Puppy Owie.

My puppy has an owie. Her collar isn't stopping her from licking it. The veterinarian told me I could try shorts instead. Unfortunately, I don't have shorts. I tried one of her dresses, upside down. That didn't work, either. So I tried a pair of my pantyhose, with the legs cut off. That didn't work. so I added her collar. And then I added her collar with the collar on backwards around her waist. She's not happy. I'm not happy. I think, though, that after nearly an hour of frustration - on both our behalfs - she's given up.

She sure is pissed (and I can't blame her). I think I need a new plan. Any ideas?

Mystery of the Sugar Cookies

Last week some time I got it into my head that I should send sugar cookies to my boyfriend, decorated all pretty for Valentine's Day. I thought if I sent them out by yesterday (Wednesday, February 3), they might actually get there on time. Note: might.

So, Tuesday night, Lindsay came over and we baked cookies. I figured I could send Mike about two dozen for him and some of his buddies and keep a dozen for myself. Lindsay made hers primarily for her husband, which only makes sense.

We mixed in the ingredients, stuck in the fridge, popped them on a cookie sheet and voila, beautiful cookies.

At least, that's how hers turned out.

Mine spread across the cookie sheet, making one huge uneatable cookie. Literally uneatable. They were still sticky and hot and I'm pretty sure they were mocking me. Never have I been so humiliated in cooking. Never has such a thing happened to me before.

Lindsay gave me the rest of her cookie dough, once she felt she'd made a sufficient number of cookies. The 11 I made from her batch turned out perfectly. What the heck?

We have no idea what happened. The only difference I can recall is hers were in a glass bowl and mine in a plastic.

So, this morning, I'm trying again. He'd better be grateful.

First In, Last Out

So, Desiree and I are on the way to go skiing with my family, and we're stopped at some town in PA. Right now, we're watching the movie "300." Tons of people told me that I wouldn't like this movie. This is my third or fourth time seeing it, and let me tell you: I'm not disappointed.

Any movie that has men - people - fighting for a cause has my full support. End of story.

But watching this movie with Dez, who's not seen it before, gives me a different perspective on it. She was, frankly, astonished when she realized that the King was fighting on the front lines. The thing, though, is in a culture like that, a nation of soldiers, the King would HAVE to be a soldier. And there was a time where the King was to be the first one into battle and the last one out.

Whatever happened to that mentality? The mentality where if you fight for something YOU fight for it - you don't send someone else to do it for you?

"Freedom isn't free at all. It comes at the highest of costs - the cost of blood."

Hard Drive Needed; Please Replace Brain

Mystery solved: I need a new hard drive. I called Dell. Never have I been so happy to have a warrantee. Never have I been so sad to have a horrible habit of losing things. All of my work from... oh... months, is gone because all of the thumb drives I've been saving it on are missing. As per usual. I'm depressed.

Of course, there is a way to get it back. I called the drive savers, and the nice woman I spoke with quoted me between $500 and $2700. Needless to say, that's a bit outside of my budget. Ha.

Worst part: I can't even go to Nappanee for coffee.

Soooooo...

I was working, getting ready to submit some articles for work, and voila, my computer froze. I restarted it.

Now, I have an error message that pops up continuously, informing me "Disk read error" followed by instruction to press Ctrl+alt+del. I did that, several times. Turned it off and back on. Turned it off and left it off... nothing. Nothing at all. Same old message.

Fortunately, my old computer turned on.

Stinks.

Tears

This morning, I said good-bye. Mike asked, months ago, that I not cry. I told him I'd try not to, that at the very least, I'd try not to cry in front of him. I broke my promise.

I've never been much good at promises. And I've never been good at not crying.

For awhile, I was fine. Talking to people. Talking to soldiers. Talking to soldier's wives, girlfriends, parents, sisters and friends.

Then, I talked to a friend who was crying incessantly. She told me, through her tears, that she'd been crying for the last two days. I don't doubt it. If I wasn't just home from vacation... in any case, her husband, when I announced my departure, again trying not to cry, told me to take care of myself. "You take care of yourself."

"I have McClure to take care of that."

I smiled, and I felt it falter. "Take care of him, too."

He nodded and returned the smile, perhaps realizing the mention of my boyfriend wasn't the most beneficial thing he could have done, and I turned away, quickly.

Not long after that, less than 30 minutes later, I stood outside with Mike, his dad, his great uncle, his stepmother, his grandmother and his sister, watching as they left.

I've never seen my boyfriend cry before. The first tear, he brushed off as the cold. Later, he couldn't do that anymore. Later, I knew he was crying for the same reasons as I. Later, when the tears wouldn't stop.

His tears were my undoing.

But the thing that sticks with me the most strongly is not my story, but someone else's.

Earlier this morning, Mike introduced me to another soldier in his unit, one he always talks about, but that I'd not had the opportunity to meet. Matthews, in turn, introduced me to his girlfriend (and future wife).

While we were waiting for the buses to leave, standing, shivering in the cold, one of her friends, or one of his friends, scooped her up onto his shoulders and ran with her to the bus. He held her close enough that she could touch the windows, and she did. She pounded, with her fists, "I love you!" She screamed, again, louder, hysterically, "I love you!"

She touched the window, the heat from her palm leaving a print. It stayed as the buses drove away.

Special Interruption

Repeat after me "Robin, you are an amazing, wonderful, incredibly stupid. Now, tell, me how you do that."

I don't know.

NEVER leave your wallet with your credit cards, debit card and new gifts in a taxi. It's bad news.