Two fine examples of first rate dads. My father, who raised five pretty cool people and my husband who is raising (even though they are adults now) three very cool people.
Let me write of my dad first as he is much older and it only seems fair. Plus he uses a cane now and there is a chance that I will get poked with it if I show him any type of comical disrespect.
The stories of my dad's childhood are always in bits and pieces, usually just a bit about when he put a log in the alley or had a police siren on his bike. There weren't many if any sob stories. He does not share a lot about his dad and over the years I have figured out to ask carefully. It is his mom that raised him with the help of her parents and her other sons. My Uncle Earl and Uncle Horace were the male role models in my dad's life. It is so evident when he speaks of them. Anyway, the lessons he learned or didn't learn from his own father had to have molded the father he became.
Now don't get me wrong, Bob Snow was not a perfect dad because there can be no such thing, be he was and is pretty great. My dad coached his kids in sports, he was active at the church and school. He was someone that could be counted on to get it done. And it was always done with a little extra something. I remember when he made to center pieces for the school athletic banquet, he created gyms and football and softball fields on Styrofoam, perfectly painted to scale. He was so creative and had such an eye for detail. There's a trait I wish would have passed down.
I was a pretty big screw up and my dad had to be so frustrated and disappointed in me. Here was a guy that worked really hard for shitty pay and he, along with my mom, made sure that I was well educated and needed for nothing. I don't know that I ever expressed my appreciation. I don't think I realized how hard they worked and what they gave up for us until I was a parent of my own.
My dad shared his loves with me through AM radio on early mornings. That is where I learned about Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. He made sure I saw Singing in the Rain. He pointed Walter Payton out to me when we watched the Bears play. I understood the value of something old and well made. I learned to not wash a coffee mug. I learned to suck it up and stick it out.
My dad is now 80. He has had a tremendous life. He has been around the world, to the bottom of it twice. He has been active in all of his children's lives and has been right in the middle of half of his grand children's lives. The other half lived far away. He has been loved by two wonderful women. He has shared his moon cheese with some pretty loyal dogs. He has made an impact not only on his own kids, but on their friends, the kids he coached, his nieces and nephews. Dad, Mr. Snow, Coach Snow, Uncle Bob.
Happy Father's Day, Dad. I know that Crissy, Sheila and Dicky will celebrate with you. They will make you your favorites, you will nap in front of the TV, Mae will try to get in your lap. It will be a good day.
And then there is the man that I was lucky enough to find, to keep and to raise kids with. Danny White, you are a pretty great dad as well. There are many similarities between these two dads. Mainly both would have done whatever it took to provide for their families.
There are so many great and wonderful things I can say about Danny as a father but I think it is what the kids say that best sums up the dad he has been.
Danny has been gone a lot. There were more deployments and training exercises than I care to remember. Even after the military, there has been training and call outs and call ins. And through it all the kids will tell you that they don't remember Danny being gone. I think that speaks volumes about the dad that he was and is.
I am blessed beyond measure to have these men in my life. Their gifts and lessons are never ending. Though cloaked in whisker rubs and karate chops, these men have shown unconditional love and warmth always. Happy Father's Day to two of the best!
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Harlow and Being a Better Dog Owner
Harlow has heart worm. I found out on Tuesday after her routine wellness blood results returned. I was dumb enough to answer my phone while on break at work. No one at work knew quite what to say so they said dumb stuff that didn't help. Nothing was going to help. For whatever reason, none of my desperate calls to Danny went through. I was, I am devastated. And it is my responsibility.
I'm the pill giver and flea medicine tube squeezer at our house. Some times I get a little behind and the actual dose dates don't line up to the sticker on the calender, but I'm always close. I am. I buy my year's supply times two because Harlow takes two of everything. I dose for six months because that is when mosquitoes are active. I start in April so she is protected as the snow melts and I finish in September because I have never seen a mosquito in October. Yesterday, at the follow up appointment, I learned that heart worm preventative medicine works backwards. An April dose protects from any infection that may have occurred in March. So that September dose did nothing to any parasites that got in her in September. That's where an October dose would have been pretty handy. I didn't know. And as we all know, ignorance doesn't keep my dog from getting heart worm.
