Looking Up

We always want options. We look to the future, whatever it may bring. After I got to know myself, it took a while, I got into the business of change. My husband and I are vastly different in personality and abilities but we’ve been together nearly 14 years and have a great dog.

We both effect change. It doesn’t matter the size or type of organization. If it’s broken sometimes we can fix it if the tumblers are in place. If not, our work will be sabotaged and those who are only about CYA will show us the door.

We are people, too. We do not like to put our best foot forward (I say this as I’ve broken a little toe and walking is painful) only to be shown the door because people do not want to be their best for themselves and the company that pays their salary, benefits and 401(K).

I’ve rehabilitated institutions. It’s in my blood, thanks Dad! Retired now, I rehabilitate dogs. Ours is nearly 12 and has no hips. I can’t tell you the amount of research I did in two weeks to decide on two FHNO’s three months apart before she turned 10 months old so she had an 80% chance of recovery. That is a femoral head and neck ostectomy, a removal, aka no hips. She grew her own from cartilage. Yesterday she ran around like the proverbial Tasmanian Devil from old cartoons. CHANGE.

A few months ago my husband wanted us to move. I started the process but knew he was coming home and wanted to make the MBR a Tuscan retreat. He returned and said “you’re not packing, you’re nesting!” He was correct. I was as well because we’re still here and have a few pictures on the walls and I told him anything I can see, I can pack. There are rules around this issue.

Oh, I found the corn pudding recipe I’ve made and want to make it into a quiche with puff pastry. Change. Yesterday my husband’s favorite picture (I drew it in crayon age five of all the characters from The Wizard of Oz) fell off its “command” strip and broke the only thermostat so we had no air.

I cracked a window and opened a door, despite nasty bugs from the MMPA swamp on the old train tracks many floors below. I was told that it was an issue not warranting maintenance attention. I begged to differ. I literally was closed in, breathing my own carbon dioxide because the door tolerances are so great that the gnats were getting in anyway so my husband put weather stripping around it so it’s solid. Waiting, I cracked one window and opened the front door all the way knowing our loving dog would never leave my side.

Maintenance, T, showed up with a container from food I gave him. Story is J, who trained him, had a container of my corn pudding as a going-away gift. T, who was staying with J, ate it. J calls it corn quiche and loves it. T was in the dog house that day.

My mission, if I choose to accept it, is to make a true corn quiche for T to thank him for coming back after hours to make sure I was OK. My husband was out of town until very late and he would have made things work but T was there so he’s going to get a puff pastry quiche. Or Mom’s simple pastry crust quiche. I’ve parchment paper and beans for blind baking and look forward to a challenge.

T also found that no-one has been around to change air filters and ours was really bad. Luckily my husband has several micro filters for his allergies so T put one of those in as well. He does deserve a good meal! I think I’ll add ribs. To Change! Will the late Andre the Giant find us two white horses? Dee

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