Worth 

A job

A house 

A car 

A following 

None of these 

Define my worth

None of these 

Complete me

Kindness 

Compassion

Love

Forgiveness

All of these 

Console me

These come from God

Sustain me 

I was up a lot during the night, as a spring stop trundled through around midnight, and again every couple of hours. Lightning flashes and rumbling thunder made for a restless night.

One week. One week since we lost our beloved dog.

The day proved just as stormy as last night was, so I took my sourdough starter out of the fridge, and fed her.

Six hours later, after the starter had more than doubled, I made a shaggy dough for my boulle sourdough loaf, and covered the bowl while I went to my next project.

Sourdough discard dark chocolate chunk cookies soon were mixed and scooped onto parchment paper, to slide into the oven, batch by batch.

While they filled my kitchen with the amazing scent of melting butter and sugar and Ghirardelli chocolate, I took most of the rest of my sourdough starter, and began to make bagels.

After the dough had mixed in the Kitchenaid mixer, I covered it, then put the cookies, now cooled, into containers.

Then it was time for stretch and folds with the sourdough. every 30 minutes, for two hours.

In between, I made dinner.

Finally, my bread dough was ready for her long bulk fermentation, and I covered her with a plastic cap and a clean linen cloth.

Just in time for the bagels!

I plopped the dough onto the counter, and cut it into 8 even pieces. I rolled each segment in my palms, placing them on counter to form into a bagel by sticking my thumb in the middle and stretching. Once they were all shaped, I covered them with the linen cloth, and started the water to boil while I pre-heated the oven.

Once then water was boiling, I put in the bagels – smiling while they floated, just as it said they would if the dough was right. This is my first attempt at bagels.

After a few seconds, I placed them on a parchment lined baking sheet.

I brushed them with egg wash, sprinkling half of them with everything bagel sprinkles.

Into the oven they went, to come out 22 minutes later. Amazing! I made them!

And I made it through the day.

Emotionally wrung out.

Physically exhausted.

In pain from my stage 4 arthritic knee.

Satisfied that I’ve made all of this, which I will disperse among my family.

This is the reason I bake. For the challenge.

For the pleasure.

For the sharing.

To keep me busy.

I got the call today that the cremains of my beloved dog were ready for pickup.

I wasn’t ready.

When I prepared her for the trip to the morgue Saturday, I wrapped her in my fluffy pink robe.

It was the closest thing to sending me with her.

I didn’t want the robe back – in fact I think I said burn it.

I don’t remember. It was a terrible weekend.

I pulled up to the vet and parked in the bereavement spot.

The first thing I saw was that pink robe, and I wanted to retch. My memories of wrapping it around her when she passed are raw, and gripped me. I knew Mitzi was here and it was time for this to come full circle.

The dear vet tech that picked her up from my house was there, and she got the bag with Mitzi’s paw print and the rosewood box that is her body’s earthly resting place.

Wrapped in a blue velvet bag, I untied the strings and pulled the box out.

I sat the box on my lap and drove home with my hand on the top.

I’m so glad I chose the rosewood box – it is carved with flowers, leaning up, a nature scene – and Mitzi loved being outside.

I’m a texture girl, and the divots and edges brought me comfort as I drove home, tears rolling down my face in a continual stream.

I’ve told my family that when I’m buried, I want my dog to be buried with me.

She really was my best girl.

I miss you, Mitzi girl.

It’s too quiet in my house.

Where is the tippy tip tippy tip of Aussie nails on vinyl plank floor? Back and forth, around the house, before finally settling down for the night.

Where is the random barking? The other two pack members have been (mostly) trained to stop barking. Mitzi, deaf and protective, would continue to bark away, her head pointed up with blind eyes. Still, she barked.

Not now.

There is no jingle of her collar. No tags rhythmically clapping with her as she patrols the house.

As we return to the house for the first time since she left it, only the German shepherd greets us at the back door – silently, tail wagging. Mitzi would be there barking.

No plastic scrape of her bowl on the tile floor as she eats. No patient fridge guarding as we prepare her meds, enveloping them in cheese.

No warm brown body sitting itches from me – always.

The house is not just empty of her – it echoes the loss.

I hoped that Mitzi would make it to her 14th birthday, which is today.

She was diagnosed with cancer this year, and it had ravaged her before anything could be done.

She was my first real dog – a dog breed I researched, found a breeder for, and committed to do all the training with.

