As I ride from NYC to Providence on the 4:30 PM *scheduled* bus that finally departed Port Authority at 5:20 PM, I am once again reminded that, while it is possible to travel from one city to the other, it is most often impossibly difficult.

I don’t have a car in the city, so these are my options for traveling back and forth: 1) Amtrak from Penn Station to Providence 2) Peter Pan Bus from Port Authority to Kennedy Plaza in Providence 3) Metro North from Grand Central to New Haven, then getting a ride from New Haven to Providence 4) By foot (an option I have not explored, but have, in frustration, entertained)

Each option has its pros and cons, of course. The pros are fewer and farther in between, but the biggest pro of all - the fact that I eventually end up at my destination - far outweighs any con. That is not to say the cons are not plentiful. Let’s analyze.

A selection of the CONS of Amtrak:

1) Cost. Usually I am traveling at peak hours, which happens when you have a 9-5 job… work kind of gets in the way of travel. And peak hours = high cost. High as in $92 for the Northeast Regional (meaning it stops approximately every 5 (slight exaggeration) minutes and $118 for the Acela (just two stops before Providence). Oh, and that is the cost for ONE WAY.

2) Crowds. The trains are always packed. I can’t remember the last time I traveled on Amtrak without a seatmate. Once I had three - a man and his two rambunctious young boys sitting on his lap. He had a Southern accent and kept pointing out the “Interstate” like it was actually something interesting. GOOD TIMES.

3) Tardiness. It is ALWAYS, WITHOUT FAIL, INEVITABLY, NEVER NOT late. Once by an hour and a half. Inexcusable.

4) No WiFi. Seriously? If I’m going to shell out that kind of cash, be late AND put up with listening to a guy salivate over Route 95, I best be able to do it while updating my Facebook status with something like, “Dude, it’s a HIGHWAY.”

A selection of the CONS of Peter Pan Bus:

1) No electrical outlets. The free WiFi they offer rocks, but if you run out of power on your laptop, the perk is kind of moot.

2) Traffic. So much traffic. Again, that traveling-at-peak-hours thing kind of gets in the way. And it makes estimating your time of arrival for your pick-up person kind of difficult. Ugh, traffic.

3) Customer Service. Just trust me on this one. There’s definite room for improvement, and that’s putting it nicely.

4) It leaves out of Port Authority. It’s dirty, it’s a hub for the homeless, sometimes a pigeon or two flies overhead while you’re waiting in line for the bus, and unless you exit onto 8th Avenue, you’re going to end up in a neighborhood you just don’t want to be in.

A selection of the CONS of Metro North:

1) The trains are older and less comfortable then Amtrak trains. And there are three seats to a row, so you may find yourself wedged between two strangers.

2) The farthest it goes is New Haven, so for my purposes, I have to find someone willing to drive and hour and a half from Providence to pick me up there… and then drive and hour and a half back with me. The logistics of this may be why I have only used this mode of transportation once.

3) I’m sure New Haven is a lovely little city (?)… but its train station isn’t exactly a place where I’d elect to spend a lot of time.

A selection of the CONS of by foot:

1) Again, I have not yet used this mode of transportation, but my iPhone GPS estimates that it would take me approximately 2 days and 5 hours. And that’s just too long to go without a shower.

Yes, I could opt to just stay in the city more often so I don’t have to travel back and forth so much, but I have some interests in Rhode Island that make the frustation of trains or buses worth it.

And so, I continue to travel…

*Updated to add: It is 8:00 PM and I am still on the 4:30 PM (ha!) bus to Providence as I type. In this time, 3 new things have come to light:

1) I forgot to add this CON about Peter Pan: the bathroom situation. Cramped, shakey and sink-less is no way to go. I’m not asking for an enjoyable experience in the bathroom, just a somewhat pleasant one. And a workable light would be nice. Just sayin’.

2) AS IF we weren’t already running 50 minutes late, the bus driver apparently thought that taking a random 10-15 minute break at a rest stop would be a good idea. At this rate, the 6 PM bus is totally getting there before us.

3) Brian has a bone to pick with the label “some interests” in the second to last sentence. I guess my previous post didn’t spell out how I really feel, huh?

I logged a lot of miles last year, training for my first marathon.

I started training months and months before the day of the race. Short runs turned to long runs turned to longer runs. Mild temperatures turned to freezing temperatures turned to warmer temperatures.  Long-sleeved shirts and headbands turned to long pants and gloves and jackets turned to shorts and tank tops.

