Ripley's Believe it or Not

Keeping up with even one blog has been a challenge lately, let alone two because we have a new member of the household.  I got a puppy for Christmas.  Actually, I got her a little before Christmas, but she was the big holiday gift.  It's been more than a decade since I've had a puppy in the house, and I haven't cared for one this young since 1995.  One forgets how time intensive they are.  Like mobile infants with sharp teeth and no diapers.  It's exhausting.  Worth it, but exhausting.

She fulfills an almost half century desire to own a true, purebred rough collie.  I've been hooked on the breed ever since I first saw Lassie Come Home, followed by being a faithful Sunday afternoon viewer of Lassie and then reading all the Albert Payson Terhune books about his collies, primarily Lad.  I loved the look of them with their delicate long faces, bent over ears and sleek coats, their native intelligence, and the nobility with which they carry themselves. And, truthfully, I fell in love with Terhune's depiction of his country estate, and I associate collies with a lifestyle I find attractive.  Ironically, for all the dogs I have had, except for a brief period back in the 80's, I've never actually owned a collie.  I've come sort of close.  We had Lando, a border collie, for many years, and Luke is part collie, but since I couldn't resist rescuing anything and everything, there was never a chance to pick and choose a purebred dog.  We shouldn't have done it now.  Four large dogs in a suburban yard is enough, but Luke is 15 and Ashley is in poor health, and I've steeled myself for a while that they are both close to the end of their days.

But it's more than that, it's the realization that Cheyenne is now 11.  She is my bedrock.  Without her, I could not have made it through the last decade.  She came into our lives before we really understood that we were all beginning a slide down a very long rabbit hole, but she's been by my side through it all.  She loves me completely.  I feel the same about her.  She's been supportive in ways humans really can't because she has no other interest.  To say she lives for me might be laying it on a little thick, but I am her main vocation.  She's by my side when I'm sad or sick.  She's shared the happy times and accepted the bad ones.  The only thing she can't handle is when I cry.  It upsets her too much, and she'll  leave the room briefly.  She was a good companion to my mother as well.  She was tirelessly patient whenever I took her to the nursing home during Mother's last months and we would be stopped multiple times as we made our way down the hall to her room so that other patients could pet her and talk to her.  She looks and acts young to me, and I plan on her living a very long time, but others have commented on her age - they can see the years on her.  She can no longer jump on the bed.  There are other signs that she's past her prime.  There are so many wonderful things about dogs, but there is the hard truth that they shine brightly but briefly.  I've been accepting about that with the other dogs:  I've recognized that it's just the way it is, and to enjoy their company while I've had it.  I've mourned the pets I've lost, but I've moved along.  But when I would contemplate losing Cheyenne, I just couldn't imagine it.  So, after I first got to Pittsburgh, I registered with a pet search engine that looked for listings at shelters within a 100 miles for collies available for adoption.  I thought maybe if I got the dog of my dreams and had him or her together with Cheyenne for a few years it would blunt the pain I would eventually have to feel.

Greg has put his foot down all along, insisting that there would be no more dogs for now, but for some reason he decided to try and get one for me this year, so he secretly began trolling local shelters looking for collies.  In the meantime, I would get alerts whenever any dog with "collie" as part of their make-up would be available nearby.  The planets seemed to have aligned earlier in the month when a trio of purebred collie puppies were available through a small rescue group in Ohio.  And so enter Ripley (name for Ellen Ripley of the Alien movies).  Cheyenne is not her biggest fan.  None of the older dogs are really happy about it, although they accept it.  After all, at one point all of them were the newbie, and they all know this is a multiple dog household.  Ripley however, is fascinated with Cheyenne.  I think she senses this is the Alpha dog, and wants to be around her.  Cheyenne is not particularly patient with her, but accepts her begrudgingly, I think, as long as she's secure in her knowledge that we are still tightly bonded.

The moral to this story is that no one loves you like your dog.  No one understands you like your dog does either.  They don't nag, they don't talk back (usually), and they love you no matter what you look like.  They don't care what your politics are or whether you're a genius or not, or if you're wealthy or not.  They don't judge you.   I have great friends, but none are greater than my dogs.  And now I've got the dog of my dreams and Cheyenne's by my side.  Pretty sweet.

