One of the Best Nights of the Year

This morning my husband started the day out by asking me, "What are you excited for today?"

Normally, my answer would have been simple:

"Hump day!" or "My ham sandwich!" or "Election signs being removed!"

But no. Today my answer was much more anticipated.

"The CMA's!!!!"

I could write an entire multi-volume series on the history of my obsession of country music: Of how I passed (barely) college english classes with my persuasive essays about how "No Shoes No Shirt No Problem" should have won an award over "Man of Constant Sorrow". About how I had to take up parttime jobs just to pay my parents' phone bill the night after any CMA or ACM awards show in the early 2000's. Or of how I'd go to almost any extreme to put myself at a country concert.

But alas, the awards show is starting in 5 minutes.

So instead, I'll leave you with this. The wall of my bedroom in the house that I rented in college:

No time to edit this now,my apologies to my 7 followers.

The Story of George, the Bestest Buddy Ever!

This is the story of George, also known as the best dog ever.

As most people who ever knew me pre-age 22, I was not a dog lover. In fact, I was scared to death of dogs. Then I met my husband-to-be, an absolute dog lover, and I had to change my mind.

I bought Jim a puppy for his graduation present. He was in heaven.

Unfortunately, Molly died at 9 months old. :(

rest in peace, Molly.

I took Molly's death so hard that I vowed that I would never own another dog.

Two months after Molly's death, Jim suggested that we go *just take a look* at puppies at a local adoption event. I said fine, but only to look at how none will ever live up to how awesome Molly was.

About three and a half minutes into the event, I was hooked. I wanted another puppy. Jim's plan had worked! We met and fell in love with a litter of 10 puppies and their mom, "First Lady". She was found abandoned in another state, pregnant, and in need of love. Her puppies were named after presidents and first ladies. There were three that I absolutely loved:

Franklin

Teddy

and George.

We quickly filled out the paperwork and decided that Franklin was our dog. A few days later, we had learned that he was taken. It was a phone call from Jim's sister..."you have to pick George"...that was the deciding factor. We brought George home two weeks later, and kept his name.

It was love at first sight.

Look at those eyes.

Jim headed back to grad school, and I brought puppy George home, completely by myself in my endevor. I knew nothing about raising a puppy. I was in for an adventure, one that would lead to a lifetime of closeness and bonding.

 George had *one* accident inside, ever.

Matching floors in George's honor.

 A pasttime he has loved since the beginning.

Even the smallest size collar does not fit baby G!!!

Anxious to get out of his little yard when I got home from work one evening.

Our first walk together. Although he hated being out of the house at the time, today this is his favorite activity.

I knew from the look of George's mom combined with his gigantic paws, that he was going to be a big boy. Before he got too large, I signed him up for puppy class. This was a lifesaver and has definitely paid off.

My little over-achiever.

Smart like his daddy.

As George started to grow, we became more and more attached at the hip.

Probably staring at a bug.

We <3 bridges.

George has been by my side through everything. I became very sick and bedridden twice since I've had him, and each time, he would not leave my bedside. Food even had to be brought to him, and usually, he'd refuse it.

Then came the time that George himself got sick. George needed surgery at 4 years old to remove a melanoma that had grown on his skin. The poor buddy was in so much pain and was having delusions after the surgery. He needed drugs to be painfree during the healing, but it would make him so loopy. The vet insisted on keeping him overnight for observations after the surgery, however, as I had predicted, when he woke up from his anesthesia, he would not stop crying. The vet called me only hours after the surgery. "He will do much better at home and with you, he is much too stressed here to recover properly." That's George for you: too concerned for Jim and me to leave us alone one night.

Hiking in the Shenandoah, and look, a bridge!

Never more than a few steps behind me.

(Does the shirt look familiar?)

Enjoying a spring afternoon.

In May, 2010. we decided to expand our fur-family and give George a friend. We gave him a sister named Sadie.

It was love at first sight, part II.

She fit into our family perfectly...

We thought for sure that George would just love and accept Sadie with open paws, like any other sibling would do....

"....AND STAY OUT!!!!"

...but George had something else in mind. He was not thrilled about sharing his home and parents with another puppy. But his heart is infact bigger than his stubborness, and he soon welcomed baby Sadie:

Busted.

Here is a list of 10 little-known facts about George:

1. He loves sitting for hours and hours, taking in mother nature, and never moving other than to sniff the fresh air.

2. He is the fastest runner that I know.

3. He has a house with his name on it.

4. He allows me to practice my photography, by doing impromtu "picture days", complete with awkward senior photo poses.

5. George LOVES hikes. and walks. and nature.

6. He smiles his biggest while in the Adirondacks.

7. Only while on vacation, George sleeps/lounges on picnic tables.

8. George makes friends faster than anyone that I know. He's also not embarassed by any form of P.D.A.

 

9. He once defied all odds and jumped up onto his hind legs to catch a snowball in his mouth, thrown by one of several BFF's, Sean.

10. He has a star-burst in each eye.

In addition to that list, I'd like to share with you just how much George puts up with.