But one thing remained constant: I ran alone. With the exception of maybe two training runs over the course of those months, it was just me, by myself, with my thoughts.

I had a lot to think about during that time, so in a way, it was my therapy… to just go out the door with nothing else to do but run and think and figure things out - or at least try. In many ways, it was a time of redefining myself. Who I was, after 4 years of marriage, on my own again.

I doubt that many people get married with the belief that they’ll be divorced in just a few years. I certainly didn’t. I was young when I got married (I had just turned 24) and when we separated I had just turned 28. That weighed on my mind a lot… how I had gone from my early 20s to my late 20s, and with what to show for it? As much as I knew it was the best thing for both of us to go our separate ways, in many ways I felt like a big failure. A failure as a mom to our dogs, a failure as a wife, a failure as a daughter, a failure as a sister, a failure as an aunt. No one but me made me feel this way, of course, but these were the things I had to work through, to figure out… and I was able to as I ran and ran and ran.

I didn’t want to fail myself as a runner. My marriage vows - “in sickness and health” - those I may have failed, but I didn’t want it to be the same for my training. I pushed through or treated or contended with colds and minor setbacks with determination.

But always alone, just the way I wanted it, the way I needed it.

After running that first marathon, I was on such a high from the feeling of accomplishment that I wanted to keep training. I signed up for my first triathlon, a Half Ironman, and continued to run - and swim and bike - on my own.

Then over the summer, when I was on almost-daily Auntie duty at Audrey’s pool club, I became friendly with another woman who did a lot of running. She was always telling me about this 5-mile race that she ran every Thursday night… it was low-key, fun, and a great group of people showed up for it every week.

And every week I resisted going because, well, I didn’t run with people. I ran by myself, that’s how I liked it, how I needed it.

But one Thursday in early August, I finally relented. I saw her at the pool club again, she told me I really should come that night… and only because I had to run 5 miles that day as part of my training for my next marathon, I went.

And I’m glad I did because that’s the day I met Brian.

We were introduced by my friend before the race. I remember Brian asked me where I was from and I told him, but added that I was moving to New York shortly (to which - so he says - he said to himself, “Do you think that’s going to stop me?”).

Around the first mile, I remember seeing Brian, like, randomly directing traffic, which probably made me pause for a quick second in confusion, but he later told me that since there’s no police presence at these weekly races, and there were a lot of people running that night, he was just wanted to help the traffic flow.

In any case, at some point around mile 3, I heard someone come up next to me and say, “Howdy.” I turned to my right and it was Brian.

It had been a long time since I’d run a shorter distance race, so I had been concentrating on keeping track of my breathing and my pace. I thought he was just saying hello as he ran by me, but he slowed down a bit and started asking me about myself. What did I do for a living? Why was I moving to New York? Where did I usually run? Unaccustomed to talking and running at the same time, and going at a pretty decent speed, I started to feel fatigued. “You can go ahead of me. I know I’m holding you back,” I said. But he stayed and talked, keeping me at a good pace, telling me when the 4-mile mark was coming up, and that after that it was a straight, flat road to the finish.

I remember thinking that it had been a long time since I had felt that kind of encouragement… probably not since I had run cross country in high school. He pushed me that night, and I appreciated it.

Over the next few weeks we saw each other in group settings. Between planning my move and other commitments, I made it to a few other group runs and workouts (running with people! willingly!)… until one Saturday when Brian and I had our first run together, just the two of us.

I was training for the Marine Corps Marathon in October and had planned on doing 17 miles alone (naturally) but Brian offered to come to my side of the state for an early morning run. And he offered cook for me afterward. Sold!

And because a.) Gmail does a stellar job at archiving chats, b.) I don’t regularly go on deleting frenzies, and c.) I’m sentimental, I still have the formal written offer, courtesy of Gchat:

Brian: i was thinking, you’re being so kind to let me run your 17 miler, the least i can do is make some breakfast for you

Before the run, I wondered if I would have enough to talk about for over 2 hours with someone I had just recently met. During the run, I was quite certain Brian regretted ever asking to join me. Because I bascially took the contents of my brain and emptied them onto him over the course of those 17 miles. Everything I had been working through on my own throughtout the months and months of my solo runs landed right in his lap. To Brian’s credit, if he was thinking, “What the hell did I get myself into with this girl?” he didn’t let on. In fact, he just listened to me - really listened - and gave his input and insight at just the right moments.

