I'm not a person who really ever has many moments when I'm just plain grumpy. I'm not really even that way in the morning. (Of course, being single, maybe I don't honestly know. My dogs might say otherwise.)
No, generally I'm upbeat. However, for the last couple of days, I've been what has felt like truly grumpy. I don't think outwardly I've shown it, but I sure have felt it myself, and it's bothered me because I'm just not used to wandering around that way.
At first I wasn't sure what it was, I couldn't put my finger on it. Then it started to come into focus. I recalled when my Mom would say something about Dad being grumpy because he had been forced to realize he was wrong about something and it didn't sit well with him, so he was quietly grumpy. (Mom was usually snickering when she said that.)
It hit me that in all likelihood, that's what was going on with me.
I won't get into the gory details, because the lesson to be learned from what I'm writing doesn't actually have anything to do with the specifics but rather what I realized from the outcome.
I don't know why the timing was such that this happened over the weekend, but in that time, I started to consider that my gut feeling about something had maybe been wrong, and it's something that I don't want to believe, but I think I have to.
I believe there's power in having a positive outlook, never giving up hope, being optimistic, visualizing what you want and thinking if you believe in it hard enough and follow what your gut is telling you, you'll be on the right track.
But the realization hit me over the weekend that, in my old age, I've now come to believe there's a very fine line that separates being hopeful and optimistic, and just being plain stupid.
Optimism and hope are fine to a point, even when others look at you and shake their heads with skepticism and you say, "NO! I'm right. Just you wait and see. I can feel it in my gut. Everything is telling me I'm right."
I think that's been the problem: My gut instinct has now reached the point of conflict. My gut told me I was right to begin with, but now my gut is telling me maybe I was terribly wrong. How can I have that conflict? Which gut instinct am I supposed to believe?! They're both fighting each other.
I laugh about that conflict as it reminds me of when one of my friends had his Dad put together this whole in depth study of my astrological profile. He had commented that Astrology was his Dad's hobby, and that he would be happy to do the full report for me. This was one of those where they need more than just the date and year of your birth, but also the exact minute you were born, where the hospital was located, etc.
When my report came back my friend said to me, "My Dad says he HAS to meet you because he has never seen anybody with a profile that is so full of things that contradict other things. He says this is the wildest one he has ever done. But hey, he says it makes you really fascinating!"
Oh great: The stars are in all-out war in my life. Niiiiiiiice. But hey, it makes me fascinating. Yay me!
So, yeah, it probably only makes sense that my gut instincts like to argue with each other.
It hit me that all of my belief, hope, and optimism has boiled down to me now thinking that I feel pretty stupid. You see, while I'm an optimistic, hopeful person, I'm equally a realist. I have an extremely realistic, logical, practical approach to things. (Refer back to that previous astrology report.)
So while I can wax poetic about hopefulness and optimism, I can also be saying at the same time, "Okay, let's look at this logically."
Just call me Yin and Yang.
I think what it boils down to is I had this cringing realization and I suddenly thought, "You know, girl, I think you may have been really wrong about this. Your optimism and faith have now taken you over the border into Stupid Land."
As I said: That border is a very fine line.
And now cue grumpiness.
I'm not one to give up hope, but I'm also not digging this feeling of thinking that I've been really stupid. I'm not sure what side of that fine line I'm going to end up on in this case.
In the meantime, me, Dopey, Sneezy, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, and Doc are going to hang out for awhile.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Inspiration From the Wizard
"Write" the Wizard says. "Write even when you don't feel like it. Especially when you don't feel like it."
The aforementioned "Wizard" is actually a very talented guy by the name of Tim Miles. He's a Senior Partner in a strategic planning and communications group called Wizard of Ads. Yesterday I was lucky enough to be treated to over 3 hours of hearing him talk about advertising in America and what a business needs to do to be successful at it.
I couldn't wait to get to the presentation because I actually had just discovered Tim and became a huge fan only a week earlier.
As I was looking up the details about the seminar offered by the Portland Area Radio Council, I saw a link to Tim's blog on PARC's website. That particular link took me to one of his installments where he was writing about a radio campaign for a local roofing company which, in and of itself, was great, but it got me to clicking on other industry pieces he had written, and the next thing I knew I had made it to his blog website, www.thedailyblur.com
That's when it happened.
By "it" I mean I found the section of Tim's blog where he talks about life in general. His wife, his children, his sister, his routine, his observations, his nerdliness, things he's learned about life, you name it, he touches on it. I couldn't stop reading. One blog installment after another I was reading, and reading, and reading.
Then I hit upon this particular piece entitled, "A Certain Conceit." In it, he starts out apologizing for not writing, then points out that all of the so-called "smart" bloggers tell you never to point out that you haven't been writing, and he's breaking that rule. But he says the smart bloggers have what he doesn't have: The conceit, or maybe just plain confidence, to write publicly all the time.
From there, he explains that he had a revelation and knows he just has to follow his love of writing and simply write, and not worry about thinking who is out there wanting to read it, that he'll write about what interests him and hope that others will come along for the ride.
I read those words and thought, "That's it!" I've had those same exact self-doubts. Does anyone really give a rusty-rip about what I have to say?
Speaking of "Rusty-Rip"...Tim would say it's okay for me to use the dorky phrases and words I say in my writing. He also jokes about how he makes up words and knows he shouldn't end a sentence in a preposition but he doesn't care, he'll do it anyway.
That's also plagued me. I always envision my AP English Teacher, Mr. Pease, waiting to haunt me. Mr. Pease knew I was headed off for a career in radio when I walked out the door of his classroom on the last day of my Senior year in high school, because I was already working at a station each day after school. He was standing at the door to give a handshake to each of us as we departed and when he got to me, he said in his stern voice, "Miss DuPre', you have a gift with words. Don't squander it."
Those words have been ringing in my ears for years. Many times I've wondered if Mr. Pease would think I've squandered everything.
Each time I've written an installment for my blog, I picture Mr. Pease shaking his head in disappointment because I left a participle danging, or committed some other writing offense.
Like saying "Rusty-rip."
And starting out a sentence with "like"....or "and."
But here was Tim saying it was okay to let things dangle. It was okay to write "wanna" and "kinda" because you just kinda wanna do it!
I felt liberated. Free at last!!
I then found another piece Tim wrote in answer to people who tell him, "I want to do what you do." That's the one that really did it for me. He got to a part where he talked about writing and he just said, "Write. Write even when you don't feel like it. Especially when you don't feel like it."
There it is again, that simple statement. "Write." In another place he says, "You want to write? Write. That's really it."
You wanna write, Lisa? Then write.
Write.
Alright, I'll write!
The funny, surreal thing about all this is I didn't think I was going to be able to even go to the seminar. When my calendar cleared and I realized I could, it was already full, so I put my name on the waiting list, and figured my fate was in the hands of somebody else canceling and that didn't seem likely.
Then I heard from Melissa at PARC that she had found a seat for me. By this time, I had read so much of what Tim had written, that I could not wait to get there to hear his presentation. Afterwards, Melissa said, "I want to introduce you to Tim, because I told him how successful your fair was this last year and how you had changed your marketing approach."
In my head I was going, "Okay, Lisa, don't be your nerdly self and geek-out." I didn't want to gush like a groupie, but what he had to say and what he wrote really inspired and encouraged me, at a time when I wondered if anything could get me excited anymore.
After we talked "business" I said, "You know, I love your blog, and not just the industry-related pieces, but I really love what you write about life, in general." I told him he had given me the nudge to get back into writing my blog, and he said, "Oh, I want to read it! Email me the link to it."
I tried to act cool about it, but I had an internal "Gulp!" thinking, "Oh, no! Now I HAVE to write!"
But, that's what the Wizard said to do.
Write.
Just write.
Even when you don't give a rusty-rip and kinda don't wanna do it.
Just write.
The aforementioned "Wizard" is actually a very talented guy by the name of Tim Miles. He's a Senior Partner in a strategic planning and communications group called Wizard of Ads. Yesterday I was lucky enough to be treated to over 3 hours of hearing him talk about advertising in America and what a business needs to do to be successful at it.
I couldn't wait to get to the presentation because I actually had just discovered Tim and became a huge fan only a week earlier.
As I was looking up the details about the seminar offered by the Portland Area Radio Council, I saw a link to Tim's blog on PARC's website. That particular link took me to one of his installments where he was writing about a radio campaign for a local roofing company which, in and of itself, was great, but it got me to clicking on other industry pieces he had written, and the next thing I knew I had made it to his blog website, www.thedailyblur.com
That's when it happened.
By "it" I mean I found the section of Tim's blog where he talks about life in general. His wife, his children, his sister, his routine, his observations, his nerdliness, things he's learned about life, you name it, he touches on it. I couldn't stop reading. One blog installment after another I was reading, and reading, and reading.
