Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

It feels like an eternity, but it is has been just weeks since I lost my dog, Ginger. The whole family lost her, actually, but more than any other pet I've had, I really felt like Ginger belonged to me. I belonged to her.

Ginger, March 30, 1996 - May 5, 2010

Since I moved back to my parent's house in Winder, Ginger became primarily my responsibility. In the beginning, it just meant making sure she was fed and spending a little time with her each day. Last summer, it meant bringing her inside in the afternoons and letting her sleep or pace around my room while I worked, so she could get a break from the heat and I could have a little company. Soon after that it meant anticipating when she needed to go out, and cleaning up after her when I missed the window. I cleaned up after her a lot, and so did my parents.

Ginger started getting stuck in the bushes and groves of bamboo scattered around the yard, and I had to go out at all hours, from early in the morning to after midnight, to untangle her from whatever briar she'd gotten herself snagged in. This started happening several times every week. She'd bark and bark until I went to get her out, over time I became tuned in to that bark, so I could hear it even when I had the TV or loud music on. Read More »

Three weeks ago my 27th birthday came and went. I had a marker post planned for that time, all full of longing and regret for time gone by. A few histrionic sentences about how though I've reached the same ephemeral age as every member of the 27 Club, I'll just be another year older by this time next year and will have probably accomplished little.

I may still write that post eventually, but so far this year I haven't had time to dwell on my lack of artistic genius. On my birthday, my paternal grandfather—the only one I have ever known—had to go into the hospital. His cascade of problems started with a case of pneumonia, and finally progressed to him losing a leg. A leg. It was just a lack of oxygen that landed him in the hospital in the first place, and just over two weeks later, he'd undergone an above-the-knee amputation. Amputation. I can't stop wiggling my own fingers and toes, wondering what it's like when your toes are suddenly no longer there to wiggle, wondering where that leg is, previously flesh, bone and titanium that was a part of my grandfather, now medical waste somewhere, somehow not a part of my grandfather. Read More »

There is not much to report this year, but this is a Christmas tradition. Read More »