That was then, this is now...

The house originally (well, circa 1950's style though the house was originally built in 1900) and the house as it stands today (circa 2006, with all new siding and a hunky addition on the back).

And Chester, trying to convince us that he still can chase ducks if given half the chance.

We went shopping with our designer to look for lights yesterday. What a trip. I've never seen so many lights. Thousands. And very few of them we actually liked. But Denise, our designer, said that's how it would be, that we'd only see a few that appealed to us.

And when I say designer, don't get the wrong idea. She's really a normal woman with good taste...something we're not and don't necessarily have. When she was working with the store rep, Ann and I sat at a table under some heavy wrought-ironed fixtures and discussed our options and preferences. It struck me then that there were thousands of different lights in the store and out in the world you could find someone who could find something to like in the store. In other words, every light would have a home. Hard to believe when looking at some of the over done, shiny and jeweled fixtures, but they must sell stuff like that otherwise why would they have it in the store?

Later that evening, we had dinner with our best of friends, Jeanne and Lisa at a nice Mexican restuarant. We sat under the same light fixtures we saw in the store that morning, the ugly ones though they worked in the restaurant.

Last year at this time, the four of us were in Mexico, soaking up the sun and salt water, eating fish tacos and watching Alma, the house caretaker, make us chicken mole, chile rellanos and flan. Last night's meal was good, but it couldn't compare to Alma's meal.

Still it was wonderful to hang out with our friends and talk about house remodels and the Dog Whisperer, Cesar Millan. Lisa, the most non-religious or spiritual person I know, is not a fan of dogs, but loves Cesar even though he talks about ENERGY being the way all animals (including humans) communicate. Until we talked about energy in scientific terms, Lisa was not ready to accept energy as anything else but spiritual. She's very good natured about it, but it was interesting to watch her squirm a bit during the discussion.

When we got home, we watched bad TV (another rerun of Law and Order) while Chester slept beside us on the bed. He got up, turned to the right, shuttered a bit, and we knew...time for a seizure.

It's amazing how calmly we respond now, having been through the ordeal too many times to count. Ann held his head, I ran to the bathroom to get the valium, and then we lifted his tail so I could inject the amber liquid into his rectum. The shuttering stopped, followed by the usual heavy sighs and twitching paws. His heart beat wildly and we inspected his belly where the sore is slowly healing. The second I tried to put on some ointment, he popped up looking at me as if to say, "No way, lady. You ain't touching my sore. Not on your life."

Usually, after a seizure, he's extremely disoriented and it takes a couple of hours for him to settle down and relax. Last night, he did his usual routine of going outside about 5 times to pee, but then laid right down on his bed and fell asleep. He got up a couple of times during the night and this morning he is wobbly and drugged (we upped his meds again), but as far as seizures go, this was an easy one.

I'm not particularly spiritual or religious myself, though I do believe in nature as a force that lives within us all and all around us. Energy, as a way of communication, makes perfect sense and there are times when I am blown away by energy's circumstance.

For instance, we have this silly dog calendar where every day is a different picture of a dog and an explanation of either a dog's behavior or physical feature. As part of my morning ritual, I make coffee and turn yesterday's dog calendar page to the current day's dog. This morning, the picture for Thursday, April 13, struck me hard. It was an exact image, close up, of my former beloved dog, Abbie. Spitting image. I cried.

"She's here," I thought and with Chester's current decline, I knew it was a message of some sort. I could analyze the implications, the message of the "energy", but there's no need. She was a wonderful dog -- loyal, silly, and so happy to be on the trail of my life. Fossilguy is right...her death was painful and difficult for me, the first step down in my spiraling, deepening depression, but now, the dull ache I feel when seeing a picture that looks like her but is not her is pleasantly sweet and comforting.

Chester must have sensed my energy while I was looking at Abbie's non-picture because he nuzzled my leg while we stood in the kitchen as if to say, "Yes, I know, but really, it is time to make coffee and get on with life."

And so I shall.