Moving On

If you know me, you know how much I love houses. I've talked and written about my desire to sell the home I shared with my husband for so many years and find a cottage of my own.  A place to  jump start my life once again and get my creative juices flowing.  Part of that journey is captured on another blog The Cottage In My Mind.  When I wrote my widow memoir, I was still so happy in my house. So many good things came in the following years. But I knew if I stayed in my home of thirty years my life would still be good, but it would never be different. I felt change had stopped and I needed to kick start myself again.

This year I moved on. The universe and the man above took me an hour outside of Atlanta to a charming small, slightly rural, town where I now reside with my pack of hounds in a wonderful 1906 Historic cottage.

The biggest adjustment for me? There is no pizza delivery here. No delivery of any kind of food. I am the gal that doesn't cook and ordered dinner through Grub Hub so I could stay in on a rainy night or groceries from Instacart when I was too darn lazy to get in my car and buy dog food.  I am learning to plan ahead. My little town does have a grocery store, but they don't carry my brand of dog food. When you run out of kibble and have five dogs staring you down at dinner time you learn to get organized quickly.

I am fifteen minutes in any direction from lots of shopping, but I see pastures of cows and horses on my drive. I am only an hour away from my friends in Decatur so we still have dinners out. I like to go visit Decatur, but my heart and home are now here in Social Circle. My friends like to come and shop the great antique shops in the surrounding towns.

My farm fantasy is well fed. I landed here in the middle of a chicken war, where folks were campaigning to change the city ordinance to allow backyard chickens. The ordinance changed and, gee, I could have six chickens in my yard if I were a crazy lady who wanted to have five dogs in an uproar. Won't have chickens, or goats, or sheep, or horses on my property, but I see them everywhere I drive.

I think the most amazing thing is at 68 years of age I made a major move to my dream house. I didn't go to a condo. I didn't downsize because I am getting older. For some folks that is what they want. And we all need to do what we want, especially at this age. Smaller was never in my vocabulary. I am an antique furniture freak. I have a passion for old cupboards, farm tables, artwork, and never plan to give up the things I love, the way of life I have made for myself, until they put my ashes in a lovely vintage urn. Then come to the biggest estate sale my friends will conduct.

My one concession, all my rooms had to be on one floor. Gone are the days I want to climb stairs, my hip surgeries brought that message home. In reality, my dogs can't go up stairs either. The short legged hounds couldn't get to a bedroom on another floor, and we all sleep together, all the time.

I look at my cottage in awe. Eleven foot ceilings with amazing deep crown molding. A center hallway that holds more furniture than any room in my old house. The previous owner renovated this cottage so beautifully with an attention to detail that is beyond what I would have done. My hard work was hiring someone to paint all the walls white. The house sparkles in the sunlight.

The dogs love the yard. I did put up a privacy fence to keep them contained and well, private. What they don't see they don't bark at. The yard, as I look out my kitchen window, is beautiful. Flowers keep blooming. Lots of roses by the little white shed and herbs down the driveway. A huge front porch begs for friends to visit and share stories over wine.

The last twelve months were difficult. My hip surgeries, the loss of my mother, selling my house in Florida that she lived in, and finally selling my house that was the home I shared with my husband when he was alive. Letting go of so much to move on. I still have difficulty walking, but I managed to keep moving forward.

My hip surgeries scared me. Living by myself with all my dogs a constant fear nagged at me. What if something else happened? If I stayed in my old house I had the comfort of the closeness of friends and all that was familiar. I lived next door to a hospital. When my husband died, I felt sorrow, but I had my health and could run from my fears. When my health became an issue I was vulnerable. I couldn't run away from myself, I could barely move on a walker at first. In a new town I would be totally on my own.

I had to make this move. Letting fear rule was not my style. If not now, when? After all, I am not getting any younger.

The timing was perfect. My house sold the same day I listed it. I put an offer in on this cottage the next day. Thirty days later we sat at a closing table. I sold my house in the morning and purchased my new home at lunch. I had thirty days to get my act together and move.

The "cottage in my mind" is now my reality. Yes, I am getting older, but I am living on my own terms again. The move proved what I knew in my heart. With faith and courage anything is possible.

