The General and I are dog sitting at Andrea and Kevin's house. Interestingly, I'm not sure why they call it dog sitting. Sampson and Charlotte mostly sleep. The two labs don't require a lot from us. Of course, they need fresh water. Sampson isn't going to drink from a bowl unless it is fresh water.
The dogs eat twice a day. They scarf down raw chicken and/or beef twice a day. I know what you're thinking. Cut me some slack! We don't plan the menu; we just follow instructions. Other than letting the dogs outside when they need to do their business, they don't require a lot from us.
Andrea is smart. She generally makes cookies for us when we are staying at their house. She is thoughtfully sweet in that kind of way. The cookies we discovered yesterday are "Death by Chocolate". I've eaten my weight in them since coming through the door late afternoon, and we've been here less than 24 hours.
As if to hold a carrot out in front of us, Andrea also let me know there is cookie dough in the freezer. When I was a kid growing up, mother often baked homemade cookies. For that matter, so did my paternal grandmother. She and Granddaddy lived next door.
Everytime I eat an oatmeal cookie with raisins and chopped pecans, I think of Granny. She made cookies to share often, and they tasted best when they were still warm. She often recruited me to assist her in making cookies.
That generally occurred when she noticed the kids in the neighborhood gathered in our back yard and picking sides for some sports activity. Yours truly was the last kid standing outside the circle of those who had been chosen. No one wanted me on his or her team.
Of course, I can't say that I blamed them. I can't walk and dribble a basketball. When it comes to passing a football, I was better at doing that than catching a pass, but neither got me honorable mention when sides were being chosen. No one wanted me on the team.
At the age of nine, I went out for Little League because I didn't have a choice. Mother had the notion that "normal kids" liked baseball. I hated baseball! Okay, so that speaks volumes about how well I fit into familial expectations. Of course, Ronnie made the team, and as a family we were present for every game. Did I mention that I hated watching baseball almost as much as standing in left field and praying to God no one hit a ball in my direction?
Tennis is the only sport where I felt I could hold my own. Coincidentally, singles in tennis really isn't a team sport. I guess it is a game where win or lose, I was solely responsible.
If you read my blog yesterday, you may have been surprised by my transparency: "Insecurity and doubt rolled in like a heavy fog. How could I have been so inept? There clearly had been an expectation for me to script my responses to go along with the scripted questions. Though the marching orders had been flexible (i.e.: "in your own words)," I had disappointingly provided no words or sought out feedback. How could I be so dumb?"
Those are the kinds of thoughts that surface when you have a background of being the last kid standing outside the circle of those who had been chosen. In my head, I had blown things way out of proportion. There was never an expectation that I put anything in writing.
Adulthood has been much easier for me than childhood. Perhaps that is because I've always had a job that I loved. It is much easier to excel when you love what you're doing.
In almost every respect, the General has consistently shielded me from falling prey to insecurity and doubt. She has always been a cheerleader with support and encouragement.
All My Best!
Don
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