Heart worm is a bitch. She has little regard to what she is doing and to whom she is doing it to. She just moves in and wrecks havoc on the life of her hostess and all those that love her. Bitch.
So back we went to the vet on Wednesday for another blood draw and another couple of tests. I certainly hope that they come back negative, but they won't . There wasn't a mix up at the first lab. Fuck. Heart worm.
Harlow is nine. That is a pretty fine life for a giant breed. We had always hoped that she would see Jacob graduate, and she has with very limited health issues. There is a bladder issue controlled by medication. There is a very slow get up in the morning. There is a tendency to bark at nothing, or at Danny because sometimes she forgets. But all in all, she is still a pretty spry ole girl.
Heart worm is very expensive to treat. And like all things dog, it is measured by size. So what is $1000 for you is $3500 for me. Or more. And Harlow is nine. She could come through heart worm treatment just fine. But there is a long list of health issues just waiting for us and we had always said that we would keep her comfortable and dignified. We use that second term loosely.
There is endless information and I don't know what to believe. Harlow does not have any clinical symptoms. She still eats, she doesn't cough and her activity level continues to be practically nonexistent. She could live for years with the heart worm without much issue. No one seems to know. According to one website, dogs can live five to seven years. If Harlow lived that long without the heart worm, that would be a miracle, let alone with them.
I look at her. Her with the milk dud eyes and wrinkled forehead. Her with the enormous underbite. her with an ass end that often does its own thing. And I am sorry. So sorry that I didn't know. That I failed her as a friend and caregiver. And she doesn't blame me because that's not her deal. She has many emotions but I cannot recall her holding a grudge.
We got Harlow in the fall of 2005. She was a gift from Flying W Farms in Ohio. We had purchased a mastiff from them a year prior and in a shitty turn of events that pup died shortly after we got her. It was through no fault of the breeder. It was a rotten deal and the breeder was good people and offered us another pup. Harlow Louise, named after the troops on the hill (the 194th LRS) and a shared middle name with her deceased cousin LRS Louise.
She has been a good dog. Never one to want to leave home, she has ruled the backyard with a giant paw. She is often wary of people, taking her time to warm up. But when she loves you there is no holding back. There is no holding back.
Harlow has never been anything grand. There is often drool from her mouth and farts from her ass. Our carpet is slobber stained and wet dog stunk. Our base boards are scratched and our floors are always covered with fawn colored tumbleweeds. She has never rescued us from a burning building or taken down a bad guy. She does not help the blind or pull a cart. She is just a dog. Just a good friend. A pillow. A mass on the floor. She is a presence that I cannot imagine being gone from my life.
I have been hit by a ton of bricks just a few times in my life and I never quite get used to it. The exhasution that comes from all the whys and what ifs. The sore eyes and red nose. The deals made and withdrawn with the Lord. I have never had a dog for more than ten years. Is it me? I am beginning to think so.
In these two and a half days I have grieved. I still grieve for the dog gone three years and the dog gone fifteen years. How will I keep myself from grieving this girl before she is gone? How will I keep myself from looking for signs and symptoms? And will I be wise enough and a good enough friend to know when she is done?
And when she is gone, will she stick around just a little bit as Barron has done? Will there be two light colored movements in my yard? Will I be so lucky?
I'm the pill giver and flea medicine tube squeezer at our house. Some times I get a little behind and the actual dose dates don't line up to the sticker on the calender, but I'm always close. I am. I buy my year's supply times two because Harlow takes two of everything. I dose for six months because that is when mosquitoes are active. I start in April so she is protected as the snow melts and I finish in September because I have never seen a mosquito in October. Yesterday, at the follow up appointment, I learned that heart worm preventative medicine works backwards. An April dose protects from any infection that may have occurred in March. So that September dose did nothing to any parasites that got in her in September. That's where an October dose would have been pretty handy. I didn't know. And as we all know, ignorance doesn't keep my dog from getting heart worm.
Heart worm is a bitch. She has little regard to what she is doing and to whom she is doing it to. She just moves in and wrecks havoc on the life of her hostess and all those that love her. Bitch.
So back we went to the vet on Wednesday for another blood draw and another couple of tests. I certainly hope that they come back negative, but they won't . There wasn't a mix up at the first lab. Fuck. Heart worm.