I. AM. HERE. HEAR ME ROAR.

 The little house in my back yard. Plan A is to make it a studio.

Plan B is to keep it for storage of all the furniture I am still buying.

Barbara Barth "Sparkle" My New Blog

I have been missing in action on my widow blog and for a good reason! I am writing a new book, two in fact, and of course, had to start a new blog and website to honor my new adventures!

In case you have lost track of time - and there is no reason for you to think about my timeline - I have been a widow for a little over five years. Somewhere in there my widow crown tilted and my dog lady tiara crept in. I became a widow right before I turned sixty. Now I am approaching sixty-five next week. Not old - by any means - and those of you who know me personally - know that fact! But it is time to reevaluate and put a plan in place for this exciting year. My plan is to . . .                                                        

                                S*P*A*R*K*L*E!
I am working on two new books. One is the continuing saga of my life with dogs, another memoir pulling in posts I have written all over the place for the last four years, tidying them up and putting them in a book. Life with six dogs in never boring and I plan to share my adventures with you, from crazy dog lady, to shopkeeper, to home repair and more men, naughty and nice.

A big leap of faith, I am writing an romantic thriller. Fiction. A first for me! The romantic part needs some work! - I want it to be somewhat sexy, but not too descriptive! You know I like to have a bit of a flame, but then leave the rest to your imagination. I am working on my balance for romance that will excite you to dream and not shock the pants off you so you slap your face and go, she said what??? For a gal who writes about her life and tells all, I am really somewhat shy with fictional details. Go figure.

If you want to check out my new blog Barbara Barth Sparkle you can keep up with the latest news! Just click here.  My new author website can be found here.

I will pop back on this blog from time to time, but would love for you to join me on my new adventure and sign up for my news on Barbara Barth Sparkle!

A peek at the cover image for my book. A work in progress.

Pam King, PDKing Designs, is working on my cover and interior book files for my book. She is offering her services to other writers if anyone is interested!   

A Book, A Cold, And Six Dogs

     Nothing nicer than to have a dog sympathize with your illness!

The weekend started on a high note, as weekends should. Friday night dinner with a girl friend and then off to Eagle Eye bookshop in Decatur, round the corner from my house, for a book signing of The Fall by award winning novelist David Fulmer and the kick off party for Five Stones Press, an innovative publishing venture David has started with some partners. One is my good friend Anna Foote. Check out their web: http://fivestonesllc.com/. I had a grand time catching up with some old friends who had stopped by. I left with my autographed copy of The Fall tucked safely in my purse. As I hit the cool night air I felt a scratchy throat and my head started to plug up. Oh pulease, no. Not another cold. But it seems that is exactly what was coming. I woke up Saturday morning sick as a dog. ('Scuse me doggies, just a figure of speech). And stayed that way until mid day today. Rotten, sick, headachy, don't want to nothing but rest type of cold. That was the bad news. The good news is that I started the weekend off buying a new book. There was some perfect timing. I had something to do when the quilt came off my head.

One thing to be said about being sick with six dogs is that you are never alone. Six dogs fighting to lay next to me, on me and by me all weekend long. The dogs thought we were having a sleeping party. Annabelle wiggled next to my side hugging the back of the couch and barely moved unless I did. Chloe finding this to be great fun, would run up the back of the couch and then jump down on my chest. Only seven pounds, but try that every few hours. And Rascal, the 35 pound bull that is like a bowling ball, jumped straight up in the air and came straight down on my stomach more than once. Now I have that flat tummy I wanted for summer. I think it exploded out my brain however. April in Paris came over to kiss me when I was sleeping, a kiss to my lips that, if it had been human, would have been a great kiss. Let's not comment on how odd it is to have a dog who can kiss, but she has a special talent.  I opened my eyes slowly, dreaming of that kiss .......Was I sleeping beauty? And where was my prince?  Alas, only those deep brown dog eyes staring back at me. I reached out and gave her head a little tap to the side. "Thank you sweet April In Paris, now please find a guy with kisses so sweet."  Bray and Foxy kept tabs by sleeping on the floor close to me only nudging me when it was time to eat, a gentle reminder that even if I was ill, the dogs were hungry. So much dog love it was hard to feel bad.

