sacroiliitis.  He said that as long as I took it easy and walked if I had to, I should be OK.
(My physical therapist was not as thrilled to hear that and has since put the kibosh on running, but more of that in another post)
So, on a lovely and unseasonably cool April morning, I met up with about 32,000 of my closest friends for the 10th Pat's Run.
It was ten years ago that Pat Tillman, a former ASU Sun Devil and Arizona Cardinal, was killed in a still-controversial incident in Afghanistan. In the decade since, the Pat Tillman Foundation has helped support military scholars across the country.
This year, Husband stayed home with HRH, and I met up with a few of my girlfriends for the race and post-run breakfast and cocktails.
I'd signed up for the event before I got injured, so I estimated the time based on my performance the past couple of years with an allowance for my recent shin splints episode. However, when I was told by the ortho to slow down, I opted to start in a later corral with the girls and see how things went. All I knew was that once I hit the stadium, I'd be running even if I had to walk the entire way up to that point.
Thankfully (for my sanity), I was able to run most of the way. We walked the first half of the Mill Ave. bridge, all the way up Curry, and over all of the Rural bridge. I suggested that I may walk up the incline into the stadium, but I didn't. I was too excited/happy to be there at that point, and I took off without even telling my friends that I was going to do so.
Oops.
But then we found each other quickly, and all was right in the world.

Of course, then it was time for pictures.

Devin (56) and Evan Goodman, both OLs

Getting this close to a mascot - even my beloved Sparky - was a HUGE deal for me.
#mascotsarecreepy

I loved this year's shirt - it actually fit like a technical shirt should.

Official time: 51:35
Place (overall): 14,598
Place (women's): 6164

Looking at my splits, my first mile was the fastest, but all of them were significantly slower than what I was used to running. However, I was glad to finish in under an hour; I felt like that was something of a victory in itself.
I'm not sure when my next race will be; nothing is going on the calendar until I get a clear green light to run again AND the pain has abated. But despite the achy hip the next day, Pat's Run, as always, was a wonderful - and extremely well organized - event that was worth the aches and pains to honor a fallen hero and support our military scholars. Here's to hoping I'll be healthy enough to run next year.

One Run for Boston - Stage 52

I will likely never qualify for the Boston Marathon. I'm not even sure I'll run a full marathon at this point, so a BQ isn't even on my bucket list (although how awesome would it be to go watch the race in person someday).
Regardless of my personal involvement with marathoning, I love the Boston Marathon. I love its history, and I love the idea of running through such a cool city (having been there exactly once, I'm obviously an authority on its coolness factor).
And what's more amazing than watching what the human body is capable of doing?
Which is what made the fact that two people chose to also show what human cruelty is capable of doing in that same venue last year that much more horrific.
Thankfully, for the two people who wanted to wreak havoc and spread hatred, there have been thousands of people who want to perpetuate joy and spread love in rebuttal.
One Run for Boston is just one portion of those thousands of people, made up of several thousand on its own. Started by three runners who just wanted to do something to show the victims of the marathon bombing and the people of Boston that they have the running community's support, the first One Run was in the summer of last year.
It was so successful - in terms of both fundraising and community building - that the One Run for Boston 2 started last week from the Santa Monica pier in California, once again headed east toward the city that the run is supporting.
When I learned that the run would be going through Phoenix this time around, I jumped at the chance to be a part of it and gladly paid my entry fee, which, like all other funds raised by the organization, were sent to give financial support to the bombing victims and their families.
I signed up for Group Stage 52, which was held at Papago Park near the zoo. Many of the stages are individual, but there are also group stages, like this one, in which a "the more the merrier" emphasis is placed. This was a shorter distance, which, as I signed up when my legs were still aching from shin splints, sounded good, and since it was a loop around the park, I knew I'd be able to get back to my car easily.
What I didn't count on was Husband getting his teaching assignment to overlap the run, which meant that I'd have to find a middle of the week evening sitter for HRH. Or bring her with me.
Now, the last time HRH ran with me, it was at the run for Boston event held by Sole Sports Tempe, where she fell and scraped up her knee. She'd been scared to run with me ever since, but this was not negotiable, so there may or may not have been ice cream related bribery involved to get her to acquiesce and not complain.
I also explained the importance of the run to her, and even though empathy is not easily understood by a 5-year-old, she understood that this was a solemn event and agreed not to complain as long as the ice cream I promised could be obtained in either a cone or cup.
It was truly a beautiful evening for a run. The weather (sorry to everyone else everywhere else) was perfect. In the low 80s in the afternoon, once the sun started to dip below the horizon, it was deliciously cool, making for the best conditions.
Before the baton got to the park we took some time to chat with the other runners, including Chris over at The Half Fast Runner, and sign the official One Run for Boston car (donated by Toyota, one of the official sponsors for ORFB).

