Missing My Sweet Sadie

This was originally a two-part column I wrote for the Elizabethton Star, the Tennessee newspaper where I was publisher from 2012 until February 2014. I've combined both columns into one document here and added several photographs. I loved my sweet dog, Sadie, with all my heart, and I miss her every day, especially today, the second anniversary of when she found the Rainbow Bridge and left to wait for our happy reunion day.

“I’ve always loved you without words.

So many things you’ve never heard. …”

-- Morten Harket, “I’m the One”

She knew from the beginning I had a soft spot for her, because she had, well, an adorable little white spot on her back.

Yes, she tricked me from the beginning with that spot – and the fact that she went potty with purpose and showmanship. We expect a lot from a puppy – mainly, to be adorable and not pee on our carpet.

Sadie came into my life with the whimper of a puppy, and she had my heart from the beginning. Her little white spot eventually disappeared into her tri-colored coat, and, despite her initial potty expertise, it took a few weeks before she was properly potty trained.

It didn’t matter. She knew she had me from Day One. She loved me, and I loved her. Every day for more than 12 years.

It wasn’t always easy. Oh, she was a mean little puppy -- independent and defiant. When she was a wee thing, she growled and squirmed and refused to be a good dog.

I remember thinking, as she groused and twisted in my arms, she would never be a good dog.

She chewed everything, and nothing was safe from the clutches of her sharp little puppy teeth, which is how she got a broken leg early in life. Just weeks after she was adopted from the animal shelter, she was perched on our bed, being queen of the world at 8 pounds, when she decided to latch on to Amy’s gown, as Amy was getting out of bed.

I still see it, in the slow motion that memories seem to appear, as Sadie flew through the air, her mouth still clamped temporarily to Amy’s gown, and off the bed and ... into the wall. Smack.

She looked like Tarzan – if the Lord of the Jungle looked like a fat little ball of fur – leaping from Amy's gown and into that wall.

Whimper!

Sadie immediately curled up and went to sleep -- the body’s mechanism, we later learned huddled up at the Emergency Pet Clinic, when dealing with pain. She had broken her back right leg. It would heal, and she’d be a normal dog.

I, on the other hand, had the indignity of walking a puppy wearing a bright pink cast (later replaced with a yellow one) as she continued to learn all about potty training.

Puppy Sadie in her cast (the yellow one!).

Despite the Tarzan incident, Sadie continued to have a spot on our bed for most of her life. As she grew from puppy to full-size, 60-pound pooch, there was less and less room, but the three of us managed. Well, Amy went to the left, and I went to the right. Sadie pushed her way into the middle, atop the blankets and comforter, and remained there for the night.

I had to be careful not to stir too early. If I did, I was forced to take her for a walk. While I slept, she slept. When I awoke, Sadie reminded me I had duties to perform for her. Like I said, she knew who ruled the manor.

As she grew, she took running leaps from the floor into the bed, a good three feet off the ground. It was a nightly ritual that I couldn’t resist.

I was responsible for Sadie -- that is, I leashed her up and took her out for bathroom breaks, I fed her, bathed her. Amy and I shared the duty of spoiling her.

For 11 years, while we lived in Erwin, I worked only a few blocks away, so Sadie and I had a lunch date every day. She’d be waiting in her favorite living room chair (a once-beautiful, floral print that eventually had to be discarded because there was more fur on it than upholstery). She’d stretch, plop out of the chair and meet me with a wag of the tail.

My girls -- Amy and Sadie in Erwin, Tennessee.

When Amy arrived home, every day, it was a spectacle. Sadie knew the sound of Amy’s Mustang. Upon hearing the roar of the engine, Sadie would leap up, run to the door and anxiously await the reward of a few pats on the head and the loving sound declaration of “Good Dog!” When we moved to Louisiana, Sadie rode the whole way in the back seat and never once com- plained. She loved her new house and the fenced courtyard where she could watch passersby and cattle egrets.

In Erwin and in Louisiana, things were always the same -- wherever Amy and I were, Sadie was there, too. Gone were her independent puppy days. They were replaced with an irrepressible need to curl up on top of me or Amy on the couch, never leaving our sides for a single moment.

I have more than one photo of me and Sadie fast asleep on the couch, letting the world go by, both of us content, just letting sleeping dogs lie, if you will.

Sadie grew fat over the years -- a friend of my father-in-law once said she looked more like a ground hog than a dog -- probably from the bites she had tossed to her as Amy and I finished a meal. Sadie slimmed down a little in her last few years, thanks to some help from Dr. Ric Jablonski at the Roan Mountain Animal Hospital.