Contemplating the End of the World

Haven't seen you in quite a while

I was down the hold just passing time

Last time we met was a low-lit room

We were as close together as a bride and groom

We ate the food, we drank the wine

Everybody having a good time

Except you

You were talking about the end of the world

- Until  the End of  the World, U2

The end of the world is supposed to happen today.  The weather certainly is acting like it's trying to blow us all away.  The gusts whipping through the trees and pulling at my little Rudolph out in the yard are stronger than anything we saw here when Sandy brushed up against us.  But, as of right now, the human race is holding steady.  Meaning that there are people who, as I write this, are dying or being born, loving one another or hating one another, going to work or avoiding going to work (I would be among the latter).  It's just a Friday.  Yet, can any of us really say it hasn't crossed our minds:  what if the Mayans were right?  I can just picture all those Survivalists bracing for it.  Of course, I guess they are kind of constantly bracing for it, so today isn't all that new.  The rest of us probably don't spend a whole of lot time thinking about the End of Days, but can you honestly say it didn't at least cross your mind as this date approached?  I used to wonder what I would do if I survived a catastrophic event, usually as I was curled up comfortably reading The Stand, my favorite book.  I figured I would head for Montana, high up into the mountains, try to find a cozy little cabin with my dogs, learn to hunt and fish, and get along just fine - like there was nothing to it, of course.  But, what crossed my mind recently when Sandy took large parts of the northeast briefly backwards 100 years, is that we're pretty soft as a society.  Even those of us who have hard lives where we struggle to make ends meet.  We're not really the kind of people who could easily survive if all the modern conveniences were taken away from us.  When I first started watching Revolution, I thought that the view of the world fifteen years on was pretty bleak, but the more I think about it - particularly as my own power flickered on and off as Sandy introduced itself - the more I realized that's probably exactly right and the only problem I have with the show, which I am completely addicted to, is that the people look awfully pretty for living for fifteen years without washing machines, hair stylists, teeth whiteners and even decent razors.  But, the fact that they still look pretty isn't really the point, the point is that life would be extraordinarily hard.  Disease, famine, large scale violence, all of those things probably would happen.  So, I have to confess that my chances of surviving to make it to Montana are pretty slim, so I spent more brain cells wondering how I would spend my last day on earth.  As it turns out, had yesterday been truly the last day of civilization, I spent it working and cleaning up puppy pee and poop.  Not exactly epic, so I guess I'm glad we've all got another shot at it.  But, what would you do, who would you spend it with and what would you say to them?  There are likely a contingent who would march into their boss, spouse, or someone else and tell them off, but probably most of us - the vast, vast majority of us - would draw our loved ones close to us and tell them how much we love them and why.  We probably ought to live every day like it was the end of the world.

A Moment of Silence

The post I had planned dealt with a bouncy puppy and a poor, injured mother-in-law who unfortunately  probably wished she bounced a little more.  I was hoping to pull of a piece that told the "tale with a tail" with a little bit of humor because, after all, who can fail to smile when dealing with stories of puppies - particularly when you're not the one cleaning up the accidents or trying to hide your shoes.  However, all of that will wait because, for once maybe, words just fail me.

I don't know to this second much about the Connecticut elementary school shooting except that 26 are dead, 20 of them children.  But I know that yesterday morning, there were 20 kids anxiously awaiting their holiday break, wondering what Santa would bring them that will never find out the answer to that question.  There are countless other lives now hopelessly shattered as a result.  So, I am not sure this is the time for stories about puppies.  That will wait for another day.  Today it's time to remember in silence that innocence lost.

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Selfless/Selfish

Circa 2010

On the Monday before Thanksgiving, as I walked Chappy and Cheyenne around the block in the predawn cold, I could hear a car driving up behind us.  Chappy, for some inexplicable reason, loves to pull out as far as the leash will let him to the center of the road.  Hence, I've gotten attuned to listening for engine noises and judging distance, car size and speed of travel so I can pull us all toward the side of the road, particularly now that it's pitch black still in the six o'clock hour.  But this one was traveling the wrong direction - toward the interior of the neighborhood, not toward the main road where the daily commuters are beginning to go - and at a pretty good clip.  I pulled us over to the side as best I could and watched as a Toyota Four Runner sped up the road past us and pulled into the driveway of a home where I happened to know an elderly couple lives.  I know it because I've seen them a few times out on their screened in porch during more temperate days - he relying heavily on a walker and she, able to walk on her own, but not quite doing it in an upright position.  But, I would have surmised it just by looking at their house, which looks like about a half dozen other houses in the neighborhood.  Like it's always been well tended until the last few years, but is beginning to look threadbare now.  The yard is still mowed, but the beds aren't weeded, the paint is beginning to peel, and there are not any holiday decorations constantly rotating on the stoop like there is for all their neighbors.  They all tell the tale that someone is lending a hand to keep things going, but can't do it with the love and detail that the rest of us care for our homes.  The house across from it is so well lit, I'm pretty sure you can see it from space, so I could see the driver clearly as she got out of the car.  She looked to be within shouting distance of my age, popping out of the vehicle as soon as it was in park to begin walking up to the front door with a stride that I know well.  The one where the walker leans far forward of his or her feet with a stern, determined stare toward the eventual destination, as though one's body is trying to will the feet to go faster, yet they do not break out into a run because that would imply panic, and staying calm is paramount.  Or maybe calm isn't the right word:  in control would be the greater goal.  She walked that way up to the front door and let herself in without knocking.  As Chappy stopped to do his business, I thought to myself that I knew with a high degree of certainty the scenario that was playing out inside.  One or the other of the couple had in all likelihood fallen and there would be no way the other one could lift their fallen mate, so they made an early morning call for help to the nearest offspring.  She had to drop whatever she was doing - getting kids ready for school, dressing for work, probably both - and come over to help.  I felt for her:  a sense of deja vu coming over me.  How many times had I made that exact same walk in the exact same posture to my mother's?  How many dinners had I left in the middle of?  It's all just part of the gig.  They took care of you, now you take care of them.  But, it doesn't make it easy.