Then I hit upon this particular piece entitled, "A Certain Conceit." In it, he starts out apologizing for not writing, then points out that all of the so-called "smart" bloggers tell you never to point out that you haven't been writing, and he's breaking that rule. But he says the smart bloggers have what he doesn't have: The conceit, or maybe just plain confidence, to write publicly all the time.
From there, he explains that he had a revelation and knows he just has to follow his love of writing and simply write, and not worry about thinking who is out there wanting to read it, that he'll write about what interests him and hope that others will come along for the ride.
I read those words and thought, "That's it!" I've had those same exact self-doubts. Does anyone really give a rusty-rip about what I have to say?
Speaking of "Rusty-Rip"...Tim would say it's okay for me to use the dorky phrases and words I say in my writing. He also jokes about how he makes up words and knows he shouldn't end a sentence in a preposition but he doesn't care, he'll do it anyway.
That's also plagued me. I always envision my AP English Teacher, Mr. Pease, waiting to haunt me. Mr. Pease knew I was headed off for a career in radio when I walked out the door of his classroom on the last day of my Senior year in high school, because I was already working at a station each day after school. He was standing at the door to give a handshake to each of us as we departed and when he got to me, he said in his stern voice, "Miss DuPre', you have a gift with words. Don't squander it."
Those words have been ringing in my ears for years. Many times I've wondered if Mr. Pease would think I've squandered everything.
Each time I've written an installment for my blog, I picture Mr. Pease shaking his head in disappointment because I left a participle danging, or committed some other writing offense.
Like saying "Rusty-rip."
And starting out a sentence with "like"....or "and."
But here was Tim saying it was okay to let things dangle. It was okay to write "wanna" and "kinda" because you just kinda wanna do it!
I felt liberated. Free at last!!
I then found another piece Tim wrote in answer to people who tell him, "I want to do what you do." That's the one that really did it for me. He got to a part where he talked about writing and he just said, "Write. Write even when you don't feel like it. Especially when you don't feel like it."
There it is again, that simple statement. "Write." In another place he says, "You want to write? Write. That's really it."
You wanna write, Lisa? Then write.
Write.
Alright, I'll write!
The funny, surreal thing about all this is I didn't think I was going to be able to even go to the seminar. When my calendar cleared and I realized I could, it was already full, so I put my name on the waiting list, and figured my fate was in the hands of somebody else canceling and that didn't seem likely.
Then I heard from Melissa at PARC that she had found a seat for me. By this time, I had read so much of what Tim had written, that I could not wait to get there to hear his presentation. Afterwards, Melissa said, "I want to introduce you to Tim, because I told him how successful your fair was this last year and how you had changed your marketing approach."
In my head I was going, "Okay, Lisa, don't be your nerdly self and geek-out." I didn't want to gush like a groupie, but what he had to say and what he wrote really inspired and encouraged me, at a time when I wondered if anything could get me excited anymore.
After we talked "business" I said, "You know, I love your blog, and not just the industry-related pieces, but I really love what you write about life, in general." I told him he had given me the nudge to get back into writing my blog, and he said, "Oh, I want to read it! Email me the link to it."
I tried to act cool about it, but I had an internal "Gulp!" thinking, "Oh, no! Now I HAVE to write!"
But, that's what the Wizard said to do.
Write.
Just write.
Even when you don't give a rusty-rip and kinda don't wanna do it.
Just write.
Friday, September 9, 2011
I Can Handle The Snoring All Night....IF He's Cute!
While my last installment took a very serious tone, that's not normally how I am, nor how my writing usually is. So in getting back to the crazy stuff I deal with day-in and day-out, it's time I introduce the new male in my life, who is snoring next to me at this very moment on the love seat, just as loud as he snores all night.
(At this point, some of my friends who worry about me and my single status are going, "What?! Hallelujah! What's his name??!! When can we meet him? Oh, we told you there was one out there for you!!")
Hold your horses, people. Yes, his snoring keeps me up at night, and I adore him to no end, but he walks on 4 legs, not 2.
The new male in my life is Obi, the Pug:
Come on, this can't be a surprise. You know I always say I can trust giving my heart to the 4 legged guys much easier than overcoming the caution I have with the 2-legged ones. You never have to wonder how the 4 legged ones feel about you. They just come up and slobber all over your face, and that's much easier to figure out.
I've actually carried a torch for Obi from the moment I first met him 6 years ago. I found him for my nephew, Cody, who was 12 years old at the time. My friend, Kay, happens to breed and show fabulous Pugs, and Obi is the son of one of her dogs.
We didn't know it at the time, but Cody soon developed an allergy to dogs with coats like a Pug's. The Norwegian Elkhound coat doesn't bother him at all, but it's a very different type of coat. While Obi loved Cody, he equally loved Cody's Mom, my sister Tami, so the fact that Cody couldn't nuzzle and wrestle with him, didn't really bother him that much.
As Cody grew up, his desire to have his own Elkhound grew as well, and a year and a half ago, the opportunity presented itself for me to buy a very nice male Elkhound puppy to show. It ended up that Cody and I decided to co-own the dog, now known as Espen, and that he would live with Cody and be his dog, and then I would show him.
Cody and Espen have this amazing bond.....a bond that did NOT sit well with Obi. He did a, "What is THIS?!! What am I?--Chopped liver?!"
It was actually quite cute when Espen first arrived, because for a very small period of time, he was actually a bit shorter than Obi, and during that period, all was well. Obi did the old, "Here kid, I'll show you the ropes" and Espen willingly followed along, all wide-eyed puppy. But in no time, he was taller than Obi, and Espen has this very confident, arrogant swagger about him (no doubt taught to him BY Obi) that you just knew would likely not mix well, if Obi countered with his own arrogant swagger. Espen meant well, and genuinely loved to play with Obi, but by now, Obi had a jealous chip on his shoulder and was ready to lash out.
In recent months, his jealously of Espen was getting more intense, and Espen would put up with a lot from Obi, literally turning the other cheek to ignore Obi, but at times Obi would get nasty enough to where Espen would have enough and lash out. Our fear was that something could happen and we knew the one who would come out on the short end was Obi.
Oddly enough, Obi has no issues with my Elkhounds, but then again, it's nothing like the scenario he had where Espen came in to compete for the attention of Cody. When I saw what was happening, I gave it a lot of thought, and finally said, "Why don't we see how Obi would do at my place with my dogs."
So, about a month ago, Obi packed his crate, his "blankies", and this toys, and joined my crew. Thankfully, he fit in beautifully from day one. Now, don't get me wrong, he still believes he's a bad-ass, but no one else does. Saber, who is almost 10, and the "Lead Dog," gives Obi a look that says, "Really??! Are you serious? Please!" and turns his back on him, and Obi has truly figured it out, and basically gives Saber a wide path. He's much the same with Paige, and with old Miniature Poodle, Savannah, he actually likes to sleep beside her on the couch. The one he does push around, and the one who lets him...for now...is 1 year old, Aksel. He does a, "Sure, whatever you say, Obi!" As long as Aksel can swallow his pride and keep doing that, they'll get along just fine. Time will tell, and I'm sure I'll have to keep my eye on the two of them, but they're getting along fine now.
Me? I love, love, LOVE the dog. I almost feel guilty about it. Like I said, I've always adored him, so I was truly giddy when I got to bring him home, and in all honesty, I think he's happier. The situation with Cody having a new dog in his life really was a hard thing for Obi to handle with how obsessed he was with Cody, and he doesn't have to struggle with anything like that now. He knows his place in the gang at my house.
That place is usually next to me each evening, snoring....LOUDLY.
Rest assured, everybody: There's still room for a 2-legged male to loudly snore next to me.
I think Obi will move over and make room.
(At this point, some of my friends who worry about me and my single status are going, "What?! Hallelujah! What's his name??!! When can we meet him? Oh, we told you there was one out there for you!!")
Hold your horses, people. Yes, his snoring keeps me up at night, and I adore him to no end, but he walks on 4 legs, not 2.
The new male in my life is Obi, the Pug:
Come on, this can't be a surprise. You know I always say I can trust giving my heart to the 4 legged guys much easier than overcoming the caution I have with the 2-legged ones. You never have to wonder how the 4 legged ones feel about you. They just come up and slobber all over your face, and that's much easier to figure out.
I've actually carried a torch for Obi from the moment I first met him 6 years ago. I found him for my nephew, Cody, who was 12 years old at the time. My friend, Kay, happens to breed and show fabulous Pugs, and Obi is the son of one of her dogs.
We didn't know it at the time, but Cody soon developed an allergy to dogs with coats like a Pug's. The Norwegian Elkhound coat doesn't bother him at all, but it's a very different type of coat. While Obi loved Cody, he equally loved Cody's Mom, my sister Tami, so the fact that Cody couldn't nuzzle and wrestle with him, didn't really bother him that much.