At first, she was nervous.
"What if I fall again."
"Then you get back up."
"Will you run too fast?"
"I'll run as fast or as slow as you want to. We can even play Red Light Green Light if you want."
"That sounds like fun."
That's when my daughter remembered that she loves to run.

Since I did have HRH with me, I opted to cut through the park a bit, as I wasn't sure she'd be able to make the 5 mile run, even with regular walking breaks.
In cutting through, we were able to see the back of the zoo, and HRH was thrilled to see one of the bighorn sheep up on one of the rocks.
I was more excited to run into Danny Bent, one of the three founders of ORFB; he was waiting to help direct the second wave of runners who were coming in.
Naturally I snagged a selfie.

He's my new BFF, people. This man did not stop smiling the entire time (I'm assuming he's still smiling as he continues through the stages of ORFB) - his enthusiasm is contagious, and it was wonderful to be able to chat with him for a few minutes. I learned that his dad is one of the fastest speed walkers in the world, his marathon time only slightly more than my best half marathon time.
Cutting through didn't cut the route in half, though, and by the end, we'd walked and run 3.5 miles. with an average of 18 minutes per mile.
Her first 5K, plus a little more.
We got back as the rest of the pack, who had gone the entire 5-mile route, were starting to trickle in.
"Mom, did I win?"
I'd tried to explain that this event wasn't a race but rather a relay, kind of like the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse road rally episode (if you really want to torture yourself by watching it, it's on YouTube; basically, it's a scavenger hunt that everyone participates in as a "team," and only Pete doesn't get that it's not a race). But she knows that when I go to running events, they're races, so regardless of what I said, this was A Race, and she wanted to know if she'd won.
"Yes, baby, you won. You won because you didn't stop, even though I know you wanted to."
We did beat the baton back, so it was exciting to see that carried back in to hand off to the next leg, although we all got the chance to get our pictures taken with it. Apparently its name is Miles (I love it).

The greatest aspect of running with HRH in this event was that I could share my love of running with her while at the same time teach her the responsibility that we each have toward our fellow human beings. There are people in this world who are hate-filled and cruel, but their ability to promulgate their negative energy can be countered with each act of kindness that the rest of us can carry out. While understanding the larger impact of the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing is still far beyond HRH's scope, she knows that kindness is more important than any other trait, and so my heart is full knowing that Danny, Kate, and Jamie were able to give her yet another example of the ripple effect of one kind act. Thank you, guys, for what you have done for Boston, for the running community, and for my daughter.
To donate to the One Run for Boston, you can donate to the site itself here (click "donate"), or, if you're so inclined, you can make a donation on my page. To track the relay, you can follow the live map here. And, for those of you in more eastern states, check out the stages in your area that still may be open, or which, like Stage 52, are group stages.

One Kitchen, Many Hearts: All Together in One, Real Kitchen

A few weeks ago, the OKMH gang, after months and months and MONTHS of planning, got together in Texas for a weekend of eating, shopping, and nonstop talking.
It was glorious.
I truly can't even put into words the amount of joy the weekend brought me. These women have become some of my closest friends in the past couple of years, and to be in the same room with all of them at the same time was just…perfect.
In all honesty, I didn't take many photos. There were several moments that slipped through my fingers because I chose to leave my camera in my bag and just enjoy the moment rather than try to record it. That being said, there were some moments that just needed to be cataloged. You can see some of them already by checking out my Instagram feed or searching #OKMHHOU for all the IG pics the girls took over the weekend.
Friday was spent sweating it out in Phoenix as I waited for my flight to Denver, where I met up with Beka and Megan to head to Houston. All flights in and out of Denver were at a ground stop for a while, and I literally got off my plane, met Beka, and sprinted to the other gate, where Megan was waiting to hold the plane if necessary. After that stressful non-layover, I didn't stop shaking until we were back in the air, finally en route. Kat and Mads met us at the gate, having actually landed on time, before the five of us headed to Jeanne's house, where Kirsten had arrived some hours earlier. When we all made it, there was a fiesta laid out and ready, replete with tamales (5 kinds), carne asada, homemade horchata (OMFG), and a donkey piñata, whom we promptly named Kevin; he became our mascot for the weekend and went everywhere we did. Then we descended upon the feast like vultures; I am not sure that I even used utensils.

