Still just that little girl at the little red table

My new all-encompassing activity of life, from morning until night. Because that's how I do things.

When I was a kid, I sat for hours at the red aluminum child-size card table in one of the two matching red chairs, and colored, painted and drew for hours and hours and hours.

I recently reverted to that little girl when Dorsey surprised me with a "craft" table for Christmas. I actually got it about a week before Christmas, and I knew I was getting it, because Dorsey made it for me. I guess I was spending enough time making messes at the dining room table that something had to change. I've painted A LOT of wooden plaques with game boards, pineapples, sayings, saltbox houses, roosters and chickens ... And, really, where the heck am I supposed to put all of these things?

But that's beside the point. I love my new little red table! I've been spending most of my time at it. I keep thinking that if I spend enough time at artistic endeavors, like I did when I was young, I will get better and better. Maybe I can regain some of that talent I had as a kid. (You know ... if you don't use it, you lose it, right?)

Lisa has seen her sack, but not her gift!

Sadly, I struggle with the same monster that lived in my head as a child — the self-deprecating, mean, evil voice that criticized every effort at every turn. What wasn't good enough then still isn't good enough now. I find that horribly demoralizing, considering the fact that 50 isn't that far away.

I'm not quitting, though, because I still get satisfaction from making these craft table messes ... the same as I did when I was little. I know enough now to understand three things: One, practice will make me better; two, I don't have to listen; and three, depression makes it worse, but this, too, shall pass.

I didn't really know these things as a kid.

Since about the first of November, I've struggled horribly with depression, which is nothing new to me; I've battled it my entire life. It's made its ugly mark on me in countless, destructive ways. This bout is mentionable because it feels worse than usual. My body hurts. My head, my bones, my muscles, my joints, my nerves. Every finger, every toe. Every hair on my head. I've slept a lot ... or at least lounged in bed or on the couch. I've watched every cheesy Hallmark Christmas Movie. It's a good thing I have many pairs of pjs. It's a good day when I take a shower. It's even better if I do my hair and put on a little makeup. (I apologize to anyone I've seen in public. I just haven't given a flying flip, just in case you have. I still had to go to the grocery store and run odds-and-ends errands, whether I wanted to or not.)

It's a good thing I got the Christmas decorations up when I did; otherwise, they wouldn't have happened. For about three to four weeks, I've been relatively worthless in accomplishing anything.

The new little red table.

But I did manage to paint Christmas sacks for wrapping presents. Not all presents, but a few. It provided an interesting solace for me ... after I threw away the first 10 sacks I did. And when I looked at what was most likely number 11 when I saw it again on Christmas Eve, I wondered why I hadn't thrown that one away, either. But I have to admit I've liked some of my creations. I've even wondered whether when Dad died, he channeled his talents back to me? I truly believed I had lost whatever God had blessed me with.)

I had some fun with this one ... and then I almost threw it away.

Painting sacks got me through Christmas. I have to admit I felt the grief of not having my parents here this year even more than last. Maybe I was still in a fog last year? Or maybe I was preoccupied with all the activity I smothered myself in? Whatever ... I felt completely lost this year.

And I will admit that I became one of  millions of scammed Americans recently. I will not share details, but it was related to my antiques business. Almost $1,000 later, I have been left to trust that the FBI is doing something with my tiny, insignificant little report. Somehow, I truly do doubt anything will come of it. I doubt, too, that I will ever know. That, in itself, is depressing.

We also spent $1,000 at the vet's office last week when we learned my precious Jasper has the feline leukemia virus. I had to beat myself up for awhile when I thought I had lagged on kitty vaccinations, but that turned out to be untrue, so at least I could give myself a small break there.

And I'm struggling with other things I cannot control and, thus, must learn to put somewhere in a perspective with which I can live. So I might paint so many sacks I can make a few paper quilts ... I don't know ... because there's a lot of bad stuff going on in the world right now.

What the heck does one do with painted sacks? I know it's a cheap practice medium.
When I went to bed last night, I wanted to throw this sack away. But I woke up
this morning and kept painting dots. 

And as I name a few of these reasons, I need to be firm in saying ... I — and the millions of other people in this world who suffer from depression — don't need a reason to be depressed. I know my life is good. I KNOW THAT.

But that's not how depression ... the mental illness kind ... works. I just happen to have a few reasons to exacerbate the monster's attack. So, yes, I suppose this one does feel a little more powerful than usual.

... God bless all the paper sacks and little red tables in my life!

Puppy Land

It just doesn't get much better

Dorsey and I were out on our usual morning walk with Indy this morning, and we came to the conclusion that after much heartache, and then after much questioning about whether we had done the right thing in bringing new puppies into Indy's life, everything is all good again.

Indy is back to his old, playful self. At the ripe old age of 8, Indy never had grown out of puppyhood. But when Koda died, his spirit seemed to, also. We've done everything we could think of to revive him. All the love and attention and special treats and walks and grooming and whatever Indy's little heart desired didn't give us back Indy's happy disposition.

As you know, we brought Emma and Max into the pack. For a while now, we haven't been so sure this was the right move for Indy. He's been nothing short of a grumpy old man.

But we labored on ... until we finally realized that not only was Indy playing with the pups, he was instigating play sessions. (I have video to prove it.) 

For a good week now, we have noticed a lightness to his step on the walks, a smile and brightness in his eyes and true enjoyment and desire to be with the puppies. 

That could not make us happier. Now we have three amazing puppies. Life is crazy and hectic in our house, but it certainly is fun and lively! 

I hope Indy will be around many more years with us now. :-)

Never a dull moment, part 3: MAX

This is the day Max came to live with us. He's really not grumpy.

Our lives have been so busy and crazy, I haven't had the energy to post ...  but here I am because little Max deserves the attention, too.

Two weeks after we got Emma, little Max came to live with us. His name is actually Max Chumlee. Yes, Jordie approves of the Chumlee part. 

He's never had trouble relaxing.

Picture pose.

He's hilarious, really.

Max and Emma surveying their domain. 

Anyway, Max is just about the sweetest thing ever. It took me two seconds to fall in love with that little face. Together, Max and Emma are perfect. They play and play and play and play ... and sleep. And then it starts all over again.

Indy is coming along. He's glad they bug each other more than they bug him. He's somewhat of a grumpy old man, though. As a result, Dorsey and I do everything we can to shield him and to pay special attention to him. Indy gets his own walks, and he gets to sleep with us. The little ones don't. 

And, Indy is finally being more playful with them. I think the situation will be about perfect when the babies are less rambunctious. 

One thing is absolutely certain. The puppies love Indy. Max sleeps cuddled next to him as much as possible. Emma is nose to nose with him.

Dorsey is in dog heaven.

For now, we are super busy tending to our circus and our monkeys. It's a wild ride!

Never a dull moment, part one

Emma Rose

This little beauty came to live with us last Friday. She's now 10 weeks old, and we chose to name her Emma Rose because she's so pretty. And, yes, she's as sweet as her face looks.

Seal Pup

Two toys for Emma

When we first decided to get a puppy, I thought we should get a male and female from the same litter. I wanted to have two puppies because I never, if we can avoid it, want another doggy to go through the horrible grief that Indy has suffered since we lost Koda. (And just as Indy grieved, Koda grieved when Buffett died. That, too, was awful.)

For eight years, Indy had Koda. She was his girl, and that was clear. They had 10 gorgeous puppies together. When Koda died, he changed. The puppy in him left, for the most part. He stopped eating. He moped.

We showered him with love and attention and have continued to take him on two walks a day. He loves his walks, and he seems to enjoy the extra attention he gets from us.

But he's not the same. (I get it, Indy, I do.)

Several people told us that sometimes, getting another dog breathes new life into the dog left behind. We decided to try it, but like I said ... I wanted two to avoid the terrible awful.

I thought I had found my brother and sister puppies, but it turns out those people were scammers. (No puppies; they just wanted deposit money. Jerks. I turned them in to Craig's List.)

Everywhere else I looked, there was only a male, or a female, or two males. We thought getting two males from a Waco litter would be OK, but Dorsey wasn't so sure. He wanted to meet the doggies first, but he was going out of town. And I knew deep down, he wanted another little girl dog.

So, I took a chance and went back to the people who had the one female left (kinda pricey, so I passed her up at first).

I sent Dorsey her picture ... he was upstairs and I was downstairs.

All of a sudden I hear him shout, "OH! She's so BEAUTIFUL!"

So, I said, "You want her without meeting her, don't you?"

The answer was yes, and so little Emma became our puppy that day. She came from a litter in Lubbock, and the owners met us in Plainview.

It's been so much fun since then. Indy has been unsure, but he's coming around and seems to enjoy her when she's not nipping at his face. (The cats are horrified, and Allie hasn't figured out that if she doesn't run, the puppy can't chase her.)

He's already teaching her bad habits. Koda never ran through sprinklers or stuck her face at the base of one while it was on. Emma is following in Indy's paw prints. 

See? He's coming around.

Still ... having only Emma doesn't take care of my concern of future unbearable grief for the doggy left behind.

So puppy No. 2 — a male from Oklahoma — is joining us July 1. He will be eight weeks. We figure that someday in the future ... way future ... we will breed them.

Our job for now is to make sure Indy stays No. 1 Dog and Pack Leader. We will continue to give him "Indy Only" time with us. And maybe the puppies will play with each other, rather than nip at and annoy Indy?

We shall see as the adventure continues ...

While we can never replace Koda and don't want to, we know life can be great moving forward ... for both Indy and us. As long as things work out, the plan for us after experiencing Indy's terrible grief is to have three dogs at a time. It might be extra work, but I think it will be worth it.

To be continued ...

She's so amazingly cute!

Baptism by fire

Stuff EVERYWHERE! The cats are totally bent out of shape.

Here we go, folks! Dorsey recently posted on the Wilmarth's Tin Cats web site that everything is about to get real ... his perspective.

Of course I get my two-cents worth.

I've been told by fellow dealers I'm getting to know that I'm nuts for debuting our business at a show like Round Top. It is, after all, HUUUUGE! And a big deal. And respected.

And lasts for six days instead of the usual two to three!

Here it all goes, then. Call me brave, call me stupid. It's happening.

I'm totally stoked about this late 1700s hutch table from New Hampshire. If it doesn't sell in Round Top, well, darn, I guess I just get to live with it for a while. :-)

I have spent the last several months plotting and planning my merchandise. I have had all of my "smalls," as we call them in the business, and quite a few furniture items, but my main pieces, the ones I've been extremely excited about, finally arrived after a touch-and-go, nerve-wracking few weeks of truck driver serious illness, bad Louisiana flooding and broken trailer parts. Still ... it's all good now. Besides, what would life be without drama ... always some drama.

I love the grain-painted mustard dry sink (top left). The top right shows a celery painted hanging cupboard.
The green-painted basket and tall wall cupboard came from my new friend in Sedona.

Arizona finds. They all came from New England, of course, but I found them in AZ.

And I found a few bonus items on an unexpected trip just the previous week when I traveled to Arizona to see Jordie pitch in a Tucson baseball tournament. Who would have thought? After all, my stuff is early American, mostly country antiques. Arizona wasn't even founded until 1912 ...

During the first week of March, I set out to get everything on my checklist for my booth and the trip ... much of what was learned after we visited the Round Top Winter Show in January, and from my mother-in-law's vast experience.  My new dealer friends have given their input, too.  Wall paper, tool kit, lights, packing stuff, hooks, nails, screws, signs, bags, various tapes, tax registration info, receipt book, pens, money, tape measure, step ladder, rug ... and all kinds of things I would never think of on my own.

This past week has found me battling a migraine (thank you, West Texas wind) while enduring my torn up house and packing for the show. (Not to mention Dorsey was gone a day or two for job interviews ... still working on that.)

Two kitties think they should go, too.
Socks is guarding all the tools and other important things.

Oh, and then there's the whole planning-what-am-I-going-to-wear-for-six-days-straight? To me, that's the worst part.  I hate packing. Really, really, really hate it. What if I forget something important, like the hanging clothes that aren't packed in my suitcase? Which black sandals do I take? The strappy ones or the wedges? Or both? Both pairs of boots or one? Will this top look OK with that skirt? What about these jeans? Boot-cut or narrow? How about a couple of each? Ugh!

Dorsey picks up the U-Haul trailer in the morning, and we load, with the help of a friend. That's when we run through the checklist one more time and then hit the road. I'm glad to have Dorsey with me this time. That trip to Arizona (and back pulling a trailer) by myself was quite a drive and an adventure!

We'll spend the night with Kim and Vince tomorrow night in Flower Mound and then head on to Round Top Saturday for set up. The show starts Monday. (I still think it's strange this is all happening Easter weekend ...)

And meanwhile, our friend Carmen will be holding down our fort and taking care of our crazy herd.

What a strange new world this is!

Vacation Happens ... the bad; part two

Koda Bear

On Saturday of our vacation, two days before it was time to go home, I was lying on a pool chair soaking up the sun, and Dorsey was out on a dive. My mornings in Curacao had become predictable like that. The vacation was quite lazy and relaxing, for the most part.

Then Jordie called me, clearly upset, to tell me the bad news. Koda, our 12-year-old female golden retriever, had died. After only displaying normal age-related issues — but nothing major or serious — she just laid down and died after a bout of vomiting during the night. I felt stunned.

My initial concern had been for Jordie, however. He felt bad not only because Koda had died (and he was there to experience it while handling 10 other animals), but that he hadn't wanted to call us and ruin our vacation. I learned later that he had called all around Amarillo trying to find help with what to do with Koda. He couldn't find any, so he finally called me. 

Koda's favorite spot when
we had that chair. 

In my effort to help Jordie, I didn't have deeply upset feelings about Koda's death. That's what I do. I shut off until I can fully comprehend. It's actually a great coping mechanism because I can deal with crises better. 

My first and only thought was to call Rohn Butterfield, Dorsey's ex-wife's husband. Jordie likes Rohn (who was once his Sunday school teacher and had helped him a few times with high school math and science problems), and Rohn and Vicki had had their fair and unfortunate share of experience with losing beloved pets. I knew they would know what to do.  And I knew they would help because that's what they do. 

I called Rohn. Left a message. I called Vicki. Left a message. Probably less than two minutes later, Vicki returned my call, and I explained what had happened and asked for help. They immediately stepped in to take care of Jordie and Koda. I'm not sure I have ever been so grateful. 

After it was all said and done, the gloomy, awful feelings set in. All the what-if's. All the guilt. All the sadness. All the fears for Dorsey and for Indy (Koda's life partner and best friend). I'm sure the people around me at the pool were thinking, "What the heck!? This woman is crying in the middle of such beauty?" 

Mopey Indy needs lots of extra TLC right now.

Telling Dorsey was a miserable experience, too. He had had a great diving experience. And then everything changed for him. Dorsey's dogs are sacred creatures to him. 

I wanted to go home. I wanted to be with Jordie and with Indy. I didn't want to be in Curacao any longer. Vacation was over, as far as I was concerned. We'd had a good time anyway.

But we stayed and tried to make the most of the rest of our time there. In a blanket of sadness, we went through the motions of doing whatever people do on vacation. 

I bawled the last leg of our trip home. We were going home to a house without Koda, who was pretty much the most perfect dog who ever lived. Dorsey called her a "9th degree Golden Retriever." (That's just a silly thing Dorsey does. Indy is somewhat of a 5th or 6th sometimes because he's ... goofily imperfect.)

Gift from my friend Lisa.

As we have gotten ready for Christmas, put up our tree and decorated (that's another story), waded through feelings of loss for my parents, baked, cooked, shopped and wrapped presents, Koda's absence has produced a noticeable pallor in our home and our moods. 

Again, Lisa created and gave us this
memorial of Koda for us. She went through
all my Facebook photos and found the ones
of Koda to put on this cross. 

Jordie picked up Koda's ashes for us last week. We haven't decided what we will do with her yet. We're trying to figure out the most perfect memorial for the most perfect girl dog ever. 

Oh, how we love and will miss that girl! Nothing can or will replace her. She will forever be in our hearts and memories, and I am grateful for the 12 years of unconditional love we received from her.