The Unwanted Intrusion

Beau doing his own version of downward dog at the Zoi-Roy backyard last Saturday, August 6, 2016. Photo courtesy of Mara T. Yee

Beau doing his own version of downward dog at the Zoi-Roy backyard last Saturday, August 6, 2016. Now why can’t I do that and not be in such great pain? Photo courtesy of Mara T. Yee

Two weeks ago, our dear Beau got skunked! We had let him out for his pre-bedtime ritual under the Redwoods. I was tidying up in the kitchen. I noticed he took a little longer than usual. So, I called out to him. It took about a minute or so but I heard the familiar gallop around the side of the house and up the back steps. He came crashing into the kitchen and straight for his bed, which I had just fluffed and covered with a new blanket.

And then the sonorous mephitic assault permeated the kitchen with such venom, I ran out and called my hubby quickly.  He was getting settled in bed already.

“Hon, Beau got skunked!”

We frantically googled remedies, potions, and bath concoctions. No, tomato juice does not work. That’s a myth. Yes, first thing you need to know is “DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, LET THE DOG INTO THE HOUSE!”

Flower, the Skunk from the Disney movie, Bambi, got his name after Bambi, supposedly learning to talk, called him a pretty flower. Illustration courtesy of www.gallery.yopriceville.com

Flower, the Skunk from the Disney movie, Bambi, got his name after Bambi, supposedly learning to talk, called him a pretty flower. I have always been baffled at the depiction of these animals as though they’re the epitome of wholesomeness and utmost cute-hood, if there is such a thing. Illustration courtesy of http://www.gallery.yopriceville.com

Too late! We ran back to the kitchen, where we witnessed our big black lug rolling around on his bed, huffing, blowing his nose, growling at no one in particular, and desperately rubbing his face on his bed.

And so it was that the dog had to be bathed past midnight twice over, with an agreed concoction of baking soda, hydrogen peroxide and a splash of dish washing liquid slathered and rubbed on his black frame. The bed had to be placed outside. We gathered the towels. and aired them out on the porch. I had to wipe down the kitchen cabinets, just in case. We opened all the windows in the entire house. Then we had to shower ourselves.

Pepe Le Pew is a cartoon character in Loony Tunes, known for his obsession with romance and the can't take no for an answer peskiness. He sports a French accent and turns off female prospects because of his overly assertive manner and odoriferous personality.

Pepe Le Pew is a cartoon character in Loony Tunes, known for his obsession with romance and the can’t take no for an answer peskiness. He sports a French accent and turns off female prospects because of his overly assertive manner and odoriferous personality. This is a contrasting depiction to the Disney character. You’d almost expect this one to be best friends with Speedy Gonzales.  Illustration courtesy of http://www.seekingbostonmarathon.com.

Even as we finally crawled into bed way past midnight, we still kept trying to smell ourselves, our sheets, our hands, everything around us. We were at last, too tired to gag.

What a potent weapon that was!  I later discovered that skunk spray is a combination of sulfur-containing chemicals, most notably, n-butyl mercaptan. It has the distinctive ability to not just offend but to physically nauseate. And a human nose can smell it up to a mile (1.56 km.) away, down wind, and can linger up to 6 months. It is also inadequately comforting to note that once a skunk has reluctantly released its chemical defense, it will take up to 10 days to replenish enough for a reload.

After several more baths, a frantic call to the gardener experts about luring and trapping, frenzied house cleaning, and sadly, throwing out the previously loved and worn beds, the rank smell is starting to dissipate in the house.

Yesterday, lo and behold, one of the traps contained a dark striped stranger. Could this be he/she?  Hubby said it looked very cute. Beau made a tentative approach. We covered the trap with a large box, hoping Beau will not come near it anymore. One would think that he learned from the experience by now. At least, we’d like to think. After all, he still growls at a friend whose dog tried to bite him. And that was years ago.

At the Balae get together in Portola Valley. Beau is able to socialize again, finally, after two weeks of seclusion for his smelly past.

At the Balae* get together in Portola Valley. Beau is able to socialize again, finally, after two weeks of forced seclusion for his smelly past. Photo courtesy of Wyatt Roy (on timer and rapid clicks!)

Thou shalt not re-engage with a stinker, mon coeur! Or we will disown you. Do not be a sucker for abusive encounters.

*Balae – Filipino; what you call the parents of your daughter or son-in-law.  I heard from friends that in India, the father of your in-law is a “samdhi” and the mother of your in-law is a “samdin.” Cool!

