Category: Family

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R.I.P.

Sammy
May 5, 2009 – December 14, 2024

Sammy entered our life on May 3rd, 2014 via The Dumb Friends League in Denver. He wasn't our first choice; the staff warned that the doggo who brought us into the shelter was a handful and required 24/7 supervision. After hearing the details Ben and I agreed that we couldn't provide the level of care the boy needed and asked who else they had available. They suggested Sammy, and brought him in.


It was love at first sight, and Sammy came home with us that afternoon.

We don't know his history with any degree of certainty before he became a member of our family, but I do seem to remember being told that he was voluntarily surrendered by an older gentleman who couldn't keep up with or care for him. He was a little skittish at first—not really sure of what was going on—but he soon warmed to us and became integral to our lives.

While he loved us both, over the years I very much became his human, and later in life he was always by my side (or at least at my feet) whenever he could be. Sometimes I swore he was trying trip me so I'd fall and end end up being home with him all the time.

But these past few weeks have been difficult. He developed a horrible honking  cough last month that became chronic. While there was no direct x-ray confirmation, based on his symptoms the vet strongly suspected a collapsing trachea (a pretty common malady for small breeds) and coupled with his age and the fact that no evidence of anything else was ever spotted it was the diagnosis we ran with. While the collapsing trachea could not be cured, we nevertheless tried various ways to lessen the symptoms; the only thing finally bringing some brief relief was a combination of Trazadone, Gabapentin, and Hydrocodone. The coughing was generally controlled on this regimen, but he still had breakout periods (usually happening at 2-3 am) that were horrific. The downside of this drug cocktail was that for a pup who was so full or energy and vigor up until this time, he was either sleeping all the time or so out of it when he was awake that his quality of life was non-existent—and that was no way to live. As much as we were reluctant to let him go, after one final trip to the vet last week, Ben and I talked it over and decided it was time to let him cross The Rainbow Bridge.

To that end, we contacted Angel Veterinary, who came to the house today, and while I was holding him, lovingly helped him on his journey. Ben and I are both devastated, but we know he'll come back to us in a new body when he's good and ready—and if he misses us half as much as we're missing him now, that won't be long.

Godspeed, Sammy.

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Memories of a Family Road Trip

I ran across this photo online, and it brought back a lot of memories.

It took me back to late summer 1970, reminding me of my dad's truck and a little camping trip my family made up north.

Obviously the picture above wasn't the exact same vehicle, but it was similar:

I don't actually remember where we went, but I have pictures the family took at Montezuma Castle, Sunset Crater, and the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. At this point I have no memories of any of that, other than all the places we went  seemed very distant from Phoenix. It's funny because nowadays Ben and I think nothing of making that kind of road trip in a single day.

But I digress.

There are a couple things I remember from the trip. The first and foremost is the one evening I ventured outside to pee after we'd parked for the night and I saw the stars. This night sky was nothing like my backyard in suburban Phoenix. The sky was alive with dots of light. My mom did the same thing after I returned inside and she asked if I knew what the little dipper shaped constellation was called. (Keep in mind I had just gotten into astronomy and was learning the constellations; I hadn't even gotten my first telescope yet.) "Uh, The Little Dipper?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "I know that's in the north. This is tiny. And it's in the east."

I argued with her like any pre-teen would, and finally grabbed my dad's binoculars went back outside to prove her wrong. Shivering my ass off, I scanned the eastern sky and spotted it. She wasn't crazy after all. I brought the binoculars to my eyes and was blown away by what I saw. I had "discovered" the Pleiades.

My love of astronomy was cemented.

The second thing I remember was riding in the camper as we were heading to our destinations—on the sleeper portion over the cab of the truck—without any sort of seatbelts! Ah…it was a different time, for sure.

And lastly, while riding up there, I remember pouring over Radio Shack catalogs. I was fascinated by all the electronic bits and pieces you could buy and although I never (and by never, I mean to this day) grasped the how and why of how it all worked, it held me in its grip.

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My Guys

Yesterday was an "in office" day, but I made time to come home for lunch. This guy was very happy to see me and wanted nothing but snuggles.

He wanted the same from Ben when he got home from work. He's such a snuggle-slut.

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Saying Goodbye to Our Little Pirate

Bobo (2006-2021)

Bobo came to live with us in 2014 while we were still in Denver. He belonged to Ben's mom, who—for reasons that have been well documented on this blog—reached the point where she was unable to care for him any longer.