Here is a list of the top 5 forms of abuse George puts up with from my brother Robert (pre-Army, I'm sure the list will be updated post-Army):

1. Self-explanatory.

2. Also self-explanatory.

3. George chasing a laser beam, controlled by Robert up the wall.

4. Self-explanatory.

5. Robert titled this one on the facebook album: "Why Uncle Bob?" Enough said.

6. BUT....at least after a hard day of abuse, George is rewarded with a warm bed, pillow, and monogrammed blanket.

To be completely fair, I have to include the following photos. George does put up with a lot from me, as well:

Easier than brushing?

That laser pointer provided hours of entertainment, as George pulled me around the house, horse and carriage style.

George has so much character. He's constantly doing new things to make us laugh. Just last week, he started a new habit of winking at us every chance he gets:

take one.

and two.

three. (always the left eye.)

While George has only been in my life for 4 1/2 years so far, he has certainly changed more than I ever could have imagined. He greets me with a smile each day when I arrive home. He insists on snuggling up as.close.as.possible to me at night, which sometimes includes sleeping partially mostly on top of me. He's extremely protective of me, of my emotions, and of our family.

Sadie has joined him on his extra-long list of best friends. If George had things his way, the world would be made of peanut butter, squirrels would run a *tiny* bit slower, and Robert, Julia, Morgan, Sean, etcccc... would all live next door to us.

I love you little buddy! Thank you for being my best friend!

The First Editor of my Journal

Today I had a memory.

It was one of those memories that starts out by innocently thinking something random ("It's hot") and within seconds, you've created a path full of different flash-backs and check-points (want to be cooler-- ice cream is cold -- soft serve is good -- soft serve in Warrenton -- I saw an old teacher there once) that leads to a completely different state of time, oftentimes one that your mind hasn't visited for years.

That's when I remembered her: Mrs. Norskog, my 2nd grade teacher.

Mrs. Norskog was one of those few teachers that you remember for life. I not only remember her and what I learned, but the emotions that I felt during that year. I have more memories from 2nd grade than I do all other elementary grades combined. She was such a unique teacher. Her classroom was cluttered with artifacts, reptiles and posters. Her stories mesmorized her class full of hyper 7 and 8 year olds for hours. Oftentimes, she would get so involved in stories about the Civil War or how Abraham Lincoln's life was lived, that we'd skip every other subject for that day and just go straight to recess.

Mrs. Norskog loved show-and-tell. And because of it, my parents made me bring in anything and everything to, well, show-and-tell. I brought in encyclopedias that we had at home that just happened to cover what we were discussing in history class. I brought in the weekly "Mini Page". I brought in a frog that I caught in my pond. I brought in items from Japan that my cousin Jim had sent over. I brought in a paint-by-numbers that I created at home. I brought in a fable book only because we were learning about Aesop in school. She never, ever declined my request to share something with the class. I must have brought in a hundred items that year. She would stop class each time so that I could show off my item. Those times she stopped class to let me speak were the cornerstones of my education.

{proof}

The biggest impact that Mrs. Norskog had on my life was journaling. Mrs. Norskog had our class keep a journal. She'd set a certain amount of time the first thing in the morning to write in our journals, and then she'd have each student read them outloud to the class, every single day. This has provided me, now an adult, with two valuable treasures: 1) I still keep that journal on my bookshelf. 2) I still feel inspired to journal or to blog.


I have been looking for an opportunity since I started this blog to share pieces of that journal, but I never knew how to introduce it until now.

She'd read the journal entries every night to correct spelling, etc. She almost always left a positive message, which of course, made me feel like a million bucks.

And of course, sometimes I'd reply to her, hoping to strike up this secret two-way conversation.

I cannot even imagine how many times she must have been put to sleep by our awful, pointless stories. Granted, this probably was also known as "the worst day of my life" for a 2nd-grader.

Never, ever holding anything back.

When I thought of Mrs. Norskog the other day, I thought, "What a perfect idea, I can share with her how my 2nd grade journal impacted my life and my love of journaling!"


I thought it would be easy to google and find her address, and write her a letter. I could send it to the school where she teaches now? In fact, I only saw her a few years back, hanging out at her son's ice cream shop in Warrenton.

So I typed her name in the google task bar: "Eugenia Norskog" (An unforgettable name).

I took out a pen and paper to write down the first address that popped up.

The first search that popped up, however, was not expected.

"Eugenia Folk Norskog, of Warrenton, died June 3, 2007."

My heart sank.

How could I have never told her about my journal? About how much she meant to me and my education, even at 8 years old? And how the reason I write, whether publicly or privately to this day, is all owed to her?

When you are 8 years old, and the world around you is so pure and innocent, you retain that mindset when you are grown up and look back on that age. Which is why I suppose I thought that Mrs. Norskog was immortal. Each time that I put a pen to paper to write in my umpteenth journal since second grade, or when I sit down to write a letter, or when I decide to blog, Mrs. Norskog will be just that. I pray that someday I can be half as inspirational to one single soul, as she was to me.

This is the first journal entry after Uncle Mark was tragically killed in a car accident. The funeral was on my birthday that year, and Mrs. Norskog knew how devestated my entire family was, and sent notes and cards home to my parents. I remember being so heart-broken about Uncle Mark, however all I do here is talk about my birthday presents. Looking back, I see that as a child, I was searching for something optimistic to replace my sadness with. It really reflects how I react in bad situations presently. I am absolutely eternally grateful for this journal entry, and the ones that followed. It reminds me of where I was, what I was doing, and even what presents I was opening, during a tragic moment that I have replayed in my head for the past 20 years.