After the run, he went to his truck and instead of driving away (which I totally wouldn’t have blamed him for), he came back with English muffins, eggs, fresh veggies, granola and yogurt. He told me to go sit outside on my parents’ back deck and he basically took over their kitchen, whipping up a veritable feast for the two of us (which, after burning all those calories, we earned, dammit).

Then he asked me if I wanted to go running again the next Saturday.

And that is how Brian won my closed up, slightly wounded, very apprehensive heart… just by being his honorable, caring, sensitive, kind, loving, sweet, honest and wonderful self.

It is also how I realized that I didn’t, actually, just want to run by myself.

Because I guess, in the end, it wasn’t so much that I needed to run alone…. it was that I needed the right person to run with.

I was in no mood to cook dinner last night.

I was still tired from Sunday (waking up at 4:30 AM in Rhode Island, driving to New Hampshire, running a 16 mile race, and then driving to NYC all in one day will do that to you). Then, the shuttle back to Manhattan from Queens (where I work on Mondays) was full and I had to find a cab to take me back to the city (I know I have to master the subway system at some point, but yesterday was not the day, all right?).

And, oh yes, one other teeny tiny little thing: I can’t cook.

But somehow, for some reason, last night I had co-signed on Brian’s idea for me to cook dinner.

The night before, after arriving in the city, finding a parking spot on the street, taking Brian’s dog for a walk and dragging our exhausted selves to the market about 2 minutes before its closing hours (at which time we inadvertently extended said hours by dropping a bottle of beer on the floor), Brian cooked turkey cheeseburgers that were chock full of deliciousousness, a word I just made up.

So with some ground turkey and slices of cheese left over, I apparently had no excuse but to make us a Monday night meal. No matter how many excuses I tried to throw out.

First I called Brian on the way home from work and tried to explain that I was simply too tired and hungry to begin my cooking adventures that night. When that failed, I tried to explain that there was simply nothing I could do with the ingredients we had but make more burgers. And burgers two nights in a row? Unacceptable.

But there was no reasoning with that boy.

He instructed me to stop at the market on the way home and buy some wraps. I could cook up some rice and ground turkey and make wraps for dinner, with broccoli on the side. And just as I was about to produce yet another excuse why it was a good idea to grab take-out instead, he brought out the big guns: “While you’re at the market, buy some chocolate pudding and a graham cracker pie crust and we’ll make a pie.”

Well played, Brian, well played. Because really? I will do just about anything for chocolate. Even cook.

So I did as I was told at the market. When I walked into my apartment I was greeted with a line-up of all the other ingredients I would need (including pots and pans). It was a photo op, and yes, I was as scared as I looked:

But it was also a success. Because somehow - without any help (just a little guidance maybe) - I produced these babies:

Even more deliciousousness! And it wasn’t even that hard! And it didn’t even take that long! Who knew cooking could be so easy!? (For the full breakdown of my little cooking experiment in photos, check out my Whrrl story here.)

Oh! And yes, there was chocolate pie, too. But it didn’t last long enough for a finished product photo. Chocolate has a way of getting devoured quickly. It’s good like that.

So tonight, with Brian back home in Rhode Island, I was left to fend for myself. It was a make-it-or-break-it kind of night, as home cooking for one goes. I didn’t get home from work until 6:30 PM and really, the last thing I felt like doing was cooking by myself, for myself. At least having Brian there the night before had made it fun.

But I gave it a go. I had some eggs, leftover rice, cheese and frozen spinach. And while I thought I was the only person on earth who had to Google “How to make an omelette,” it was comforting to know, based on the search results, I am just one of many cooking morons out there.

And I’m happy to report that this experiment was another success - a simple and delicious dinner.

I started with 4 egg whites (I actually prefer the taste of eggs without the yolks; it’s not necessarily an “it’s healthier” thing for me), to which I added a little bit of salt and pepper:

Next, I beat the eggs and poured the mixture into a non-stick skillet, which I had sprayed with Pam and put over medium heat:

It cooked on its own!

Then I added the rice, spinach and cheese:

And then folded the omelette over:

Voilà!

(Pretend the paper plate is actually really nice China.)

I’m very proud of myself - and I’m ready to conquer the recipes so many of you have graciously been sending me! I mean, I’m no Anthony Bourdain, but you have to start somewhere, right?