The little guy was a bit stand-offish at first. I remember vividly the day I picked him up and drove him home. It was like, "Hi friend. I know who you are, but where are we going?" He and Sammy had played together before when we babysat, so it wasn't like he was a complete stranger to the house, but once he was with us permanently, I think Sammy tolerated him more than anything else—kind of like the reaction of an only child to a new baby appearing on the scene. And for the longest time I didn't think Bobo liked me much, but over the past couple years, he became my best buddy. Moreso than even Sammy, who has been at my feet a lot over the past couple months, I would look down and Bobo would always be there. Ben and I often joked that one or the other of us was going to trip over the little guy and kill both of us. He couldn't stand having me out of his sight, and whenever we'd leave the house, he would bark incessantly. (I swear he only discovered his voice about three years ago, because we'd spot him on camera staring intently into the hallway at the old house and barking at absolutely nothing. Or ghosts. It might have been ghosts.)

Back in December, when we were still living in the hotel after the fire, Bobo started waking up in the middle of the night with something that sounded like a horrible kennel cough.  We took him to the ER and he was diagnosed with advanced congestive heart failure. This was not a complete surprise because we'd been told at his last regular checkup he had a heart murmur, but it was still a body blow; we thought Bobo was going to outlive us all. He was put on medication, but the vet warned at best this was a stopgap measure. "It could be weeks, or months or a year or more."

We were all hoping for the latter, but we did get an extra six months with the munchkin. A little more than a week ago he became extremely lethargic, had trouble standing, began obvious sundowning, and started randomly coughing up water. A few days ago he started refusing all food (even his favorites), and we knew the time had come to say goodbye.

A dear friend who had recently gone through this with one of her pups told us of Angel Veterinary, who will come to your home and help your fuzzy companion on his journey surrounded by loving family and not in some clinical, stainless steel fluorescent room. My biggest fear after learning of Bobo's condition last year and the continuing lockdown that was going on everywhere was that when the time came we would not be able to be with him as he shuffled off his mortal coil (his usual vet was not allowing pet parents into the exam rooms at all).

Yesterday afternoon Angel arrived, and it was as my friend had described. Peaceful. Painless. It was a loving send-off.

That doesn't mean that Ben and I haven't cried our eyes out. I broke down a second time as we went to bed last night, and made arrangements to take today off as I knew I'd be useless working. I'm still fighting back tears.

While Angel said Sammy could be here with us, we decided to send him off to Camp Bow Wow for the day because he wouldn't have handled strangers in the house well. When we brought him home, he seemed oblivious to Bobo's absence until right before bed, then he seemed very confused. I think that over the past seven years he went from tolerating the little guy to actually caring for him, and not having him around is weighing heavily on him as well.

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Are People Really This Stupid?

Yes, Virginia. Yes they are.

From scenes at packed airports to the much more intimate specter of Ben's father hosting his his business-as-usual Thanksgiving family brunch, I cannot comprehend why people are insisting on gathering today as if everything is normal. As if the number of cases of COVID aren't already going through the roof, I fully expect a HUGE spike in January.

I mean seriously, what are they thinking? Are they so selfish and concerned with tradition and their supposed "rights," they're willing to put Aunt Zelda on a ventilator in 8 weeks? Will this truly be the threat my mother used to hang over my head when I was living out-of-state, "This may be the last Thanksgiving you see your grandparents alive, so you better damn well be here."

BTW, Ben and I both politely refused his dad's (last-minute, but that's another story altogether) invitation.

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Weekend Update

We made our usual Sunday run to Target today. We've been getting four dinners a week from HelloFresh, but let's face it, we still need lunch and incidentals.

The store was abysmal, although not as picked over as it seemed a week ago. Still no paper products, but that was expected. We're still in good shape as far as toilet paper is concerned, and I was able to order paper towels off Amazon (even if they're not arriving until week after next) so there's that. We were able to get everything else on the list.

The one thing that stood out, however, was the fact that no one (except Ben and I) seemed to be observing the six-foot rule. Idiots, the lot of 'em.

We did some purging around the house yesterday, making a run to our meager storage unit in the process.  I wanted to find the bungee cords I knew were in a box as well as retrieve a tub of my dad's architectural drafting paraphernalia that my sister had given me shortly after his passing. It had been my intent all these years to select a few of the pieces and make a shadow box to honor his legacy.

It took seven years, but after several hours' work today, that intent finally became reality.