Harlow is nine. That is a pretty fine life for a giant breed. We had always hoped that she would see Jacob graduate, and she has with very limited health issues. There is a bladder issue controlled by medication. There is a very slow get up in the morning. There is a tendency to bark at nothing, or at Danny because sometimes she forgets. But all in all, she is still a pretty spry ole girl.
Heart worm is very expensive to treat. And like all things dog, it is measured by size. So what is $1000 for you is $3500 for me. Or more. And Harlow is nine. She could come through heart worm treatment just fine. But there is a long list of health issues just waiting for us and we had always said that we would keep her comfortable and dignified. We use that second term loosely.
There is endless information and I don't know what to believe. Harlow does not have any clinical symptoms. She still eats, she doesn't cough and her activity level continues to be practically nonexistent. She could live for years with the heart worm without much issue. No one seems to know. According to one website, dogs can live five to seven years. If Harlow lived that long without the heart worm, that would be a miracle, let alone with them.
I look at her. Her with the milk dud eyes and wrinkled forehead. Her with the enormous underbite. her with an ass end that often does its own thing. And I am sorry. So sorry that I didn't know. That I failed her as a friend and caregiver. And she doesn't blame me because that's not her deal. She has many emotions but I cannot recall her holding a grudge.
We got Harlow in the fall of 2005. She was a gift from Flying W Farms in Ohio. We had purchased a mastiff from them a year prior and in a shitty turn of events that pup died shortly after we got her. It was through no fault of the breeder. It was a rotten deal and the breeder was good people and offered us another pup. Harlow Louise, named after the troops on the hill (the 194th LRS) and a shared middle name with her deceased cousin LRS Louise.
She has been a good dog. Never one to want to leave home, she has ruled the backyard with a giant paw. She is often wary of people, taking her time to warm up. But when she loves you there is no holding back. There is no holding back.
Harlow has never been anything grand. There is often drool from her mouth and farts from her ass. Our carpet is slobber stained and wet dog stunk. Our base boards are scratched and our floors are always covered with fawn colored tumbleweeds. She has never rescued us from a burning building or taken down a bad guy. She does not help the blind or pull a cart. She is just a dog. Just a good friend. A pillow. A mass on the floor. She is a presence that I cannot imagine being gone from my life.
I have been hit by a ton of bricks just a few times in my life and I never quite get used to it. The exhasution that comes from all the whys and what ifs. The sore eyes and red nose. The deals made and withdrawn with the Lord. I have never had a dog for more than ten years. Is it me? I am beginning to think so.
In these two and a half days I have grieved. I still grieve for the dog gone three years and the dog gone fifteen years. How will I keep myself from grieving this girl before she is gone? How will I keep myself from looking for signs and symptoms? And will I be wise enough and a good enough friend to know when she is done?
And when she is gone, will she stick around just a little bit as Barron has done? Will there be two light colored movements in my yard? Will I be so lucky?
Sunday, June 8, 2014
English Garden on Pleasant Street
Thanks to my in laws, every month, I receive Better Homes and Gardens and Midwest Living magazines. I thumb through them, tearing out ideas in an old fashioned pinterest sort of way. I dream of all white rooms (ha) and decadent four tiered chocolate cakes (true). But mostly what I dream of is a garden like the ones in these magazines. Lucky for me, this year, both publications offered beginner gardens with great tips and a list of plants. With Danny's blessing and a part of his overtime check, I set forth with the garden.
The first step was getting Danny on board. He had only one real requirement, that I put it in a corner so he didn't have to mow around it. This is comical on two points. 1. I do most of the mowing because I love it. 2. all the obstacles that require mowing around are his obstacles (one flag pole and two horseshoe pits) and one tree.
The second step was deciding on the corner which was easy, the only corner that was just grass and weeds also happened to be the only corner that gets full sun. So it was off to the south east corner of the yard with magazine clippings and tape measure in hand.
The third step was renting a tiller. Thankfully Home Depot is right up the street. In no time at all we had loaded the tiller, tilled (thanks Danny) and returned it. I was now the proud owner of a seven by twentyish point of the arrow shaped plot of dirt.
And that's when Ashlyn came in on the adventure.