But, as I watched the little early morning drama from my vantage point across the street, I thought of the daughter and her role, not really what it must be like to be the parents, even though on some level I know I'm speeding toward that same point on the horizon like a bullet.  Even when I was caring for my mother that final year, while I tried to consider her dignity along with her health when making decisions, I'm not sure I had the level of empathy that really allowed me to put myself in her place and wonder what it must be like to be that person who can't care for their beloved home like they want to, or to be able to pick themselves up off the floor if they trip.  What must it be like to know that the ever-creeping fragility that steals over your body is taking the very life away from you bit by bit, day by day?  That soon you'll have to test the faith you've always lived your life by in a very real way.  Is there really an afterlife?  You've always thought so, but when staring it square in the face, can you be so sure?  Did you live a good enough life to go toward the light?  All the things someone like that older couple must think about, in addition to the normal worries of living on a fixed income, trying to sustain some sense of independence and wondering when the next episode of NCIS is on.  No, really, I think I was too focused on just trying to do the "job" of caring for my mother to really be able to see her fully and consistently as a human being.  I did - in flashes.  But, consistently?  I'm not sure I can lay claim to that.  So, enter my mother-in-law.  She came for a two week visit over three weeks ago now.  She's still here with us because she took a nasty fall the night before she was due to fly back home.  In the immediate days that followed, she was in no shape to travel.  She's getting there, but it's slow going.  Now in her upper 70's, the body doesn't heal in the same way it would at my age even.  So, as we care for her as she recuperates, I've been re-thinking about that early morning scenario and trying to imagine it from another perspective.   I've had some mixed success.  It is hard to step outside one's own worldview and remember to be wholly sensitive to someone who is at a stage in life you can only imagine, having not yet experienced it personally.

Selfless is hard.  Selfish is easy.  Most of us totter in between.  More on this next time...

Bah Humbug

If you know me personally, then it is no secret that the holidays make me crazy.  I know I get called a lot of things, and of those, one of the titles that can get repeated in mixed company is "control freak".  (Of course, that should have clued me in when Kelsey started down the road to ED, because I was told often that it is an individual's way of controlling their circumstances.  Like mother like daughter, with fatal results.)  But, anyway, given my need for controlling what I could in a hectic world of raising kids and working in a stressful industry, the holidays were like my Kryptonite.  Granted, the holidays have their own sort of routine, which we all call tradition, but they crowd in on all the other stuff that goes on in a life.  None of that stuff stops so you can savor the holidays.  Oh no, you're just supposed to be of good cheer and still work 12+ hours a day.  And, no one suddenly increases your income by 20% so you can afford all those gifts plus pay the electric bill, now higher because your home is literally lit up light a shopping mall.  I know, I know.  You've heard all this before.  But, I'm just setting the table for the main course.

Worst of all for me maybe is that I want to love it.  Every year I sit by the tree and try to recapture those long ago days when, as a little girl, I would curl up with a book and read by the light of our Christmas tree - maybe with a fire going in the fireplace nearby.  And every year I wanted that same sense of peace and comfort that I had as a kid for my children, all the while enduring my own nervous breakdowns.  It's a lot of pressure:  trying to make yourself happy when you're not actually.