Posted in Beau, dog, Great Dane, Pets | Tagged , , , , , , | 26 Comments

Warrick’s Song

I had written this essay about my brother-in-law, Warrick Lyn, four years ago in a writing seminar up in the mountains of Bussard Meadows. The theme was on “loss” and, after many barren hours, Warrick’s death, and life, started consuming my imagination.  When the words came pouring out, I realized that I was not just writing about my loss but also of Warrick’s loss.  I had meant to post this essay but it seemed unfinished then.  Recently, I came across my draft and have decided to share my thoughts about him. 

th-1Warrick would have been 70 yesterday.  Seven years ago, doctors said he had cancer that had spread to his spine. Only two months after diagnosis, he could no longer walk.  He lost his will to live.  He said he would like to die on his Dad’s death anniversary that year.  And he did, peacefully.  

Warrick was this tall good looking man with a generous heart and an endearing stammer — dark,  simpatico and with all the right moves, as they say among his circle of friends.  He was a popular college soccer player — a young man about town, chased by many women and envied and admired by many men. 

In the 60s and 70s, he traveled the world introducing a new musical genre — reggae– as a sound engineer and producer, shaping the finest works of many reggae bands.  The late reggae icon Bob Marley  was one of his closest friends.  A brilliant future was assured.

Composed by Frederick Hibbert and Warrick Lyn, Photo courtesy of vtialsheetmusic.com

Composed by Frederick Hibbert and Warrick Lyn, Photo courtesy of virtualsheetmusic.com

Warrick was the adored Uncle Wawa to his nieces and nephews. He was  the cool one, the one loved by all.

And then everything stopped.  The travels ended.  The applause turned to silence. Big dreams seemed to have vanished.  The seeming decision was to paint houses, to stay home, to be the other half of an amazing love story.  Years came and went…quietly.

I have always wondered — was Warrick’s life a fulfilled one, a life well-lived? Is to love and be loved enough?  As Henry Thoreau wrote,  “Many people live their lives in quiet desperation, and die with a song still inside them.”    

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I knew Warrick  had that song.  I continue to mourn for  Warrick.   I mourn for the song that will never be sung,  the song  I will never hear.  

Related Reading:

Posted in Family Stories, Life Choices, Loss, Music, Reggae | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Let It Rain, Let It Rain, Let It Rain!

Rain on Highway 92, 12.10.15, photo credit likeitiz

Rain on Highway 92, 12.10.15, photo credit likeitiz

Alas! Welcome, welcome, welcome rain! It looks miserable all right. But boy, it’s a welcome sight for all of us here in California. You can see the sun struggling to peek out of thick clouds as it slowly meets the horizon late afternoon. The entire Peninsula was a white haze in the distance as we approached westward from the San Mateo Bridge.  One can only hope that drivers will behave and re-learn how to drive in treacherous weather.

Yes, the gloomy weather cheers us up in the Bay Area nowadays. However, as I drive home, my consciousness is jarred by news of yet another Trump antic. Sigh! When will I stop hearing about this contemptible schmuck?  (Listen, KQED. I love you dearly. But you have got to stop dishing out news about him. I’m so sick of hearing about whatever insanity he spews while flailing his limbs. Quite frankly, he’s embarrassing all of us.) Here are Colbert and Stewart bending over backwards to trash him again and again on the Late Show:

Why America spends even a second of their time listening, watching, bothering with him continues to amaze me. Why the media gives him the very things he wants: air time, media time, pundit time, talk time — beats me. It’s like giving candy to a baby every time he has a tantrum. Will the tantrum ever go away? No. Will this baby ever learn to behave in a civilized society? No. Are we creating a monster? Yes. Well, not if he’s already one. We’re just making him into an Uber-monster.

I remind myself that there’s still a lot to be grateful for. Good health. Loving family. Great friends. After all, Thanksgiving was just a mere two weeks ago.

Thanksgiving at our home, 2015, photo credits Gean Dee, Lara Ortiz-Luis, Wyatt Roy, Likeitiz

Thanksgiving at our home, 2015, photo credits Gean Dee, Lara Ortiz-Luis, Wyatt Roy, Likeitiz

And then, there was Carolyn Hax’s article today on “Finding a happy medium with a mentally ill family member.” Now THIS is sound sensible advice. Here she gives gentle and reassuring advice on what to do with a mentally ill relative who always manages to sabotage any family gathering and turn it into a verbal mudslinging fest within seconds of sitting down to dinner. She likens the process to dealing with people who have dementia:

The thought is for now, and it’s actually a twist on a strategy for dementia caregivers, “meeting people where they are,” meaning, you don’t point out that Uncle Billy isn’t actually here, or that it’s 2015, not 1965. You don’t correct, correct, correct. Instead you go along. “So what does Uncle Billy have to say?”