Ashlyn had been on board with the idea from the beginning and had perused plant photos with me off and on, but she was also busy with other things so I had left her relatively alone until it was plant buying time. I needed her input and advice. I needed her Victor. I needed her to be a buffer or distraction if Danny was getting frustrated. (More on that later.) So off to Home Depot we went, again.
I regret now that it did not occur to me to go to a local greenhouse. I had always gone to Home Depot and Hy Vee for my summer planting so it just seemed like the obvious choice. I found great plants and all, it's just that a local greenhouse would have been the right choice and in the future will add to my garden in that way.
Anyway, back to Home Depot. Danny, bless his heart was wonderful. He had some stuff to get inside so he missed the first cart we loaded. He came out in the middle of the second and waited patiently as we filled another flatbed and a cart. Granted, there was a few pavers mixed in with the plants, but it was mostly plants. I had my lists from the magazines, but those choices weren't readily available so Ashlyn and I chose based on color and sun tolerance and wow factor and name. Again, Danny didn't judge or question or even shake his head. He just let us pick and pick and pick. $545.00 later, we had our garden. For it was now Ashlyn and my garden.
We loaded up Victor and knowing that we would not get anything in the ground until the next day, headed over to Fatty Lunchbox for a celebratory meal.
Victor is not a large truck, he's a Ford Ranger. His entire bed was full. It was glorious. A truck bed full of wonder and promise and bloom!
Saturday morning, bright and early, which is not how we usually roll on a Saturday morning, Ashlyn and I were loading the wheel barrow up with the future English Garden. Trip after trip was made. Harlow bounded about, not really knowing what was up, but was just happy to be part of it. We had the radio and sunscreen on. Elsa and Emmitt walked tentatively in the wet grass, working their way out to us. It was certainly Brave New World for them that day. My sister, Crissy, was on her way from Cedar Rapids with four boxes full of lilies for behind the deck. We were a freakin Home Depot transfer the yard kind of a commercial in real life.
We placed plants, dug holes, put plants in holes. And repeat, repeat, repeat. We planted 62 plants that day in the English Garden. Maybe more as it is hard to keep track of all the dianthus and tickseeds. There's the gaura, picked because it is deer resistant. We don't have deer, but better to be safe, right. There there is the salvia that requires low water. We bought too many of those and a few found another home in the yard. There are the three focal points, the hydrangea, the dual peonies and the lilies. We don't know what color the hydrangea blooms will be, but we have already been treated to the blooms on the other two.
There will be a forth point, at the point of the garden. I think I want a butterfly bush. Much of the point of this English Garden was to lure the butterflies and hummingbirds of the world to our little corner. There has been a flutter of butterflies, but have not had a hummingbird, as of yet. There was a hummingbird that flitted through and stopped at the neighbor's bush.
We have hopes that the creeping phlox will actually creep to form a border. In the meantime, all the left over fencing sort of creates a border. The fence is in bits and pieces and Harlow has many entry points but except for the night of the frost, she has not caused any damage. On the night of the frost, Ashlyn and I had grabbed all the sheets and beach towels that we could find and started covering our little plants. Well, Harlow is almost always in on the English Garden action and was right in the thick of plant convering. She mistook the covering of plants as an opportunity for her to lay down on blankets and we nearly lost the corabells.
We've got red hot pokers and alstroemeria. There is Spanish lavender and bee balm. Leopard bane is a mass of yellow. There are two Sweet Williams and as Ashlyn said "if they are good enough for Kate's bouquet, they are good enough for our garden."
Lots of weeds amble through and we are out there frequently pulling and picking. As this is as natural of a garden as we can grow, the only weed killer we are using is a mixture of vinegar, salt and Dawn. It is not the dramatic killer that we could buy, but it is not going to hurt Harlow or the ground water. The killer does work, but it takes time. I have seen what poisons can do and though effective, when the wrong critter gets into them, it is horrible.
One area of concern was how to get the water to the garden. Hoses reach with a bit of tugging, but that was counter productive to the green approach I wanted to take. When Danny was draining the pool, we ran the gross pool water hose out to the back forty and the garden was fortified with eight month old duck pooped infused pond scum. Then we covered the area with mulch to hold in the moisture and keep out a few weeds. The moisture stayed, as did the weeds. Now when it is time to water, eight trips are made from the house to the garden. Trip number one is with two full water cans, filled from the rain barrel. The remaining seven trips are with repurposed milk jugs full of captured rain water. We are now looking for a wagon of some type to reduce the trips.
