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.

MSSA and Louie Anderson

I attended the 2013 MSSA (Minnesota Social Service Association) Conference this week, and had the good fortune to meet Louie Anderson, the keynote speaker (and one of my favorite comedians!)  Louie was an incredibly funny speaker, and also quite knowledgable about the field of human services.  He spoke about his experiences being the tenth child of eleven- wow! as well as his experiences being a counselor at St. Joe's Shelter.  He also spoke about being the sibling of someone with severe mental illness, which was very moving.  I was able to meet Louie in person briefly to get a book signed after the presentation, and he was incredibly gracious and kind.  Even after a long flight and almost no sleep, Louie took the time to sign books and take pictures with many of us.  He has a very genuine warmth and humanity.  He's someone I could sit and talk with for hours. Thanks Louie, for taking the time to inspire a few thousand social workers. You're our rock star.

Meeting Michael Bodine

I had the opportunity to meet a local author and psychic recently at the Psychic Symposium in Minneapolis.  Michael Bodine is refreshingly honest and genuine, and spoke about his journey through addiction, as well as discussing his current profession.  Like me, he came from a family that struggled with addiction issues through the generations.  He spoke about relatives using chemicals to block their psychic gifts and the deep empathy they felt for other people, because those feelings were simply too painful. I can certainly understand that. I have relatives who have confided to me that they use chemicals for the same reason.  Although I have not abused alcohol and drugs, I have also at times tried to push away some of the feelings that come from being deeply intuitive and empathic with other people. Feeling the feelings of other people can be very overwhelming at times.  Looking back I can see many times that I have isolated myself to a certain degree to recover from the unrestrained rush of other people's feelings and issues around me. It took time to able to set some internal and external boundaries, so that I could be supportive and caring while not becoming completely overtaken by other people's "stuff".  I really related to much of what Michael had to say, and I admire his talent. I also admire his tenacity of spirit.  Being a "sensitive" is what my grandmother Florine used to call a "hard gift"- having extra information and "feeling" what is going on with someone can be very helpful, but can also be very exhausting.  Learning balance and self care skills is vital to being able to stay healthy in the midst of all the extra stimulation that this gift entails.  Thank you Michael, for sharing your story; and thank you for your irrepressible, irreverent spirit.  You are a delight to experience.

Zena the Warrior Princess

This week my eleven year old German Shepherd Zena died.  She was a beautiful dog, strong and graceful- running across the yard she was poetry in motion.  She was an Alpha female, and took her job of protecting the family very seriously.  Every day she patrolled the boundaries of our fence, and every evening she lay in front of the door, blocking the entrance to anyone who was not invited.

She was at times an imperious girl, barking sharply at our smaller dog Bear or one of the cats when she felt they needed correction, and we were not moving fast enough to suit her. She liked an orderly household, and wasn't shy about making her opinion known if she felt someone was not towing the line.

Zena loved our kids, and I think she considered them her puppies. She was gentle and affectionate with them, and watched them like a hawk.  If someone tried to snatch their food off their plate, she was immediately there, barking orders.  Every night she lay in front of my daughter's bedroom, guarding the door against intruders.  She was alert to any sound, any motion that occurred, and was always watching where the kids were, what they were doing, looking for any possible threats or misbehavior.  She gave our household a sense of safety and security, a deep love that surrounded all of us.

Recently she hadn't seemed herself, so we took her in to our family vet. Sadly, he found a large tumor on her spleen, and we were told her time was short.  We arranged for comfort care for her and took her home, thinking we had a few days to be with her, maybe even a few weeks.  We wanted our older daughter to be able to visit her from college and say goodbye, for our kids to have a few last moments with her.  But in the small hours of that night, Zena died.  We did our best to make her comfortable after our younger daughter alerted us to the change in her condition, to tell her  how much we loved her.  The last thing she had done before she died was to drag herself to my daughter's door, to guard her.  Even when she was feeling so sick, that was her priority. Protect the puppies at all costs.   While she was in her last moments, she kept looking in front of her, and would suddenly break into happy panting.  She looked as though she was interacting with someone we couldn't see, someone she recognized and was very happy to see.   Shortly after that, she died.  I choose to think that she had an escort who came to get her,  to bring her to the next world without fear or pain. She certainly deserved that.  She was one of the most pure spirits I have ever known.