She didn’t really do any tricks. She wasn’t interested in frolicking outside and playing fetch. She was just a little shadow for me and for Amy. Where we went, Sadie went. From one room to another, she’d follow. From one state to another, she followed.

Sadie and I often took afternoon naps, nose to nose.

She always loved us without words. So many things we’d never heard.

And then on a spring day, May 2, 2012, after 12 years of being this man’s best friend, everything changed.

Sadie needed me, her “Daddy,” to help her one last time. She needed Amy, her “Momma,” to be selfless. And I helped, and Amy was selfless. And Sadie was gone.

And I’ve never been quite the same since.

“I’ve always loved you without words, So many things you’ve never heard, I need a license for living; I’ve got my papers in heaven, You cannot take what I cannot give.” -- Morten Harket, “I’m the One”

Letting the day go by with my best friend.

It was only a few minutes before 3 p.m. on May 2, 2012, and I wished the clock would stop ticking. But in that moment, when time refused to stand still and my heart was breaking, something mysterious, maybe magical, happened.

“You wanna go out, baby?” I asked, opening the French doors to the backyard to let Sadie hop into the bright south Louisiana sun for the very last time.

When Amy and I moved from Tennessee to Louisiana, Sadie may have been the happiest of all in our little family of three. Sadie no longer had to be led around on a leash. Our new house had a beautiful little courtyard in the back with curved brick walls and wrought-iron fencing. Sadie loved to romp and play there.

So many times, sitting in that courtyard, I watched Sadie marvel at the world going by – a bicyclist, a jogger, a cattle egret across the way looking for insects in the morning sun. Sadie would stick her head through the fence and wag her tail at passersby.

Sadie in her courtyard in Lafayette, Louisiana.

But on that day, right before the clock struck 3, I was the one taking it all in. I was trying desperately to imprint images to memory, and, maybe, just maybe, that’s why I took special notice of the little yellow butterfly hovering above Sadie. It danced up and down, fluttering directly above her head.

How strange, I thought. We had no flowers in the courtyard, certainly nothing to attract butterflies. The only creatures our courtyard ever seemed to attract were frogs and wasps.

Yet there it was, a little yellow butterfly floating and flitting along, staying right with Sadie every step she made. But the clock ticked on, and it was almost 3 o’clock. It was time to leave the courtyard – and Sadie’s tiny new friend – behind.

Dr. Scott Broussard was scheduled to arrive with his “Waggin’ Train” mobile veterinary unit. Back inside the house, though, 3 o’clock came and went. Maybe Dr. Broussard had an emergency, I thought, and he won’t make our appointment. I stared out the window for his “Waggin’ Train,” and, finally, Dr. Broussard’s white van pulled in front of the house.

I walked out onto the front porch, and Dr. Broussard extended his hand. I tried to say, “Hello.” I tried to say, “Thank you for coming.” But I couldn’t. I could say only one thing.

“This is the worst day of my life,” I said as I pushed opened the door, and there was Sadie, wagging her tail and ready, as always, to welcome visitors to our home.

After her introduction, Sadie slipped quietly underneath my desk and sat down on her haunches. She hadn’t looked that small since she was a puppy some 12 years ago. She just sat and watched. Her heavy, labored breaths seemed to have disappeared, and she seemed just perfect, sitting properly, sweetly.

“She’s doing so good right now,” I told Dr. Broussard. “She was so sick yesterday, and now she seems so happy. Maybe we’re rushing this."

I wanted Sadie to stay little, underneath my desk, and wag her tail when visitors came to the house. I wanted Dr. Broussard to go away.

Underneath my desk at our home in Lafayette, La.

But he confirmed what our veterinarian in Lafayette and the staff at the animal hospital in Baton Rouge had already said. Sadie was very sick, and it was only going to get worse and quickly. Her little tummy was turning purple. She was refusing food – even chicken and mashed potatoes and watermelon, her favorites. The pet hospital had told us to let Sadie have “whatever she wanted,” but Sadie wasn’t even up for being spoiled. The cancer had spread so quickly, so viciously, and, now as her body continued to battle, seizures were likely.

Across the room, Amy looked at me. “What should we do?” she asked.

I looked at Amy, and I looked at Sadie. And I looked back at Amy, and I nodded. We loved her too much to let her suffer. When the seizures came as the pain overwhelmed her little body, Sadie wouldn’t understand.

I didn’t want to take life from her, but I knew I couldn’t take what Sadie, torn apart inside from liver cancer, could no longer give.

Dr. Broussard told us it would be quick and that my sweet little dog would simply go to sleep. I went to the bedroom and retrieved Sadie’s bed, where she always slept while we were away at work, and when I plopped it down in the living room, Sadie jumped in it.

It broke my heart. There in her safe spot, where she dozed away afternoons, would be where she would depart this life.

