DIYer

I am in the serious mood to do projects. I have this insane pull every time I know someone is going to visit me. I just always feel like my place is never "finished" or refined.

I look at the neighbors' places and we fall into one of two categories: those that look like staged homes ready to hit the market and those that look like we might have 8-10 cats hiding. I'm somewhat in the middle but leaning toward the latter.

I will say that for many their homes look tidied because they're parents have all their childhood things. But I took any childhood belongings with me years ago when my mom sold her house. Then when she passed away I inherited a lot. I will say that Wendi and I donated over 17 truckloads of things to charity. We also gave most of the crystal to family. And her clothes? Well she was 4' 9 1/2" and wore a size 4 1/2 shoe. All donated (except my favorite Shooting Star shirt!).

That still left us with albums, boxes of pictures, sets of china, and jewelry. To be honest my favorite keepsakes are my Great-Grandmother's bread board and a wooden spoon that my mom cooked with all the time. Every time I look at it I can think of her stirring potato soup, making sun tea, or fixing us Kool-aid. It's a happy spoon.

So with only 1,000 square feet it's hard to decide what to work on next. I decided mine is to re-paint my bedroom. Right now it's this vanilla that the whole house is in (except for my lemony tower room I painted this Spring), and it looks like a mish-mesh. Just random pictures hung and no real intention or style. I like my grey ombre rug and my grey cello chair but that's about it.

I didn't even bother with a before pic as there was nothing interesting about the room. I cleared out several books to donate, grouped pictures the way I wanted them, and added some crisp white curtains. I still have yet to replace my bed frame but you can see what a cool vibe the grey gives the room. I feel like it is very grown up-y. Most of all I feel like this space is now very intentional.In the very near future I will need to hang pictures and the like but for now I am just feeling out the space.

Man de la Larbert

I have had many head slap moments in my life... too many to mention here but for some reason one in particular appeared quite vividly today. It's odd really, as I haven't thought about this in some time but apparently the Universe would like to humble me and so I must write.

Glasgow Scotland, September 2012
I spent a lovely couple of weeks exploring Scotland with my sister. We went all over, from Iona, Culloden, the Orkneys, and Edinburgh. I won't mention my embarrassing driving experiences nor how I said I was Canadian to get less of a sourpuss face from the island natives. But I will mention the time I went to see Bannockburn.

If you know your Scottish history you'll know of the very important battle that occurred 700 years ago for Scottish independence. So after my sister took off for the States I headed up to Stirling and then over to the bus for Bannockburn. Little did I know that this battlefield was not *gasp* preserved as a memorial site but instead is a pasture with a plaque. So I sat there looking for some obvious monument markers when a lovely lady sat next to me.

She jabbered on cheerily and even with my 5 years of Scots Gaelic lessons I could not discern the Broad Scots she was speaking in. Here are snippets that I understood: icebox, American, dance, soldier, and icebox again. Apparently an icebox was the star of the story and I feel a bit remiss that I didn't get more of the story. I had lost all sense of direction by this point and then she said something about how she wished she were going to Glasgow because we'd have a grand old time. Wait-- GLASGOW??!

DUCK. Now I have to backtrack a third of the way back up the Country and I still haven't seen Bannockburn. Now I'm irritated at myself and-fantastic! I'm lost. I just want to get to my hotel and eat a nice meal. Okay so the train station is nowhere in sight so I'm feeling defeated. Just then I see an attractive guy. I approach him and he offers to walk me to the station. Awesome. 

We walk along exchanging stories. He works in the financial sector and is originally from Larbert just south of Stirling. He walked out of his way to deliver me, even though his train station was along the way. He waited for my train and in that pinnacle moment I shook his hand and thanked him. What a dumbass move on my part, if I may say so. I should have offered to buy him dinner, a drink, tuck him into my hotel bed- SOMETHING. I never even got his name. And so I shook his nameless hand. Forehead slap. 

So why am I thinking of him now??  That I cannot tell you but I can say that missed opportunities are just that: missed opportunities. Even if you don't think of something for years when it creeps up on you, there must be some reason for it. So I'm putting this out into the Universe out that if this gentleman from Larbert comes across this, THANK YOU. I was having a crappy day and you made it a lovely memory. I even checked out your town and the old Parish there per your suggestion. And if we shall ever meet again, dinner is on me.

Why Hello, Cello!