Here’s to more deliciousousness…

My apartment is tiny. Really tiny. How many steps do you think it takes for me to get from the couch in my living room to the bed in my bedroom? It’s a trick question: the “living room” and the “bedroom” are the same room. (And the answer is: about a half a step.) If I stood in the middle of my apartment and spread my arms out, there would be very little space between my fingers and the walls on either side. I had to have my parents bring my small, circular hightop table back home because it took up too much space.

But it’s my apartment. I pay the rent. I pay the bills. I love it.

I love its hardwood floors. I love that it’s 10 blocks from work. I love the neighborhood. I love the sounds of people going in and out of the laundromat below my window. I even love the hissing of the radiator, as it reminds me of waking up on winter mornings in my childhood home.

The one part of my apartment that I’m in more of a love/hate relationship with is the kitchen. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lovely little area, with new countertops, nice cabinets - even a dishwasher. But I have to walk by it pretty much anywhere I go in my apartment. And it mocks me.

It mocks me because when I first saw the apartment, I was sooo excited about the kitchen. It was brand new! It was clean! I was going to cook for myself every night!

In my excitement, one rather important thing escaped me: I can’t cook.

But it’s not only that. I don’t like to cook. Which is probably why I can’t; I’ve never wanted to learn. And I’ve never really needed to learn.

But that has changed. I’m going to let you in on a little secret: New York City is expensive! Oh, yes it is. Why didn’t anyone tell me that before I moved here?

And while I am working and making a living, I do have to pay rent. And bills. (See above). And I have absolutely no right spending as much as I do on food each week.

Coffee on the way to work? Sure! Have to start the day off right.

Food delivered at lunch? Why not!? Too rushed every morning to pack my own.

Take-out for dinner? Yup! Exhausted after a long workday and besides, who has time to go food shopping?

No. It’s time to give myself some tough love: You are not a baller. You do have time. The money you spend on eating out is absurd and unacceptable - and it has to stop.

But, oh yeah, I can’t cook.

You see, I have a few issues with cooking:

1)    Recipes are notorious for requiring ingredients I don’t have. Ingredients I have to make a special trip to the grocery store to buy. And then when I buy them for that one recipe, they just sit in my cabinet or refrigerator, not to be used again, until they go bad and I have to throw them away.
2)    Recipes are also notorious for calling for ingredients I’ve never heard of. That’s basically just asking for a recipe to hit the proverbial cutting room floor of my kitchen.
3)    I like quick and easy, and many recipes are neither. Heating up a can of soup? That I can do. That is quick and easy. That is not, however, “cooking.”

I become a total idiot in the kitchen. And it’s frustrating how cooking seems to come easy to so many people, including Brian. I love when he cooks for me. It’s one of the reasons I fell for him (more on that in another post). It’s cute how he thinks I’m learning as I watch him. “See? You just throw ingredients together! It’s easy!” he tells me.

It’s not easy. I’ve tried throwing ingredients together. It’s rancid.

But I’m not a quitter. I’m also not going to make it much longer if I continue to drop money like what on eating out. So I’m on the lookout for recipes that are the following:

1)    Simple (read: contains ingredients found in any ol’ market)
2)    Yummy (read: will not turn out rancid)
3)    Idiot-proof (read: I can handle it)

And then maybe I’ll be one of those people who can brag descriptively on Facebook about the delicious meal I just created (rather than being the person who hisses at them).

Because I have to walk by my kitchen no matter where I go in my apartment. In fact, it’s the first thing I see when I walk through the door to my tiny apartment. We may as well try to get along.

Help? Where can I find some simple/yummy/idiot-proof recipes for one? Do you have any to share?

Today I was outed by my niece as a bad blogger.

Those weren’t her exact words, per se, but when she told me she had been doing some research on me (those were her exact words) online, she mentioned that she saw I had posted something about William’s birthday.

“Hmmm, William’s birthday,” I thought. “That was in September.” Mind pause. “That wasn’t the last time I posted something, was it!?”

Indeed, it was. A quick glimpse at my blog on my iPhone (OMG, how could I not have blogged about getting an iPhone for Christmas!?) confirmed that my last post was September 25… and that moving to NYC had clearly had a negative effect on my blogging upkeep.

(Oh, yes, besides the iPhone thing, that too: I’ve moved to NYC.)