Dr. Broussard went outside and told us to spend a few more moments with Sadie. I stroked Sadie and kissed her head. Amy told her how much we’d always loved her.

“You’ve been,” Amy assured her, “the best dog ever."

A "selfie" I took a few days before we knew Sadie was ill.

My head was spinning as Dr. Broussard returned, knelt down beside Sadie, and gently raised her leg and inserted the needle. Sadie licked Amy’s hand and went to sleep.

We had arranged a pet mortuary to retrieve Sadie’s body to have her cremated and returned to us in a small wooden box. To make it as easy as possible, the mortuary staff had arrived shortly after Dr. Broussard. Staff members wrapped Sadie up in her little bed and took her away.

And there Amy and I stood in our open doorway and watched as the little silver pickup truck sent by the mortuary pulled down to the end of the cul-de-sac. As the truck drove back past the house, Amy grabbed me with a force I had never felt in all the years I’ve known her.

“Make them bring her back!” she cried and fell into my arms.

But Sadie was gone. Our house was silent; our hearts broken. I took Amy by the hand and stepped outside. The sun was shining and a spring breeze was blowing.

We crossed the street and headed over to the walking path that surrounded the neighborhood lake. We hadn’t made it very far when directly in front of us fluttered a little yellow butterfly – it looked just like the one from the courtyard that had fluttered and flitted around Sadie. Was it?

Up and up into the sky it went, and as it did, our eyes followed and there, in the same direction where that silver pickup truck was taking Sadie away, a rainbow had formed.

“It’s the Rainbow Bridge,” Amy said. “It’s Sadie’s Rainbow Bridge."

Many people know about the Rainbow Bridge, and while no one knows who wrote the famous poem, the words are, nonetheless, comforting and full of hope: “Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge. When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. ... The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind. ... But the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. ... You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart. Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together."

When I think of Sadie, I am often overcome with sadness still. It’s a heartache that never leaves me.

But sometimes I let myself believe in a little bit of magic, and I smile and think of a little yellow butterfly that led Sadie to Rainbow Bridge. I’ve never seen that little butterfly again, but I think I will when I touch the sky and cross the bridge on a happy reunion day.

Hoodie-hoo

HOODIE-HOO! HOODIE-HOO!

I wrote this as my publisher's column on Feb. 24, 2013, for the Elizabethton Star. If you're sick of winter, you need to read this -- and do as Joyce does. Short of killing the Groundhog, who gave us six more weeks of winter, this may be our only hope. On Feb. 20 -- that's only hours away as I post this -- is a very important date.

Did anyone hear Joyce Grindstaff yelling last week? Specifically, on Feb. 20?
Well, if you were in earshot of Joyce, you probably did. I know this, because she told me she was going to raise her voice, she was going to be heard, she was telling it like it is on Feb. 20. Exactly at noon.
So what did she have to say?

“Hoodie- Hoo.”
That’s it. “Hoodie-Hoo.”
That’s all that needed saying.
I guess I need to explain all this. Joyce emailed me a few days ago and told me she enjoyed reading my column -- “very much,” she said. Well, I like to hear those things. I love a nice compliment.
Specifically, Joyce said, she liked it when I wrote about the holidays.

“I wanted to let you know about a holiday I discovered a few years ago that I thought was interesting and fun,” Joyce wrote. “It is called Hoodie-Hoo Day and is celebrated on Feb. 20. On that day, everyone is to go outside at noon and yell ‘Hoodie-Hoo’ and this is meant to chase winter away. Ms. Vera, kindergarten teacher at West Side Elementary, has been celebrating this holiday with her 'kinder-friends' ever since I brought it to her attention. Thanks for all you do for the paper and have a happy Hoodie-Hoo Day!”
I had never heard of Hoodie-Hoo Day, but it sounded like a good idea to me. I’m not a fan of snow- and ice-covered roads, so, Hoodie-Hoo, let’s get spring here and on to summer.
As I said in this column last week, I’ve been suffering from the Piggly-Wiggly Flu or some such terrible ailment that required me to sneeze, cough and ache 24 hours a day. I was all set to celebrate Hoodie-Hoo Day, but I’m not sure I did it very well.
When I tried to yell out “Hoodie-Hoo,” my voice cracked. It was something like, “Hoo -- hack-hack- hack -- deee -- hack, hack, hack -- hoooo.” I’m not sure I scared winter away, but I’m pretty sure I coughed up a lung.

I do want spring to arrive soon. There’s nothing like a warm, sunny day after a long and depressing winter. It feels like Christmas, payday, your 21st birthday and, maybe, your first kiss all rolled into one. It’s that good.