Now enter our Empty Nester years.  Marissa is all but out of the house - busy with her own life, which is as it should be - but it is in the lull Before Grandchildren.  We live far away from Greg's siblings, so the holidays are a quiet, intimate affair.  My cousin will have her holiday party, and we, like last year, will make the drive down to where my mother's family all live toward the beginning of the month, but it is a relaxed event without pretension or expectation.  No stress there - just the welcome anticipation of hearing more colorful stories of a family I've been connected to for all my life, but don't know well.   There is still the issue of gift giving - which I'd like to say I do well, but that is not always the case.  That one probably never gets any better or less stressful.  I love giving gifts, but hate it horribly when they are not spot on, and it's like gambling.  A lot like gambling.  Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and always you spend money.  But, people who are control freaks are probably rarely compulsive gamblers.  Those two things do not go together.  Yet, still, in these quiet years - what one might call the Viagra Years (when we still want to act and feel young, but just quite aren't always up to the task) - this should be the time I could re-grab the magic.

Yet, what you realize is that, while you may move on with your life after a loss, the holidays never get better.  Or, I guess I should say, they haven't gotten better yet.  There is just too much emphasis on being with family.  As I set the Thanksgiving table last week, it was so obvious that it was lopsided.  There was a place setting missing.  I filled the void by putting most of the food dishes around that side of the table and kept myself upbeat on the surface so no one would see how bothered I was by that visual image, but the next day I had a migraine like I haven't had in years.  The pain was white hot and blanked out everything but the fact of it.  I told my mother-in-law that it was the change in the weather, which might actually be partially true, but I think it was my brain exploding from the stress of having to endure one more holiday without one daughter.

You realize you need to be thankful for the family remaining, but occasionally, in our infinite fragility as humans, we lose sight of that.

Another Mean Season

Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends

We're so glad you could attend

Come inside!  Come inside!

- Karn Evil 9, Emerson Lake and Palmer

Welcome back to the Mean Season.  For anyone who may be new, that is the term our family therapist coined for the holidays and how it can be perceived to individuals suffering from eating disorders.  We are sold the concept that holidays are about connecting with family, having good times and making lasting memories.  And there is that.  Sometimes.  But, the holidays have a darker side for someone with an eating disorder.  The entire season beginning now through the end of the year focuses on food.  And lots of it.  Cookies and eggnog, rich dishes in an overwhelming number.  I wrote a piece last year about the holidays that, if you're hosting a Thanksgiving dinner, I would encourage you to look back over.  It was on my mind last night as we were sitting around the restaurant table hashing out the Thanksgiving menu.  My mother-in-law is in town for the holiday and wants to stay in, rather than travel down to my cousin's.  That is fine, we anticipated as much, but between work, two blogs, an NHL lockout to protest as loudly and as frequently as possible, and a seriously injured quarterback to worry over, I had not given the actual menu much thought.  So, I petitioned everyone for their menu preferences.  Probably a large mistake.  Greg's mom is lobbying for green bean casserole as opposed to a simple fresh vegetable.  On top of mashed potatoes with a lot of butter and sour cream, stuffing, bread and dessert, even I was beginning to be triggered by the richness of the food choices.  The lesson I learned is that I probably should not have asked, I should have just fixed what I was comfortable with.  Likely that no one would have noticed, everyone would have found something they liked and the focus would have stayed where it should be:  on spending time with family.  Oh, and watching lots of football.

We as a society have laden the holidays with so many expectations that any real meaning has been completely trampled by the trappings of excess.  Not just food, but gifts and their quantity and value.  Don't get me wrong, I like to buy gifts for people but I'm so scatterbrained that if you didn't put me on a set schedule, like Christmas, I wouldn't be disciplined enough to get them bought and sent with any regularity.  But, the expectation and the disappointment when those expectations aren't meant can be daunting.  I hate to disappoint people, it's crushing, but I certainly have.  And, I have to confess, I've been disappointed.  Last year for our anniversary, which is three days before Christmas, Greg presented me with a Troy Polamalu ornament.  I like it, but a friend had given me the exact ornament for Christmas the year before and it was very prominently hanging on the Sports Tree in the Sports Cave right at the foot of the stairs.  So, I knew it was a last minute gift that he ran down to the Hallmark store about a mile from the house and grabbed with little thought, and it upset me.  A lot.  Looking back on it, I'm not proud of that reaction, particularly since he had spent the months leading up to the holiday occasionally showing up with little surprises for no reason at all:  the Yoda mug I'm drinking my coffee out of now, a book about Rin Tin-Tin, the Super-8 DVD (love that movie), my fleece lined Pens hat, among other things.  So, I am a leading example of the things I seek to criticize.  And me, of all people, should know that the only thing that really matters about the holidays is being together as a family and loving one another.  But sometimes that can be the absolute meanest part of the holidays...

...more on that next time.