Regular readers of my blog (when, you know, I actually kept up with it), might be shrugging their shoulders and saying, “What of it? It’s not like you blogged a heck of a lot last year anyway, before this hiatus.” (Or something to that effect. Not verbatim, perhaps.)

Well, all I can say is this: 2009 was a transition year. Not that I really intended for it to be. Well, that’s not the exact truth. Early on last year I knew I would probably be going through a lot of changes. It was just around this time last year that my ex-husband and I separated, in fact. So, you know, that’s a pretty big thing in itself. But I certainly didn’t know what was in store.

And it did end up becoming a banner year for CHANGE with a capital C (and HANGE, apparently).

After getting separated, I moved out of my house and back in with my parents. I chopped off about 9 inches of my hair. I completed not one (which was my first), but two marathons (qualifying for the Boston Marathon both times!). I completed not one, but two Ironman 70.3 distance triathlons. I made a great group of running/triathlon friends. I made the decision to move to NYC after a few fun visits there over the summer. I sent out my resume, interviewed and got a job. And I moved. I signed a divorce decree, testified in court - in a real courtroom - and got a divorce. I went back to my maiden name. I reconnected with old friends. I let yet another doggy into my heart. I cried a lot. I laughed a lot. I had my heart broken. And, oh yes, I fell in love.

Now, love is a tricky subject to tackle on a blog. Believe me, I know. It’s out there for the world to see and very hard to take back. Declaring your love for someone online can be like the equivolent of getting voted Cutest Couple in the yearbook (because, yeah, those are notorious for making it in the long haul).

And while I’m not one to divulge intimate details of my life on my blog, I will say this: I did meet someone just a few weeks before I moved to NYC. We became friends. We went on a few dates. I found out quickly that he had just about every quality I looked for in a man. I resisted. I told him just about every thing that was wrong with starting a relationship with me. He didn’t flinch at all. I found that each time I was with him, I liked him more and more. I still moved away because I knew that if I didn’t I would regret it forever. I have found that absence, indeed, makes the heart grow fonder (but I see him just about every weekend because, honestly? Absence also sucks).

All I know is that 8 months of living with my parents showed me exactly what I was looking for in a relationship. Yes, I had seen their relationship firsthand before, throughout my childhood, adolescence and early adulthood when I was living at home.

But it wasn’t until I was on the other side of a marriage, with the knowledge it brought me… when I could identify and pinpoint the things that they had in their marriage - that I had longed to have - but that were missing from mine… that I really saw, for the first time, what made theirs work. The love, the support, the openness, the laughter, the friendship, the understanding, the forgiveness, the connectedness that is a part of their marriage each and every day. I wanted that. I longed for that. I knew I wouldn’t settle for anything less. But I seriously wondered if I would ever find it.

I was able to talk to my parents a lot - A LOT - about marriage and relationships in general during those 8 months I lived at home. (I also may or may not have watched He’s Just Not That Into You with my Dad and cried my eyes out as he hugged me and assured me everything would be all right. But I digress.)

One conversation has always stood out in my mind, though. We were talking about relationships and in passing I said, “I mean, I know that all relationships take hard work…” and before I could finish, I noticed them kind of looking at each other while giving me the side-eye. And then they explained to me that the word “hard” never enters into their line of thinking when it comes to their marriage (OK, now, yes I know where this could go, but let’s not bring it there. Lalalalala I can’t hear you.). To them, it’s not even “work.” It’s about always having each others’ best interest in mind. Their belief is that when you love someone, you want what’s best for them. And you want to give him or her the very best of you. It’s about making each other, and each others’ happiness, a priority because you want to.

So, I thought, maybe my idea of what went into a relationship was a little off. Maybe finding the person you want all that for, and who wants all that for you, too, was the hard part, not the relationship itself.

But what I have happily discovered with Brian is that neither finding that person nor wanting the best for the person you love is all that hard. And feeling the same from him in return is just absolutely wonderful.

I do not know what the future will bring, but I am so very happy right now. It took one hell of a year to get to this point, but I don’t think I would appreciate all I have now if I hadn’t gone through some rough times.

I’m glad I’m on this end and I can blog about life - and love - after divorce.

Even if it took getting outed by my niece to get me here.

My nephew William turns 5 today. It seems we have gone from this:

to this:

in the blink of an eye.