She is so absolutely right. (Click the link above for the entire article. It will help you deal with irate store sales staff during the holidays too!) I plan to treat The Donald as nothing less than a demented human being. With an emphasis on the D for Demented.

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More Of The Third Part, Please!

The entire world is still reeling from the ghastly events in Paris, the downing of a Russian plane filled with tourists, the double suicide attack in Beirut. Here in the United States, people have not forgotten Boston.  At least, many of us refuse to.

My social media profile photo changed to show solidarity with the recent attacks in Paris, France. (c) Likeitis

My social media profile photo changed to show solidarity with the recent attacks in Paris, France. (c) Likeitiz

Over the weekend on Facebook, profile pictures lit up with the rouge-blanc-bleu stripe in solidarity with the French.  I joined in. Along with the colors came the loud cries for liberté, égalité, fraternité (liberty, equality, fraternity), a motto among many over the centuries, that France has become identified with.  The likes of Robespierre would be proud. Although there had not been as much debate over the first two components, after all, one ensures the other, the third, fraternité, has been fraught with back and forth arguments and detractors. Brotherhood implies the greater good, collective bargaining, a moral imperative, inclusive as opposed to exclusionary, creating communities. It also tends to rise when the need to unite for a common foe exists. In this setting, it becomes, “Fraternité, ou la Mort!” (Fraternity or Death!).

A woman holds a sign that reads in French "We are united" as she gathers with others in tribute to the victims of Paris attacks near French embassy in Riga, Latvia, November 14, 2015. Photo courtesy of Ints Kalnins/Reuters

A woman holds a sign that reads in French “We are united” as she gathers with others in tribute to the victims of Paris attacks near French embassy in Riga, Latvia, November 14, 2015. Photo courtesy of Ints Kalnins/Reuters

There have been endless cries for freedom. We listen. We help to ensure it. We in the Western World have enjoyed a lot of freedoms that we take for granted. Everything we see and do from the time we wake up in the morning until we go to sleep on a bed we call our own, is a result of this hard-fought freedom.

PARIS, FRANCE - NOVEMBER 14:  Parisians light candles and lay tributes on the monument at Place de la Republique, the day after deadly terrorist attacks on November 14, 2015 in Paris, France. At least 120 people have been killed and over 200 injured, 80 of which seriously, following a series of terrorist attacks in the French capital.  (Photo by Christopher Furlong/Getty Images)

PARIS, FRANCE – NOVEMBER 14: Parisians light candles and lay tributes on the monument at Place de la Republique, the day after deadly terrorist attacks on November 14, 2015 in Paris, France. At least 120 people have been killed and over 200 injured, 80 of which seriously, following a series of terrorist attacks in the French capital. (Photo by Christopher Furlong/Getty Images)

There are loud cries for equality in government, at home, at work, the greater community. Race, Color, Ancestry or National Origin, Sexual Orientation, Marriage Equality, to name a few.  We have to grapple with a slew of issues, even the exaggerations, abuses, and even slanted interpretations of both the privileged and the discriminated. Slowly but surely, we will reach the equilibrium.

Take a look at our own backyards and there is not a lot of brotherhood. We don’t treat one another with respect often enough. We don’t teach our children to be mindful individuals so that one day, they will be mindful adults. We see many who will not hesitate to litter, waste valuable resources like water and energy, speak loudly in enclosed spaces, elbow and jostle through the crowds— all because? Because we can! And we feel we have to exert our individual rights to do as we please. We are so entitled. We forget that indeed we are free to do as we please in so long as it does not harm others and that our acts do not prevent others from enjoying the same freedoms we are enjoying.

We are too blinded by our obsession with individual liberties that we can’t see beyond the tip of our noses. We can’t have a decent conversation about guns because some people feel their civil liberties would be trampled on? In the meantime, people are dying from the consequences of our lack of action and millions of automatic weapons are scattered in an urban populace. We can’t find a way to get the homeless off our city streets so they can live like human beings on our dime because they don’t deserve it?  (And no, it’s not right to use the city streets as your toilet. But where would you go if there was nowhere to do your bare necessities?) We can’t have universal health care because people have to earn it while other first world countries provide it as a human right?  Same goes for our children’s education.