The next project is to repurpose, built, find or buy a little garden shed. My grandma had a brudder house and a milk house. I want something like the brudder house but will have to settle on a prefab from Home Depot or one of those Rubbermaid deals. I'm hopeful that I don't have to settle.
Our lovely English Garden has been a fantastic labor of love. There is a meandering path of pavers that takes you on the tour. I hope to replace the pavers with stones sometime when I can afford to. There is one paver that I won't replace however and that is the Harlow paver. For Mother's Day, Danny and Jacob managed to get a Harlow paw print in cement. That paver sits just below the old porch post that is cemented in the garden. The porch pillar used to support my grandma's porch roof and now supports my hummingbird feeder. In the center, another focal point, is a fantastic gazing ball. A gift from Hayley on Mother's Day, it is fabulous in green, yellow and blue. A fixture of Vicrorian era gardens, they were also at Crazy King Kudwig's Herrenchiemsee Palace. It seems fitting that we would have a bit of that here as we were regulars at his castles.
This little English Garden on Pleasant Street has been such a joy. Almost daily we are out there inspecting the most recent blooms, pulling the newest of fast spreading weeds, marveling at the tenacity of the ants. Elsa comes out there with me and lounges on the pavers, soaking up the sun, cleaning her paws.
I think of the possibilities that this garden holds. It will bloom year after year. It will need tending, weeding, remulching. It will be a place of beauty and butterflies. This quaint little English Garden on Pleasant Street.
The first step was getting Danny on board. He had only one real requirement, that I put it in a corner so he didn't have to mow around it. This is comical on two points. 1. I do most of the mowing because I love it. 2. all the obstacles that require mowing around are his obstacles (one flag pole and two horseshoe pits) and one tree.
The second step was deciding on the corner which was easy, the only corner that was just grass and weeds also happened to be the only corner that gets full sun. So it was off to the south east corner of the yard with magazine clippings and tape measure in hand.
The third step was renting a tiller. Thankfully Home Depot is right up the street. In no time at all we had loaded the tiller, tilled (thanks Danny) and returned it. I was now the proud owner of a seven by twentyish point of the arrow shaped plot of dirt.
And that's when Ashlyn came in on the adventure.
Ashlyn had been on board with the idea from the beginning and had perused plant photos with me off and on, but she was also busy with other things so I had left her relatively alone until it was plant buying time. I needed her input and advice. I needed her Victor. I needed her to be a buffer or distraction if Danny was getting frustrated. (More on that later.) So off to Home Depot we went, again.
I regret now that it did not occur to me to go to a local greenhouse. I had always gone to Home Depot and Hy Vee for my summer planting so it just seemed like the obvious choice. I found great plants and all, it's just that a local greenhouse would have been the right choice and in the future will add to my garden in that way.
Anyway, back to Home Depot. Danny, bless his heart was wonderful. He had some stuff to get inside so he missed the first cart we loaded. He came out in the middle of the second and waited patiently as we filled another flatbed and a cart. Granted, there was a few pavers mixed in with the plants, but it was mostly plants. I had my lists from the magazines, but those choices weren't readily available so Ashlyn and I chose based on color and sun tolerance and wow factor and name. Again, Danny didn't judge or question or even shake his head. He just let us pick and pick and pick. $545.00 later, we had our garden. For it was now Ashlyn and my garden.
We loaded up Victor and knowing that we would not get anything in the ground until the next day, headed over to Fatty Lunchbox for a celebratory meal.
Victor is not a large truck, he's a Ford Ranger. His entire bed was full. It was glorious. A truck bed full of wonder and promise and bloom!
Saturday morning, bright and early, which is not how we usually roll on a Saturday morning, Ashlyn and I were loading the wheel barrow up with the future English Garden. Trip after trip was made. Harlow bounded about, not really knowing what was up, but was just happy to be part of it. We had the radio and sunscreen on. Elsa and Emmitt walked tentatively in the wet grass, working their way out to us. It was certainly Brave New World for them that day. My sister, Crissy, was on her way from Cedar Rapids with four boxes full of lilies for behind the deck. We were a freakin Home Depot transfer the yard kind of a commercial in real life.