So next time you find yourself feeling under the weather, grab a good book, hide under a quilt and keep the dogs close for warmth and snuggles. Almost makes a sick day a party.

Widow Lesson Learned: More healing than any cold medicine, dogs cuddled close that generate a healing warmth. Warning, it could become addictive.

A Yard Full Of Men

I always have men at my house these days. Not dates, men, men who work. Men who I have to pay. Not the cute escort kind, but muscular workmen with hammers and saws. This is a good thing. My main man Jimmy has been here on and off since September when the rains came and lasted for seven days and nights. First it was water intruding into my basement, then it was rotten wood on the sheds, then I needed lattice between the sheds to keep the dogs from sneaking after stray mice. It is a never ending list of things a gal needs done when she can't even change a light bulb over her head. Jimmy brings other men with him, younger men, his sons. They all work in my back yard, saw horses set up, sawing wood and other things. I sit and write at the computer and glance to my left and outside the widow are the backs of men working. My dogs gather at the kitchen door barking and howling as these men go in and out the wood gate to get tools and supplies. Those things that men buy at hardware stores and love to carry in their pockets or in their tool belt.  All the flurry of work makes me flush with excitement. It is as nice as having a husband working in the yard only I don't have to fix lunch. And then they do something most husbands don't. They clean up everything and put away their tools when they finish for the day. I can sit on my deck (the deck that my man Jimmy made for me last month) and watch the dogs run through the yard and not worry they will trip on some workman's belongings.

The Reverand who mows my yard came up today to see what all the fuss was a buzzin about in my yard. Jimmy and sons were working on the wood fence by my kitchen door. "Better move that corvette," the Rev told me, "might get hit with some of that flying wood." Then he offered to crank it up and move it for me. Then Jimmy and his sons said they would be happy to move the corvette also. No one is moving my car unless it's me. But there was a big flutter of excitement about my 79 corvette. Truth is I haven't cranked it in a good while and I think it is time to get it on the road and leave my van behind. I'll just shop for smalls that can tuck in the seat beside me. Oh, I am sorry, dog boy Bray, you want to crank the corvette and sit in it with me. Bray is the only male allowed near my muscle car. He is a dandy boy and won't tell me how to drive.

A lovely day of sun and men, and now at nightfall I am home to snuggle with the pups. Tomorrow brings me another man, Calvin. I like to keep them coming and going. Calvin has his hauling truck and we are going to pick up a charming ole blue cupboard I bought. Shopping I did when my yard was full of men a working.

Widow's Lesson Learned: It takes many men to make me happy, workmen that is. But it will take just one man to make me smile.

Read My Lips

See these ruby red lips.  If you are a guy and are reading my blog, consider yourself kissed. I am writing tonight to say I kiss more than the dogs. Nothing hotter than the kiss of a lonely widow ready to play. This adult content is for a dear family member who said, "no wonder she can't date, all she talks about are the dogs." So, dear loved one, tonight I'll talk trash. Hot kisses, wet kisses, all the kisses one could want. Providing you don't mind the fact they've kissed a dog first.  Gotcha! Silly me, still talking dogs instead of sex!
I know there is a man out there saying to himself, "I really want to meet the kind of woman who is cool, wears vintage leather jackets, jeans and gobs of turquoise jewlery. I love it she wears ankle boots in the winter and mary janes in the summer. I like that she thinks green and recycles clothing buying at Goodwill. The more dogs she has the hotter she'll be. So much love to share. We'll eat drink and be happy, and I won't mind if she has a few extra pounds as long as those pounds are just for me. I like it she isn't trying to impress me, but wants me to impress her. So what if she doesn't cook, rarely vaccums and never dusts. I can take pills for my allergies. I don't mind sleeping alone while she is up all night writing, as long as she starts the evening in the bedroom. She can do whatever she wants as long as she wants me there with her. Thats the hot widow chick I am looking for."
If you are a male reading this and saying, those are my thougths exactly, pick up the phone and call me! You can find me under 1 -800- hot widow.
So sis, can I RIP?  Love ya.

Widow lesson learned: Sometimes you have to talk about something other than the dogs or you could be a dog of a date!