After weeks of snow and more snow and more snow, a nice sunny day is like, well, a welcome ray of sunshine. (Yes, I'm a writer by trade. Can you tell?)
We spend too much time inside in the winter, and it brings us down and makes us grumpy.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy being indoors. It’s where the TV is, after all, but there’s only so many crime shows you can watch in a day before you begin to feel like the world is out to get you and that you could be murdered any moment.
Besides, it’s hard to keep up with all those shows – half of which spawn their own clones – you know, like Law & Order; Law & Order: SVU; Law & Order: Criminal Intent; CSI; CSI: Miami; CSI: New York; NCIS; and NCIS: Los Angeles.

But when that lone sunny day sneaks in from the winter’s gray, nothing will keep you inside. Not work. Not television. Nothing.
I’ve bemoaned the snow and cold weather so much, it would be wrong to stay inside.
When that special day finally arrives, and, Hoodie-Hoo, it can’t be too far away, let it be a reminder to be grateful when things are good.
It’s easy to complain, but we often forget to spend an equal amount of time singing the praises of everything that’s right in life.
Offer a smile. Open the door for someone. Tell someone how nice she looks. Thank God for all the glorious, beautiful days. (Tell someone, like Joyce did, how much you like someone’s column.)

It’ll make you feel better when the days are long and cold again, which, like it or not, will come around again. I don’t like to think about that. It brings me down. It’s sort of like Halloween, tax day, your 40th birthday and, maybe, your first breakup with your high-school sweetheart all rolled into one. 

Going out on a high note ...

Several people have asked me about the Tennessee Press Association awards that Amy and I attended in Nashville last month, and I promised to detail it all in a blog. But, of course, I let life get in the way.

OK, OK, I've finally got around to it.

The 2011 awards ceremony was my last with The Erwin Record -- the awards are for work completed the previous year.

Well, I'm glad to say I was able to leave The Erwin Record on a high note, as the newspaper, once again, won the General Excellence/Sweepstakes Award. This was the ninth year in a row. Eight was a state record, so it was nice to continue an unprecedented streak. That feels good.

Now I'll never know if I could have continued to lead the newspaper to the top award year after year. I have to say, though, that it's good to go out on top. I always said, "Well, it's been great even if we can't win it again." I never wanted to experience that, of course. So ... now I won't have to do so. Ahh, feels good!

Personally, I won several awards, so I'll detail those below with a few comments from the judges. ...

FIRST PLACE, BEST SINGLE EDITORIAL ... for my editorial about the many public officials or public employees who have stolen money from the taxpayers. It was titled "Higher Taxes, Fewer Services? Yes, Thank the Thieves of Unicoi County." From the judge: "Very well written and reported and does a good job of appealing to readers by addressing them, and their tax dollars, directly."

-- FIRST PLACE, BEST PERSONAL HUMOR COLUMN ... for my column titled "Christmas Shines With 'Bamberella'." From the judge: "Clever and funny, with a homey touch. Made me laugh out loud."

-- THIRD PLACE, BEST PERSONAL HUMOR COLUMN ... for my column titled "I've Been Driven to Distraction." 

-- THIRD PLACE, BEST PERSONAL COLUMN ... for my column about Judy Moss after she lost her husband, Dick. From the judge: "This category had more than its share of stories about grief and loss, and this was the most poignant and well-written. It drew the reader in while avoiding emotional cliches."

SECOND PLACE, EDITORIALS ... From the judge: "Very well-written editorials in each case. Writing is concise, uses facts well to back up main points and doesn't waste reader's time."

-- SECOND PLACE, BEST NEWS PHOTOGRAPH ... for a shot of Angie Williams as her lawyer pointed the way to exit the courtroom as she pleaded not guilty to stealing $21,000 from the Unicoi County School System. From the judge: "Great photo! The best. You have to wait for the right moment and keep eye for detail, and that's exactly what this photo shows."

-- SECOND PLACE, BEST INVESTIGATIVE REPORTING ... for a series of stories detailing ethics meetings between the sheriff and county commissioners. (I shared this award with Rebekah Harris and Brandon Kane.) From the judge: "Exhaustive work ... It's evident your news staff is plugged into the beat."

-- THIRD PLACE, BEST INVESTIGATIVE REPORTING ... for a series of stories detailing production problems at Nuclear Fuel Services. From the judge: "Thorough coverage of an important local news story."

-- FOURTH PLACE, BEST SINGLE EDITORIAL. ... for my editorial noting the Chamber of Commerce was being overshadowed by the town of Unicoi's efforts at community outreach. From the judge: "Well done and full of strong details to support your conclusions."