She was a show dog for a hot minute as a puppy, and got a blue ribbon.

By the age of 2, she had her CGC (Canine Good Citizen).

She was trained to be a Pet Partners dog, to visit people in hospitals and nursing homes, but the instructor never gave her the final exam.

She developed a potentially deadly brain disorder seven years ago, and proved them all wrong by thriving for seven more years.

Today is her birthday.

I wanted to get her a pupcake. Take her in the Jeep, windows open, to get her a pup cup.

She made it to her birthday….but today, she has begun the long walk home.

She drank this morning, but hasn’t since.

She hasn’t eaten anything. Not even cheese. Mitzi loves to eat!

She staggers around, slow and totally blind now. Her hearing is nearly completely gone.

I pick her up and sit with her in my lap for a long time, telling her what a good girl she’s is. How grateful I am that she has taken care of me so well.

When she rests her head on my chest, I tell her how awesome heaven will be – how she will catch frisbees again, and run in the grass, with full sight and hearing.

I told her to wait for us, because we will meet her there.

In the mean time, girl, play with our unborn children. Go let Grandma pet you.

We took her out tonight , my husband carrying her to the grass, where she staggered around, then did her business.

Afterwards, she wobbled behind the hydrangea bush, and plopped down in the wet grass between the bush and the wall.

I got her out, and my husband carried her in.

I led her as she swayed slowly to our bedroom. I placed her on her towel covered bed, and she dropped into position.

She’s next to me, breathing steadily, just as she has been since she was seven weeks old.

Lord, give my girl a gently passage home.

She’s such a good girl.

I’m fully aware that sourdough is very trendy right now.

It’s not a following I’m after.

I’m not working right now, and I need something to keep me motivated.

I’m under a persistent grey cloud currently, exacerbated by the Lupron depot my oncologist has me on post breast cancer.

Well, had me on. I will not take it again, so desperately grim are its effects on my psyche. I will go back to the medicine that didn’t lay me out as this one did.

I need help. Something else to focus on.

Sourdough is a commitment.

It took me almost 2 weeks to get my starter established.

I fidgeted with the recipe, adding and subtracting water or flour, until it started to grow.

When it refused to double, I took the lid off and took it for a walk around the back yard, exposing her to natural yeasts.

She doubled the next day, and now she’s a great starter that I’ve named “Doughlene”. (Credit to my oldest son for that).

So now I have to bake.

I love baking – it has always been therapeutic to me.

Sourdough is much easier than yeast breads – no kneading is involved.

Just water, salt, and (for me) ancient grain flour.

I bake for my husband and I, and for my son and his family who live nearby.

Then about once a month, I’ll take a loaf to my parents, who live an hour away.

To keep my starter happy, I need to feed and use her at least once a week.

The lemon berry bread I make delights my grandsons, which brings much joy to this Nana.

Meanwhile…

I wake up every day with no motivation.

My spirits are low, and my anxiety is high.

The list of small goals I make for myself goes by the wayside.

The sourdough, though…

If I can just get up and feed her, I know in a few hours I will be up to make a shaggy dough, which will rest for an hour.

Every 30 minutes for 2 hours, I will stretch and fold her, coil fold her, and spray my hands with water to keep the dough from sticking to my fingers.

While I’m up, I’ll see the beautiful backyard full of flowers, and I’ll clean the pool and play with the dogs.

Then I wait for her to bulk ferment. I’m back to bed for those bours, exhausted by the weight of all the things I need to do, yet cannot gather the energy to perform.

After dinner, it’s time to form her and put her in the basket to cold ferment overnight. This doesn’t take long.

In the morning, I get up as soon as I wake, and get down the heavy Dutch oven and put it in a very hot oven, the lid resting alongside.

When the oven is ready, the boulle comes out of the fridge, and I attempt to make a neat pattern in the surface with a razor blade, finishing with the deep cut that slides across the entire surface, splitting the loaf immediately.

I place the parchment paper and bread into the Dutch oven, and put the lid on solidly.

This is the excitement of my day. What will the loaf look like? Will it expand as I hope it will? Will the slash expand and rise, leaving a crusty ear for me to ooh and aah over?

Lifting the lid brings a rush of steam, and exposes the beautiful loaf.

After 15-20 more minutes to brown, the loaf comes out and rests on the cooling rack. Once cool, I wrap it in Bees Wrap and take it to my son, along with the lemon berry bread.