Picture courtesy Kirsten at Comfortably Domestic

At some point in the evening, we exchanged gifts, although I'm not sure how we managed to stay awake so late. Our gift boxes were a bit more haphazard, as they had to make the trip with us. I gave some goodies to Beka, so you can head over there to see her take on the weekend. Megan brought me goodies from Washington, but most of them were actually for HRH, in a peace offering for taking Mom away for the weekend. HRH scored - a Doc McStuffins water bottle (immediately christened the Very Important "during ballet" bottle), pink nail polish, pink sparkly hair ties, and more. I am happy to report that HRH was thrilled with all of them.
And while we all attempted to give Jeanne some sort of hostess gift, she outdid herself, making each of us our own - personalized - pillow case. She also made HRH an apron, which she's already worn twice helping me make noms like Kirsten's baked packzi.
Obviously, HRH is already one of the OKMH gang; she just isn't old enough to be our designated driver yet, so she had to stay home with Dad.
The next day, after a breakfast of soft fried eggs and tamales and enjoying the sun (while it was a bit cool for me, the northern contingent of the gang couldn't get enough of it), we piled into the van, and Mads chauffeured us to Brenham, home of Blue Bell Ice Cream (Mads is a great van driver, y'all). While we didn't tour the factory, the town is filled with other fun shops where we bought jewelry, jewelry, and more jewelry (and some other stuff, too). Katie joined us to make a merry band of 8, and we had more pie than is probably decent at a place aptly called Must be Heaven.

Photo courtesy Jeanne at Inside NanaBreads Head

While the other girls were in shorts, I had my leg warmers on in the morning.
Photo courtesy Kirsten at Comfortably Domestic

Kat and I went on two runs together during the weekend, too, but that needs to be another post.
On Sunday, we got to pet some miniature donkeys after doing a bit more antiquing. They were so dang adorable, I can see why Kirsten wants to steal them.

We luuuuuurved the donkeys!
Photo collage courtesy Jeanne at Inside NanaBread's Head

In between, we ate - brisket and more horchata and marshmallows and tamales and French toast waffles and 10 pounds of bacon (true story)… I think I came back ten pounds heavier.
And we talked. Oh, lord, did we talk. A huge shout out to Jeanne's husband, The Complete Package (or TCP for short) for putting up with SEVEN women clucking from dawn till dusk (and then some) for three days straight. He even cooked for us like it was his job.
And then, all too soon, the weekend was over, and we had to head home.
It wasn't easy for any of us.
Kevin took it especially hard.

We all lead busy lives, and it's easy to forget to slow down to enjoy life, so a girls' weekend offered all of us an opportunity to pause and recharge our batteries, all while strengthening a friendship with these wonderful women.
This is only one part of the story. To see all the sides and perspectives, check out the rest of the ladies' posts:
Our darling hostess, Jeanne (Inside NanaBread's Head)
Beka (Kvetchin' Kitchen)
Kat (Tenaciously Yours,)
Kirsten (Comfortably Domestic)
Mads (La Petite Pancake)
Megan (Wanna Be a Country Cleaver)
and check out Katie's post about our day in Brenham (The Hill Country Cook)!

Reverb 13 · Prompt 8 · Adventure

#Reverb13 is a prompt-a-day series for the month of December that is meant to give participants the chance to reflect on the past year and take the opportunity to write down some hopes for the coming year.

Prompt 8: Did you go on an adventure in 2013?  What sort?

ADVENTURE (according to Merriam Webster)

ad-ven-ture    noun    \əd-'ven-chur\
 1. a. an undertaking usually involving danger or unknown risks
    b. the encountering of risks <the spirit of adventure>
2. an exciting or remarkable experience <an adventure in exotic dining>
3. an enterprise involving financial risk

Reverb is turning out to be an exercise in redefining those words that I'd thought were already defined.  Challenge.  Victory.  Adventure.  To be able to make those words applicable to my workaday, everyday life is...refreshing in its own right.  We tend to think - not incorrectly - that adventure takes place in faraway places and require runaway boulders or ancient treasures.  But in all reality, anything that is, as the second bullet above notes, exciting or remarkable, can be an adventure.  And I hope that all my friends and readers have experienced something exciting, remarkable, and new this year.  If they didn't, I hope that 2014 holds many of them.

An argument could be made that my running has been an adventure this year.  But I think I've already talked about that plenty, and I'm sure that the opportunity will arise for me to talk about it again (and again...).

Because Going on An Adventure also means Board the Hound and maybe even Find a Weekend Sitter for the Kid, adventures aren't commonplace in the Philistines household.  But in the past few years, Husband and I have started to make our anniversary weekend as an opportunity for some sort of adventuring, even if it's just a restaurant in town that we haven't tried yet.

This year, I insisted that we once again take up what we had enjoyed while we were in Michigan, and go away for our anniversary.  While we lived in the Mitten, we drove up to Traverse City (if only for the day) and spent a long weekend in Chicago.  We also spent one anniversary in Washington, DC, while Husband was working in an externship for the district.  Less footloose and fancy free now, this year, we drove up to Jerome.