... I liked that my final year at the Record, I was still involved in all aspects of the newspaper's operations, as the awards show. I wrote all the editorials, in addition to my personal column, but I was, as always, involved in reporting and photography. I took my job very seriously, and, in hindsight, I'm surprised how much I was able to accomplish.

I pushed myself, because I felt I would let the community down if I didn't work as hard as I could. That might mean making sure paper boxes were always full and working, writing a story, meeting with a concerned reader or being part of community events. Erwin was a great place to be, but, man, sometimes I wonder how I didn't fall over from exhaustion. Must have been the adrenaline!

Snapshots in time

It's been a long time without a blog from me. I'm bad. I know.

I've discovered something I should have known all along. I need a deadline to make things work.

For years, I wrote a personal column for The Erwin Record every week. I had enough to fill up a book, but if I hadn't had that weekly deadline, I doubt I would have had a dozen columns completed.

I almost always wrote my columns on Sunday, even though that meant I added another day to the work week. But I couldn't write them on other days of the week. I needed that deadline.

It seems the same is true for my blogging. Nothing forces me to write, so I find that I opt not to do so.

I do write a column for The Daily Advertiser, but it's not a weekly column. I write a column whenever the mood strikes -- or, really, when I've come across someone I think makes an interesting topic.

About a month ago, I went to visit a wonderful woman named Beryl Anderson, and she ended up being the topic of my latest column. Amy and I were even invited to her 90th birthday party Saturday.

So ... I thought I'd share that column here on my blog. ...

Beryl Anderson celebrated her 90^th birthday Thursday. And tomorrow, she’ll gather with family and friends to commemorate the happy occasion.

There’ll undoubtedly be plenty of photos taken throughout Beryl’s special day – and that’s a fitting tribute to this longtime Lafayette resident.

Preserving memories through a camera’s lens has been a lifelong passion for Beryl. She’s never been a professional photographer – just, she says, good enough to capture fleeting moments in time.

The mother of four, grandmother of eight and great-grandmother of 14 has been on a mission over the past few months – collecting those photos to divide between her children and grandchildren.

“Well,” Beryl says with a sly little grin, “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

She has boxes and boxes of photos – a lifetime’s worth, really. Some photos are in albums that once belonged to her mother. Some were shot when she rode across the country in an RV, first with her husband, Harry Anderson, who died in December 1990, and later with her friend, Gerry Champagne.

An easygoing nature – and her camera’s focus – provided Beryl with plenty of adventure over the years. When she’d be headed out on a trip in the RV, maybe to Canada or Las Vegas or Florida, her family would ask, “When will you be back?"

They'd often get the same enigmatic answer.

“I know when I'm leaving,” Beryl would say, “but I don't know when I'll be back.”

She wasn't always so carefree.

"I was shy as a young person," she says, sitting at her kitchen table shuffling through her treasured photographs.

Unlike that shy girl staring back in a black-and-white photograph on the table, Beryl is, today, quick to offer advice.

"You're young, so I'm going to tell you," she says. "Always write on the back of pictures - always."

Otherwise, Beryl says, you might find yourself unsure about a photo's origins. For example, a photo in her collection shows a men's baseball team wearing "Purina Chicks" uniforms.

"That's one that set me off the other day," she says, her South Louisiana accent punctuating her words. "I don't know who they are. It may have been in my mother's photos. Maybe my husband's. Some of them look familiar. I just don't know.

"Finding this picture with nothing written on the back, well, that threw me."

She’s not perplexed by most of her photos -- some she’s taken, some she inherited. Reaching across her kitchen table, she picks up photo after photo and remembers.

"This is my mother before she was married in 1917. ..."

"This is the Patterson, La., baseball team. ..."

"This is the Lemmon brothers. One was a Sidney. One was a Harold. ..."

"This is my dad. This is a cousin. These are my aunts and uncles going to the beach on a Sunday afternoon. ..."

"Here look at this, that's my daddy and his friends holding up a Ouija Board. They would play charades and all kinds of things. ... "

"That's me, around age 3 or 4, sitting in a park in Franklin. The park isn't there anymore. I learned to roller-skate holding onto the hedge. I'm dressed in a Mardi Gras outfit. It's red tulle. ..."

On and on, the memories go. Beryl's photos capture the moments of her life, and she's determined to pull them all together and hand them out, so that others might find enjoyment and fulfillment from the glimpses into a life well lived.

“I used to be a very avid picture-taker,” she says. “At one point, I was doing slides. I haven't quite figured out how to reproduce my slides. I bought a little machine, but I can't quite get the hang of it. All my first pictures as an adult were slides."

Many of the photos are family heirlooms, passed down to Beryl from generations before. But because Beryl has had a lifelong love affair with pictures, her own focus has added many to the mix.