As Cody grew up, his desire to have his own Elkhound grew as well, and a year and a half ago, the opportunity presented itself for me to buy a very nice male Elkhound puppy to show. It ended up that Cody and I decided to co-own the dog, now known as Espen, and that he would live with Cody and be his dog, and then I would show him.
Cody and Espen have this amazing bond.....a bond that did NOT sit well with Obi. He did a, "What is THIS?!! What am I?--Chopped liver?!"
It was actually quite cute when Espen first arrived, because for a very small period of time, he was actually a bit shorter than Obi, and during that period, all was well. Obi did the old, "Here kid, I'll show you the ropes" and Espen willingly followed along, all wide-eyed puppy. But in no time, he was taller than Obi, and Espen has this very confident, arrogant swagger about him (no doubt taught to him BY Obi) that you just knew would likely not mix well, if Obi countered with his own arrogant swagger. Espen meant well, and genuinely loved to play with Obi, but by now, Obi had a jealous chip on his shoulder and was ready to lash out.
In recent months, his jealously of Espen was getting more intense, and Espen would put up with a lot from Obi, literally turning the other cheek to ignore Obi, but at times Obi would get nasty enough to where Espen would have enough and lash out. Our fear was that something could happen and we knew the one who would come out on the short end was Obi.
Oddly enough, Obi has no issues with my Elkhounds, but then again, it's nothing like the scenario he had where Espen came in to compete for the attention of Cody. When I saw what was happening, I gave it a lot of thought, and finally said, "Why don't we see how Obi would do at my place with my dogs."
So, about a month ago, Obi packed his crate, his "blankies", and this toys, and joined my crew. Thankfully, he fit in beautifully from day one. Now, don't get me wrong, he still believes he's a bad-ass, but no one else does. Saber, who is almost 10, and the "Lead Dog," gives Obi a look that says, "Really??! Are you serious? Please!" and turns his back on him, and Obi has truly figured it out, and basically gives Saber a wide path. He's much the same with Paige, and with old Miniature Poodle, Savannah, he actually likes to sleep beside her on the couch. The one he does push around, and the one who lets him...for now...is 1 year old, Aksel. He does a, "Sure, whatever you say, Obi!" As long as Aksel can swallow his pride and keep doing that, they'll get along just fine. Time will tell, and I'm sure I'll have to keep my eye on the two of them, but they're getting along fine now.
Me? I love, love, LOVE the dog. I almost feel guilty about it. Like I said, I've always adored him, so I was truly giddy when I got to bring him home, and in all honesty, I think he's happier. The situation with Cody having a new dog in his life really was a hard thing for Obi to handle with how obsessed he was with Cody, and he doesn't have to struggle with anything like that now. He knows his place in the gang at my house.
That place is usually next to me each evening, snoring....LOUDLY.
Rest assured, everybody: There's still room for a 2-legged male to loudly snore next to me.
I think Obi will move over and make room.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Eat the Burger When You Have the Chance
Supposedly, the more days you walk this earth, the more wisdom you acquire. So far in my life, I would say that's true. You start to see things, patterns, etc., to where you go, "Oh, I know how this is going to go down." You try to warn and protect those who are younger, hoping you're going to save them, but then you see that youthful look of doubt, and you just grin to yourself, and realize it's not something you can tell them, but something they're just going to have to learn for themselves.
Yet, at the same time that think I'm becoming a wise old broad, there are still those things that happen that drive a point home, yet again, and I think, "Dang, when will I get to where I remember this? When will I learn?" That moment hit me last night.
I found out yesterday that the husband of one of my sister's friends drowned on Sunday. My Mom called me and asked if I had heard the story on the news and realized who it was. I told her no, I hadn't heard. When she told me, there was that moment where everything just paused, and I thought, "No...that can't be. That's just not right."
Michael was 45 years old, and in top shape. He even taught a fitness class at a nearby health club in his spare time. He had his boat anchored off-shore and was swimming out to it. His friends said he took off, and the next thing they knew he was floating motionless in the water, between the shore and the boat. They got to him, administered CPR, as did the rescue crew that arrived shortly, but they couldn't revive him.
My first question was whether his wife, Amy, and their daughter, Stevie, who I think is about 12 years old, were there when it happened. At that point my Mom said my sister didn't know and we both said we certainly hoped they weren't. That was just too horrible to think about.
I had to deal with work, so I didn't dwell on it at that moment, I had to file it away for the time being, but it gnawed at me all day long.
I had a dog club meeting I had to be at last evening and it wasn't until the drive home, when I was by myself in the car in the dark, without the radio on, that I really started to think about it. It was a long drive home.
I hadn't been around Michael a lot, but I remembered that when I had been, I really liked him. I clearly remembered when I first met him. Stevie was very young and he had taken her to this great toy store on Main Street. She was named after Michael and Amy's favorite singer, Stevie Nicks, and she has this head of wild blonde naturally curly hair, kind of like how Stevie Nicks' hair used to look. I don't remember how it all went down, if I was with my sister or my Mom, but I just remember we suddenly realized the cute little girl with the curly hair playing with the toys was Stevie, then we spotted Michael and I was introduced to him. He was really friendly and outgoing and I recall genuinely liking him immediately. He worked for a business at the airport next to the studios of the radio station where I was working, and we talked about some people we both knew around the airport as a result of that.
I chuckled recalling how Michael used to sneak Stevie out to eat fast-food burgers because, for a time, Amy decided she wanted to be a vegetarian, but Michael would say he didn't want Stevie to miss out on the joys of a burger. Amy is a Physical Therapist, and she worked odd hours now and then, which gave Michael lots of time with Stevie, so that's when he would sneak her out for their burger runs without Mom knowing.
The more I thought about those things, the more I thought about Stevie and Amy last night on my drive home, trying to imagine what they were going through, losing Michael so suddenly, and hoping above everything, that Stevie wasn't standing on that beach Sunday afternoon.
My Mom told me today that Amy had finally talked to my sister. Thankfully, she and Stevie weren't there when it happened. In another of those cruel twists of fate in life, Michael had just finished writing his thesis for his degree in Psychology and Saturday he had taken it to be bound. She said he was so excited to have it done that they had a little celebration with friends Saturday night. On Sunday, it was such a warm day, that Michael wanted to take the boat out, but Amy said she didn't want to go, and that she and Stevie had other things to do to get ready for school. As a result, Michael said he would go teach his class at the health club, and then he and some friends were going to take the boat to the island.
Amy said the friends all told her when Michael took off swimming, it was with good, strong strokes, headed right for the boat, and the next thing they knew, he was floating in the water. The medical examiner told Amy he had a large abrasion on his head, and upon seeing that, they looked up the time the tide changed on Sunday. Sure enough, the tide had changed at the time he was swimming out to the boat. Their conclusion is that when the tide shifted, it kicked up some form of debris, a tree limb or something even bigger, that hit Michael in the head. It was either the blow that killed him, or it knocked him unconscious, resulting in him drowning, which explains why it happened so suddenly.
When I heard that today, and then hung up the phone, I had this moment where I just paused to absorb it. One minute Michael was there and perfectly fine. The next minute, he was gone. Yet another cruel twist of fate and timing. Had he went in a tad bit earlier, or a tad bit later, the outcome might have been very different and he would have made it to the boat just fine. But it didn't happen that way. Just like that, it was over.
It struck me as being something so fast, that it equated to somebody just walking out of the house into the garage, and yet they never walk back in a few minutes later like you thought they would. Instantly, they're gone.
The profound sadness of this has just really hit me. I can't stop thinking of Stevie and Amy. I wonder if it's really hit them. But more than anything, referring to what I said earlier about wondering when I would learn certain lessons and have more wisdom on some things, it drives home the point to me, yet again, that you can't waste time, and you can't put off things. I keep thinking about how much of the time I spend thinking of what's ahead down the road, planning and preparing, or how many times I say, or I hear somebody else say, "I can't take time for that in my life now. I have to get these other things taken care of and all in order, THEN, I can do that." Yeah, well, maybe......but maybe not.
My sister said that Amy told her Stevie has been taking a Tai Kwon Do class and she's scheduled to take her test for her next belt on Friday. Her instructor came to the house yesterday to see her and told her it was up to her to decide what she wanted to do, but it was understandable if she didn't want to try for it. But Stevie said, "No Mom. I'm going to class this week and then I'm taking my test Friday." Amy said she thought, "More power to you, Girl!" and was very proud of her.
She's clearly a tough kid. Maybe it's all those burgers she ate on those clandestine burger runs with her Dad.
Lesson learned: Sometimes the best thing you can do is just eat the burger when you have the chance.
Yet, at the same time that think I'm becoming a wise old broad, there are still those things that happen that drive a point home, yet again, and I think, "Dang, when will I get to where I remember this? When will I learn?" That moment hit me last night.
