Mason the Puppy

This is Mason, our newly adopted german shepherd mix puppy.  He is ten weeks old and has a sweet, mellow disposition.  So far the kids are loving the novel experience of helping to take him out for potty training and amusing him with toys and attention.  Getting ready for him was last having another baby, but this time the older kids were all able to play a part too- helping to "declutter"  the living room and set up his wire kennel, scouring the floor to make sure nothing was there that could be dangerous to a growing puppy that likes to chew.  Our spring cleaning this year was all courtesy of Mason.

Our former german shepherd Zena was very different than Mason.  She was a drill instructor keeping order in her troops, and a taskmaster.  She was also female, with very light coloring.  Mellow was not in her vocabulary. She was always on alert for any sign of danger, always keeping a safe perimeter.  She slept in front of the doorway, blocking all of us from any potential threat.  Mason goes with the flow. He plays, he goes outside, he sleeps.  He slept through the night his first night home without a whimper. He is ready and willing to play, but just as ready to sit quietly in your lap and rest.  He is adaptable to what is going on around him, and doesn't fuss.  A polar opposite of Zena, which is partially what we intended when we chose him.  We all loved Zena and miss her terribly. A similar looking dog might remind us of her, but it would never be her; while a dog that was a little different might be easier to love and accept for itself, and on its own terms.

I had forgotten how fun it is to have a new baby, and how exhausting.  I haven't had much sleep, but I am enjoying myself.  To Mason everything in the world is new- the snow in April, the large fenced yard, his new buddy Bear, our eight year old shitzu-yorkie mix.  He likes to play hard with our kids and collapse for a nap; then do it all over again.  Mason is a sweet and affectionate boy with irresistible eyes that say "pet me, pet me".   So of course we do, and we drink in all that pure puppy love.  It will take time to train Mason, and a fair amount of work.  But it will be worth it.  After all, it took time and work to teach my children what they know about life so far, and they have all turned out pretty well. I'm sure Mason will too. 

Live your Life NOW

The vibrant woman in the middle of this picture was a work friend of mine named Jackie. She was 63 and had recently retired after a lifetime of human services work.  She loved to camp and hike, and had two grown children that she doted on, as well as a husband she had adored for decades.  I never heard her say a cross word to anyone. She was always helpful and kind, and even when she was diagnosed with cancer, she kept smiling and walking forward into the unknown with her head held high.

I went to her wake this week.  The flowers and the the slideshow of her life were beautiful, and the room was packed. Jackie had an impact on many lives, and she lived her own life joyfully.  Jackie didn't have much time to enjoy her retirement.  She will never meet her future grandchildren, or travel to some of the exotic places she had planned to see.  But she lived the life she had.  She loved her family and her friends, and she relished all the small ordinary moments of her life until the very end.

It makes you think when you start burying your friends.  I am at that age now, where I attend far more funerals than weddings.  There are no guarantees in life.  You may work for thirty years and die shortly after your retirement.  You may never live to retire in the first place. I think what's important is to live the life you have RIGHT NOW, and do the things that call to your heart.  Don't wait to take a trip or start a hobby. Do it now.  You may not be able to afford something extravagant, and that's ok. Start small.  Buy yourself flowers when you want them.  Go out to lunch with your friends.  Take a class or take a risk- learn something you always wanted to learn.  I made a bucket list when I was close to forty, and some of the things I did were very simple. I learned to play cribbage. I went to Duluth and took pictures in the rose garden. I traveled outside of the country (to Canada) for the first time.  I self published my poetry and started writing essays, as well as taking up photography.  There are so many little things that can be such joyful experiences.

This year, after having heart symptoms and questioning my own mortality, I bought the new car I had wanted for years.  Last week I filled out an adoption application for a local humane society, and plan to look at a litter of puppies from that organization this weekend. I may not live to be 90, but in the meantime, I want to enjoy the companionship of another dog.  My previous dog Zena was a loyal and loving friend, and I want to enjoy a relationship like that with another dog that needs a home.  Planning for the future is fine, but living in the present is what can give us joy right now, and make our lives meaningful.