"My very first pictures were little tiny pictures. I had a little camera that took little bitty pictures," Beryl says with a schoolgirl's enthusiasm. "It took small pictures. I don't even remember the name of it. I did something in a magazine, and I won that camera. I was a teenager.

"I still had it when I met my husband in 1937, and I was still taking pictures with it. I took little tiny pictures with it. And I always wanted a picture. I had fun with it. I took pictures of all my friends. That would have in 1935 or 1936."

She doesn't know what happened to that tiny camera, but her love of photography, which she calls “magical,” has remained strong throughout her life.

Some friends once chided her for taking so many photographs. "You know I got a nick-name," Beryl says. "You remember 'Candid Camera'? The host was Allen Funt. People started saying, 'Oh here comes Mrs. Funt and her camera.’ ”

But that's OK. Because of her efforts, she's got hundreds of photos - and, more importantly, the memories conjured up by those well-preserved moments in time.

"I took all those pictures so I could remember the occasions and everybody else,” Beryl says, letting special moments of fishing trips to Grand Isle, football games in New Orleans and more than 56,000 miles traveling the country in her RV filter through her life’s lens. “I took a lot of these pictures, so they’re all memories for me.

“I didn't have to be in the pictures. I captured the moment.”

All those good times – the graduations, the weddings and, yes, the birthdays – live on in film thanks to Beryl’s clear focus and her boundless love.

Over the years, Beryl has had a simple request for the subjects on the other side of her camera lens. And today, that one-word request is her lasting reward.

Smile.

I haven't disappeared ... really

I've been a very bad blogger, haven't I?

It's easy to let time get the best of you. But I have been busy. I'm completing my first month on a new and exciting career tomorrow.

Well, it's not really a new career. I'm still in the newspaper business, after all, but it's got a little bit of a twist to it.

I'm the online editor of three newspapers here in Louisiana. Mainly, I work as online editor for The Daily Advertiser, the major newspaper here in Lafayette. The Advertiser also oversees a sister daily newspaper in nearby Opelousas and a weekly entertainment tab called The Times of Acadiana, so I also serve as the online editor for those publications. Each newspaper has its own unique website, and two have their own Facebook pages.

It's my job to create a unique experience for readers who visit our websites. We constantly update and report stories throughout the day on our websites. Breaking news immediately goes up on our websites, while another story -- hopefully a unique piece -- is created for our next print edition. At least, that's the goal, so we're working toward that. While I'm part of the technical team that brings all this together each day, one of the main goals for me is to work closely with the reporters to create the best newspaper we can each and every day – both online and in print.

We receive several millions of page views for our site each month and log hundreds of thousands each day. We just started a joint venture with the major television station in the market, so each day the city's major news outlets are working together to bring the best news to our citizens. It's an exciting task.

There was an oil rig blowout in the Lafayette area yesterday, causing an evacuation in a one-mile radius of the rig. We immediately had a breaking news story online and details on our Facebook page. Our reporters and photographers were quickly on the scene, sending back facts, photos and video for our website. It's a very exciting way to cover news.

We have a columnist in London for the Royal Wedding, and she is blogging for our website and sending daily photographs.

I haven't completely left writing behind either. I write for the website, of course, and I wrote a couple of stories for print edition of The Advertiser the first week I was in Lafayette and before I even officially joined the staff. This Sunday, I have a major feature coming out, both in print and online, about "Cleve" Landry, who 20 years ago received a kidney transplant thanks to the generosity and love of his younger brother, Billy. The newspaper chronicled the story two decades ago, and, on May 1, the 20th anniversary of the transplant, I will be telling the story again and how these past 20 years have shaped the two brothers. There's a wonderful twist to the story that will really make readers think about how nothing is by happenstance. I'm very excited about it.

I've been busy learning the many different computer programs needed for my new job. Technology has never been my strong suit, so I'm on quite the learning curve. But I'm catching on to that part of my job more and more every day. I have a staff that works specifically with me. In fact, we just added a multi-media reporter to my department yesterday. He's been capturing some great video at this week's gigantic festival here – Festival International de Louisiane, a music festival celebrating its 25th anniversary that draws people here from around the globe.

I'm so grateful for my job.

Quite truthfully, I didn't really expect to work at a newspaper again.

I had thought I would probably work on some books I had been putting off for a long time, but sometimes things come together and you know it's the right thing to do. (I'm still working on some books. I'm determined to not let those ideas go.)