None of us is immune from loss and I am certainly no stranger. The only thing I know to do is allow the feelings as they come and throw myself into something productive. This has resulted in prioritizing time with loved ones over acquaintances, more volunteer work, and artistic expressions.

After my mom passed, many of the hobbies fell to the wayside and Michelle, my close friends, and family became priorities. They were always priorities but now even more so. I also took to knitting for people, something I picked up when my mom was sick so I could knit her a cashmere cowl that was both soft and warm.

Now that Michelley has passed there is a lot of silence. I don't want to run away from it and throw myself into meaningless endeavors. What I do want is to live a life with meaning and intention. For some reason the worrying about what the future will bring has fallen to the wayside. It has been replaced with an awareness of what feels right, what doesn't; what is important, what's not; and finally what to fight for, and what to let go of.

A few years ago I picked up the cello. As one of my million bucket list items I rented a cello, found a teacher, and went every other week to lessons. Surprisingly it felt right. That doesn't mean it sounded right but pish posh. Michelle surprisingly liked my playing, even when it sounded like a distressed cat. But I kept at it and a year later decided to buy a cello. I continued to take lessons until I moved to DC.

Once I moved here there was a new world to get used to. Honestly, my cello became more of a decorative piece in my bedroom than anything else, I'm sad to say. When Michelle first passed the silence was deafening. I felt her presence those first few days and felt like she wanted me to play the cello. So I start tuning and SNAP! a string breaks. Standard Jilly Modus Operandi (SJMO).

The next day I cart off to the violin shop and get a new string. Just being in the shop rekindled that love I have for cello, well hearing other people play cello. I went home and started with one of my Scottish airs. Nope, too soon. So I broke out my old Suzuki books and started to play. What had once taken me months to get through I finished that book in 6 days. Book two was no different and so I bought a book of easy cello Christmas songs. Sight reading, felt natural, only a few things to really tweak.

Every time I sat down to practice it felt better and better. And then this week I decided I had to practice the dreaded vibrato. Ugh. First off, no beginning cellist or stand up bass player likes vibrato. Our strings are heavy and something about moving your elbow up and down while simultaneously stabilizing I have worked on this so much, my normally patient teacher wanting to pull his hair out. I could not get it. I would peruse youtube videos, pester my teacher for more training tips, do bizarre air exercises, drink a glass or two of wine to relax. Nothing, nada, zip. Until this week. I picked it up to try and then immediately I got it. "Fluke," I think as I try the other fingers. It sounded okay... on all of them. I still thought it was a fluke but then it kept happening again and again.

I am now convinced that I have a little intervention from my Sheltie angel. She probably met Pablo Casals and decided that I needed to improve drastically if she was going to have to listen to me from Heaven. But I am enjoying myself again and more so I am finding purpose. I want to be a good enough player that I can join a quartet and play Christmas music at rest homes. Little by little I play my cello, clear my head, and find purpose and meaning again. Thank you, little Sheltie Angel!

And Speaking of Eulogies...

Last week I lost my little girl, Michelle. She was recovering from a 6-week bout of pneumonia. A couple of nights after her latest check-up she was coughing badly and hyperventilating. This time she didn't respond to the oxygen tank, or medicine, or sedatives.

There was really only one option and it was to end her suffering. I won't go into details but she went downhill rapidly. I wrote her eulogy, read it to her, and then I nodded at the vet. Most dogs go to sleep after the first shot, but not my Michelle. I held her and looked deep into her eyes and said "I love you" a million times. She held my gaze until the end. I shut her eyes. She was only 10.

I am devastated. I love that dog so much. She is brilliant, loving, strong, stoic, hilarious, and regal. She was commonly known as the Grande Dame and I her staff. She had some trouble getting up the stairs (but not a bit when I burnt bacon!) and she would go to the two steps to the platform, turn back as if to say"I am ready to be carried now." She would lay on the lawn at Mt Vernon and everyone would say how she just seemed to own the place. She pretty much did. I know she was thinking that I just need to get my finances in order so when George Washington's estate hits the market (or Vanderbilt's, she wouldn't be choosy), it should be bought for her.


And she's right.

This is a dog that loved her people; she had a special yip just for Shelties. She spoke Scots Gaelic and would smooch and snuggle on command. She also had a strange obsession with Highland cows and bagpipes but that's another story. I always told her I would take her to the Shetland Isles because in my mind the main island is a large grassy knoll with free-range Shelties frolicking on the hillside. I'll take her ashes there.

