Hey Ellie Ropple in heaven, Happy Birthday! Would have been your 90th. While I miss you being here, I am somewhat glad you have been spared seeing the world become what it is. What a mess. There are times I think you still are around nudging the material world this way and that to support your kids. I really hope you take time off to do some good things for yourself up there, too. You really had a tough life, from beginning to end, and the fact that all four of us are who we are is a testament to your strength.

​As I get older I understand you so much more, and wish you were here to tell you that. I was only 33 when you died. At the time I thought I was grown up enough to deal with it, but now see that I probably wasn't. 

A few years after you passed away, Tilly arrived. As you were THE mama to little white dogs I often wondered if there was a connection.  You knew the power of having a little white living stuffed animal in your life. Andy the poodle was one special pup. We won't talk about Alfie, although I did love him even though his habits were...ummm. Ok. Back to Andy. If you pointed your finger at him and said BANG he'd fall to the floor and roll over. This was the late 70's and it was okay to do that kind of thing. Pets were not raised the way they are today, as family members, but you were always ahead of the cultural curve on that one. Remember cooking London broil for Maggie the Boxer every night? I do. I know where my animal sensitivities came from, for sure. 

So last summer was pretty tough. Losing Tilly was more devastating than I thought possible. I mean I know he was a dog and not a kid. Really! And I know all good dogs must die. I know this all cognitively and lived it multiple times in my life. But this was different, and it hurt me more. I think that is why my body got so sick the day after he died and I was in the hospital with a septic infection. Scary stuff. I knew over time I'd get over it, through it, around it, whatever, by putting one foot in front of the other like we do when things get tough. But I was tired, Ma. Very, very tired. Tired of being in pain all the time, tired of being tired, tired of just trying to make life work. I loved my job, I loved my dogs and birds, I loved my friends, but was too tired to see much more than loss and be tired and feel pain. What a bummer. 

Then, my amazing friend Anne supported my babbling conversation about all this and suggested I get a puppy. I thought there was no way in hell could manage it in my condition.  I thought it would be so unfair to a dog to bring her in to my world. I thought there was no way I could do it. Nope. Then the magic of life conspired to connect a few surprising dots and along came Teddie. She has fit into my home and heart with ease, and returned a sense of joy and love to my life that Tilly took with him. I wonder if you had a hand in facilitating another little white dog in this house, because she is so perfect? She is just what I needed to get back on track. Thank you.  

So yesterday, Ma, I learned that Teddie's mom and dad are expecting puppies again. The breeder was trying not to have this happen, but it did. Teddie's mom Mia is a great momma dog and she and her hubby Finley make amazing pups.  Because they are in such demand, I had to decide quickly if I was interested in getting dear Teddie a sister. It is earlier than I want, but nature is what it is, I guess. I signed on for a girl.

​Because Teddie has been so amazing and brought a spark of light back to my life, I feel like I can handle the challenge of a second puppy. Yes, more grooming bills, more food bills, more vet bills and insurance bills, but more laughs, more joy, more smiles, more puppy kisses, and love. Every day. It will mean three pups for a time again, but that is okay. As long as Mia has at least two girls in her litter, one will be coming north from Pennsylvania to be Teddie's sister. If not, wasn't meant to be. 

So Ma, I leave it in your hands.  I think of you singing to the radio in the kitchen "Que Sera Sera." As it will be. Happy 90th, Ma. May you be at peace. 

Once again I am reminded why we should never say "Boy, things are going well, aren't they?"  Lately, despite my physical problems, I've been trying to focus on the good things in life and how every day is not a negative adventure through trials and tribulations. It has felt challenging lately, and I finally took a deep breath and said "Ok, enough, things are fine." Ha, Ha, Ha. 

Then yesterday morning, I found my beloved little parrot, Boncuk, passed away on the bottom of his cage. I think I went into shock for a while as it was so unbelievably strange to see his little form not animated with his indomitable spirit. He was my cuddly quaker, the one of my two who liked a good scritch under the chin and nightly kisses on the top of his head. Quakers are tough little birds that usually live to be 15-30 years. Jukes was only 12, and he was a loud, bossy, territorial pickle, but he loved his mama. He was the little bird that dragged himself on one leg from the bird room to the kitchen to find me when another bird had nipped him and nearly severed his leg.  Dr. Carol was amazing in fixing up his tiny leg bone, and he was fine after that. Healthy and happy, for most of his life. 