On another front, I finally got the door locks on Rabbit to automatically lock when driving away. This was a standard setting on Anderson, and I noticed it wasn't happening with Rabbit, so I had to dig into the Owner's Manual to find out where that setting was hiding. I also discovered this morning that our local FM NPR station (KJZZ) also transmits on two separate channels in HD. One's for news only, and one's for all-day jazz, and I can easily switch between the two. This makes me happy since there is a dearth of decent radio in Phoenix.

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Visiting The Ghost

As I posted a week or so ago, after spotting the house on Zillow where I lived during high school and until I moved out on my own in 1980, my sister and I resolved to pay a visit to the old place to see it in person since we figured it would probably be our last opportunity to ever do it.

So this past Monday morning we headed over, made the arrangements to get it unlocked (ah, the wonders of technology), and figuratively stepped back in time 46 years.

As I wrote previously, naturally there had been many changes—and I can now report that really none of them were for the better. We joked it would take $50-75K just to get the place (including the rear/side yard wasteland) back to what it was when we lived there. The only real positive improvement I saw was the fact that at some point they'd removed all the popcorn ceilings…

But despite all the years and the numerous families who have passed through those walls, the energy of the place was still the same as I remember it. It felt calm. It felt safe.

The house seemed neither larger or smaller than I remembered. The infamous ghost chose not to acknowledge our presence; perhaps it had no interest, had been exorcised, or had simply moved on.

Naturally we took lots of photos, but none worth posting that really show anything more than what I'd put up previously from the listing itself, save this:

2018
1978

Same location, just a little closer in this time…

And this, the obligatory in-my-old-bathroom selfie:

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Pass This Along

When you are a pet owner it is inevitable the majority of the time that your pet will die before you do. So if and when you have to take your pet to the vet's office for a humane, pain-free ending I want you all to know something. You have been the center of their world THEIR ENTIRE LIVES! They may just be a part of yours, but all they know is you as their family. It is a crappy decision/day/time/event every time; there is no argument against that and it is devastating as humans to lose them. But please, I beg you: DO NOT LEAVE THEM. Do not make them transition from life to death in a room of strangers in a place they don't like. The thing you need to know that most of you don't is that THEY SEARCH FOR YOU WHEN YOU LEAVE THEM BEHIND!

They search every face in the room for their beloved humans. They are frightened to begin with and they don't understand why you left them there when they are sick, scared, old, or dying from cancer AND THEY NEED YOUR COMFORT. Don't be a coward because it is just too hard for YOU. Imagine what they feel as you leave them in their most vulnerable time, and people like me are left to try our best every time to comfort them, to make them less scared, and try to explain why you just couldn't stay." ~ A tired, broken-hearted vet

THIS, THIS, THIS a thousand times THIS.

How could I possibly simply drop this little furball off and then leave when his time comes? Well, there is NO way I could—or will—do that to either him or our other furry child. I will be there to hold them and help them say goodbye.
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Dogs Versus Cats

The Things We Do In The Name Of Family

I was never around cats as a kid. Dad was terribly allergic which severely limited the selection of animals we were able to open our home to. I grew up with dogs.

But through an unfortunate series of events, my first pet as an adult living on my own was a cat. She came to me by way of a tweeked-out ex who was flying home for Christmas and couldn't be bothered to bring her indoors while he was gone. That's how Sasha came into my home.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until about three months later—well past the point where I'd ever give her up—that I developed a horrible cat allergy and ended up spending the next two years living on antihistamines and rescue inhalers until I moved to a no-pet apartment building and she went to live out her days with Mom.

The cat allergy has never really gone away. I can spend very brief periods around them without medication, and even being doped up on Benadryl I can last about an hour or so before my eyes turn red and I start sneezing.

All these years I've fancied myself a cat person, in spite of the allergy, but after having dogs for the past three years, that's not so true any more.

This past week I've been tending to my sister's cat herd (she has seven of the beasts) while she and her husband are out of town. I wasn't going to turn down $200 if it meant taking a few Benadryl now and then—and because she was loading them up with self-watering/feeding bowls I could get away with looking in on them only every other day.

The first day (the day after they left) wasn't bad. The seven litter boxes (yes, seven) were mostly empty and I was able to scoop out everything and put it in a single grocery bag to be deposited in the trash. I'd pre-medicated and didn't seem to suffer much.