Frogs, Widows And Puppy Dog Tails

The Atlanta Botanical Garden
http://www.atlantabotanicalgarden.org/home.do
Help the amphibians.
Frogs are in trouble! More than one-third of the world's amphibian species are considered threatened or endangered.Rescue programs strive to give some amphibian species a lien on life. However, for many amphibians, time is of the essence! Check how you can help:
http://www.atlantabotanicalgarden.org/site/conservation/amphibian_research#help%20the%20amphibians
There are future prince charmings to be rescued. You never know what happens when you kiss a frog.

http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/animals/frogs/

Wizards at work. The stars aligning. Good things about to happen to a lonely widow sad sack at home with nothing to do. October 2008, a bad date turned into a wonderful part time job. We went to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens after a Mexican lunch and I met my match. Not the guy I found online, but the beautiful garden haven he showed me. Flowers, art and a frog pod. I dumped my date as swiftly as I could. Ran home and Googled the gardens.Planning on volunteering, a huge flower opened and the word employment popped out, beckoning me. I was transfixed. Part time sales associate, gift shop. I knew the job would be mine. I kissed my monitor, thank you Lordy, and The Atlanta Botanical Garden became my prince charming.

Now I am on the move again. My last day working at the Botanical Garden Gift Shop will be Jan. 31st. Writing until all hours of the night, with six dogs watching my back, a vintage corvette that is waiting to hit the road, and my book to bedazzle bookshops is my path this year. I’ll try to pace myself so I won’t run over my real Prince Charming if he is standing on the side of the road thumbing for a ride. There may just be room in the seat next to me for a soul daring enough to hang on.
On the dog front, I missed my vet appointment for Annabelle. So engrossed in watching the workmen in my yard, lifting plywood and a hammering, a sight that my eyes find exciting. Men and tools. I forgot we were due at the vet at 10:30. I called to confirm my afternoon appointment at lunch and oh the surprise I'd defaulted. I’ve been in to see them so much this week, my brain is fogged on who and when. So tomorrow early as the sun rises, Annabelle will go to see if she has any of the worms that are frequenting these premises.
Tonight I am sighing with relief, my floodlights are working, the siding is back on the shed and an albino rat’s body was carried to the trash at the street by someone other than me.
Widow Lesson Learned: Prince Charmings come in many forms. You just need to recognize them when they come along.

Waiting For 2010

I've stayed up til 3am, so with the time difference from where this comes, I am here right after midnight and it is Jan 1, 2010. Didn't want to wait until morning, this morning after I finally go to bed. The night air is cold and damp from the rain, but it is fresh with new beginnings and I find it exhilarating. Just gave the hounds their last run in the yard. Brrrr. Chilled to the bones but ready for the world.

My book goes to Outskirts Press today (via the Internet of course, is there any other way?)and a new chapter in my life begins on this first day of the new year. My book. The Unfaithful Widow, Fragmented Memoirs Of My First Year Alone. My ramblings on getting a life back. And buying a vintage corvette to send my soul on it's journey. I'll be sharing parts of it here with my Lessons Learned. And of course, the dogs who rescued me are a part of all that is good again and the subject of most of my rantings here.

So Happy New Year to me and to anyone who wanders into my little blog in this world.

Widow Lesson Learned: Staying up late is a fun thing, until it hits you in the face in the morning.