The bombing in Paris will rile up the anti-immigration advocates. They will treat this as validation of their beliefs. But, really, this has been the failure of our systems to provide the timely solutions to this refugee crisis we have watched unfolding for all these years. And no one can claim clean hands from this sad failure of policy and execution.

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Left photo: The Hiroshima Peace Memorial or the Atomic Bomb Memorial or Genbaku Domu. Right photo Hiroshima Memorial Cenotaph

Left photo: The Hiroshima Peace Memorial or the Atomic Bomb Memorial or Genbaku Domu. Right photo Hiroshima Memorial Cenotaph

When we visited Japan in October, we made sure to take the time to see Hiroshima. The city has suffered unspeakable devastation in World War II 70 years ago. And it has been reborn. There are a few ruins preserved as memorials and the museum rivals the Holocaust Museum in Warsaw.  We met a man stationed at the base of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial. He had lots of videos and photo albums of the horrific day. His mother, in her nineties, is a survivor of the atomic bomb blast. She has suffered various health problems from it but she lived well into her nineties in spite of it. This man has made a commitment to tell his mother’s story so that the world will not forget. He wants to tell the world that there are no winners in war, especially nuclear war.

We cannot allow the young and future generations to forget how inhuman we can be. How we can be the worst tormentors. How we are capable of the most vile unspeakable abuses. We need to unite and be an even greater global force many times over than what we are facing. Can we spare some of our individual freedoms for now to make this possible? For the greater good? Can we be kins long enough to overwhelm this gigantic pustule that’s been pulsating and enlarging over in the middle east, threatening to spew its putrid doctrines to contaminate the rest of the world?

San Francisco's City Hall is illuminated in blue, white and red in San Francisco, California on November 14, 2015, one day after the Paris terrorist attacks. Stirring renditions of "La Marseillaise" rang out from Dublin to New York as global landmarks were bathed in the French colors and thousands marched in solidarity with Paris after attacks that left at least 129 dead.   AFP PHOTO/JOSH EDELSON        (Photo credit should read Josh Edelson/AFP/Getty Images)

San Francisco’s City Hall is illuminated in blue, white and red in San Francisco, California on November 14, 2015, one day after the Paris terrorist attacks. Stirring renditions of “La Marseillaise” rang out from Dublin to New York as global landmarks were bathed in the French colors and thousands marched in solidarity with Paris after attacks that left at least 129 dead. AFP PHOTO/JOSH EDELSON (Photo credit should read Josh Edelson/AFP/Getty Images)

This post was inspired after having read Gianpiero Petriglieri’s article on HBR: After Paris, We Need More Fellowship, Not More Leadership.

Related:

Posted in France, Paris, Paris Attacks, senseless killing, Terrorism, Uncategorized, World Events | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Our Redwoods Nodded

The row of Redwood trees in our front yard this morning.  Photo Credit (c) Likeitis

The row of Redwood trees in our front yard this morning. Photo Credit (c) Likeitiz

This morning I was awakened long before the alarm went off. It was almost 6:00 a.m., although with the Fall Back of time on the weekend, it was almost 7:00 in the morning really. There was no light peeking through the heavy drapes in our room yet.  I heard the steady pitter-patter outside on my window.  That’s music to any Californian’s ears. We’ve had a long drought and we are so looking forward to some rain.

I’ll sacrifice some clear sunny days with an expanse of blue above. I’ll give up some t-shirt and flip-flop afternoons sipping lemonade on the patio. I can put up with a week of non-stop rain and not complain one bit. I’ve been doing my part to conserve.

As I made may way out of the garage, I looked up to the front of our home.  Aside from the fog lifting, the wet driveway was a welcome sight. I imagined the Redwoods nodding in agreement. It’s going to be a good day.

Posted in Autumn, Drought, Rain, Weather | Tagged , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

A fig for your thoughts

Here’s a tribute to an elegant fruit, from one of my daughter’s dear friends, who has now made his life in France.