Last night, however, was an entirely different story. Every litter box was full, and I ended up using four grocery bags to haul the mess out to the trash. One bowl (the recirculating water bowl) had gone empty and one feeder was also bare. I figured since I was in and out so quickly the last time with no lasting repercussions, I could afford to stay a little longer last night and really make sure everything was done completely.

One of her cats (the newest member of the family) is very affectionate. And very talkative. Another one, an older white female who lives in the sink in the guest bath makes it quite clear she doesn't want to be touched in any way. The remainder are friendly but aloof, with one only being found deep under a bed and who has steadfastly refused to come out when I'm around.

After being at her place about 45 minutes last night (despite pre-medicating again) I went on a sneezing fit that seemed to last forever. I'm not surprised. My sister's house is clutter central; she has knick-knacks and doo-dads everywhere (it makes me want to come home and start tossing stuff out) and from the looks of it the majority of them haven't been dusted in ages. Add to the usual stuff are holiday decorations of every size and shape. In other words, it's a dander-trap. By the time I left fifteen minutes later the areas where Simba (their newest) brushed against me had broken out in hives and my eyes were red and watering. As I locked up after finishing with the task at hand I was ready to tell my sister, "Please don't ever ask me to do this again."

I came home, ripped my contact lenses out and doused my eyes with anti-allergy drops. I took a couple puffs from my rescue inhaler and after about 30 minutes I felt more or less back to normal.

This morning, however, I have a scratchy throat and my eyes are itching again.

Thankfully my sister is back home midday Saturday so I won't have to go over there again before they get back…

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Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys

Longtime readers will be well aware of the ongoing saga that is Ben's mother. It started for us jointly back in 2013 when we reluctantly invited her to move to Denver and stay with us until she got set up with SSDI and properly resettled on her own. At the time she was living in Phoenix under horrible circumstances, had just been fired from yet another job, and we simply couldn't have her out on the street. Little did we know at the time, but putting her out on the street might have been the best thing to happen to her.

What initially started out as six weeks turned into six months, and after deciding not to apply for disability and instead go back to work, it then became over a year. The nightmare only came to an end when we finally gave her notice and threw her out.

At that time she had a steady job working for Comcast and was making good enough money that she could afford to get a place of her own. She was doing well both mentally and physically, supposedly had her pain killer problem under control, and it seemed she'd finally gotten back to having something resembling a normal life. This lasted for a few months until—as has become standard operating procedure for her—things were going so well she had to fuck them up: off the wagon, incidents at work, and once again out of a job with rent due.

This time Ben made it very clear she was not moving back in with us. She destroyed enough of the apartment during the year she was with us (the first time in my life I had to pay for damages upon vacating a rental) and made life such a living hell (not one, but two calls to the paramedics because she was unresponsive) that she had proved herself unworthy of our trust and that there would be no second chance.

So after many telephone calls to Ben's brother in Seattle, what remained of her large belongings were put in storage, and she was placed on a bus heading north.

In Seattle, the same tired story played out once again: promises to get set up with SSDI, find a place of her own and rebuild her life. Of course none of that happened; Ben got all the paperwork together—even going to far as to fly to Seattle on his own dime to get Powers of Attorney signed.

And still nothing got filed. (In case you don't know, getting SSDI approved and in motion is a long process; typically six months at the earliest from when the paperwork is filed until the first check arrives.)

The difference this time was that Ben's sister-in-law was having none of her bullshit and once again she was put on notice that her welcome had worn itself out and she needed to make other living arrangements.

By this time we'd moved back to Phoenix, and being the dutiful son, Ben did all the required research, sent her job listings, scouted apartments, and bought her a plane ticket home since she hated Seattle and wanted to move back here.

To her credit, she found work rather quickly after arriving back in Phoenix. She even met a guy and started dating! While she wasn't living here, she had taken up residence on our couch, and what was once again to be only a week-long stay dragged on and on until I pulled the "no unauthorized visitors over a month" stipulation from our lease and sent her packing to a motel.

Apparently her new beau (who didn't live in Phoenix full time, but had an apartment here) took pity on her and offered to have her stay at his place.

This lasted until about three months ago. For a variety of reasons she moved out of the beau's apartment into a pay-by-the-week place closer to her work (because no one else would rent to her because of her credit and rental history). Things were going well; she had money, a good job, and a decent roof over her head. The only time we saw her was when she came over once a week to do laundry.

She was succeeding.

And you know she couldn't let that last. It was about two and a half weeks ago that Ben got a call from a mental health facility, inquiring how he was planning on paying for his mom's stay.

WTF?