Just when you think you've figured it out, you get confused. Old loves, new loves, all life's emotions played out by my dogs. Chloe. The last rescue dog to come in these doors in August. A 7 pound Chi, with a temperament that is hugely wrong . She is jealous. She is jealous of the dogs before her and most certainly she is all rumpled up over the new dog. Tonight she growled and hissed and bared those tiny teeth like little rat's teeth at the newest entry into these portals. Then she was snarly at old Annabelle, who she has been snarled with all week and bit her. We were all tidy on the couch under a quilt when this roar from hell came from the tiny body and she popped her head out and bit Annabelle. Oh poor brown cow eyes, Annabelle slinked off the couch to the chair. Bitch slap. Harsh words, but Chloe needed a little tap to that snarling face of hers. She bared her teeth at sweet Annabelle as the New Year's Peach dropped. Earlier she was deranged with the new gal, who I keep calling he and dog is a she, but looks like a he with the name Rascal. Perhaps a girly name is in order for her. Rascal is a player and strong. She jumps on you and a bowling ball has gone kaplunk on your chest. She licks you with a tongue that is wide and wet and does so with surprising abandon, considering she is a stranger. If she lands on Chloe, I'll have a flat Chi. She too was befuddled by Chloe's viciousness at her. Her two toned eyes blinked and she pattered away on her splayed feet. I would worry Chloe has gone deranged over a new dog, but she has been acting this way for awhile. I am hoping she is not going into madness, for I know little of the ways of small dogs and their ill tempers. She flits from kisses to snarls. She would be your worst date nightmare. All petite and cute with a personality that splits in two. But, she has my heart and I kissed her little head and we made up. Worry is, the new dog. Oh how I wanted to have her, and now I am most confused as to the situation of jealousy that is getting worse. Do I keep her and fend off the devils in my Chi, or do I send her back and the Chi will still be crazy?Perhaps it is I who is crazy. Crazy with love for the dogs, and crazy that I am kissing them on New Year's Eve and not my own date. Its a dog world sometimes and being leader of the pack is hard work when you don't speak the language. For now all is quiet in this kingdom as five dogs sleep with their heads wrapped around their tails and the question of the week is four or five? So hard for my heart to decide.

Widow Lesson Learned: A jealous Chi with rat's teeth is more dog than a pack of four who smile.

A Ray Of Sunshine On A Cold Dreary Night

Wowie. It is cold and raining on the night before New Year's Eve. Worked at the botanical garden until 10pm. Last week of the Henry Moore exhibit. Then to Publix for dog food and people food. Now am snug and warm at home. Dogs are pacing as they are not getting bones tonight. Always I give them huge handfuls of biscuits upon arrival but tonight no bones. Foxy has to fast for a blood test at 8 am, so if Foxy doesn't get to eat, no one gets to eat, except me. I am the Alpha and make the rules. But Foxy would be face down if the others were given treats and she wasn't. So I am opting for confused and befuddled dogs rather than sad face Foxy. Seems fair to me, but three out of four dog faces don't agree.

Annabelle was a ray of sunshine in this dismal cold weather. A look like that deserves some treats, but all she got were kisses and a promise.

Reminds me of my last date, he got kisses and some promises too. But no treats for him either.

Tomorrow is a big day to end the Old Year. My book is finally finished, the last words a widow had to say were on dog rescue. Tomorrow I release it to Outskirts Press for them to work their magic. And tomorrow a rescue dog comes for the New Year. A smiling widow can relax her work for the day is done.

Widow Lesson Learned: Promises and kisses but no treats works on dogs as well as men. Both will behave to see what's next.

Christmas Magic, Santa's Gift To The Widow

My second Christmas as a widow is just about to come down the chimney. It is December 21st, my first offical day of blogging and only 3 shopping days til Christmas Eve. Last Christmas was my first as a widow, having been without a husband since May of that year. I was determined not to spend the holidays without a heap of Christmas fun. A hard thing to do when all you want for Christmas is the Christmas past. But Santa and his elves found a man, a Santa's helper, online for me to take a trip back in time with on Christmas night. Our Town, in real life. This gentleman took me on a ride in a huge truck through his old neighborhood, sharing stories of his youth growing up in the house around the corner. House after house bedazzeled me with all their lights and candy canes popped out of roofs. Not a grinch was to be found. The evening ended with a late night breakfast at the Waffle House on the corner. Santa's helper dropped me back at my car and I swear I heard him yell as he drove out of sight, Merry Christmas To All, and To All A Good Night. A sad widow believed in the magic of Christmas again.

This year I have four dogs instead of Santa's helper. How fun is that? The tree is sparingly decorated for fear one of the four legged critters will be too interested in the shiny balls on the tree and then, Kaboom! You get the picture. Not a Kodak moment, but maybe one for funniest home videos. The lights twinkling bringing magic back for a season that could be lonely if you are a widow without dogs. I know I will be kissed under the Mistletoe.

That's Foxy my 13 year old Shepherd dressed for Christmas, many Christmases past. She's rickety now and doesn't fuss as much with her looks. She is a nautral beauty, back then she was a hussy.


Widow Lesson Learned: Christmas Can Be Fun If You Let Santa Open Your Heart To The Magic Around You. Dogs are great kissers.