Even with my new job, I find that my outlook is different than when I was publisher of The Erwin Record. I'm one person out of dozens at The Daily Advertiser. In Erwin, I was ALWAYS publisher. When I was on the job, I was publisher. When I was at Food Lion first thing in the morning in a ball cap and torn jeans, I was publisher. When I was at a funeral, I was publisher. I lived and breathed my job as publisher, and I'm immensely proud of what we accomplished at The Erwin Record. We made history many, many times – not to mention winning the Tennessee Press Association General Excellence/Sweepstakes Award for eight consecutive years. No other newspaper has ever done that in Tennessee history. We will know if the Record wins it again in July. The awards are for work done in 2010, so if we do, it will be my last time with The Erwin Record to win the award. That will be a bittersweet day, but I do hope we can manage to do it one more time. Keep you fingers crossed. (Hey, if we do, my my old staff will invite me to the awards ceremony and the party, too!)

But as much as I loved my job in Erwin – and I did – I am sort of enjoying my time out of the spotlight. It's good to go to work in the morning and come home in the evening and turn it off, for the most part. I've found myself getting a little nervous on Sundays until I realize I don't have to write a column that day. I always wrote my "From the Publisher's Desk" column on Sunday, and it's been odd not to write
a column every week. Sometimes I was worried about WHAT I was going to write about, but, in the end, it was my favorite part of the job, especially when my column sort of, unexpectedly, turned into a humor column. I enjoyed being silly and making people laugh – and sometimes think and shed a tear, too. Finding that emotional niche was cathartic for me. My natural melancholy and my love of a good giggle, too, found a place in print, and I'm so happy about that.

I haven't completely left that behind either. In fact, I'll be doing some writing for a Tennessee newspaper soon, but I can't really talk about that just yet. All I can say is that I'm looking forward to returning to my Tennessee roots and telling the stories of my life once again. I'll keep you posted on that, too.

Sorry for my lapse in regular blogging. I'll try to be better now that things have really gotten a little more normal here.

Hopefully, I'll be back in Tennessee soon, too, to see all my wonderful friends there. In the meantime, thanks for keeping up with me here in Louisiana.

Love you all.

Sadie Pooch

Lots of folks have asked how Sadie has done with the move, and I'm happy to report she's doing really well.

When Amy and I moved to Erwin from my grandparent's home on Simerly Creek Road, our sweet little dog Mamie just couldn't handle the change. She clawed to get out and was basically miserable. Part of the problem was she hadn't, in the past, been left alone very much. When Amy and I left for work, we'd just take her next door to my parent's house.

When we moved to Erwin, though, she had to be left at home alone while we were at work. I don't think my new neighbors would have taken too kindly to dogsitting Mamie. When it became clear that Mamie was miserable, Mom and Dad agreed to take her in. She was happy there, and she became a wonderful companion to my parents as they faced illnesses over the last few years.

So in March of 2000, Amy and I found ourselves in our new Erwin home but without the daily comfort of a good dog – something we had grown to love. Sadie won our hearts at the Johnson City Animal Shelter, and she's been part of our lives ever since.

I always thought Sadie would do all right in the move. She's a fairly laid-back pooch. When I would go home for lunch each day in Erwin, she'd stretch and welcome me home with a mighty ... yawn. Sadie knew that Daddy (that would be me) was responsible for bathroom breaks and filling water bowls and food bowls. He was pretty good at rubbing tummies, too. He was also a strict disciplinarian. Overall, though, Daddy was as much of her routine as barking at the FedEx man.

Momma (that would be Amy), on the other hand, somehow always garnered much more glee. Amy deserved a bounce from the bed and an anxious tail-wagging arrival each and every time she returned. Momma didn't fill water bowls or food bowls. She didn't take Sadie out for bathroom breaks. (Could be moths out there, she'd say.)

Mamie adored us, but she loved her sanity more. Sadie wants to be near us always, but she's independent, too. Her fluffy bed sometimes works as well as being curled up with Mom and Dad on the couch.

Here at our new house, she has a lovely little courtyard to run around in. She loves sticking her cute little head through the iron fence to see what's happening. Passer-bys – joggers, cyclists, kids with basketballs – get quick wags of the tail from behind the fence. Each morning, I open the French doors to the courtyard and Sadie bounds out to check out Lafayette.

She lets me know when she's bored with the scene and is ready to come on. On a few occasions, I have forgotten to check on Sadie, and she has moaned pitifully and made a few scratches on my new doors as she demanded to be let inside again. I can't really discipline her for scuffing my newly stained wooden doors when I've forgotten the poor little baby outside, can I?

Right now, I'm looking down the hallway, and she's being "Flat Pooch," that is, sprawled out on all fours and giving me that stare as only she can.

She's 11 years old, and she's been through two surgeries in the past few months – one only a few weeks ago. She's adapted well, though. She seems happy in her new home. In fact, we all are. Amy and I are amazed how much it feels like home. Could it be true that home really is where the heart is?