It seems that she was feeling suicidal (she's attempted it several times over the last ten years), and had checked herself into the facility a couple days earlier. Without so much as letting anyone—including Ben or her employer—know.

My dear friend Al, whom I've known for close to a decade, worked as a case manager at a hospital where we were both employed. She's been telling Ben for years that he has to step away from all this; he has to cut her off completely just as his siblings have done and let his mom hit rock bottom. She needs to be on the street, where—hopefully—she can finally get the state assistance she needs. I'm cautiously optimistic that this latest incident has finally flipped that switch for him, because he's not having any of her bullshit any more.

Now let me say we are not being heartless bitches here. Ben's mom is in no way elderly; if she were and it was the cause of this behavior that would obviously affect our disposition toward her. But she's not. She's a couple years younger than I am. She has some real physical pain issues that require meds to mitigate, but it's unaddressed emotional issues that are at the root of her behavior; issues that in her mind are more easily self-medicated than actually addressed directly through proper counseling (something she has been told to seek out each and every time she's been in and out of these mental hospitals and consistently refuses to do). It's that willful refusal that has exhausted all our patience and has forced us to say enough.

So once again, faced with no income (the question of whether or not she is still employed is up in the air,  but since she was approved for short term disability I assume she is), she knows homelessness looms in her future. But being the cunning, manipulative user that she is, she's figured out she can game the system for another week "until she starts getting her checks." To that end, she's feigned suicidal thoughts and has again checked herself back in to that same mental hospital.

What will happen in a week's time is anyone's guess. She's burned all her bridges. She knows she can't stay with us (or, as she ridiculously suggested, in the back of Ben's minivan). She has no other friends or family. Ben is done with it. We're storing her clothing and a few household items from of her apartment until such time that they're needed and that's it.

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A Letter To My Parents

Dear Mom and Dad,

It's been years since you both left this mortal plane, and while I am not suffering the ongoing level of distress that my sister still is, it's rare that more than a day or two passes that I do not think of one or the other of you. What I miss most is just being able to call you up and tell you about some silly, inconsequential thing that happened during the day—or bitch about work, or ask for a recipe, or any of the dozens of other things that had become second nature for all of us when you were alive that are now gone forever. I also miss being able to share the big things with you and miss receiving your wisdom and reassurances in the face of uncertain futures.

And yes, I even miss those occasional "What were you thinking?" and the subsequent reprimands as you tried to steer me away from making some very poor decisions.

I'm sorry that you missed my wedding, although I'm reasonably certain Mom knew and approved of where things were heading; it was shortly after she met Ben and sensed that I'd finally met "the one," that she was able to finally let go and move on to whatever it is that comes after this life. And Dad…you missed it by only a few months, but ironically it was spurred in no small part by your own passing. "After all the horrible things that have happened this year," Ben said, "we need something positive to happen."

On the other hand, I'm glad you're not still here to see what is happening in this country today. You taught me me tolerance and acceptance of everyone as I was growing up (proving that when you wholeheartedly accepted me when the time came) and I think you would be appalled at the level of intolerance rising in our communities. Having lived through—and fought during—the last World War and witnessing the rise and fall of the Third Reich, I'm sure klaxons would be ringing for you every time that Cheeto-faced baboon took to the podium. Perhaps if more of your generation were still alive to remind us of the horrors of fascism, we might not be facing its possible resurgence now.

 

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Happy Father's Day

It may not have been the life you wanted or would have have chosen if you'd had the freedom to live your truth, but you had no regrets when all was said and done, and I still miss you every damn day.

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Treasures

I received another little gift from my sister today: my mom's daily planners from the mid 60s through the late 70s.

Some of the entries are cryptic: Bob/1. Some are humorous in that she recorded them: Owe Mark $3 Lawn. Mark started work at Sirloin Stockade. Others are bittersweet, like my class schedule for the first semester at college:

8:00-9:00 (M-Th) Russian
9:00-10:00 (M-W-F) Freshman Composition
9:00-10:00 (T-Th) Graphic Communication
10:00-11:00 (T-Th) History of Western Civilization
11:00-12:00 (M-W-F) Algebra
11:00-12:00 (T-Th) Graphic Communication
12:00-1:00 (T) Graphic Communication Studio

She also recorded every doctor/dentist appointment for myself, my sister, my dad, and herself. Student holidays, PTA meetings, early dismissal days, plant watering/fertilizing schedules, hair appointments, dinner parties, and some very personal stuff that I just simply didn't need to know about.

If nothing else, the woman was very methodical. I guess that's where I got it from.

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All We Are Is Dust In The Wind

As I've gotten older, I've noticed that lot of weird stuff goes through my head when I'm laying awake in bed at 4 am; stuff that wouldn't have pinged my consciousness when I was younger. This morning, while still pondering the joint loss of David Bowie and Alan Rickman, I remembered reading somewhere that within 300 years of your death—unless you're someone notable like Bowie or Einstein or Neil Armstrong—you will have been completely forgotten since anyone who knew you directly will have long since passed on as well.

I personally put that time frame at half that—or even less. Think about your grandparents. Now think about your great grandparents. How much do you actually know about them and their lives?

I know more about my material grandparents than my paternal. Even then, that knowledge is woefully lacking, and since Mom was an only child, once my sister and I pass on, that knowledge will vanish as well. I believe my grandfather was a chemical engineer. I know he worked in a white collar capacity at a paper mill for the majority of his life, and was recognized by the company for coming up with a new way of folding napkins for use in fast-food restaurants. Beyond that, I haven't really got a clue. Was he in the army? Did he fight in World War I? How did he and my grandmother meet? Those are some of the things I probably should've asked Mom about when she was alive, but they were also those things that when you're younger you really don't care about. I have no idea if my grandmother ever worked—or if she did, what exactly her profession had been. As far as I know, she was a homemaker for her entire life (as was pretty common for women of that generation).

Going back another generation, I have no knowledge of my great grandparents beyond what I've seen in old photographs. If you even ask me their names I couldn't tell you without having to look it up somewhere. My great-grandfather (or perhaps it was his father) fled Germany because—as family legend has it—he shot a deer in the Kaiser's forest and the penalty if he'd been caught was death.

I know even less about my paternal grandparents. I think my dad's father was a cabinet maker and owned his own business for many years in Safford, Arizona. I have no idea if my grandmother did anything outside the home. Their parents? No clue whatsoever.

About thirty years ago I realized how woefully inadequate my knowledge of even my own parents' lives had been, so I asked them both to write short autobiographies. Dad took to the assignment like a fish to water; Mom never did come through with her story. Dad's revelations and secrets were enlightening and helped explain many major and minor mysteries of his life, but like so many things, his written story has gone missing and I'm left with only my own memories of what he'd transcribed.

I think this lack of proper passing-on-of-the-family-story explains both my folks' interest in genealogy as they grew older. Curiously, at least at this point in my life I do not share that interest. Since my sister never had children, when she and I are gone it will be the end of the line for this particular branch of the family and no one will be asking who my folks—or their folks—were or what they did during their lives.

And also since I have no children, I've pretty much resolved myself to knowing that at some point after I'm gone—like so many people who have come before—all my photographs, art, and possessions will end up at the bottom of a landfill or as curiosities in second-hand stores, offering some rare personal glimpses into life in the late 20th and early 21st centuries.

That's why the here and now is so important. It's all we've got.

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Six Years

I can't believe it's already been six years since my mom passed. In many ways it seems like just yesterday.

I won't lie and say I still think of her every day, but she does manage to pop into my thoughts once a week or so; mostly when something happens and I want to pick up the phone and call to tell her about it—and I realize that's no longer an option.

 

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Better Late Than Never

Last weekend Ben and I flew down to Phoenix for our very belated wedding reception. Since we got married under the friends/family radar a year ago, we both thought some sort of celebration is due—not only for ourselves, but also for those same friends and family.

He somehow got me on an airplane.

Since the vast majority of the people we wanted to share in our special day lived in Arizona, we decided that Macayo's in Phoenix would be our venue. Since we haven't had really good Mexican food since we moved to Denver, this was a no-brainer.

Obviously, we went for a Doctor Who theme, but only the die-hard fans got the fez…

Bowties are cool.

I think everyone had a good time…

Besties. I love these women.

We had to run a few errands the next day before we left…

Feels like home.

And of course we had to visit one of our old (and hopefully future, in 2-3 years) stomping grounds…

Then we met a few of our friends at Lolo's Chicken & Waffles for brunch before heading to the airport. Absolute heaven…

I miss these women more than words can express.
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Say Hi to Sammy

Sammy's the newest addition to our family, a 5-year old miniature poodle/mix. His previous owners were apparently moving and couldn't take him with them. We found him at The Dumb Friends League, and the moment he walked into the room both Ben and I were smitten.