Lately though, he was not as happy a bird. His flight feathers were either not growing in or were being plucked from his wings by his bonded mate. I tried separating them but it was worse -- both birds screeched for each other and as soon as they were reunited preened and cuddled so much I felt cruel in keeping them apart. So, together they lived in an open cage on a table closest to the kitchen. First birdies to get a good morning, and last birdies to get a good night.  My winter vacation to-do list included "Take Juki to see Carol." Of all my parrots though, Jukes was the happiest diving into his food bowl in the morning and rifling through it to get the peas, or carrots, or whatever he felt like that day. He would hop around animatedly as I placed the bowl down, shouting at me to get with it and feed him faster. Then, he'd dive his little head in and toss food everywhere, and hopefully eat a little, too. Twice a day, always happy for his food.

The night before he died, he did the same, diving into some seeds and having a lot to say about it. He then jumped to the floor and waddled around, exploring, until I picked him up and gave him some cuddles. I kissed the top of his head and told him he was my best little green man. I kissed his beak and he made kissy noises back to me and said "Nite nite, nite nite." I looked at his cage and noticed his rope perch was really worn, so got a new one and set it up so that he'd have a new place to sit in the morning. Then, I turned out the light.  I am so grateful that I had not just walked by his cage and said a quick "goodnight" that night. 

In the morning I got up, took my mouthful of medications, and made coffee. Like always, I numbly sit at the computer while I wait for both coffee and meds to kick in. My back is to the Quaker's cage, about six feet away. The room was dark and quiet, I thought nothing of it. Was he still alive? Did he pass away alone when I was right there and could have comforted him? I will never know, and I will never forgive myself for not checking in on the birds before being selfish and sitting on my arse with coffee.  Finally when I went in and put the light on to get the birds up and fed, I saw his little, beautiful form, immobile, silent. His brother quaker was frantic at this point, and Hapi had flown to the cage and watched quietly as I picked him up. He understood. The bird I held in my hand was a shell. It looked older than Boncuk ever did. It's eyes were partially closed and looked nowhere. It's feathers looked spotty and rough. This was not my baby bird. He was gone to the place where all my babies wait for me, I hope, in perfect health and perfect feather. With no worries or concerns. 

Fly free my little Boncuk, no more cages, no more annoying domestic partner, no more pain in your wings or anywhere else. My heart is broken but I understand your need to go. I sincerely hope he is, wherever, flying around Tilly's head, bugging Toby, and feeling free.  This life is full of surprises, isn't it? And they aren't always good ones. Ah, life. What's the plot?

Snow. Fifty degree weather. Rain. More snow. Sunshine. All in a few days, and a pretty weatherproof puppy that wants to be out in all of it. Definitely is winter, now.  She loves being outside and I feel badly that I can't keep up with her lately. Happy she can get her zoomies out in the house and at my terrific neighbors' house and yard, though - that she is small enough to exercise in small spaces!

I have been pecking away on my latest art piece, still, and it is very slow going. I realize that the past few months have been very unproductive ones in terms of art, and I have got to try and do better. Truth is I have been flaring up with arthritis for months now, with very little let up in symptoms. Lots of fatigue, and pain, more fatigue, and more rest, and then more pain from resting. It is a cycle that is hard to beat. Add to it the disk issues, and all I've been able to do is crawl to a horizontal space at the first available moment following a bout of standing or sitting, usually with a bag of frozen okra in my pants to numb my sciatic nerve. Not good. Not being able to maintain artistic productivity is self-defeating and disheartening, to say the least. 

Because the sciatic nerve thing flared so badly last week, I gave it some extra prednisone and it immediately calmed down and behaved itself. In fact, the RA did, too, and I felt better all over. Amazingly so. I was able to come home from work, feed the "farm," and jump back into my artwork. Felt like the old days when I used to be able to work on art more frequently, when the disease was better managed. Still have pain, but nothing like the type that competes with every thought for immediate attention. If only prednisone was a safe drug to take long term...but it isn't. The daily maintenance dose of prednisone I take, already too high, has caught up with me and is no longer managing the arthritis on a daily basis. Or, disease activity is worse. Or, the biologic med I currently take has stopped being effective. Or, or, or.