We placed plants, dug holes, put plants in holes. And repeat, repeat, repeat. We planted 62 plants that day in the English Garden. Maybe more as it is hard to keep track of all the dianthus and tickseeds. There's the gaura, picked because it is deer resistant. We don't have deer, but better to be safe, right. There there is the salvia that requires low water. We bought too many of those and a few found another home in the yard. There are the three focal points, the hydrangea, the dual peonies and the lilies. We don't know what color the hydrangea blooms will be, but we have already been treated to the blooms on the other two.
There will be a forth point, at the point of the garden. I think I want a butterfly bush. Much of the point of this English Garden was to lure the butterflies and hummingbirds of the world to our little corner. There has been a flutter of butterflies, but have not had a hummingbird, as of yet. There was a hummingbird that flitted through and stopped at the neighbor's bush.
We have hopes that the creeping phlox will actually creep to form a border. In the meantime, all the left over fencing sort of creates a border. The fence is in bits and pieces and Harlow has many entry points but except for the night of the frost, she has not caused any damage. On the night of the frost, Ashlyn and I had grabbed all the sheets and beach towels that we could find and started covering our little plants. Well, Harlow is almost always in on the English Garden action and was right in the thick of plant convering. She mistook the covering of plants as an opportunity for her to lay down on blankets and we nearly lost the corabells.
We've got red hot pokers and alstroemeria. There is Spanish lavender and bee balm. Leopard bane is a mass of yellow. There are two Sweet Williams and as Ashlyn said "if they are good enough for Kate's bouquet, they are good enough for our garden."
Lots of weeds amble through and we are out there frequently pulling and picking. As this is as natural of a garden as we can grow, the only weed killer we are using is a mixture of vinegar, salt and Dawn. It is not the dramatic killer that we could buy, but it is not going to hurt Harlow or the ground water. The killer does work, but it takes time. I have seen what poisons can do and though effective, when the wrong critter gets into them, it is horrible.
One area of concern was how to get the water to the garden. Hoses reach with a bit of tugging, but that was counter productive to the green approach I wanted to take. When Danny was draining the pool, we ran the gross pool water hose out to the back forty and the garden was fortified with eight month old duck pooped infused pond scum. Then we covered the area with mulch to hold in the moisture and keep out a few weeds. The moisture stayed, as did the weeds. Now when it is time to water, eight trips are made from the house to the garden. Trip number one is with two full water cans, filled from the rain barrel. The remaining seven trips are with repurposed milk jugs full of captured rain water. We are now looking for a wagon of some type to reduce the trips.
The next project is to repurpose, built, find or buy a little garden shed. My grandma had a brudder house and a milk house. I want something like the brudder house but will have to settle on a prefab from Home Depot or one of those Rubbermaid deals. I'm hopeful that I don't have to settle.
Our lovely English Garden has been a fantastic labor of love. There is a meandering path of pavers that takes you on the tour. I hope to replace the pavers with stones sometime when I can afford to. There is one paver that I won't replace however and that is the Harlow paver. For Mother's Day, Danny and Jacob managed to get a Harlow paw print in cement. That paver sits just below the old porch post that is cemented in the garden. The porch pillar used to support my grandma's porch roof and now supports my hummingbird feeder. In the center, another focal point, is a fantastic gazing ball. A gift from Hayley on Mother's Day, it is fabulous in green, yellow and blue. A fixture of Vicrorian era gardens, they were also at Crazy King Kudwig's Herrenchiemsee Palace. It seems fitting that we would have a bit of that here as we were regulars at his castles.
This little English Garden on Pleasant Street has been such a joy. Almost daily we are out there inspecting the most recent blooms, pulling the newest of fast spreading weeds, marveling at the tenacity of the ants. Elsa comes out there with me and lounges on the pavers, soaking up the sun, cleaning her paws.
I think of the possibilities that this garden holds. It will bloom year after year. It will need tending, weeding, remulching. It will be a place of beauty and butterflies. This quaint little English Garden on Pleasant Street.
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