Like many rural towns in Arizona, Jerome came into being as a mining town.  There were copper in them thar hills!  But, like many other mining towns, Jerome's renaissance has really come and gone, and today, it's hard to imagine that it once was the fourth largest city in the entire Arizona territory.  It's now known more for its "ghost town" tourism, for, like other mining towns, many sites, including the Jerome Grand Hotel (which used to be the hospital), are considered to be haunted, which attracts paranormal hunters as well as artists of all kinds.

I admit: I love ghost hunting shows.  I watch... most of them.  Husband, on the other hand, scoffs at the mere idea of the paranormal, so I knew if we were going to spend a weekend in Jerome, I needed to make sure that we were NOT there to be amateur ghostbusters.  This proved hard for me to plan, since the Jerome Grand Hotel offers a ghost hunting PACKAGE.  Be still my beating heart.  To make sure I didn't cave to temptation, I opted to stay at a bed and breakfast "downtown" instead of the hotel.  And thankfully, the Verde Valley in Arizona has one more thing that we both enjoy to offer - vineyards.

As such, we dropped off the hound at the doggie hotel, dropped HRH off at my mother-in-law's, and headed north.

Just as a note - the weekend we were in Jerome, a lightning-sparked fire started outside the town of Yarnell, a fire which ended up taking the lives of 19 of the Granite Mountain Hotshots, a team of 20 firefighters who had special training in fighting wildfires.  As we drove to Jerome, we saw dozens of lightning strikes, which at the time, were as beautiful as they were frightening.  Arizona, as a desert state, suffers many wildfires each year, and I am grateful to those who risk - and sacrifice - their lives to fight these fires.

Our first stop was Page Springs Cellars, which is in Cornville.  Not totally on the way to Jerome from the Phoenix Metro Area, but not that far out of the way, either.  The tasting room offered nibbles on the patio, and once we were finished, we took our glasses and meandered through the vineyard.

Arizona Chenin Blanc
(Husband enjoyed the Mule Mistake)

Easy way to drive your spouse crazy:
say "It's a party with Havarti."
Every time you eat Havarti cheese.

This was my first time as an adult spending time in a vineyard.  The last time I'd been to one, as a pup at the Ste. Michelle winery north of Seattle, I was scratched by a squirrel.  (my dad has suggested I try to feed the damn things).  Walking, with no timeline, through quiet rows of grapevines, glass in hand, no rodents in sight, was therapeutic.

But since you can't spend the night in a vineyard (I mean, I suppose you can, but I have a feeling that it's frowned upon), so we eventually made our way back to the car, the proud owners of a few new bottles of wine.

Now, Jerome itself is tiny.  One can see everything (I am not exaggerating - EVERYTHING) in town over the course of a long weekend.  And we did.  We went to the different tasting rooms (I was saddened that the Jerome Winery tasting room, where my mom and I had gone last year, was closed), walked to the state park - housed at the Douglas Mansion - and back (apparently, not too many people walk to the museum, less than a mile from our B&B, as we got plenty of odd stares from passing cars), lunched with different Arizona beers, and had our anniversary dinner at the Jerome Grand Hotel (sadly, I didn't see any ghosts while we were there - maybe next time).

The Jerome Grand Hotel, from below

Dinner view

Amber Ale from Sedona's Oak Creek Brewery

Grand Hotel to the left - the rest of Jerome to the right

The town of Jerome was named after the uncle of Winston Churchill

Beer in a mason jar - even more refreshing
(the beer was from Nimbus Brewing in Tucson)

Flight from Caduceus Cellars and Merkin Vineyards,
owned by Tool's Maynard James

The view from the Jerome Grand Hotel's steps

The view at dinner.
The rusted out car at the bottom was, at one time, a gorgeous model.

 Our last morning offered time only for breakfast before we headed back down the hill to Phoenix.  Jerome itself is on a hill, and that combined with the less than stellar Arizona soil, not much variety grows in Jerome.  However, apricot trees were in full fruit, and our last stop, the Flat Iron - one of the smallest restaurants into which I have ever set foot - offered these amazing waffles with freshly made apricot compote.

Husband was, truthfully, reluctant at first to head out of town for the weekend, especially to a place where he feared I might geek out over the possibility of ghost spectating.  But as we drove home, exultant and appreciative of being able to spend a weekend together as a reminder of why we got married in the first place, we started talking about where we can go and what we can do next June for anniversary 12, and he was just as engaged in the idea sharing as I was.

Certainly, then, 2014 will host at least one more adventure for the books.