Got a little more unpacking to do this weekend. A few more pictures and paintings and such to put on the walls, too. Everything is coming together, though. We're getting it all together.

I'm just happy my little dog has been OK with the move. She keeps me grounded. It's time for her nightly feeding. Gotta go!

Making a Memory -- Who Am I To Disagree?

Amy and I dreaded telling my parents that we were moving to Louisiana. I was sick the entire way to my childhood home on Simerly Creek Road. It was unusual for us to show up at my parent's unannounced, so Mom came to the front porch and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said. "We just need to talk to you and Daddy."

To my surprise, they both took the news of our move really well, telling Amy and me how proud they were of both of us. It certainly has made the entire move easier. I know my mother's heart aches that I'm so far away, but we talk a lot and she marvels at all the things that have gone right for us. (Knock on wood here, for any of you who are superstitious.)

We put our house up for sale in December, and only a little more than a week later, we had a contract. In this economy, we expected it might take months to sell the house. Kudos to Scott Metcalf, our wonderful realtor from Erwin. He's the best!

Being surprised how quickly the house "sold," we really had to pick up the timeline of things in Lafayette. Amy and I looked at homes, but it was mostly up to me and our realtor here, the marvelous Arla Slaughter.

We looked at home after home. New homes. Lived-in homes. An older home with a beautiful backyard and pool. Nothing seemed right. I loved Amy's two-bedroom condo her company had placed her in for the first three months, and I began to think that it might turn into our permanent home.

We found a great house in a popular location here called Sugar Mill Pond. We were prepared to make an offer, but the next morning someone paid cash for the house. Darn. What would we do?

Arla and I set off the next day, and I had only two days left before I was going back to Erwin for three weeks. Amy and I would be visiting me on the weekends, but I wouldn't be back in Louisiana for a while.

We hadn't visited a new neighborhood called Grand Pointe, so we headed there first. It was only a mile outside of the business district – exactly where we wanted. Arla and I looked at every house we could. I found two homes that I thought fit what we were looking for in our new home. When Amy walked into the one at 100 Shadow Springs Drive, she knew instantly this was the one.

The house overlooks a beautiful pond (they call it a lake, but, folks, it's not Watauga), and it has a wonderful courtyard surrounded by a brick and iron fence. Sadie loves her freedom in this outdoor space!

The home is just beautiful, and we've slowly made it our own.

But the seller had lots of interest in the home, which is a replica of his own home. It was even featured as the cover story of a local magazine. So if we didn't come through, someone was bound to snap it up quickly.

The timeline was so tight.

The closing on our house in Tennessee was Friday, March 8, and the closing here in Lafayette was Monday, March 11. Amy had her condo only until Thursday, March 14.

Buying a house is complicated today with all the added attention on banks following the disastrous previous two years, so any little thing could put a terrible delay in place. We were a nervous wreck. Everything had to go smoothly for everything to go as planned in Lafayette.

And, thankfully, everything went like clockwork. As my mother says, it's like it was meant to be.

After signing the paperwork for the sale of our Erwin home, Amy and I drove back to 105 Old Farm Road and met Amy's family and my family for a last look and a photo at what had been our home since February 2000. And then it was time for us to go.

With Sadie in the back seat, Amy and I sat out for the two-day drive to Louisiana. We stopped at the Vesuvius tower at Second Street and sat for just a moment and held hands. I had always thought if I ever left Erwin, I'd put on the song "Casey" by Darren Hayes, so we sat there, tears rolling down both our faces, looking at downtown Erwin and playing that song on my iPhone.

From the speakers, Darren sang, "When you go, can you come and find me?/ I wanna be beside you when you leave this town/ I'll be waving goodbye pretending not to cry."

As the song ended, I said, "Let's go." Amy squeezed my hand and said, "OK."

We switched on the radio and things really came together. The next two songs told us we were on the right path. Amy's favorite pop group is Bon Jovi, and my favorite group is Eurythmics.

The first song that came on the radio was Bon Jovi's "(You Want To) Make a Memory," with Jon Bon Jovi singing, "If you go now, I'll understand/ If you stay, hey, I got a  plan/ You wanna make a memory/ You could sing a melody to me/ And I could write a couple lines/ You wanna make a memory."

It was immediately followed by Eurythmics' iconic "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)," with Annie Lennox singing, "Sweet dreams are made of this, who am I to disagree?"

Amy and I looked at each other and laughed.

There have been all sorts of signs since we arrived – people we've met, experiences we've had – that has reaffirmed that we've made the right decision.

Why, only this morning, there was another affirmation that everything is playing out just right, but that's a story for another time. I'll give you a little hint, though. All that newspaper ink that's stained my fingertips for 20 some years now, well you know what? It just won't come off.