I sat down with my doctor last week to review some testing I recently had done. One test was a food allergy and sensitivity test. The doctor pulled out several charts and with a huge array of foods listed on the pages. I was happy to see only handful that were in the restricted zone. These are foods that I absolutely can not have for six a month period.
The first item on my restriction list was milk. I'm a milk lover, but hey, for no headaches, sinus pain, fatigue, and stomach problems I can skip milk for six months. Then she added, "And whey". I don't even know what the hell whey is, so I wasn’t bothered. No problem-ooh. Then I felt the list was getting tricky like a good murder mystery. "No yeast, brewer's or baker's". Okay, I don’t drink beer, even I though may entertain the (especially when my husband was out of town last week and the kids, cat, and dog vomited not only on the carpet, but the beds and sofas as well), but no bread? Come on. Then I remembered, "Man shall not live by bread alone". I have always thought that verse was a scriptural error so I felt no comfort from the heavenly direction. Then the doctor pulls a hard one, good and fast like a pitch from Johann Santana, "No cane sugar" May I add for your education, cane sugar is most forms of fructose as well as cookies, cold cereal, candies, cakes, peanut butter, soda, jelly, ketsup and a wide assortment of other condiments? I have to be condiment free for six months! Okay, I'm strong willed but my mind started doing some tabulations. Being the smart doctor she is, she saved the very best for last. She mentions it casually as a side note, "Oh, and garlic, no garlic". I don’t do rice or beans without garlic, it’s against my heritage. It's also in most seasonings and the kiss of death for eating out if you want Italian, Mexican, Chinese, and Japanese food. The she smiled and said, "Wow, only five foods. You’re pretty lucky". Somehow, despite the fact my mind was reeling with lists of pros and cons foods, I was still naive enough to believe her.
At least until I went to the grocery store. Big mistake. Can I tell you those five ingredients are pretty much in every G*#$%! F*&^$%$ food on the shelf? It's just not just sweets and milk I'm swearing off (sorry couldn't resist) but yogurt, cottage cheese sour cream, pizza, pita bread, rice cakes, soda (the good kind at least) and every frozen or prepared food, salad dressing, cracker, snack (pretzels and natural popcorn do not count). So I'm looking at steak, bananas, and plain salad out the bag. Which would be great, but I don't really eat meat and I have this texture thing with most vegetables and every fruit (it’s either autism or another manifestation of my OCD, I’m going for autism in this case).
I went to a dinner party the other night, and you know the only thing not on my restricted list was the slimy fruit. Yeah, I’m feeling pretty frackin' lucky.
This is my friend Matt. He's quite articulate and mature for fourteen years old. I wanted to do a portait that reflected those qualities. Let me tell you about his mother and one of my best friends, because by telling you about Kelly, I'm also telling you something about Matt.
If I was stranded in the middle of the Sahara and called for rescue, my husband would laugh before saying anything (it's just something that wouldn't surprise him). Some friends would want to know what I was doing in the middle of the world's biggest wasteland and my family would ask how I got there in the first place. Kelly response would probably be, "So do you want to do this by cargo or caravan?" She's the kind of friend who will always have your back not matter where you're leaning or how far you might fall. At Matt's young age, I can see that same quality already.
Not many years ago when I saw a dog owner cooing to her little ball of fur, I put the incident in my mental "ridiculous" file, without any hesitation, but that was b.p.e. or the not so commonly known as "before Phoebe era". Now when I glimpse moments like that, I smile indulgently as one parent would to another. I can't imagine what life would be like without Phoebe, she really is like another child.
I found her photo one night on the CAWS website, a local shelter. I had been quite ill and I was looking for a dog that would be a good companion for my son who was in Kindergarten. Some body to make up for the fact that I spent large portions of my afternoons in bed. Puppet shows, stories of knights long ago, and Lego creations only go so far with a five year old. As I read her info, I thought, "Phoebe? Who names a dog Phoebe?" The name seemed altogether too human. Out of curiosity, I looked up her name to see what it meant. The name is of Greek origin and means bright light. Our cat, also from CAWS, had the same coloring and also had a Greek name, Demetrius. Same shelter, same coloring, Greek names, were they siblings in a past life? I was convinced she was for us. She was much larger than I had envisioned her to be and as part terrier, she was guaranteed to shed more than any other breed. It took two home visits for us to be approved.
The day we brought her home, my son draped her in a Superman cape and shut himself and Phoebe up in his room, much to Phoebe’s consternation. She initially wasn’t particularly interested in the children, but they didn’t seem to mind. They were thrilled to be official pet owners. The novelty of ownership wore off and soon it wasn’t of question of who owned who, but who belonged with who, and she belonged with us. Having her home was like a long wait that was finally over.
My husband, who never wanted a dog in the first place, is the one who always brings her treats, takes her at the height of her shedding in the car, and insists she accompany him for long night runs. Despite this obvious favoritism, it's really with me that she has the strongest bond. The jingle-jangle of her collar and feet pattering on the hardwood have become a part of my daily rhythm, keeping me company when everyone but us has left for the day. At thirteen, she still looks like a puppy. She was very patient for this photo shoot. 
You remember those warm summer evenings of youth when you gathered with the neighborhood kids and divided up to pick teams for kick the can? It was a time of decision or anticipation. In life, it being the ultimate game some would say, we sometimes get choices for team mates and sometimes we don't. Fate favored me with some of the top draft picks.
I can not help but totally crack up every time I see this picture. My niece was wearing her "Groundhog hat" from Kindergarten while snacking on a cheese stick.
And of course, if I take a picture of my niece, my nephew fully expects he'll be needed as a model as well.
This is my daughter wearing the hat I got for her last year in Santa Fe. She wore it everywhere this summer (she even tried wearing it to church). It doesn't get as much use during the winter months but she still manages to find occassions which she thinks are suitable for wearing it.