But grief is grief and it takes time. I've been throwing myself into playing my cello every day (which she surprisingly loved even when it sounded like a cat in distress). I am grateful for 10 years of wonderful memories, from her puppy/Tasmanian devil days of shredding everything with razor sharp teeth, to our morning and nightly Sheltie hugs where I would hug her and she would hug me back with her chin, to those wonderful Sheltie snores. I will also miss her barking her hellos to everyone, including the national call-outs and International calls I do for work. Without fail she barked through every single presentation I've done when teleworking.

So now I just work through the loss and the quiet and the absence of her. And I realize that Michelle knows I love her more than anything and I know she loves me more than anything. That alone shows me that love continues to grow within us for our duration. I have so much more love because of Michelle and God bless her for that alone. Now she has crossed over the rainbow bridge and I only hope to live a good enough life that I will one day pass, she will sniff the air and come running to greet me. God bless you, sweet little Michelley.

A Living Eulogy

It was my 41st birthday last weekend and it was lovely and understated. I actually prefer a lovely day having one good meal, relaxing, and talking to a few close family members and friends. The ostentatious parties, the expensive gifts- I don't really need that. Sure if you're turning a round number: 30, 40, 50- that's okay but 41?

Many years ago my sister and I started this tradition with birthday gifts. Every five years we do something big for the other (35, 40, 45, etc.). This includes flying out to see the other and a nice check for that person to have some fun with. This year my sister turns 45 so we'll meet for a long weekend in Vegas. But on the other years we simply give each other a $25 Amazon gift card and mandate one book that the other must read. This results in my always reading historical fiction with a romance and my sister reading esoteric novels written in a Modern-day version of Old English. I can hear my sister sighing now.

And since we've endured a slight torture with those off-year book suggestions we decided to incorporate a lovely tradition: a living eulogy. We first did this when our mom was in her final days with cancer. We both wrote our eulogies and read them to Mom- I mean why not guarantee the person you love is the one that hears this? And since we often take those we're closest to for granted, my sister and I decided to start a list of all the things we love about the other.

I would say that this was not an easy road to get to. No two people could be more different than my sister and me. In fact... it took me a minute but we have a love of history in common. And we both like bagpipes... yep! that's about it. I mean look at us! My older sister with her sable hair, dark eyes, and dark complexion. I am all light- hair, eyes, skin. But when Mom passed we had one more thing in common- we lost our best friend. And as we took care of her through her illness and dividing the work with the estate, we also had equity in common. Finally as the world moved on and we processed all that goes through loss- the letting go of small things, the earned patience, we had personal growth in common too.

It's not like we didn't have these things in common before but it was the first time we didn't focus on our differences and instead really took a good look at the other. I think it's easiest to take those closest to you for granted. It's also easy to not work near as hard to find commonalities. But perhaps I'm past the need to find things in common and instead look at what that person's strengths are that will help me grow into a better person.

I won't go into the details of our private letters but I will say that the impact is overwhelming. Not only do you realize that someone really SEES you but you also realize that they love, respect, and even admire your attributes. It's a very emotional moment and one you can't wait to do for the other.

Tweaking the Universe

I had a conversation with a friend recently about dating in this day and age. We both preferred to meet people organically- through friends or peers, but that's getting harder and harder every day. Where will you meet these people? Every day I ride the Metro and every day I see hundreds of new faces- new faces buried in their emails, their texts, their mobile games. Some are old school and carry books or newspapers but the result is the same: we live in a world crowded full of people and no one interacts.

Seeing as I have a better chance of attracting someone online then I do standing buck naked in front of them, it's simply changed the way we date. I have heard of those couples that met on the metro, exchanged numbers, and rode off into the sunset but that's now an urban myth. Did she accidentally break his iPhone thereby having to replace it within the hour? Because I know nothing short of that is going to make someone look up from their riveting game of Candy Crush. So much for that organic meeting ground.


I was out at an Irish pub with a friend this weekend. We had met for dinner and to watch whatever band was on hand. As we left and were walking to our cars, an out of breath gentleman approached us. Being female, in a city, and being startled by a breathless man, we were on alert."Excuse me," he says, "but weren't you just in the bar back there? I wanted to know if you'd like to have dinner sometime."Okay, that's the cliff notes version. There was a lot of stammering and flubbing but you get the gist.