I found out yesterday that the husband of one of my sister's friends drowned on Sunday. My Mom called me and asked if I had heard the story on the news and realized who it was. I told her no, I hadn't heard. When she told me, there was that moment where everything just paused, and I thought, "No...that can't be. That's just not right."
Michael was 45 years old, and in top shape. He even taught a fitness class at a nearby health club in his spare time. He had his boat anchored off-shore and was swimming out to it. His friends said he took off, and the next thing they knew he was floating motionless in the water, between the shore and the boat. They got to him, administered CPR, as did the rescue crew that arrived shortly, but they couldn't revive him.
My first question was whether his wife, Amy, and their daughter, Stevie, who I think is about 12 years old, were there when it happened. At that point my Mom said my sister didn't know and we both said we certainly hoped they weren't. That was just too horrible to think about.
I had to deal with work, so I didn't dwell on it at that moment, I had to file it away for the time being, but it gnawed at me all day long.
I had a dog club meeting I had to be at last evening and it wasn't until the drive home, when I was by myself in the car in the dark, without the radio on, that I really started to think about it. It was a long drive home.
I hadn't been around Michael a lot, but I remembered that when I had been, I really liked him. I clearly remembered when I first met him. Stevie was very young and he had taken her to this great toy store on Main Street. She was named after Michael and Amy's favorite singer, Stevie Nicks, and she has this head of wild blonde naturally curly hair, kind of like how Stevie Nicks' hair used to look. I don't remember how it all went down, if I was with my sister or my Mom, but I just remember we suddenly realized the cute little girl with the curly hair playing with the toys was Stevie, then we spotted Michael and I was introduced to him. He was really friendly and outgoing and I recall genuinely liking him immediately. He worked for a business at the airport next to the studios of the radio station where I was working, and we talked about some people we both knew around the airport as a result of that.
I chuckled recalling how Michael used to sneak Stevie out to eat fast-food burgers because, for a time, Amy decided she wanted to be a vegetarian, but Michael would say he didn't want Stevie to miss out on the joys of a burger. Amy is a Physical Therapist, and she worked odd hours now and then, which gave Michael lots of time with Stevie, so that's when he would sneak her out for their burger runs without Mom knowing.
The more I thought about those things, the more I thought about Stevie and Amy last night on my drive home, trying to imagine what they were going through, losing Michael so suddenly, and hoping above everything, that Stevie wasn't standing on that beach Sunday afternoon.
My Mom told me today that Amy had finally talked to my sister. Thankfully, she and Stevie weren't there when it happened. In another of those cruel twists of fate in life, Michael had just finished writing his thesis for his degree in Psychology and Saturday he had taken it to be bound. She said he was so excited to have it done that they had a little celebration with friends Saturday night. On Sunday, it was such a warm day, that Michael wanted to take the boat out, but Amy said she didn't want to go, and that she and Stevie had other things to do to get ready for school. As a result, Michael said he would go teach his class at the health club, and then he and some friends were going to take the boat to the island.
Amy said the friends all told her when Michael took off swimming, it was with good, strong strokes, headed right for the boat, and the next thing they knew, he was floating in the water. The medical examiner told Amy he had a large abrasion on his head, and upon seeing that, they looked up the time the tide changed on Sunday. Sure enough, the tide had changed at the time he was swimming out to the boat. Their conclusion is that when the tide shifted, it kicked up some form of debris, a tree limb or something even bigger, that hit Michael in the head. It was either the blow that killed him, or it knocked him unconscious, resulting in him drowning, which explains why it happened so suddenly.
When I heard that today, and then hung up the phone, I had this moment where I just paused to absorb it. One minute Michael was there and perfectly fine. The next minute, he was gone. Yet another cruel twist of fate and timing. Had he went in a tad bit earlier, or a tad bit later, the outcome might have been very different and he would have made it to the boat just fine. But it didn't happen that way. Just like that, it was over.
It struck me as being something so fast, that it equated to somebody just walking out of the house into the garage, and yet they never walk back in a few minutes later like you thought they would. Instantly, they're gone.
The profound sadness of this has just really hit me. I can't stop thinking of Stevie and Amy. I wonder if it's really hit them. But more than anything, referring to what I said earlier about wondering when I would learn certain lessons and have more wisdom on some things, it drives home the point to me, yet again, that you can't waste time, and you can't put off things. I keep thinking about how much of the time I spend thinking of what's ahead down the road, planning and preparing, or how many times I say, or I hear somebody else say, "I can't take time for that in my life now. I have to get these other things taken care of and all in order, THEN, I can do that." Yeah, well, maybe......but maybe not.
My sister said that Amy told her Stevie has been taking a Tai Kwon Do class and she's scheduled to take her test for her next belt on Friday. Her instructor came to the house yesterday to see her and told her it was up to her to decide what she wanted to do, but it was understandable if she didn't want to try for it. But Stevie said, "No Mom. I'm going to class this week and then I'm taking my test Friday." Amy said she thought, "More power to you, Girl!" and was very proud of her.
She's clearly a tough kid. Maybe it's all those burgers she ate on those clandestine burger runs with her Dad.
Lesson learned: Sometimes the best thing you can do is just eat the burger when you have the chance.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Happy New Year! Really....I'm Serious
In the final hours of September 5, I'm realizing I'm 5 days behind on my New Year's resolution to write my blog more frequently. "New Year's Resolution?" you say, with a question in your voice (you ARE saying it with a question in your voice, aren't you?)
Yes, in the "World According To Lisa," I look at your birthday as being your REAL "new" year and my birthday is in mid-August, so it always gets me thinking about what I'm going to do differently in the next year. Add to that the fact that I've never really moved past the idea of September being the start of a new year, going back to my school days, and you end up with me always with the feeling that things have a fresh start in September.
My friend, Chloe, has to write a blog as part of her job, and her latest installment talks about how she's really good at procrastinating in 3 areas: Calling her Mother, cleaning her house, and writing her blog. When I read that, I laughed out loud as I'm right there with her on two of those. Now me, I talk to my Mom nearly every day, so I can't join her on that one, but absolutely, I procrastinate on cleaning the house, and well, when you consider that I last wrote on May 31, you know I also have "Blog Commitment" issues as well. Wouldn't you think that if we're not cleaning the house we should then clearly have time to write? Wouldn't those go hand-in-hand? You would think so, but I've not found that to be the case.
So, Chloe has made the same vow I have and that is to write frequently enough so that when we DO write, it's not about how long it's been since we last wrote.
Oh yeah, and I've also resolved to not put off the house-cleaning either. Imagine that: I have a fully cleaned house AND I'm writing regularly. That's a hard concept to grasp. Maybe I'll just end up writing about what part of the house I just cleaned. Riveting, huh?
I've also made a resolution to fold and put away the laundry, to stop saving so many boxes all in the theory that one might be the "perfect" box for something next week (fell off the wagon on that one awhile ago,) and it seems like I made some other resolutions but they escape me at the moment.
See, if I had been writing about them, I would probably remember them!
Yes, in the "World According To Lisa," I look at your birthday as being your REAL "new" year and my birthday is in mid-August, so it always gets me thinking about what I'm going to do differently in the next year. Add to that the fact that I've never really moved past the idea of September being the start of a new year, going back to my school days, and you end up with me always with the feeling that things have a fresh start in September.
My friend, Chloe, has to write a blog as part of her job, and her latest installment talks about how she's really good at procrastinating in 3 areas: Calling her Mother, cleaning her house, and writing her blog. When I read that, I laughed out loud as I'm right there with her on two of those. Now me, I talk to my Mom nearly every day, so I can't join her on that one, but absolutely, I procrastinate on cleaning the house, and well, when you consider that I last wrote on May 31, you know I also have "Blog Commitment" issues as well. Wouldn't you think that if we're not cleaning the house we should then clearly have time to write? Wouldn't those go hand-in-hand? You would think so, but I've not found that to be the case.
So, Chloe has made the same vow I have and that is to write frequently enough so that when we DO write, it's not about how long it's been since we last wrote.
Oh yeah, and I've also resolved to not put off the house-cleaning either. Imagine that: I have a fully cleaned house AND I'm writing regularly. That's a hard concept to grasp. Maybe I'll just end up writing about what part of the house I just cleaned. Riveting, huh?
I've also made a resolution to fold and put away the laundry, to stop saving so many boxes all in the theory that one might be the "perfect" box for something next week (fell off the wagon on that one awhile ago,) and it seems like I made some other resolutions but they escape me at the moment.
See, if I had been writing about them, I would probably remember them!
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
When I Say "Pass the Hanger" I Really Mean "PASS" It!
I love dogs. I love all dogs, but, of course, I love mine in particular. However, there are those days when I consider that maybe there was something to that whole Pet Rock thing.
