Guide Dog #4

Free time is still one of the hottest commodities around here and as such my lack of timely posts continues, but for any of you still bothering to check here for the sporadic update I can at least provide that. Today, I got “the call” from Fidelco and I’ll begin training with my fourth guide dog on May 23.

It actually is a lot sooner than I was anticipating, especially since the last word I had from anyone at Fidelco hinted that placement would likely be this fall. Despite the usual short notice, I had absolutely no issue rearranging my work schedule to accommodate the time I’ll need off for training. Aside from that, I quite honestly have no further details I can share because I wasn’t actually told much of anything about my potential new guide dog.

What I do know is that I’ll be chronicling all future guide dog related shenanigans over at guidingdolly.com, which will be getting a facelift in the next week.1

 

  1. Also, the link will actually point in the proper place . . . eventually.

To Trump Supporters

They always say it’s so important to make your voice heard, to get out and vote. But I’m not sure if it’s ever been more important than now. Differences of political ideals are one thing, I can agree to disagree on many matters across a wide array of topics, but racism isn’t one of them, neither is hate, neither is the belittling of women or the judgment of others based on their appearance or their disability, or their sexual preference.

By supporting Trump do you think things will go back to the way they were? Back when gay people had to hide in fear, back when people of any other color than white had to worry about getting lynched, back when it was okay to openly hate? Do you think empowered women will suddenly quit their jobs and go back to the kitchen? Because electing Trump won’t make any of that come true. We’re past that as a nation, or at least I thought we were.

Hat tip to my dad; you can read the full article here at the Huffington Post.

Video Announcement

Five Years!

Black and white pencil sketch of Uschi buried in the snow

There is so much I have been meaning to post about — and one thing in particular will likely happen very soon. But for now, I just wanted to acknowledge the fifth anniversary of being partnered with Uschi. Honestly, I can’t believe it’s been five years already because it has gone by incomprehensibly fast for me. And yet, even though I have fond memories of working my other girls, I feel almost as if I’ve never been without this wonderful and wacky guide dog.

Making Dinner

You know what I never thought about as a kid? Dinnertime. Or, really, meals in general.

I mean, I knew we had to buy the food and then cook it to make a meal, but basically as a child food just existed. I never thought about the effort involved in making sure I had three squares a day even though I spent a lot of time helping out in the kitchen. Insomuch as I was present in the kitchen and not doing all the other things children do to fill up their days when they aren’t asleep or actively draining their parents’ paychecks. I think the accepted term is “playing.”

A bowl of Parmesan-pesto chicken soup and a piece of crusty breadIt dawned on me tonight as I puttered around in my kitchen trying to decide what I wanted to do for dinner. I have leftovers, but since I had those for lunch that didn’t seem enticing. I could order out, but then I already have plans to eat out twice this week. The realization that my only real choice was to make something was quickly followed by overwhelming exhaustion from an incredibly long and very frustrating day. And I’m sure on several occasions both of my parents must have been in a similar state, but somehow there was always dinner. Certainly starving me wasn’t an option. At least not if they wanted to keep being my parents. But seriously, I don’t understand how they did it on days like today.

It’s funny how the adults from my childhood seem to handle that whole adulthood thing with ease and yet now that I’m actually one myself I can’t help but marvel at the reality of it. Because, let’s face it, being an adult really stinks sometimes.