I plan to keep learning, and taking small risks. I push myself to talk to some of the people I meet at conferences or out in public, although I am a very shy person in many ways. I've made a point to tell my friends how much they mean to me, to remember their birthdays and ask about their lives, listen to their stories.  Sometimes we do things like riding through the countryside on motorcycles or sitting for hours in coffee shops talking.                     We steal away for a few minutes or a few hours at a time to be playful, to explore, sometimes to just sit quietly with each other and watch the sun set while we sit in an armchair. These are the moments that make life worth living.  I want to treasure every second I have with my friends and my family, store up all the memories for the inevitable days when some of them will be gone.  Life is like ice cream sitting in the sun. Scoop that bowl up and eat every drop before it melts away. Live your life now.

Connections

I haven't written much the last few weeks, and that has been partially due to some medical issues I've had. Specifically, I had some symptoms I thought might have been a heart attack.  It happened, of all places, in a car dealership while I was talking to a salesperson.  Ironic. I never imagined that my final moments might be looking at a room full of strangers and shiny new cars.  Everything was fine until suddenly both of my arms felt heavy and "tingly", and I felt vaguely sick;  like I was going to pass out.  My chest felt like someone had suddenly tightened up an already tight corset, but one that was on the inside of my skin, not the outside. I remember feeling mortified and confused. I had just taken a CPR class recently, and went through all the symptoms in my head of both heart attack and stroke, ticking off which ones I had and which ones didn't fit.  Usually it's only one arm, I thought, and the chest is supposed to feel like someone is sitting on it... or if it's a stroke, I should be confused and unable to talk...I debated in my head about whether or not the salesperson would be freaked out if I asked if they had a defibrillator on site.  I decided that he probably would be, and navigated myself to the nearest chair to sit down.  I don't know if he noticed that I was struggling. I spent about ten minutes toughing it out until I felt I could walk to my car, and then made an excuse and left.  Later I thought, what in the world was I thinking?  Why didn't I just say something?  I was just too embarrassed, too unsure of what was actually happening. I didn't want to make them feel uncomfortable and I certainly didn't want to be carted away in an ambulance when I had three children waiting at home.  I remember bargaining with God, saying it's not that I don't want to eventually join my family and friends in the afterlife, some of whom I miss terribly; but my kids still need me. I need to stay here.  On a more shallow note, I remember being angry that I would never get to buy my new car or get another dog, now that my elderly german shepherd was gone.  Funny what goes through your mind when you think your time is up.

Several days later I went to see my family doctor, after a call to the nurse line.  I went through an EKG, a chest X-ray, and two weeks later, a cardiac stress test. I am still waiting for the results of the stress test, but suspect that if there had been something terribly wrong I would have been notified already.   During all of this activity, I had to explain to my boss, a few select coworkers, friends and family, what had happened.  You learn a lot about connections when you tell people you think you had a heart attack.  My coworkers gave me a stern talking to about the fact that I hadn't sought medical attention immediately.  My husband was frightened.  Friends of mine who had had  heart issues in the past talked with me about their experiences.  My sister, an RN, called me regularly for the next several days to get updates on my condition.

The whole experience had an effect on me as well.  I felt that my body had betrayed me, that I couldn't trust it to do it's job.  I found myself wondering when I went into public places if anyone there knew CPR, and avoiding being alone in case the symptoms reoccurred.  I made a list of things I wanted to get done quickly, in case I didn't have much time left.  Again, funny what goes through your head when you think your time might be up.  I had a baby afghan for a friend that wasn't finished, a house to clean, some friends to tell again how much they meant to me.  I remember thinking the night it happened, after I got home, that if I was going to die I may as well have the dishes done first.  Priorities!

Three weeks later,  I've done a few of the things on my list. The baby afghan is almost done, the house is clean, I bought my shiny new red car.  I filled out an adoption application to get a german shepherd puppy in a couple of weeks, and I've had that conversation with some of my closest friends- the one about how much they mean, how much I've learned from them, how much I love them. I still have a few of those conversations to go, and I've started making a new list.  This list is a little different- it's a list of what I want to do if I continue to live, not a list of what to do before I die.  It's my way to stake my claim on this unpredictable, sometimes painful, but generally entertaining existence for a little while longer.  It's my flag, staked in the middle of my imperfect but still functioning heart.  I don't have any guarantees about how long my life will be, or what events will happen that are outside of my control.  What is within my control is whether or not I live the life I have, regardless of how long it is; and whether or not I share that life in a meaningful way with the people that matter to me. Life is a choice, connecting with others is a choice.  I would rather choose life, love, and connection than live in fear each day of what might happen around the next corner.