Today at the rheumatologists I got another biologic infusion that is most likely not doing much to help at this point, and the decision was made to switch to a new drug next month. It is a biosimilar to one I took a few years ago that worked for a while before stopping, so maybe it will do something. It is also great as I won't have to miss work to get it as it is just a shot I will take at home twice a month. Will it be better than what I am on now? I don't know. Worse? I don't know. Will there be a reaction to it? I don't know. Will it take time to work, during which time things could get worse before they get better? I don't know. Until then, prednisone waits in the wings for when I just can't stand the constant pain levels anymore and I need a break from it. 

"Santa, I've been a good patient...can I have the holidays off from this misery and get my art mojo back? Please? I really need to complete the current piece. Then I want to make...and...and...and..."

Off to feed the farm now, and then stitch. THe Pred Forecast predicts I will be able to stay awake longer than 8pm tonight -- needle will be on fire! Unless I can't. Cheers. 

​

Snow is softly falling outside, and there has been no traffic on my street due to school being cancelled last night. The plows are waiting for it to stop. I think they are going to be waiting for a long time. 8" or so already, more to come. Then fifty degrees on Friday to peel it all off the pavement again. My kind of storm, really. 

Getting closer to finishing the current still life piece. Will be sure to dedicate some time to it today, on this magical free day. Working over every shape, adding detail in the form of couched gold cord, mirrors with what I am affectionately calling "Ropple-Shisha" and more beads and stitches throughout. This is the icing on the cake time, when my camera focuses in on detail, and I love this step. Because this is taking a long time, I have new ideas in the wings for the upcoming work I need to make, and know unconsciously I am solving design problems and making the pieces somewhere deep in my brain so the right ideas will come tumbling out when I start. Going to be an interesting few months!
​While my crew of birds, pups, and cats are patiently awaiting my ability to freely move my legs and feed them, I felt as if there was someone watching me. Outside my window is a snow covered philodendron limb that bears striking resemblance to an airedale dog. It gently bobs up and down as if it is asking to come in and get warm. Sorry, dear, the inn is full! The cats are being chased relentlessly by Teddie, who despite a few normal puppy offenses I refuse to see as anything but Perfect. Seamus has discovered the upper chamber to the kitty tower to escape her evil clutches, and Theo lounges on the table above the puppy zone, and has not been afraid of defending himself, gently, with his big, soft paw. He is a good kitty that has always been gentle with babies -- but this one is testing his patience!

Having a very bad time with my left leg and foot this morning, truly not weight bearing yet. Breathtaking jolts of pain when I try to stand on it or move my foot. The surprise of this pain caused me to fall when I stood up, and for once I found great value in having a pile of clean clothes on a table that I hadn't put away yet. Great cushioning! For the past few weeks the nerve pain in my left foot has woken me up several times a night, adding to the usual never-rested state of being.  I consider whether this extreme episode is caused by pinched nerves in my back, or pinched nerves from swelling in my ankle, or swollen joints in the midfoot, or all of these things. At the end of the day it doesn't really matter what causes it. I just want it to move along. Meds in, now I wait.

Dear Dad, I now know why you spent so much time off your feet. You were probably waiting for those few moments when you felt well enough to do something - anything. I can't believe you dealt with this scourge with only Aleve. It is the hardest fight of my life not to just give up and do the same. At times it seems pointless to even try to do anything but lay still in the least pain producing position I can find. But then I follow the thought to its consequence, and know that is no answer. Pushing through constant discomfort isn't a great answer either. 

Teddie just ran off with my shoe, or really HER shoe, as I only stole it back from her to wear this morning when I couldn't get my foot in my usual footwear.  She gleefully dragged it to the other room, stopping to stick her head inside and literally get lost in it. Be my guest, cutie. But can you please bring it back? She tilts her head as if to say "Come get it!" and she knows I will, albeit slowly today. Sweet puppy angel, I am besotted with you. We will get through this pain stuff, one gimpy step at a time.