For example, your pet rock wouldn't bark, wouldn't leave you a deposit where and when it shouldn't (be it a deposit from the front end or the back end,) wouldn't run through your house with your bra in its' mouth, wouldn't steal underwear off the top of the dryer (is it just my dogs with the undergarment obsession?) and wouldn't eat strange things.
First-off it was young Aksel who recently decided to tear into and attempt to gut the big dog cushion. For years the only dog allowed to sleep in the bedroom at night has been Saber. He's a dog who doesn't like to sleep on the bed so he's no issue in the bedroom. The only time he will even consider getting on the bed is when you're trying to sleep-in on the weekend and he thinks it's high-time you got up. Then he jumps up and puts his face within a half-inch of your face, so that he's not touching you, but so that you get the full effect of his heavy breathing. At about the same time, you start to feel the bed slightly shaking and that's from his tail wagging at full speed. If you even slightly crack your eyes to look, it's all over. You're getting up whether you want to or not. That's because his next move is to slap you in the face with his paw if you don't get up. Of course, on a weekday when you NEED to get up early and don't want to oversleep, he snores on the floor. He's a weekend-only alarm system.
All of the other dogs sleep in their own crates, however when Miss Paige had her pups last summer, I took pity on her afterwards and in a moment of spoiling-weakness, I asked her one night if she wanted to sleep on the bed, and she didn't need to be asked twice. Up she came, and when I put the big dog cushion on the bed, she just curled up on it and never moved. It was great. You don't even know she's there, and it made her happy so, yes, I spoiled her and let her sleep there most nights.
While she's off now having her puppies elsewhere, I got the crazy idea to see if young Aksel would want to sleep on the bed. Mainly I was just curious to see what the goofy 9-month old would do, but I was surprised that he handled himself pretty well. Of course, he takes no cue from his parents. He sleeps ON the bed, unlike his father, and basically on ME, unlike his mother. No, not the most comfortable for me, but darn cute, so I let him get away with it for a few nights.
Of course, he had his moments of stepping on me, dropping the big beef bone on me, rolling on his back playing with his binky Kong toy in his mouth at 2 AM, and various other antics, but I continued to put up with it, knowing that when his mom returns, I would put him back in the crate, and he won't be a puppy forever, so what could it hurt, right?
Meanwhile, my Mom said, "You do realize, you're creating a monster." No matter how old I get, Mom still always has those moments when I KNOW she's right, and yet I'm thinking, "Oh yeah? I'll show you Mom!"
Mom is still always right.
Friday morning I heard the clock radio go off, and I took a moment to consider getting up. While I was still groggy, I was awake enough to kind of notice Aksel moving around. Then I noticed this sound: RIP.....RIP.....RIP.
Still in a waking-up-fog, I thought, "What's that......" then I bolted upright in bed. It looked like I was in the middle of a white puffy cloud. White stuffing was all around me. My first immediate panic was that he had ripped up the comforter on the bed. I checked but, no, that was all intact. Where was the stuffing coming from? The dog cushion appeared to be okay. Then I moved a corner of it, and sure enough, he had torn into the underside and ripped a huge hole in it, and then pulled the stuffing out from there.
Aksel has these markings over his eyes that make him look like he's always very alert and almost surprised, so when I asked, "WHAT IS THIS??!!" he gave me this goofy look and grin that said, "Look what I did! Isn't this great?!" I couldn't help but laugh, and say, "You not pose to do dat. Dis is a veddy bad seng you doooo!" (Yes, I confess: I have this weird, hybrid, nondescript accent that I often use on the dogs. I have no explanation for it. If you want to hear me do it sometime when you're with me, just ask.) My mother was right, yet again, and Aksel is back sleeping in his crate at night, before his own mother returns. Of course, Aksel has an excuse: He's 9 months old. He's a puppy. They eat many stupid things.
I don't know what excuse his father, Saber has for what he just did last night, however.
It was late in the evening and often times, when I'm not ready to go to bed, but Saber has gone outside one final time for the night and is ready to call it a day, he will go stand by the bedroom door, wanting me to let him in there. He stretches out, falls asleep, and is out like a light by the time I go in there.
We followed that same routine last night. When I went in the bedroom, however, he kind of nervously jumped up from around the other side of the bed with this odd look on his face, kind of like the look a kid gives you when they've been caught doing something they shouldn't be doing, or they've just broken something, etc. He was all smiling, wagging his tail, and I knew something was up, but I had no idea what it could be.
I had washed the bedding so I was getting ready to make the bed, and I glanced down on the floor and there was a lone metal hook on the floor. "What's that from?" I wondered. It looked like a metal hook that belongs to a hanger. You know, the kind of hanger they use in stores with the metal hook and then the rest of it's plastic.
But why was this lone hook on the floor all by itself? Upon closer examination, I saw what looked like...hmmm......kind of jagged plastic at the base of the hook. Then I looked closer at the floor. There was some bits of plastic.
No way. He couldn't have. Wait, oh yes he could have.....
HE ATE THE ENTIRE HANGER!!!! I turned to him with the lone hook in my hand, and this time NOT using my special dog hybrid accent, I asked, "DID YOU DO THIS??!! DID YOU EAT AN ENTIRE HANGER???!!"
I kid you not: If he could have been able to whistle, he would have been, as he sheepishly looked away and tried to focus elsewhere, acting all nonchalant, periodically glancing back at me with a look that said, "Oh damn, I think she's mad!"
I'm holding the lone hook in my hand, waving it around kind of like a pirate, saying, "How could you eat an entire hanger? What were you thinking? You're an old dog! You have a Dental Dinosaur here on the floor, along with a giant beef bone, yet you ate a hanger!!!"
I don't know where he got it, either off the bed or he jumped up and stole it off the dresser where I had some stacked. I shouldn't be surprised, though, as this wasn't his first time to devour plastic products. When he was younger he ate an entire plastic crate cup right off the door of the crate where it was fastened. Then he's eaten at least 2 of the plastic snap-on handles that come with the collapsible wire crates. I'm reminded of that every time I'm heaving a wire crate up the stairs in a hotel, with it pinching my fingers, thinking, "Damn you Saber, I could have had it easier if you hadn't eaten the handle!" He's also downed his share of my nephew's Legos.
Having been around enough dogs that have eaten plastic items over the years, I wasn't too concerned that this hanger was going to cause him any problems. From the few bits of plastic left that I found chewed on the floor, he had chewed it down to small, soft, rubbery bits, so I was pretty sure this, too, shall pass.
And it did. I know this because, of course, I followed him around outside tonight, and when he left a deposit, like any good forensics expert, I investigated. "Houston, we have found the plastic hanger....or at least remnants of it."
I'll keep checking over the next several days, but I'm thinking we're in good shape. I can't say the same for the hanger, however.
So while a Pet Rock wouldn't steal underwear, tear up cushions, and eat hangers, there's a reason why they never caught on as "Man's Best Friend."
I mean how much fun would it be to talk to a rock in your own very special unique accent? And you would never get to try out your investigative forensics skills!
For example, your pet rock wouldn't bark, wouldn't leave you a deposit where and when it shouldn't (be it a deposit from the front end or the back end,) wouldn't run through your house with your bra in its' mouth, wouldn't steal underwear off the top of the dryer (is it just my dogs with the undergarment obsession?) and wouldn't eat strange things.
First-off it was young Aksel who recently decided to tear into and attempt to gut the big dog cushion. For years the only dog allowed to sleep in the bedroom at night has been Saber. He's a dog who doesn't like to sleep on the bed so he's no issue in the bedroom. The only time he will even consider getting on the bed is when you're trying to sleep-in on the weekend and he thinks it's high-time you got up. Then he jumps up and puts his face within a half-inch of your face, so that he's not touching you, but so that you get the full effect of his heavy breathing. At about the same time, you start to feel the bed slightly shaking and that's from his tail wagging at full speed. If you even slightly crack your eyes to look, it's all over. You're getting up whether you want to or not. That's because his next move is to slap you in the face with his paw if you don't get up. Of course, on a weekday when you NEED to get up early and don't want to oversleep, he snores on the floor. He's a weekend-only alarm system.
All of the other dogs sleep in their own crates, however when Miss Paige had her pups last summer, I took pity on her afterwards and in a moment of spoiling-weakness, I asked her one night if she wanted to sleep on the bed, and she didn't need to be asked twice. Up she came, and when I put the big dog cushion on the bed, she just curled up on it and never moved. It was great. You don't even know she's there, and it made her happy so, yes, I spoiled her and let her sleep there most nights.
While she's off now having her puppies elsewhere, I got the crazy idea to see if young Aksel would want to sleep on the bed. Mainly I was just curious to see what the goofy 9-month old would do, but I was surprised that he handled himself pretty well. Of course, he takes no cue from his parents. He sleeps ON the bed, unlike his father, and basically on ME, unlike his mother. No, not the most comfortable for me, but darn cute, so I let him get away with it for a few nights.