It forces me out of my house, and as soon as I am getting hugs and hearing the excitement from my grandsons, it is all worth it. Every time.

Yet every time, currently, it takes a huge effort just to make this simple thing happen.

I’m grateful for sourdough.

*This Blog is not meant to be used as medical advice. All decisions I have made have been discussed with my oncologist, for my treatment.

The announcement comes over the public speaker piped into our room, the pleasant bell chiming to alert us of coming news.

We are skipping our port today due to high winds.

Last night the winds were 40 knots, and even on the world’s second largest ship, we felt the movement. It rocked me to sleep, and I awoke well rested. My best sleep is always on board a cruise ship.

I put on my robe and wait for room service. Within minutes, I am on my balcony with a plate of fresh fruit, and a cup of hot coffee.

As I settle in my chair and put my feet on the ottoman, I watch the horizon versus the rail of my balcony.

The enormous ship is bobbing, the horizon coming nearer to the rail, then falling away. Our speed is near stationary.

I am Internet free as always on my cruises, away from the temptation to watch the screen on purpose.

I want to be present.

I’ve got the paperback my mom gave me, and I begin to read.

I am too distracted by the ocean, though.

The waves are topped with frothy white caps, and the sound is mesmerizing.

In the distance, the sun has spotlighted a section of the Atlantic, and each wave tip sparkles, even at a distance.

Directly below me, in the wake of this giant vessel, the surface looks like navy blue leather, flattened and creased.

A low ceiling of grey clouds is scattered above, with a pale blue sky above it. The low clouds are moving quickly out of view, pulling in the next strand of wispy strands behind them. For a few minutes, the sun has an opening, and reflects its brilliants on every surface of the water beside me.

My feet begin to warm as the sun rays reach my balcony, and my contentment warms.

I could sit in the balcony all day, enclosed and private, with just me and the Atlantic surrounding me.

My Australian Shepherd will be 14 this April.

I hope she lives to see that birthday…and as many days more as she can, without pain.

She was diagnosed with a deadly disorder called GME that blinded her in her left eye when she was 5.

She went through a year of subcutaneous chemotherapy.

It didn’t slow her down.

She takes care of me – she always has.

She’s a herding dog – she takes care of me like it’s her job.

She has cancer now.

She is very hard of hearing.

She doesn’t have much vision left.

Her wonderful vet has put her on medications to help with her symptoms.

She sleeps more.

She has fallen into the pool so is leash walked in the yard.

She loves to eat – and for the first time ever, she gets an extra scoop of food in the morning.

Her pills are wrapped in cheese. She gobbles them down.

But…

After the pool incident, I dried her and brushed her out.

Her collar was way too big. I took it in.

I rub my hands over her, and she is so so thin.

My girl. My sweet Mitzi girl.

She’s not in pain.

She’s not ready.

I’ll never be ready.

In the mean time, she’s still taking care of me.

I prepared myself for an office this week.

My whole heart was dedicated to this opportunity, and I wanted to give all I could.

I walked away from a nearly 30 year career as a nurse.

I spent the last year learning how to lean on God like never before.

I packed the books that I knew would help me sow into others.

I bought an alabaster warmer for my office. It meant so much to me – a symbol of my attitude of sacrifice to God, of worship to Him, and service to the least of these.

I didn’t get the position.

I put the alabaster warmer in my upstairs office. The place where I am set up to write. To blog. To finally write my novel.

The sacrifice of my life and talents is to God. He has not rejected my sacrifice.

He never will reject my worship.

He has never forsaken me.

While I am disappointed and heartsick, I know He will direct me forward. Today. Tomorrow

And as long as I am focused on Him.

Luke 7:36-50

Jesus at the Home of Simon the Pharisee

³⁶ And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with him. And he went into the Pharisee’s house, and sat down to meat. ³⁷ And, behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, ³⁸ And stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment. ³⁹ Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner. ⁴⁰ And Jesus answering said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on. ⁴¹ There was a certain creditor which had two debtors: the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. ⁴² And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most? ⁴³ Simon answered and said, I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged. ⁴⁴ And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. ⁴⁵ Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet.⁴⁶ My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. ⁴⁷ Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little. ⁴⁸ And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. ⁴⁹ And they that sat at meat with him began to say within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also? ⁵⁰ And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.