Rest in peace, Zena.  You did your job well, and you were much loved. I hope you are surrounded by family in the afterlife, by tennis balls and chew toys, and rabbits that you can chase without harming.  I hope you come to visit us, perhaps sleeping on our beds or guarding the doors you slept in front of for so many years.  You will always be welcome to surround us with your love and presence.

I Want to Fly

Toni Morrison said that "If you wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down."  One of my New Year's resolutions was to let go of the things in my life that were negative, no longer served a purpose, or kept me from freely being myself.  Sometimes it's hard to see those things when they have been in your life for so long. Even though they may cause pain or discomfort, they are familiar. And most people want to keep what is familiar around them, even if it hurts.

One of the things I am working on letting go of is weight. I've struggled over the last few years to try and lose weight, without much success.  I would lose five or ten pounds, find myself trying to cope with multiple stresses and disappointments, and promptly put that weight right back on.  I found that with the extra weight, I was more "invisible"; and faded into the background.  Sometimes the background was a much more comfortable place to be than being front and center.  A few years back I had lost forty pounds, and was surprised to find that many women, instead of being supportive or happy for me, were actually very unkind.  One suggested I had lost the weight to entice a man, rather than because I wanted to live a healthier lifestyle. Others appeared jealous that I had accomplished what they had not, and made catty comments.  Eventually the weight slowly came back on, and I almost gratefully sank back into oblivion.  Now it's time to let go of it.  I've gotten back on my treadmill and have worked out 5-6 days a week since mid January.  It's very freeing to feel my endurance build, and to see those pounds start to ever so slowly slip away.

Another thing I've had to let go of has been relationships with people who can't accept me for who I am.  This has been a harder challenge, and often quite painful.  One person stopped talking to me because they disagreed with my politics.  The loss was very unexpected, and the relationship was an important one. I tried initially to mend fences, but the end result was that the person in question simply couldn't accept me as a person who had different opinions than he did, and I had to let go of trying to rekindle that relationship.  There are other relationships in my life in which I have tried unsuccessfully to have a more meaningful and deeper relationship with people, only to find that they could only accept small pieces of me, and wanted nothing to do with the rest of me.  People who expected me to be enthused about their beliefs and hobbies, but had no interest in mine.  I see most of those people less often now, and have let go of the expectation that they are going to be more intimately involved in my life.  I no longer waste my time sending them notices about the books I've published or the other accomplishments I find meaningful in my life, because their consistent silence and passive rejection is simply too painful.   There are also those folks who were happy to have me caretake them or assist them in crisis, but who were unable to offer anything in return.  The ones who ask for a ride, ten bucks, or an hour of "free therapy", and then disappear until the next time they need something.  I came to see that they really had no real appreciation for me as a person; only what I could provide for them.  That is not to say that I don't want to support my friends and family in times of  need; because it is very important to me to do that. But when the effort is all one sided, it simply takes too much from me and gives nothing back.

Maybe the most important thing I am trying to let go of are some unrealistic expectations and judgements that I have about myself. It is so easy to become discouraged when the people I reach out to don't reciprocate or even acknowledge my existence; or when I have extended myself to someone and they disappoint or reject me.  It is easy to think that I am somehow unworthy, have not tried hard enough, am simply "not enough" myself as a person to warrant their attention.  It is easy to make the assumption that success is not possible, and that most of my life will in some deeper sense be spent alone.  I have to try and be more objective, taking responsibility for any actions of mine that may have led to a lack of intimacy, but also realizing that people have "their own shit", and some of it has nothing to do with me.  I have to make an effort to seek out people who like me as I am, instead of people who want me to be more like them.

It's a difficult thing, this letting go. But it's also a relief.  If I'm not carrying around all the  baggage from damaged relationships, all my own unrealistic expectations, and the shame of not achieving them, it leaves me with a lot more energy and space to fly.