Charlie trying to serve himself up as Thanksgiving dinner

  

Post-Election Night

What a difference four years can make.  For the country, it has seen the death of Osama bin Laden, but the birth of the Tea Party, four years of rough economic times, held together by a bold stimulus package and the bailout of the auto industry.  We have seen healthcare reform and the coining of the phrase "Obamacare".  We have also added to our jargon words like "birthers".  But, the war in Iraq has ended and there is a set timeline for withdrawing from Afganistan.  And it goes on.  I actually tripped across a list of President Obama's 50 Top Accomplishments in his first term just in case you are not sure what has gone on over the last term.  It has been pretty jam packed.

For me personally, of course, it has been an equally raucous ride.  Much of it on a downhill trajectory, but not all of it.  I sat in my mother's living room watching the results come in four years ago with her and her night attendant whom I had just hired in an attempt to try and keep her at home.  She was a lovely young woman, raised by former hippies and therefore pretty liberal.  She and I were nearly giddy as the results rolled in.  Mother finally lost her temper with us and sternly reminded me this was her house and we were NOT to celebrate Barack Obama's election in front of her.  I am not sure if she was more offended by the fact that he was black or a Democrat, but my money is on the former just being aggravated by the latter.  She would never spend another night in that apartment, so I've often felt a bit guilty about ruining it for her, but of course some major history was being made in front of us, and it was hard not be excited by it.  And actually, it wasn't me that ruined it for her really, it was the American electorate, but boy was I glad about that.  I will always that remember the tug and pull of emotions that night.

I will likely always remember this election day as well, but it was a far different experience.  Tuesday night I watched the results from a basement 1,400 miles away from that north Austin apartment building.  I was with my husband, four fewer dogs, no mom to worry about and, of course, the big one:  one less daughter to celebrate or commiserate with.

Of course, aside from the jarring difference in circumstance and locale, I'll remember it because it was a challenge just to participate.  I have been battling a stomach bug all week, and it was wicked that morning.  Getting dressed to go to the polls was a challenge, but we timed it right and there were no lines or I would not have made it - without some grave personal embarrassment anyway.  As it was, I barely made it home without a major issue.  There is no early voting in Pennsylvania, or I would have voted long ago.  And, the whole drama that most of the nation knew a little about with the voter ID did raise its ugly head.  While it had been struck down by the courts for this particular election, it will be in force for future ones, and the volunteers at the polls were instructed to make sure people had ID's.  That caused confusion in other areas.  At our particular polling place, they just reminded us that it would take effect going forward.  Other places were asking to see it.  There were long lines in many places.  Marissa had to wait a half hour to vote.  She was lucky.  Some places across the country waited for hours.  If you look at where the main issues were, it impacted minority and young voters in particular.  Ask me, there was a definite push to suppress voting in areas likely to support the President.  News flash:  he won anyway.  In both the electoral college and popular vote.  For those of us who support him, we can breathe a sigh of relief and take some satisfaction in a battle well fought.  But, we cannot rest on those laurels very long because those same antics will impact the values we fought for in future elections.

Which brings me to the main point really.  This was a hard fought election, with a lot of bitterness probably on both sides, but from my perspective the social conservatives seemed to be the ones throwing the big barbs.  That is likely not fair, but, like I said, that's my view of the world.  We all have our unique view of things.  Doesn't make us always right, and it certainly doesn't mean the other guy is always wrong.  I think in an election cycle now complicated with the speed of communication through social media, that is easier to lose sight of than ever before.  So, for one last time, this is my appeal for all of us to remember who we really are at the core:  Americans.  Our ancestors built this country on the foundation that we have the right to express our personal beliefs.  I don't remember ever seeing anything about suppressing our neighbor's beliefs if they don't agree with us.  To my conservative friends, particularly the ones who were getting a little feisty on Facebook or Twitter on Tuesday night, I say this:  for now, my political leanings have won the day.  Four years from now you have another chance at it.  I hope we will be ushering in maybe the first female President next and her name could well be Hillary, but if that sounds like a bad idea to you, then back the other candidate, and accept that this is the beauty of the process.  In the meantime, you have the right to continue to work for candidates locally and in the mid-term elections that you feel will represent you.  More importantly, you have the right to live your personal beliefs.  You are against abortion?  I do not have a beef with you over that.  I simply do not believe my government should impose that belief system on others.  End of story.  I believe that my friends who are gays and lesbians should have the same rights as you and I do.  That does not make me a bad person, I'm sorry, but it doesn't.  But somehow so many people personalized all of this and demonized individuals who don't share their views.  It is time to put it aside and get back to living our lives together as one nation.  I hope we can do that, because we do have a lot of work to do.