Of course, he had his moments of stepping on me, dropping the big beef bone on me, rolling on his back playing with his binky Kong toy in his mouth at 2 AM, and various other antics, but I continued to put up with it, knowing that when his mom returns, I would put him back in the crate, and he won't be a puppy forever, so what could it hurt, right?
Meanwhile, my Mom said, "You do realize, you're creating a monster." No matter how old I get, Mom still always has those moments when I KNOW she's right, and yet I'm thinking, "Oh yeah? I'll show you Mom!"
Mom is still always right.
Friday morning I heard the clock radio go off, and I took a moment to consider getting up. While I was still groggy, I was awake enough to kind of notice Aksel moving around. Then I noticed this sound: RIP.....RIP.....RIP.
Still in a waking-up-fog, I thought, "What's that......" then I bolted upright in bed. It looked like I was in the middle of a white puffy cloud. White stuffing was all around me. My first immediate panic was that he had ripped up the comforter on the bed. I checked but, no, that was all intact. Where was the stuffing coming from? The dog cushion appeared to be okay. Then I moved a corner of it, and sure enough, he had torn into the underside and ripped a huge hole in it, and then pulled the stuffing out from there.
Aksel has these markings over his eyes that make him look like he's always very alert and almost surprised, so when I asked, "WHAT IS THIS??!!" he gave me this goofy look and grin that said, "Look what I did! Isn't this great?!" I couldn't help but laugh, and say, "You not pose to do dat. Dis is a veddy bad seng you doooo!" (Yes, I confess: I have this weird, hybrid, nondescript accent that I often use on the dogs. I have no explanation for it. If you want to hear me do it sometime when you're with me, just ask.) My mother was right, yet again, and Aksel is back sleeping in his crate at night, before his own mother returns. Of course, Aksel has an excuse: He's 9 months old. He's a puppy. They eat many stupid things.
I don't know what excuse his father, Saber has for what he just did last night, however.
It was late in the evening and often times, when I'm not ready to go to bed, but Saber has gone outside one final time for the night and is ready to call it a day, he will go stand by the bedroom door, wanting me to let him in there. He stretches out, falls asleep, and is out like a light by the time I go in there.
We followed that same routine last night. When I went in the bedroom, however, he kind of nervously jumped up from around the other side of the bed with this odd look on his face, kind of like the look a kid gives you when they've been caught doing something they shouldn't be doing, or they've just broken something, etc. He was all smiling, wagging his tail, and I knew something was up, but I had no idea what it could be.
I had washed the bedding so I was getting ready to make the bed, and I glanced down on the floor and there was a lone metal hook on the floor. "What's that from?" I wondered. It looked like a metal hook that belongs to a hanger. You know, the kind of hanger they use in stores with the metal hook and then the rest of it's plastic.
But why was this lone hook on the floor all by itself? Upon closer examination, I saw what looked like...hmmm......kind of jagged plastic at the base of the hook. Then I looked closer at the floor. There was some bits of plastic.
No way. He couldn't have. Wait, oh yes he could have.....
HE ATE THE ENTIRE HANGER!!!! I turned to him with the lone hook in my hand, and this time NOT using my special dog hybrid accent, I asked, "DID YOU DO THIS??!! DID YOU EAT AN ENTIRE HANGER???!!"
I kid you not: If he could have been able to whistle, he would have been, as he sheepishly looked away and tried to focus elsewhere, acting all nonchalant, periodically glancing back at me with a look that said, "Oh damn, I think she's mad!"
I'm holding the lone hook in my hand, waving it around kind of like a pirate, saying, "How could you eat an entire hanger? What were you thinking? You're an old dog! You have a Dental Dinosaur here on the floor, along with a giant beef bone, yet you ate a hanger!!!"
I don't know where he got it, either off the bed or he jumped up and stole it off the dresser where I had some stacked. I shouldn't be surprised, though, as this wasn't his first time to devour plastic products. When he was younger he ate an entire plastic crate cup right off the door of the crate where it was fastened. Then he's eaten at least 2 of the plastic snap-on handles that come with the collapsible wire crates. I'm reminded of that every time I'm heaving a wire crate up the stairs in a hotel, with it pinching my fingers, thinking, "Damn you Saber, I could have had it easier if you hadn't eaten the handle!" He's also downed his share of my nephew's Legos.
Having been around enough dogs that have eaten plastic items over the years, I wasn't too concerned that this hanger was going to cause him any problems. From the few bits of plastic left that I found chewed on the floor, he had chewed it down to small, soft, rubbery bits, so I was pretty sure this, too, shall pass.
And it did. I know this because, of course, I followed him around outside tonight, and when he left a deposit, like any good forensics expert, I investigated. "Houston, we have found the plastic hanger....or at least remnants of it."
I'll keep checking over the next several days, but I'm thinking we're in good shape. I can't say the same for the hanger, however.
So while a Pet Rock wouldn't steal underwear, tear up cushions, and eat hangers, there's a reason why they never caught on as "Man's Best Friend."
I mean how much fun would it be to talk to a rock in your own very special unique accent? And you would never get to try out your investigative forensics skills!
Monday, May 23, 2011
"Take Your Time With That Door! I Have No Plans!"
Normally after not writing for 4 months, I would spend one entire installment talking about not writing for 4 months, then I wouldn't post for another 4 or 5 months only to return and talk, again, about how I haven't written. Riveting, huh?
Well, I'm breaking that cycle this time. Okay, who am I kidding? Let's put it this way: I won't talk about not writing for very long. I truly started the year out with every intention of sticking with it, then, as usual, my schedule showing the dogs, planning a dog show, working, life, you name, got so crazy that writing took a backseat to everything else. I recently made a comment to someone about how overwhelmed I've felt in recent months with everything I'm trying to keep going and how I wish writing didn't have to be what I sacrificed. Their response was, "When your life is so busy and all of this crazy stuff is going on, that's precisely the time you SHOULD be writing about everything because you have plenty of great material.
I laughed about how accurate that truly was, and it kept ringing in my head in the days that followed. At about the same time I attended another in a long line of workshops and training seminars I've went to for work on social networking, blogging, etc., and somebody asked about how frequently a blog should be written, and the answer was to shoot for 3 installments a week.
3 huh? I don't know why, but that number didn't seem overly intimidating. We'll see what happens.
Today was another of the type of days I've had in the last few months where I easily could have a panic attack thinking of everything I have to try and juggle and accomplish. For those who know me, that's saying a great deal because I can handle a lot and generally not get frazzled over it. But of late, it's been tough. Part of it is my own fault. I'm not good at saying "No" when somebody asks me to do something or take on a project. It's always been a knee-jerk response of "Sure! No problem!"
But I've found it sometimes really IS a problem. In recent months I've felt at times like I'm being pulled in every direction and everybody wants a piece of me. I started getting frustrated and resentful about it, and then that voice in my head said, "Wait a minute: YOU caused this. You couldn't say 'No' and that's why they all DO want a piece of you. You told them it was okay! You're going to have to make this work, but learn from it, idiot!"
Why does that voice always have to be right? It's true. I made the commitments and now I have to follow through. However, "No" is now in my vocabulary for anything new. Bit by bit, I'm going to finish up things I'm committed to, and then I'm going to be more selective about how many plates I want to keep spinning in the future, and you know what I've figured out? Sometimes it's okay to have no plates spinning or to only spin the ones YOU want to spin!! (Gasp!!) Who knew??!!
I know part of what causes the potential panic attack is I look at everything I have to get done way out into the future. It's kind of the nature of the beast. The ability to keep so much going is that ability to be organized, look out ahead, and plan everything. It's probably why I can do what I do for a living and I've been this way since I was a kid. I have a really good memory and things just stockpile in my head. For example, right now, I can pretty much tell you how the month of August is going to go for me, both at work and personally. I know what days I have free, what days I have stuff going on, the dog showing schedule is already calculated, you name it.
But at the same time, always looking out ahead, always planning how much I can get done and when, it CAN cause things to seem overwhelming at times. I know it's best to not fixate on the whole picture, and just chip away at it. It's not easy though, and a character flaw, I suppose. On a serious note, the wisdom that comes with old age has taught me you can get so swept up in living 3 months down the road, that you fail to enjoy the little things in the here-and-now, and you might not GET that tomorrow or that 3 months down the road you're so fixated on. Even though I KNOW that, sometimes I will be the first to admit that I DO need to be reminded....or kidnapped for a day and forced to just wing it once in awhile.
A prime example of getting MY mapped-out plans thrown out of whack came today when the contractor came to measure for a new patio door. I had to take 2 hours off from work to wait for him, and at this time of year, losing 2 hours is huge, so while I'm waiting for him, I'm thinking....and planning....."Okay, the door I want they told me is in stock, so that should mean a fast turnaround. He's measuring today. It would work great if the install could be done Friday as that works better with my work schedule." Oh, I thought I had it all figured out.