And on this, the 5th anniversary of William’s birth, I’d like to acknowledge once again, as I did last year, that it is Audrey’s 5th anniversary of becoming a mother, too.

Here’s what I wrote…

I always knew that Audrey would be a phenomenal mother. She was always like a (very protective) second mother to me growing up, including me in things she did with her friends, and keeping tabs on me no matter where I was.

Watching Audrey experience her pregnancy with William was so beautiful. She couldn’t wait to meet her little guy, and the love she felt for that little miracle inside her belly was so evident. She simply glowed throughout those 9 months.

And when she welcomed William into the world, becoming a mother, that glow just got brighter and brighter.

It’s hard now to remember Audrey as a mother of one child. That time period was rather brief, as she became pregnant with Alexander just 3 months after William arrived! But that just shows how motherhood came so naturally to her. She knew that the love she felt for William would just multiply with another child… and she obviously has applied this same logic again and again, as she quickly became a mother of 4!

One thing I love about Audrey as a mother is that she has not lost any of her sense of humor. I have seen many new moms become so consumed with motherhood that they lose their ability to just relax and have fun. They practically become different people. This is not the case with Audrey.

Audrey is seriously one of the funniest people I have ever met. When we were younger and had to entertain each other in the car during long trips (there were no DVD players! The horror!), we would play a little game and see who could make the other laugh first. Audrey would always win. I cannot help but crack up whenever I’m with her.

So of course, it just makes sense that Audrey finds ways to laugh with her boys every day. They make her laugh. She makes them laugh. If one of them does or says something funny - especially unintentionally - we crack up together.

And that is one of the things I admire about Audrey… she finds such humor in motherhood; in the mundane and in the craziness alike. With 4 boys, one can imagine that life can get pretty hectic in her household. At any given moment, one or all of her boys might be playing chase around the house… or throwing Legos and blocks around the living room… or coloring anywhere but on construction paper… or building train tracks… or asking for - maybe demanding - a drink or snack.

But I have never seen Audrey get out-of-control frazzled with all the activity and/or destruction going around her. Instead, she’ll smile one of those sarcastic, isn’t-life-grand smiles (we call it the “Daddy face” - inside joke!) and once again, we’ll just crack up at the absurdity of it all. Because, really? 4 boys 4 and under? It’s absurd!

And I know Audrey wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Audrey gets a lot of comments on her blog like, “I don’t know how you do it!” Sometimes I don’t either. Her ability to multi-task and get everything done astounds me. How she can even think straight baffles me. And yet, she never, ever complains.

So many times people have told me, “You’re so smart to wait to have kids. They’re so much work.” (Many times, this comes from parents with one child!) I have never heard Audrey say anything like this. If anything, she’ll hold one of her boys in her arms, hug and kiss him (and get a hug and kiss back!) and say to me, “Doesn’t this make you want to have kids?”

You can imagine the (sometimes rude) comments Audrey gets from some people about how crazy she is for having so many children. But having a big family is something she has always wanted. She enjoys being surrounded by all the love that comes with having a big family.

Audrey’s boys adore her. And Audrey adores her boys. That glow she had when she was pregnant with William… that glow that just beamed brighter once he entered the world… it radiates from her times 4 now.

Today is a special day, indeed. While we celebrate the anniversary of William’s birth, we also celebrate the anniversary of Audrey’s journey into motherhood. It is a role she was clearly made for.

I just love to see my sister fill this role so beautifully, and I thought she deserved some recognition on this special day.

When I lost my dog Bismarck to Gastrointestinal Lymphoma in July 2007, just 8 weeks after his diagnosis, my devastation was beyond words. He was only 5 years old, so to say that I was completely unprepared for his diagnosis and his death would be a gross understatement.

I was also unprepared for the cost of his medical bills. From the moment he was diagnosed, I vowed to do everything I could to save him. Even though each vet I took him to told me that he had, at most, 6 months to live, I wanted to try to beat that prognosis. So I took him to Tufts and did every test, every treatment they recommended. I also took him to a holistic vet who put him on special vitamins and supplements. I kept both the “traditional” and the holistic vets abreast of what the other was giving him so that they weren’t doing anything detrimental to his already fragile health.

Over the course of those 8 weeks, I - with the very generous support of my parents and other family members - spent thousands (yes, thousands) of dollars trying to keep Bismarck with us as long as possible. But the cancer was too strong, and it spread so fast that on July 27, 2007 there was nothing left to do but hug him close and put an end to his pain. I remembered the second anniversary of his passing with this post back in July.

