She was my dog. I got her after college. It was too early. I wasn’t ready for such responsibility, but I wanted a dog. I wanted her.

As a puppy, she was my baby. We went everywhere together; to the bank, to the store, for rides in the car. She loved the car. The bank was her favorite stop. She always got a biscuit at the bank.

After the first year, my life changed. I had been working out of the house and I was able to hang out with her non-stop, but when I accepted a job that required an hour commute and frequent travel, my life was no longer conducive to having a dog. It wasn’t fair to her.

Luckily, my Dad would take her whenever I had to travel for business. He had an older Golden, Casey. They loved to wrestle and play and swim in the lake. They were best friends and Sage was always sad when I would pick her up. Eventually I decided she was happiest there.

My step-mother was home all day providing them with constant human companionship. They were both family members. So loved. So important to us.

Casey passed away in 2004 due to complications from an aggressive tumor he had on his back. He never showed that he was in pain, but the tumor was so big that it had to have affected his comfort. We were all devastated when he passed. And it was obvious that she was too. Sagie’s buddy was gone. She was so sad.

When my life changed again and I was no longer traveling, no longer renting, and settled in my own house, I considered taking Sage back. But my Dad, step-mother, and brother were so close to her. It wouldn’t have been fair to them. Despite not having Casey around, she was still happy as she could be curled up on the couch in the sun in the winter or digging a hole in the dirt under the bushes that line my Dad’s yard.

When my step-mother died suddenly last year, I worried about Sage being alone all day. But she always greeted me with the same energy; tail at full wag and squealing with joy. She loved hanging out on the hill by the garage watching my Dad and brother work on my brother’s car. Aside from the arthritis in her hips that gave her a hard time getting up when she’d been asleep for a while and made it difficult to navigate the hardwood floors at times, she was healthy and happy. And her same old self.

She hated the 4th of July. The fireworks always scared her. Thunderstorms too. More often than not my Dad or brother would come home to find a few lamps tipped over in the living room and a huddled mass of golden fur shaking in the bathtub. This year with the 4th looming and thunderstorm season upon us, she won’t have to be scared.

She passed away last night just before midnight in the company of my Dad and brother who loved her so much. She would’ve been 10 years old on Friday. I collapsed in tears this morning when I heard the news and couldn’t even fight them back long enough to drop Lyla off at daycare without getting 20 questions from her teachers as to why I was upset. I started thinking about why people like me attach themselves to animals and love them in ways we never thought imaginable. I think it’s because they can’t hurt us…

…until they’re gone.

And then it hurts like hell.

For those of you thinking, “It’s just a dog!”. (MOM!) You’re right. It is just a dog. But she was also a friend. And unconditional love giver who, on your worst day could make you smile when she rounded the corner with a green tennis ball/rope/squeaky toy stuffed in her mouth squealing with glee that you came to see her.

I love you forever, Sagie girl. I take comfort that you and Casey are running around wrestling, chasing squirrels, swimming, and playing tug-o-war together once again. You will be missed.

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We always remember not to food shop the week before we’re going away. It doesn’t make sense to buy anything that will just sit through the weekend and perhaps rot, or be forgotten about, etc.

We ALWAYS remember not to food shop the week before we’re going away.

We always forget that this will mean there’s nothing to eat when we get home.

This time we got lucky. In a last minute decision to meet Mom out for dinner one night last week, the chicken that was supposed to be our meal for that night went in the freezer. Sunday night when we got home from Boston, we thawed it out and EHH grilled some chicken for dinner with a nice spicy rub on it and a side of grilled zucchini (I remembered not to food shop. I did not remember to cancel my Door-to-Door Organics delivery. Shut-up.)

I had planned on grocery shopping after work yesterday. I LOATHE grocery shopping. I’ve stated my extreme hatred for the sport before. I LOATHE it. I prefer Peapod. I want to make out with Peapod. I also missed my kid a LOT yesterday, as I do on most Monday’s, after spending three whole days with her sweet little face. Peapod won not only because it saved me from the act of physical shopping, but also because it got me home to her about 30 minutes earlier. Win/Win.