Well, I did in "Lisa's World."
The contractor had different ideas, or maybe more accurately, my old 1970's patio door had different ideas. He measured and went, "Oh!" (It's never good when a contractor utters that.) Apparently, unlike the general belief that everything was bigger and better in the old days, that theory doesn't apply to patio doors. They were smaller back then. He said, "We're going to have to order this one. It's no big deal. They can size it exactly, but it's going to take 2-1/2 weeks to get it here."
Wait..Is he not aware that 2-1/2 weeks doesn't fit my schedule?
I asked, "When will the install be?" to which he replied, "Well, 2-1/2 weeks to get the door in, then probably two weeks to schedule the install. Sooooooooo, I would say sometime within the next month?"
Ending "sometime-in-the-next-month" with a question mark? Uh, hmmm...that's not QUITE the accuracy I was hoping for, because, after all, I have a game-plan and a theory for how the month of June should go! Apparently he didn't know that.
(Deep breath) Oooooh-kay. Guess I'll wing it. Go with the flow. Take it as it comes...the door that is..whenever it comes.
There is a bright spot in all of this: For the first time EVER, I got a contractor who fits what we gals envision a contractor to be. How often does that happen?--NEVER! But it did this time: About 6' 3", big broad shoulders, arms to go with the shoulders, I'm betting money that a six-pack is there under that tight t-shirt, and then there were the jeans that went WITH the t-shirt. I actually caught myself doing what was probably an overly enthusiastic "Hi!" when I opened the door, and get this: We had a whole conversation about the dogs because his parents have Akitas.
So maybe it IS okay if it takes awhile to put in this door. Like, maybe if he could drag the job out over a week or so. Or maybe I just need to have more construction projects done on my house.
What was I saying my plans were for August? I may need to revisit that.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
The Rose City Gathering of the 4-Legged and the 2-Legged
There I was: 2 for 2. Two blogs entries on the first two days of 2011.
Now, several weeks later, comes number 3. The "two for two" was clearly a fluke and I knew that at the time. I was on vacation and had time to write. Getting back to work after the holiday break brought the pace back to reality. Dogs, laundry, housecleaning, work, dogs, work, laundry, take-out-the-garbage, clean the dog runs, work, laundry. (It seems like I do a lot of laundry, doesn't it? Probably not, but I just hate laundry so I think I fixate on it.)
Wait.....hold that thought: A certain 5 month old Elkhound (Aksel) has just popped his head up beside me and is literally tapping a paw on my shoulder which means, "Hey! Let me outside....or else!" I don't want to clean up "or else" so I'll be back.......
Crisis averted.
Where was I? Life has been very busy for these first weeks of January. I'm always amazed at how maybe only 3 weeks have gone by, yet the holidays seem like they happened months ago. We, meaning Espen and Aksel, were out of town last weekend at a dog show in Puyallup, Washington. Espen got a nice win for more points up there, and Aksel learned that riding a hotel elevator is really fun. Well, he probably wouldn't say "really" but he handled it pretty well. He still needs to work on not bailing out the moment the door opens.
Then tomorrow kicks off the big 4-day "Rose City Classic" in Portland. Being on the Show Committee and President of our kennel club, I can't show my dogs due to interaction with the judges, but it's still an incredibly fun weekend. But then being around nearly 3,000 dogs just does that to me.
I always encourage people to go to this show, saying if you only hit one a year, this is the one to see. At the same time, I caution them that this show is NOT how most shows are. You could say this show has a lot of "glitz." It's in a beautiful building, with beautiful lighting that I say makes all of us, dogs and humans, look really good.
There are tons of rings, great vendors, a gigantic grooming area, and it's put together in a really classy way. It might lull you into thinking when we go off to dog shows it's always this way. Actually, there are many more shows where we're in old barns and buildings at an old fairgrounds, grooming in stalls where we might be standing in the mud, and we lift the dogs in and out so they don't get dirty after we groom them, and using restroom stalls that, rather than a lock, have a nail tied to an old piece of string that you push into a hole to keep the door shut (yes, that really happened.) That's the other side of things.
Frankly, none of that bothers us, as you go where you have to go to find the points for the dog to win. But, I think we can all agree we appreciate shows like Rose City when they come along. Not only that, but we get to see some of the top dogs in the country who travel here to compete in this show. It's a big deal to win Best In Show here, so the "big guns" come in from all over, and we get to see the top handlers and some of the top dogs, which is fun in and of itself. You read about these dogs in the dog show publications, see their pictures, see their names in the national rankings, and this is a weekend when we get the chance to see them in person.
Frankly, none of that bothers us, as you go where you have to go to find the points for the dog to win. But, I think we can all agree we appreciate shows like Rose City when they come along. Not only that, but we get to see some of the top dogs in the country who travel here to compete in this show. It's a big deal to win Best In Show here, so the "big guns" come in from all over, and we get to see the top handlers and some of the top dogs, which is fun in and of itself. You read about these dogs in the dog show publications, see their pictures, see their names in the national rankings, and this is a weekend when we get the chance to see them in person.
I always enjoy seeing the reaction someone has the first time they go to a dog show. Frequently it's, "I've never seen such beautiful dogs in my whole life!" To be honest, we who do this all the time often forget this. We're used to seeing them, but when somebody says that, it often does make us stop and really look at them. I always love it when David Frei, the longtime announcer of the Westminster Kennel Club Show, says during the broadcast, "and remember that even though these are beautiful dogs, they're still real dogs and somebody's pet, that drinks out of the toilet, sleeps on the bed, and steals food off the counter." It's all true.
I also love the fact that at a dog show, you have amateurs, meaning "Owner-Handlers" in the ring right beside the professional handlers, and the amateur handler can still win. Sure, the amateur has to work at it, and polish their skills as a handler, but it's completely possible. The pros will always say, "The one thing I can't duplicate is that relationship between the owner and their dog." That's where the owner-handler can have the advantage if they work at it. Those are the special moments that are great to witness.
But there are many of those moments at dog shows. Call me a big mush, which I am, but I don't think we ever get through the 4 days without getting teary-eyed over something. One year it was actually a bit funny only in how much it impacted many of the men who were watching. Our kennel club had raised money to buy more bullet-proof vests for the local police dogs. We had a special presentation for the dogs and the officers who are their handlers and their families were there as well. It took no time for all of us at ringside to get teary-eyed and many of the guys in our club were wiping their eyes. We all actually started laughing at each other for our blubbering, and one of the guys said, "Damn it! I swore I wasn't going to do this!"
There can be tears over a new Champion who might be the son or daughter of a dog who has just passed on. It can be that moment when an owner-handler who bred the dog gets a big win in the Group ring and they drop to their knees and hug the dog.
Sometimes it's actually nothing big, but you'll just be watching at ringside and you'll see this moment when the dog stops and stares up in the face of its' owner and the owner looks back at the dog and there's just that.....something....and you recognize it in their eyes and suddenly you feel that lump in your throat. Or it's that happy puppy who is at his first dog show, clueless as to what he's supposed to do, but he's in there with such joy, that you can't help but smile. Maybe it's hard to explain if you haven't directly felt it, but I'll wager anybody can understand it if they understand that special connection between humans and dogs.
Of course, we more than balance things out with lots of laughs, goofing around, ringside analysis of dog show fashion, and long discussions over when the best time is to make the daily visit to the ice cream vendor.
It will be a great 4 days with our 4-legged and 2-legged friends.
More when we return.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Rules for 2011: Clean Out Your Briefcase, & Don’t Pee on Others
On the second day of 2011, here's the second blog for 2011. Believe me, I have NO intention of continuing at this pace once I get back to work tomorrow, but something just happened here that made me think there's no time like the present to write another installment. More on that in a moment, but first I want to pose this question:
Why does the first day back to work for the New Year, after taking over a week off, always feel like the first day of school? Or is this another of those things where my sister would say, "Lisa, it doesn't feel that way to the rest of us. It's just another of your weird things." Fine, I'm used to that, but for me, that is how it feels. It's that whole fresh start. I've cleaned out the briefcase (and wondered why I only do that once a year. It probably weighs a pound less!) I have the fresh new desk calendars ready to take to work. The house is all clean and in order and the laundry is done. If you know me and laundry, that's a major thing in and of itself. I'm trying to decide what new clothes I'm going to wear this week. Now, if only "Picture Day" could be thrown in, it would be EXACTLY like heading back to school.
Why does the first day back to work for the New Year, after taking over a week off, always feel like the first day of school? Or is this another of those things where my sister would say, "Lisa, it doesn't feel that way to the rest of us. It's just another of your weird things." Fine, I'm used to that, but for me, that is how it feels. It's that whole fresh start. I've cleaned out the briefcase (and wondered why I only do that once a year. It probably weighs a pound less!) I have the fresh new desk calendars ready to take to work. The house is all clean and in order and the laundry is done. If you know me and laundry, that's a major thing in and of itself. I'm trying to decide what new clothes I'm going to wear this week. Now, if only "Picture Day" could be thrown in, it would be EXACTLY like heading back to school.