When he passed away, through my grief, I remember feeling the need to make something positive come from Bismarck’s death. I thought about how easy it was for the medical bills to pile up, and shuttered to think of what I would have done without my parents’ help, as well as the help of other family members. I already blamed myself enough for not finding out about Bismarck’s illness sooner, even though I was assured there was nothing I could have done differently. I would have been an absolute mess had I been unable to find a way to pay for his treatment, to feel like I was doing everything I could for him.

I decided then and there that I wanted to set up a fund for people who couldn’t afford their pets’ medical bills. That would be Bismarck’s legacy.

But in December 2008, as I was making a list Things To Do in 2009, I realized with regret that I had not done anything in terms of this fund. So I put it on the top of my list. Specifically, I wrote:

An idea I’ve had is a fund for people struggling to afford their pet’s medical bills. I just really want to do something to honor my boy, who brought so much love and joy into the world and into my heart.

Fast forward to August 2009, just a few weeks ago, when I found out that one of my oldest (in terms of how long we’ve known each other, not her age!) blogging friends, Dawn from So A Blonde Walks Into a Blog, was struggling with her beloved pup Sophie’s medical bills. Dawn had lost her dog Copper back in August 2007, just weeks after Bismarck passed away, so we had bonded over those losses and helped each other in our grief. I remember when she got Sophie and how excited her family was to have another dog to love… so hearing that Sophie was having problems - and that the medical costs were becoming a problem (did I mention that Dawn’s husband was diagnosed with cancer this summer?) - galvanized me into action.

Sophie would be the first dog to benefit from Bismarck’s legacy, I decided.

And so here we are.

And here is Sophie:

Go to Dawn’s blog and read Sophie’s story, and if you are able to help, you can come back here and donate below. Dawn’s vet has agreed to verify Sophie’s story to anyone who would like to check. Since there are so many scams out there, Dawn wants people who don’t know her to feel comfortable giving. Simply email her at ablondeandherblog [at] yahoo [dot] com and she will give you her vet’s contact information.

I know that, especially in this current economy, money is tight for everyone. But from experience, I know that every little bit helps. So if you are so inclined and are able to help as one of Sophie’s Angels, you can do so through Paypal by clicking Donate here:

<center><a href=”http://www.momgenerations.com/blogs/jane/index.php/2009/09/10/be-one-of-sophies-angels/#comment-2363″ mce_href=”http://www.momgenerations.com/blogs/jane/index.php/2009/09/10/be-one-of-sophies-angels/#comment-2363″ target=”_blank”><img src=”http://i291.photobucket.com/albums/ll303/BlondeBlogger/1sophie.jpg” mce_src=”http://i291.photobucket.com/albums/ll303/BlondeBlogger/1sophie.jpg”></a></center></texarea></p> <p>If you are a frequent reader of my blog, you know that I have never done anything like this before. I’m doing this not only as a dog lover, and as a friend who sees a friend in need, but for my sweet Bismarck, to whom I promised that something good would come from his passing… and as a thank you to those who helped me out when completely unforeseen circumstances found Bismarck in need of his own angels on earth.</p> <p>Thank you!</p> <p><b><i>*Update - There was an issue with the Donate button not linking to the correct page. It should be working fine now! Also, feel free to grab one of these buttons and link it to this post to spread the word:</i></b></p> <p><img src=”http://www.momgenerations.com/blogs/audrey/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/sophiebutton165.jpg” mce_src=”http://www.momgenerations.com/blogs/audrey/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/sophiebutton165.jpg” alt=”" /></p>

Yesterday was the official “kick off” (get it?) day of the Radio City Christmas Spectacular’s 2009 season, complete with “snow” coming down on Sixth Avenue.

Spectacular, indeed!

… Well, fascinating to me, at least. When you’re packing up your house of 3 years - a house to which you’ve brought memories and momentos (and yes, some junk) from the past 28 years of your life - interesting things are bound to turn up.

Here are 3 things I was happy to stumble upon…

1) Old IDs - lots of ‘em. Should I ever need backup proof of identity, I think I’m covered. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to throw these out. I just seem to collect them… old college IDs, old beach club IDs, old YMCA IDs, old licenses. I guess I see them as unique links to my past, and as we’ve discussed, I’m unapologetically nostalgic. So with me they stay.