In the movies there are sparks and he's not a short nondescript guy that's balding, but instead he's Aidan Turner. My reality needs tweaking. :) ALSO in the movies the recipient (ie Moi) understands perfectly the scenario, slightly blushes, and hands her number as the butterflies rise when they brush hands. Again, my reality needs tweaking. When this happened, I'm trying to discern if he's "touched." He's nervous and flustered and my staring at him like he might be the dangerous village idiot only seems to make things worse. FINALLY slight comprehension sets in and my initial reaction is to say I have a boyfriend. But I'm glad I didn't. Instead I gave him my email and smiled.This is an ORGANIC meeting; I'm so shell-shocked by it that I am now averted to meetings like this. What we've come to...

The next day I receive a message laying all of his cards on the table: he has two wonderful children that he adores. He is also married, getting ready to file the divorce papers. If any of this is a deal-breaker he completely understands. Um, yes, that MARRIED part. I was very polite and said that I would never be comfortable going out with a married guy and even though relationships are not black and white but instead very complicated, it's just not a scenario I want to be in the middle of. I think at best you're a rebound then and at worse, the soon-to-be-ex-wife may not know. Anyway, I wouldn't disrespect the sanctity of marriage nor a fellow woman in that way.

Still I see this as moving in the right direction. But let's tweak that vision and next time the Universe can insert a very single Aidan Turner in there!

Michelle Ma Belle

I love this Beatle's song and it also happens to be the name of my little Sheltie. This song has many memories for me including a college ride with a long-time friend who asked me the words when I sang it. See, he never knew the words and since I seemed to know them would I mind sharing? Little did I realize I was being set up. Not even after I sang, "some dumb monkey won't play pianoed song" did I realize how ludicrous my version was over the simple French prose "son de mon qui bon tres bien ensemble." Pardon my spelling, but how was I to know they knew French?

I can't help but smile when I hear her name because Michelle really is the funniest little dog. It's known nationwide that if I'm on a webinar presenting Michelle will pick that time to bark, perhaps reminding me of all the life I'm missing out there presenting, while I could be barking at squirrels. It's no longer an anomaly but an expectation that she will indeed contribute. This has occurred on countless national report-outs, webinars, and even international calls to the Minister of Colombia. Michelle has become quite famous.

She's also famous with everyone she meets. In the neighborhood she is known as the Grande Dame, enforcing royal protocol. That basically means that we must all attend the wishes of Miss first and leave the Staff (i.e. me) to clean up the mess. When I cook and the oil is too hot- zip! Michelle runs up the stairs to leave the Staff to calm the situation. She is not my guard dog.

So the reason I've been absent is that I've been taking care of my little sick puppy dog. Last week she was panting heavily. I thought she was dramatizing the fact that no, it's not 40 degrees F (4 degrees C) and I know anything above that is uncomfortable in her mind. So she's ALWAYS panting. But this continued another day and her staring at me non-stop was beginning to freak me out. It was when I heard her breath get really labored that I took her to the emergency clinic.

Here I am thinking she got overheated and might need some fluids and then the vet tells me she's in an oxygen tank and needs to stay there until she can breathe on her own. OR, she says, I'll have to make a tough decision. WHAT??!! She's only 10 years old. I was devastated. Michelle had tried to tell me and I didn't get it. I failed her. I stayed until midnight and went home and prayed. I was lost. I got a call at 5 am that she wasn't doing well at all. I went immediately to see her. The new vet on call tried lasix, which clears fluid around the chest. From the x-ray they couldn't tell if that's what that mass was or if it was a tumor.

I called my vets from home for their advice and they recommended to try everything. Luckily Michelle responded. Within 24 hours she was breathing on her own. Another trip to the cardiologist confirmed that she has pneumonia. She stayed a total of 3 days at the clinic but she's home now.

I must say that an experience like that is a little death. The Jill and Michelle team of old is gone and is re-formed into this stronger union. I understand my dog so much more and she understands me. I just silently laugh and roll my eyes when she barks at a bird, a squirrel, a blade of grass. I love and accept her unconditionally. In return she gives more smooches, more snuggles and lots more taily-wags. She's the best part of my day and she knows it. I couldn't be more grateful.