Infinite belly

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When I was a kid, I hated eating fruits. Juices were sometimes okay, but eating a whole apple? Gross. It felt too strange in my mouth, both crunchy and soft, firm yet juicy. Not to mention its overpowering tangy taste… it was too confusing for a kid used to a modern diet of spaghetti and meatballs, Doritos, and the Brazilian staple of steak with arroz e feijão. Every Rosh Hashanah I was tortured to eat apples with honey for a sweet New Year. And it was not only apples that scared me but all kinds of fruits. Some were surprisingly soft and mushy inside and had all kinds of seeds and deadly pits hidden in the center. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that by the time I would grow up this would have to change. It would be too ridiculous to refuse a tangerine…

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If The Ground Could Speak

Mural on the grounds of Ston, on the Peljesac Peninsula, Croatia, August 29, 2014, (c) photo by Likeitiz

Mural on the grounds of Ston, on the Peljesac Peninsula, Croatia, August 29, 2014, (c) photo by Likeitiz

We joined friends for a trip to Croatia in the Summer of 2014. The Dalmatian Coast was in all its summertime splendor.  One of the towns we visited during a day trip was Ston, on the Peljesac Peninsula.

We spent some time walking around the town, with its old buildings and walkways. The walled fortress extends all the way up and around for about 5 kilometers. There were the saltworks, said to be one of the sources of high-quality sea salt in the world.

Map of Ston and the walled fortress, August 29, 2014, (c) Photo by Likeitiz

Map of Ston and the walled fortress, August 29, 2014, (c) Photo by Likeitiz

As we walked the grounds, I could not help but wonder, if the ground could speak, what stories would it tell? From the time of the Roman conquests B.C. through the Ottoman Empire, through various Croatian kings, Hungarian unions, through the tearing apart of the old Yugoslavia. Today, it is occupied mostly by families from Dubrovnik.

My hubby taking a break on a shaded walkway in Ston, Croatia, August 29, 2014, (c) Photo by Likeitiz

My hubby taking a break on a shaded walkway in Ston, Croatia. Notice how the wall extends all the way up that mountain.  August 29, 2014, (c) Photo by Likeitiz

I would recommend visiting the Dalmatian Coast. It is such a beautiful country with warm and accommodating people.

This post was inspired by Cheri Lucas Rowlands’ call to WordPress members for an interpretation of “Beneath Your Feet.”

Posted in Croatia, Daily Post Challenge, Dubrovnik, Ston, Travel, Weekly Photo Challenge | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Daughter Chronicles: A Confusing Term

IOWA CITY, IOWA - APRIL 3: Gay, lesbian and transgender activists react to the unanimous decision by the Iowa Supreme Court earlier in the day recognizing same sex marriage as a civil right during a celebration on April 3, 2009 at the University of Iowa in Iowa City, Iowa. (Photo by David Greedy/Getty Images), www.hiffingtonpost.com

IOWA CITY, IOWA – APRIL 3: Gay, lesbian and transgender activists react to the unanimous decision by the Iowa Supreme Court earlier in the day recognizing same-sex marriage as a civil right during a celebration on April 3, 2009 at the University of Iowa in Iowa City, Iowa. (Photo by David Greedy/Getty Images), http://www.huffingtonpost.com

I was on the way to work when I heard Monday morning’s segment from the Perspectives Series of KQED.  Clyde Wadsworth applauds Justice Anthony Kennedy’s opinion in the historic Supreme Court decision in favor of marriage equality (Obergefell v. Hodges). However, he has taken issue with the elderly justice’s portrayal of single people as “condemned to live in loneliness.”  Is it time to rally for the rights of those single by choice?  It is, after all, a personal freedom, regardless of religious or political affiliation.

When our daughter was a bubbly kindergarten student at St. George’s in Toronto, she received a gift of several different playing cards. They were all colorful, partly educational (think bright colors and illustrations for a game called Concentration), and mostly, for fun, to pass the time on say, a road trip or while staying indoors on a rainy day.  One deck of cards was for a game called “Old Maid.”  Our daughter had always expressed puzzlement over why there was only one card with a cartoon of a gray-haired bespectacled woman. She also used to jump with such glee when she ended up with the lone card. After all, the object of the game was NOT to end up with the “Old Maid” card. But to her, it was a winning card.

Old Maid playing cards, photo courtesy of www.landofnod.com

Old Maid playing cards, photo courtesy of http://www.landofnod.com

We tried to explain to her the societal construct behind the game. She refused to accept the explanation. Why would being old be a disadvantage? Why would you be a loser if you were a single woman? What if people did not want to be married? Or have children? They can still be happy, she reasoned. Her nanny, Rizza, who she was very fond of, was single, she pointed out. Rizza’s husband was with someone else. So Rizza was raising her children by herself. And, she’s doing just fine. So, there’s nothing wrong there, she would tell us, with much conviction.  We thought at the time that the complexities of life as one gets older may be too difficult to explain.

