Every Day is a Gift

So, not completely satisfied with my foray into carpet care a la the Dyson Animal (which, just in case you were wondering, is my favorite household appliance ever. Ever. It even trumps the coffee maker. Well, okay, maybe not the dishwasher but shhhh!), today, I actually steam-cleaned my carpets upstairs.

It made me resort to the most emphatic phrase to which a southern woman can resort without blushing. I mean it. I cleaned the first carpet and I just... well, I couldn't hold back.

"Merciful freaking heavens!"

(Just as an aside? I'm not sure what has gotten in to me. I know I've lived in the south for a long time but I was born to European parents and I travelled overseas my whole life. Now that we've moved to New York? I find myself resorting to the mother-of-all Southern curses. I know you know which one I mean. "Bless her heart."

Southerners use this as the most damning phrase you can say about someone and suddenly, I am blessing people's heart right and left. "Oh, look at that vomitous son of Satan who just cut me off in traffic! Burn in hell, you s.o.b-word that I won't say in front of my kids! Bless your heart."

"No, I think her nose job looks totally natural and realistic. Bless her heart.")

So, anyway, the carpets are looking cleaner and I am regaining something of my equilibrium with regard to our house. We have whole rooms still in boxes, lest you think we are remotely organized, but our carpets are clean, damn it.

In other news, our geriatric dog Sydney (15) died for a short time yesterday but then, kind of, well, snapped out of it.

Coop had given her a bath outside with the hose --neither one of us thinking that the water coming out of the tap was about 30 degrees colder than the water coming out of the tap in Austin. After he'd bathed her, she started racing around, as dogs do after baths, and her heart seemed to just give out. She fell over and didn't move. Didn't get back up.

Coop was bending over her with a towel in his hand and stroking her and he looked up and met my eyes. "Get the keys to your van and get it running."

His voice... dude, for the most laid back guy in all of these United States, when he wants to be heard, he can do so without ever raising his voice.

The girls were crying but not panicking. I threw the keys to Ana and she started the van (!) while I put down the seats so Syd would be comfortable in the back. By the time we got back around to the back yard, Syd was breathing again and Coop was petting her and apologizing for frightening everyone.

It's so funny, too, because just the day before, I'd been planting some flowers and she'd sneaked in and stole an empty planter and ran it around the back yard--just like when she was a young dog. (Of course, I tried to recreate that for Coop when he got home and I threw up the planter and ran all around to get Syd wound up and she just looked at me and smiled at Coop, as if to say, "I don't know what she's doing either but she's kind of cute. Bless her heart.") She's just been in top form.

But she is OLD. And every day is a gift. I consider this a reminder to love her as much as we can, you know? Because it's coming, that end. And she'll be looking to us to ease her over.

Merciful freaking heavens. I love that dog.