Monthly Archive: January 2025

A neighbor I don’t even know stopped by while walking her dog and asked, “Will you get another dog?” I get the question a lot. After all, I was rarely seen without a Golden by my side for thirty years; I even started SusanScribbles professing my love for my trio of canines. It’s a fair question.

When I told a friend that one of the reasons I haven’t taken the plunge is that the heartbreak is so difficult, she said, “But, they’re worth it.” She’s not wrong. But you do get to the point where the heartbreak is, well, too heartbreaking. One friend told her husband, “Seal up the dog door; I can’t take this anymore.” (Remember, Kath?)

I will say, however, that even though we are technically petless, I have somehow been reaping the benefits, and rewards, and responsibilities of having one.

When my 86-year-old neighbor adopted a puppy (you may recall, Shame on Me), she asked if I would help train Tasha, the Standard Poodle. This has been a challenge, to put it mildly. I took her to six-week obedience training, which turned into 12 weeks. She graduated, but I have to say they must have graded on a curve. A big curve. Put it this way, we are still struggling with training to this day. She is adorable though.

Then, a couple of months ago a tiny little orange kitten showed up in our shed. After spending two weeks coaxing him to eat from afar, I was still not able to get close. So, I borrowed a trap. I’m not sure who this stressed more. I then spent two days in the bathroom with him trying to get him socialized – all the while fighting off falling in love. I called him Jules and he was beyond adorable. With two upcoming trips fast approaching, I made the very difficult decision to find another home for him. He is now called Pistachio, and he lives with a loving family that also includes a feline sibling.

Fast forward to today. We just returned from delivering a ten-week old puppy to our aunt and uncle in Connecticut. I know what you’re thinking, but we did it for love. Ten years ago when they could not find a reasonably priced Dachshund pup, we did the same thing with much success, but their beloved Moxie passed away in November. They were heartbroken. So, off we went again to a breeder in the middle of the state. We were reminded of all the reasons we would never get a puppy for ourselves. But, besides the sleepless nights, potty training, vet visits and mounds of laundry, there has been some comic relief.

At one point I was voice texting with a couple of my fellow retired co-workers when hubby mentioned something about the pup going “pee pee.” It wasn’t until one of these former vice presidents texted back, “Well, when you have to go, you have to go” that I realized the “pee pee” comment was picked up in my text.

Then during my exercise class on Zoom, the little devil zoomed across my keyboard. A few minutes later, the instructor said, “Someone’s mic is on.” I was forgiven when at the end of the class I introduced the culprit that interrupted yoga, the adorable and rambunctious, three and half pound Charlie.

So, I can safely say that although we have not yet adopted a pet, we’ve had no shortage of fuzz therapy or fuzz responsibility since my retirement.

          TASHA                JULES/PISTACHIO             CHARLIE

I could not let the passing of Jimmy Carter go by without weighing in. Most of you know I have a special fondness for the 39th president because of my chance meeting with him more than four decades ago. But, now I’m reading “A Full Life” – which he wrote at ninety – and finding even more reason to respect him.

Most of us know Carter as a farmer, but did you know during his time in the Navy, he was hand chosen to help design and build the original nuclear power plant? On a submarine, no less! I was impressed with all aspects of his life, like at twelve years old when he was finally “permitted” to break land in the field using a plow and mules, which was “the most boring and challenging duty.” By his account, his mind was “relatively unfocused,” so he would compute how many miles he would have to walk before completing the task (between 22 and 25). He said of this time that he “enjoyed a sense of accomplishment and self-satisfaction, knowing that (he) had done all that was humanly possible.”

Born in 1924 in the south, Race, of course, played a part in Carter’s life. He credits his mother, Lillian, for “never observing the principle of white supremacy,” which helped shape his commitment to the protection of human rights. This commitment, along with “keeping the peace” were Carter’s primary goals for his administration – admirable goals for an admirable man.

Carter’s gentle demeanor and down-to-earth persona were evident when I was fortunate enough to have that encounter with him one snowy day in Washington, D.C.

The story goes that when I worked for the Secret Service, my office was in the Old Executive Office Building, which is connected to the White House. On days when it was snowing or raining, I would cut through the White House as I made my way from my bus stop to work.

I was so dumbfounded one morning to see the president coming toward me down that long hallway, that in my twenty-year-old naiveté, I said, “What are you doing here?”

He had the biggest grin on his face as he stopped and shook my hand saying, “I live here. What are you doing here?”

I have to wonder if he relayed that story to anyone afterwards laughing at the silly young girl in the hallway. I know that in my office of wise cracking secret service agents, I didn’t soon live it down.

I must say if I am to have only one significant VIP encounter in my lifetime, I can’t think of a nobler person than Jimmy Carter with whom to have it.

Welcome, 2025. Farewell, fun.

Well…at least for a while.

Like many people, I get serious about “shaping up” in January. Then, for the most part I try to stay focused until December when all bets are off.

This past year was no different. Well, it may have been a little worse. Maybe it was the European vacation at the beginning of the month that kicked things off, next level.

Eating cookies for breakfast; skipping exercise class; ordering wine with lunch; celebrating happy hour in the middle of the week; hell, we even ordered dessert the other day! I was like an out of control 18-year-old who just arrived at college with no guardrails for the first time. (Hopefully I didn’t also gain the dreaded “Freshmen 15.”)

The party is officially over. Dry January has started, the cookies are all gone, and I am back to my regular exercise classes.

In looking for a bright spot (behind the good health thing, of course), there is actually a huge one. Since I’m now retired, this is the first time I do not have to go back to work after the December break. And this year, because of the way the calendar fell, it was actually three full weeks off, so it would have been really hard to face that Monday morning.

Now, that’s what I call a bright side.

Happy New Year!