She also recalled some much admired aunts who have remained single (never married) and she wondered if they just never found the right person they wanted to spend their lives with or if they were happy coming and going as they pleased, unrestricted, untethered. All this from a thoughtful precocious four-year old!

She was right all along, of course. It was not long before the game fell out of favor and the set of cards somehow got misplaced and was forgotten. Over the years, we stopped seeing them in the neighborhood toy store. Someone out there must have come to the same conclusion as our daughter. It is after all, a cruel label that should be tossed into the world of the obsolete.

In some parts of the world, the attitudes have not really changed. There are still the well-meaning barrio elders or doting grandmothers who would bluntly ask, in public, “Why are you not married yet?” To them, the default ideal state was perpetual marital bliss with children in tow.  Sometimes, this is followed by a diatribe of consequences such as graphic descriptions of biological deteriorations or a pathetic fate into obscurity unless a suitable life partner is found.

Perhaps, one more generation has to cycle for attitudes to really change.

Posted in Civil Unions, Marriage, Marriage Equality, same-sex marriage, Single by Choice | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Saturday Postcard

Postcard that arrived in the mail, photo by Likeitiz

Postcard that arrived in the mail, photo by Likeitiz

The letter carrier brought a treat to our home today.  A postcard from Hawaii.  They remembered the ritual.  I’m fuzzy and warm all over. I’ve been hugged.

I have said time and again that hand writing little notes and mailing them out is fast becoming a lost art. But why does it still give such exquisite pleasure when it makes its way to one’s doorstep?

One can argue that it does not help the trees that have to die to create the cardboard. Nor does it alleviate the carbon footprint of transporting communications over land and sea.  Email or text or social media should suffice, right?  But does it?

I get the emails. I get the social media postings. But they are so fleeting.  One glance, then delete. Or forget. But a postcard in my hand or posted on the refrigerator door is a glance away from remembering the gesture. And the affection that surrounds it.

FB Postings of Hikes and Sunrises in Hawaii, photos by Wyatt Roy

FB Postings of Hikes and Sunrises in Hawaii, photos by Wyatt Roy

In this one practice, I make no excuses. Call me outdated, old-fashioned, even antiquated. I thoroughly enjoy receiving them! If this is one guilty pleasure I have to cling to resolutely  until I can’t possibly read anymore, well, I shall!

Posted in Handwritten Letter, Hawaii, Hiking, Postcards, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

About The Half Cookie

I did say that one day, we will talk about these events, such as addressing envelopes while considering travel tags and beach bags, and we might have a good laugh. So, I thought I might memorialize some of these for future laughs here.

I did not notice that you snuck away for a second from facing the printer with your laptop on your lap. I was still stuck with you holding your breath every time the printer rumbled efficiently until it spat out a properly formatted envelope. Or not.

There you were returning a little apologetically, head peeking in first, “Is it okay if I only took half a cookie? It’s so good but I know I should not take all of it.”

Of course it’s okay. How can it be not be?

Half Cookie photo courtesy of EatJxn Erin who reviewed the Cowboy cookie from Broad Street Bakery, Jackson, MS. See what it's about at:  http://eatjackson.com/blog/2014/06/12/cowboy-cookie/

Half Cookie photo courtesy of EatJxn Erin who reviewed the Cowboy cookie from Broad Street Bakery, Jackson, MS. See what it’s about at: http://eatjackson.com/blog/2014/06/12/cowboy-cookie/

But then, I wanted to add but refrained: I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. You are about to marry a notoriously unconscionable chocolate candy taster!

Remember the box of chocolates that Forrest Gump used to carry while he waited at the bus stop?  Well, we get a couple of those a year from friends and business associates. At this house, whenever I get around to opening any of them, they have all been picked on, with rejects half eaten or nibbled on and returned to the box. Yes! Teeth marks and all!

You might think it’s cute now. Wait until you have to contend with rejected halves of chocolates the umpteenth time. I would recommend that you get to the boxes first!

As for the well-meaning friends and family who want to do this and that for you at this time in your life, I say, “Let them!”  We are always mindful that we should be generous givers. We also have to know how to be gracious receivers.

Posted in Family, Wedding, Wedding Invitations, Wedding Preparations | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments