Write or Wrong?

Call me crazy, but I have few personal possesions that are actually worth real money.  My engagement ring, my Barbie collection that is safely tucked away in my Mom's damp basement closet, my cat (he's priceless) and my Volkswagen Jetta, or Yetta as we call her after Adam mispronounced the name when he first read it.  2001, GLS Automatic Turbo.  Navy blue.  Leather heated seats and sunroof.  She's a sweet ride, and for 160 thousand + kms she rides like a cloud.  I don't know what it actually feels like to ride a cloud, as when I go through them in an airplane you don't bounce around like a Snuggle bear, you just go right through them.  So, it's more like riding on a bin of marshmallows.  Soft, squishy and sweet.  Whatever, she runs real good.

So for those of you who don't know, Yetta had a rough September and October.  We all have our down days, but Yetta went through three mishaps in a very short period of time, and so now she is sick.  Very sick.  I won't bore any of you with the details, but this afternoon when I received a phone call from my insurance company within 30 seconds of the conversation I heard the words WRITE and OFF very clearly.  I froze, and went into this state of "okay okay, this doesn't mean what I think it does, she's talking crazy and at any moment Ashton Kutcher will jump out from behind my 2nd hand couch and yell YOU JUST GOT PUNK'D! and then Matt Damon will bring my Jetta up the elevator and park her right here in my living room, safe and sound".  That was my fantasy, but my reality made me face the fact that the first car I ever bought, the car that has taken me back and forth to the Toronto Airport countless times to pick up or drop off, it took me on my first trip to Chicago with my brother, took Adam to our wedding, and drove Émilie and I around while dancing to Lady Gaga.  I love that car.  I love that I paid for it, it's ours, and she's the envy of everyone elses cars in my underground garage.  (In my opinion.)  So when little Miss Doesn't-give-a-crap all but told me my car was going to be crushed into a cube, I didn't react well.  Surely there was something she could do.  My memories were about to be scrap metal, and all because of a minor (major) fender bender (totally destroyed front end) it was all going up in a horribly underestimated ball of smoke.  

After much persistence, a firm voice (thanks to all that vocal training) and a customer service lecture, my dear Yetta will be repaired, all for the low price of a deductible and a rate hike.  I don't care.  My Yetta is my lifeline to concerts, family events and date nights with hubby, and for that, I would have paid the entire cost.  

We all get a little dinged up along the road of life, but hopefully we aren't written off too soon.  Hopefully we are all given a second, or third chance at life and just because we have a few scrapes and bruises on the outside doesn't mean we aren't strong and ready for life on the inside.  With each turn of the key there is a new adventure, new memories, and new risks, but in the end we enjoy the ride with each twist and turn...and crash.  Hopefully through it all, someone fights for us, like I fought today.

Das is Auto.  Das is mine Auto.  Me love Auto.  Me love Jetta.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2B1uIkQUZ4

The Fork of Destiny

Decisions are tough, and I don't think anyone likes making tough ones.  Decisions can completely turn your destiny upside down, which isn't always a bad thing.  The path that is in front of you is meant to twist, bend, stop, be bright and dark and surprise you.  A fork in the road is a time to pause and reflect on what is important, and what will bring you true happiness and ultimate glee.  (Sidenote: Season 3 of Glee is really killing it.  I love it.)  Anyway, back on track.

I am at a crossroads, and for the sake of excitement, I'm going to leave out all details.  But, I sometimes take a step back in the moment and realize that while my brain is consumed with "which path do I take", the main thing is, and I can't believe that what I saw on Modern Family last night is coming back to me, that no matter what path I decide to take, I will be alive at the end of it all.  I will survive.  I will make the best of the path I walk on and be content in my decision, knowing that even if it's just for now, it was the right path to take. 

If I've learned anything from this particular quick blog, it's that you grow stronger from the challenge of choosing your path, and it may take you places you never thought were possible.  I've also learned that I am a fan of prime time television once again.

It just hasn't been the same since Frasier went off the air.

Paws for Reflection

Pets are something else.  I was raised with pets, be they animals that were brought into our home willingly, or some that found their way into the Dlouhy household by accident (which was really fate) I have always had parents who gave the gift of furry friends to us since day one.  My first loyal friend was Blackie, our black (go figure) cat who was actually 2 years older than me, and passed away when I was in grade 12.  He was by my side through my back surgery, slept in my crib when I was an infant, and was an amazing mouser up until his final days.

We then had Ben come into our lives, a rambunctious pup who caught our eye one day and came home with us.  He was part Beagle, part trouble, but sadly left the family only 3 years into his life after complications with flea medication and a denied trip to taco bell for me...it's a long story, but I still can't watch Crocodile Dundee 2 to this day.  (Who would want to anyway?!)  Ben was hilarious, and for our first dog, really proved how much personality a dog can take on in such a short amount of time.  

The longest hiatus between pets in our house was approximately 6 days, after Ben was put to sleep. Enter Oliver.  Oliver is my gorgeous boy, my now ten year old hunk of orange fur that loves to be cuddled (on his terms) and can somehow take up an entire double bed without much thought for those occupying it.  He was rescued from a snow drift in a local Tim Horton's parking lot and we adopted him from our local vet at about 8 weeks old.  He is another excellent mouser, and can be found strolling around our neighbourhood with skunks or various other street creatures, and he also LOVES Jenny.

Jenny, or "Bliss" as she was named before we took her in, was rescued shortly after Oliver came onto the scene.  My Mom found her online, and we knew little about her condition, other than she had obviously suffered abuse in the form of kicking, and had probably been subject to being a puppy-mill mother.  She was extremely frightened of men, and when my Dad would wear work boots, she would hide, a clear sign of a profile of her past abusers.  Over the years, my family gained her trust, and those who came to know her realized the simple action of kneeling down to her to greet her would ease her stress, and allow her to befriend you.  A slab of beef jerky never hurt either.  After my incident with Ben, Jenny truly was the perfect dog to bring into my life.  I not only had to gain her trust, but in turn I had to learn to trust dogs again, realizing that their instincts are valid, and that no matter what they are an animal, but have so much love to give if you are willing to give them a chance to express it. She is a gentle, warm, and kind dog with a ton of personality, and her doe eyes will make you surrender the most succulent pieces of chicken in a heartbeat.  She really knows how to lay on the drama.  I taught her well.

As the time ticks by, Jenny is now around 12 or 13, and she is not well.  She isn't eating, and is having extreme difficulties walking.  It is so heartbreaking to see a pet look at you expressing sadness, and really not being able to ease their pain other than to offer a stroke on the head, and reassuring words.  I know she "gets it".  She knows we love her, and even more, I truly believe she realizes that she has done her job within our family.  She was Oliver's best friend, my Mom's late night companion, and my Dad's leftover-eater for the past ten years, and what more can you ask for?  The loyalty, love and companionship she has shown us, from being gentle with Émilie & Liam as infants, to respecting my uneasiness with her at first and helping me learn to trust dogs again, she has been a wonderful friend and guardian.  

So as she now rests in the living room, comfortable and at peace, we get to say our goodbyes and remind her that while we may have rescued her 10 years ago, it was her who over time, rescued us.

Sleep well, Jenny.   Good girl.