I placed our Peapod order and headed home only to realize…

We had absolutely nothing to eat for dinner.

Which was totally a reason for me to go to the grocery store.

But I REALLY didn’t wanna. Like stomp my feet and WHINE LOUDLY didn’t wanna.

We had just come home from Boston where we tend to spend a little too much money. I had just placed a grocery order upwards of $150. We have daycare bills due, mortgage, etc. I was determined to save us from the convenience of ordering out and build some dinner from the contents of our pantry.

(You people all know I can’t cook, right? That I have been known to accidentally broil toast? So what the HELL was I thinking? I was thinking that if this didn’t work, there was always pancakes. But no syrup.)

We always have pasta. I have Italian heritage. If I ever go to the pantry and have it be without pasta, another nook in hell for my soul will simultaneously form. I knew pasta would be the bulk of our meal. We did not have Olive Oil. Which kind of made me go hmmm when pondering how the HELL I was going to make the pasta.

I thumbed through other canned items; Pumpkin, chicken gravy, black olives, vegetable soup, diced tomatoes, hearts of palm, cannellini beans, more pumpkin, more diced tomatoes.

Mom was playing with Bean in the other room and when I told her I was trying to make something for dinner out of the pantry contents, she took that opportunity to remind me I should’ve just gone to the store.

Which I did not.

So was she going to help me? Or mock me.

(Both)

She has some funktastic app on her iPhone (ed. note: All Recipes. Downloaded that mutha!) that she was able to put in some ingredients and wham. A recipe actually matched.

Last night I made Greek Pasta with Tomatoes and White Beans.

Only mine wasn’t so Greek since I didn’t have any Feta.

The recipe called for:

- 2 cans of Italian style diced tomatoes (check)

- 1 can cannellini beans (check)

- Fresh Spinach, washed & chopped (check – see aforementioned forgetfulness on canceling the Door-to-Door Organics order)

- Penne Pasta (Meh – angel hair will have to do)

- 1/2 cup of crumbled feta cheese

There was a note on the recipe that mentioned simmering the tomatoes with a little garlic, oregano and basil. I had all three! So I did that. And people? There were no measurements listed on any of those three ingredients so I GUESSED and it was GOOD. (I used two cloves of garlic, diced small. And about a teaspoon of both the oregano and basil.)

Directions:

1) Cook the pasta as desired.

2) Combine tomatoes and beans, garlic, and spices in a LARGE (trust me you need the large one. I had to switch because the spinach wouldn’t fit) skillet. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 10 minutes.

3) Add spinach to the sauce; cook until spinach wilts, stirring constantly.

4) Serve sauce over pasta and sprinkle with Feta.

I was convinced my husband would hate it because of the beans, but I would just tell him to pick them out because we were being ECONOMICAL IF IT KILLED US, DAMMIT! Turns out I WAS WRONG. AND HE LOVED IT!

It was a really good, easy, light recipe that I will definitely make again.

Maybe with the feta next time.

—–

Some nutritional notes.

Serves 4.
The recipe listing says there’s about 460 calories and 5.9g of fat per serving.
All of my ingredients happened to be organic with the exception of the pasta. This was merely an accident since I don’t tend to buy every grocery item organic, but I will say that the flavor and taste was very pure. The spinach looked fantastic and fresh and a very bright green. I never thought I’d be a proponent of organic items, but the more I use them and the more I think about poisoning myself with preservatives a little less than before, the more appealing going organic sounds.

Hmm. Next blog topic; my position on going organic…?

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(My commute has sucked and then blown this week. I have to keep myself busy. So here’s some things I do during my commute to keep myself entertained for the long and torturous ride.)

Someone playing air drums to a certain Phil Collins song ah-hem In The Air Tonight ah-hem.
(Does anyone else BLAST the volume when that part starts?)

Someone singing every piece of Funkytown – even the instrumentals. I’m partial to the ban-na-na’s rather than the do-do-doos.

Someone laughing hysterically while listening to everything that is totally inappropriate on The Howard Stern Show.