2) My yearbook from Senior year. I thought I was destined to only have yearbook proof of high school from my Freshman, Sophomore and Junior years. Not the case! We had a small graduating class, so we each got half a page to ourselves. It was fun to look back at the things I wrote - and to whom I wrote. Also? My hair was SO LONG.

3) A gift from my college boyfriend - Love Poems and Sonnets of William Shakespeare. I think I’ve kept this over the years (almost 10, to be exact) because, as simple as it is, it’s one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever received from a guy. We had actually broken up by the time my 19th birthday rolled around, but we had remained friends. His inscription was the perfect mix of sentimental and humorous. And who doesn’t love Shakespeare’s sonnets?

Then, of course, there are the things you didn’t necessarily need to find, like…

The missing half of a pair of pearl earrings. How it ended up underneath the futon in a bedroom I hardly ever went in is beyond me. I don’t have a photo because I threw it away soon after I found it; I had, after all, very recently - and very reluctantly - thrown out the non-missing half of the pair, thinking I’d never find the missing one. Murphy’s Law?

And there are the things you thought you would find during a MASSIVE cleaning of the house - but didn’t - like…

The keys that went missing in December 2007. I used my keys to drive home one day. The next day when I went to drive my car, the keys were nowhere to be found. As of August 2009, it remains an unsolved mystery.

Tomorrow we close on the house. The next move is to NYC. I’ll be going from a 2,500 sq. ft. house to something probably about the size of my bedroom. Many of the momentos will have to stay behind. But I’m bringing #1-3 with me.

I’ve heard from a few people lately that I haven’t been updating my blog often enough. I know, I know. And I’m sorry. It’s not that I haven’t had anything to talk about… it’s almost that there’s too much to talk about, so much going on - and sometimes that means the blog gets neglected.

Some news I can share, however, is that I have a buyer for my house and we will be closing within the next few weeks! This is very good. It’s another step towards the next exciting chapter…

It does make me think back, however, to about 2 1/2 years ago, when I had just recently moved into that house and I was in home improvement mode. Many, many things in my life were very, very different then. Just reading a post on my old blog from that time confirms that fact.

So as I say goodbye to my house, here’s a little blast from the not-so-distant-yet-so-very-distant past, when I was all about making a home rather than making a move:

I’m not what you’d call a Home Improvement Do-It-Yourself-er.

If I can pay to have something built, fixed, painted, tiled or whittled, I will.

But today I had to trek into both Home Depot and Lowe’s all by my itty bitty self to look for a thingamajig that I now know is called a wing nut (more on that later).

The whole experience of walking into a Home Depot or Lowe’s is daunting to me. There are way too many aisles, way too many thingamajigs I’ve never heard of, and way too many men who seem to realize that I’m like a frightened turtle in there.

Lowe’s was my first (and I thought only) stop. I attempted to locate - on my own - this thing that, until this point, I only knew as some piece of hardware. Luckily, I had brought a sample thingamajig along.

Since I couldn’t find it in the aisle I picked, when a man who worked there finally walked by, I asked for some help.

Not surprisingly, I was in the wrong aisle, so he led me to where I could find my piece of hardware. Lo and behold, Lowe’s was all out of my little thingamajig… and my “helper” wasn’t exactly apologetic. He basically up and left me before I could ask for any possible alternatives.

Down but not out, I got in my car and drove to Home Depot (yes, it was imperative that I got this thing today), just knowing I’d have to deal with another man looking at me like I didn’t belong.

These home improvement stores are not for women, I thought.

At Home Depot, I walked right to the Hardware department and went up to the first employee I saw. Holding out my palm, showcasing the thingamajig I needed, I asked if he could help me find one.

He looked at me as if I’d asked him to split the atom.

I looked around to make sure I was in Home Depot.

Check.

I looked around to make sure I was in the Hardware department.

Check.

“Let me call someone who works in Hardware,” he finally said.

You think that might help? I wondered.

And to my surprise, who came around the corner to help us out but… a woman.

She looked at the thingamajig in my hand. “Oh, you need a wing nut?” she asked. “What size is that, a ten-twenty-four?”

Talk about impressive. Not only did a woman know her stuff in a home improvement store, but she was actually… helpful and informative!?

Maybe home improvement stores are for women, after all.

Next time I need something whittled, I’ll know who to call for help.