Someone cramming a Coffee Cake Muffin in her maw.

While simultaneously claiming she’s on a fruit and vegetable diet.

And cursing the Coffee Cake Muffin for being so crumby and getting on the seat. (He’s totally gonna know.)

Someone updating Twitter. (Shhh)

Someone whipping her hair around like a fool while listening to anything on the Hair Nation channel.

Someone substituting lyrics for non-words because she never bothered to learn the real lyrics. Worst offense: Bennie & The Jets
“Hey kids, take a blue together… spotlight didnd’t blah de balh nanan ana na WEATHER.”
(oh it gets worse)

Someone substituting lyrics for songs she knows the words to, but hers are better. Example, Nelson, Love & Affection.
“I can’t live without your love and erection.”
(That’s just low hanging fruit. HA! Another penis reference.)

And then giggling like a fool.

Someone occasionally leaving the baby’s favorite CD in the player and singing along to her favorite songs.

And then peering into the backseat and wishing someone was back there singing with her.

Someone who puts on the Love channel just to astonish herself with how many horrible ballad songs she knows.

Someone who puts on the 60′s channel just to astonish herself with how many awesome oldies she knows (this one’s totally my Dad’s fault).

Someone who yawns, stretches, and wishes she were back in bed.

And someone’s who’s grateful for having a commute to actually complain about.

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I’ve been trying to post a catch-up post for the last week. Would you believe that there’s too much for even the dreaded bullets? There’s no way I could shorten my thoughts into words that could reside next to a bullet and not all look like an individual blog entry.

First there’s Maine. Then there’s The Trip Home From Maine, which you know, is a WHOLE story. And we have the BBQ with the awesome and fabulous McCashew family. Which was, of course, awesome and fabulous. And my crazy decision to start running and training for a 5K because I’m completely certifiably nuts and now geeked out on endorphins. Oh and there’s a house update; see also: ZERO UPDATE DUE TO NO SHOWINGS IN WEEKS.

I’m also way behind on Letters to Lyla which means I utterly and truly SUCK as a parent. I’m actually pondering dedicating an entire week to just posts and videos and photos about her. I know my Grandmother would LOVE it. The rest of you might never return.

I have the following blog and general online maintenance items to work through such as, for the LOVE of LETTUCE update that blogroll already! Some of those links don’t even WORK! And update my About Me page, because well, it’s old. And partly irrelevant. Also – make time to weed out some twitter followers that are most certainly of the Creep category and delete some blogs from the old Google Reader because I simply can’t be expected to keep up with everything. However, truth is that when I delete some, I add about thirtyhundred more and thus the vicious Google Reader Circle of Life continues.

Mom would really like me to help her out on her new website/creative adventure. She’s started making the most adorable little girl dresses and has named the line after my kid (naturally); Lyla Moon Beam dresses. I haven’t put Lyla in her dress and taken a photo of her yet (related: Pocklock = monumental SUCK), but Lil Foot’s Mommy and Baby Dorkus’s Mommy have.

You can see Lil Foot model the dress in this set on LFM’s Flickr page. I wanted to put an actual picture here, but LFM apparently changed her Flickr login and password so I can no longer steal her shit is hibernating and not answering her IM thus ignoring my need for instant gratification.

And here’s a pic of Baby Dorkus in her dress:

(If you’d like a dress for your little one, let me know. I got a hook-up.)

I also need to book our flight to BlogHer09 which is like HOLYSHITNEXTMONTH. And I don’t know how that happened because the last time I looked it was totally February.

And I’ve decided that Twitter has killed my blog. So if you’re THAT upset that there hasn’t been a post for a while, you seriously just need to replace this bookmark with one for this page. And then I promise you will tire of my drivel in mere seconds.

PS: I lied to you about writing in Maine. No one told me that vacationing with kid(s) leaves far less time for reflection and channeling my inner Emerson, but requires FAR MORE WINE. I did write a post for the cottage guest book that I will publish here. Hopefully sometime before Obama leaves office. I promise.

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