But maybe that's just me.
Alright, time to get back to what just happened that triggered me to write:
Saber just peed on Savannah. I'm talking dead-center, right in the middle of her back. Here's how the discovery sounded, verbatim, when Savannah stepped into the house from the patio door:
Alright, time to get back to what just happened that triggered me to write:
Saber just peed on Savannah. I'm talking dead-center, right in the middle of her back. Here's how the discovery sounded, verbatim, when Savannah stepped into the house from the patio door:
"Savannah, you're all wet. What IS that? It's not raining so what happened? Did he PEE on you??!! Let me get a towel. Yes, that's pee! Saber, what's the deal, Dude?! She's old, not that you should pee on her if she were young, but still!"
And there you have it: That little exchange is nothing unusual at my house, and it hit me that it's the perfect lead-in as I introduce the current cast of characters under my roof that you'll read about here.
First-off, I suppose I should start with me, for those who don't know me. I worked in radio for 18 years, still do some voice-work every now and then and I never entirely rule out going back to that world if the right opportunity rolled my way, because I do genuinely miss it. Currently, I'm the Marketing and Events Manager for a fairgrounds. To be honest, I'll probably never write much about my job, as it's a government position and I think the safest thing to do is avoid going there. In my "other" life, I show dogs. It amounts to being an expensive, yet rewarding, hobby that obviously intertwines with my day-to-day life in a major way. I handle my own dogs, and often handle dogs for other people. I'm very involved with my own specific regional breed club, as well as an all-breed club that produces a giant dog show every year.
I'm single, never been married, and yes, I could probably write volumes about my perspective on that, but I won't....not now anyway. Seriously, I'm happy and feel fortunate to be where I'm at in my life. I'm blessed with a lot of great things that have come my way. If things work out with the right guy, I would view it as the cherry, on top of the sprinkles, on top of the frosting, on top of the cake. I'm willing to admit that I think time and experience has turned me into a cautious skeptic in the romance department, not one to easily let my guard down. But what do I know? Maybe it's still possible. I would like to think so.
Ah, but there IS the one great love of my life. Of course, he's got 4 legs and a tail. Saber is the oldest of the 3 Norwegian Elkhounds who live with me, and he might very well be what we call my "Forever Dog," meaning he's the one that's going to leave a lasting mark on me. There were 2 dogs I showed and owned before him, but he and I just have this "thing." He's very special. LOVES people, and is amazing with kids. He had a great show career and now is pretty much retired, coming out to shows every now and then to compete in the Veteran class. He just turned 9, and it scares me a little to think about how much I love this dog and how I'll handle the day when I don't have him anymore.
Next is the true Queen of the house who, honestly, runs the show: Savannah, the 
Miniature Poodle. "Vannie" or "Vanna," turns 13 in February. She was my "Townhouse Dog," when I lived in an apartment before I bought my house. I clearly couldn't have a big dog with me, but the landlord had no issue with Savannah. She, too, was a show dog, even before I got her when she was a year and a half old, but that ended when her breeder decided her coat couldn't handle the rigors of that extreme "do" the Poodles have to pull off in the show ring. That was fine by me, as I just wanted her to be my buddy, so she was spayed, her hair was cut down, and she went on to compete in Obedience earning a title in that. Poodles are smart beyond just about any other breed I've ever met. It's almost like you're dealing with a human on 4-legs, which makes them really fun. I always say Savannah may be small and cute, but she's really a tough talkin' broad. She's my little shadow, glued to my side when she's not sleeping.
The other girl in the house, my first Norwegian Elkhound female, is Paige. She's 5 years old and had a litter of pups sired by Saber in August. My relationship with Paige really had to evolve. All of us who work a lot with dogs comment often of how the boys are so much more cuddly and affectionate than the girls, and that you see so much more independence with the females, and it's definitely been that way with Paige. She simply likes to do her own thing, and for a long time I felt like she could take me or leave me, it didn't really matter. But I learned she merely shows her affection in a very different, much more subtle way, and my admiration for her grew by leaps and bounds watching her take care of her pups. As I write this, she's curled up next to me on the couch, sound asleep.
The most recent addition to the family is truly a "family" member. Aks
el is the son of Saber and Paige, the puppy I chose to keep from the litter born in August. I had a rather unique scenario, in that I own both of the parents of the litter. Normally, after much studying of pedigrees, you go out to find the stud dog, and he could be anywhere in the country or the world, for that matter. But Paige was purchased by Saber's breeder to give to me to specifically breed to him. She essentially picked her out before she was born, knowing the pedigree was one that would go well with Saber's bloodline, and if a good female puppy emerged, she wanted to send her up here to me. The much-anticipated breeding happened this summer, with the pups arriving in August. The little guy who got to stay here and never had to leave home was Aksel. While I say Saber is the love of my life, I think his son could give him a run for his money. I love, love, love, this puppy.
There's another Elkhound named Espen who turns a year old in February and I co-own him with my sister, who he lives with. We'll get to him at a later date, but the four pictured are the ones who are responsible for me never having a dull moment in my life, who always give me someone to come home to, and who never let a day go by without making me laugh.
When I look back at 2010, it will be remembered for the very significant dog moments that happened. I lost my beloved first show dog, Maverick, just shy of his 14th birthday. Just days after that, Espen came into our lives. Then over the summer the long-awaited litter of pups out of Saber and Paige got here on a hot August day, and I got my first experience at whelping and taking care of litter.
I'm expecting things to be a little more low-key this year in the canine category.
I say that as Savannah is trying to dry off from Saber's leg-lifting assault.
Low-key?
Yeah, right.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
The Lid is Lifted
Happy New Year!
It's officially 2011. An old year is over. The first decade of the 21st century is now officially over. "Out with the old and in with the new" applies in a multitude of ways on this day, and among them is this blog.
I started "Life With the Lid Down" back in 2008. Admittedly, it ended up being a half-hearted attempt, as I will be the first to raise my hand and say I really never threw myself into it with any focus. Oh, I THOUGHT I would find that dedication, but I learned you can't simply find it; you have to make the effort. As I write that, it occurs to me that lesson would apply in many aspects of life. More on that later, but right now, I need to credit the person who is primarily responsible for me taking another stab at this.
I worked in radio with Dave Bell many years ago, and I always considered him to be somebody who was a great mentor to me. Dave's been retired for a few years now, lives over on the coast in Wheeler and has his very own steamboat (is that cool or what? Well, actually the steam is hot, but you know what I mean.) Many of you probably know Dave without even realizing it. He's been, as he calls it, "The Audio Guy" for the Portland Trailblazers radio broadcasts since the very beginning back in 1971 and I promise you, if you watch the games on T.V. at some point in time, you saw the camera on the guy wearing the big headphones by the Blazers' announcers. That's Dave (and that's what I always say when I see him on the T.V.: "Hey, that's Dave!" Never fails.)
He gave me a surprise visit at my office a few months back (we still need to have that lunch, Dave) and he said, "I love reading what you write about your dogs." Dave was referring to the blog being linked to Facebook, or sometimes I just wrote a note on Facebook about something going on.
My response was, "Really? You like them?" Dave said, "Yes, I do and you really need to write more often. You have a way with words." I gave my usual excuse about lack of time, etc., but went on to wistfully say, "Wouldn't it be great to just be able to get up each day with nothing to do but write and have somebody pay you for it?" Dave laughed and replied, "Yes, all of us who like to write would love that. It generally doesn't happen for us….but then again, you'll never know WHAT could happen IF YOU DON'T WRITE!" Playing the mentor role again, Dave closed with, "You need to do it. I'll read it."
Great! One built-in reader! Seriously, though, Dave's words kept ringing in my head, week after week. Now granted, week after week I didn't write, but week after week I kept thinking about his encouraging words.
Finally, as I was giving some thought to other things I wanted to change in my life, I decided I would give it a serious shot, and what better place to begin than at the very start of the year.
I debated about saving the blogs I had written before, but the more I thought about it, I wanted a fresh start, and so much has changed since I last wrote in February and even more so since I started the blog back in 2008. There's a whole new cast of characters and it all warranted a new start.
So there's a whole new look to the blog, but I did keep the name. A lot of thought went into coming up with "Life With the Lid Down." For those of you who don't know how it happened, I was advised that if I was going to blog and rise above the multitudes out there, I would have to find my style and my focus, figuring out what my purpose is with my writing. As one starts to ponder that, in my situation it immediately becomes clear one theme will obviously override much of my writing, and that's the fact that I live with 4 dogs and I show dogs. No matter what I may be sharing in relation to what's going on in my life, the dogs will undoubtedly come up frequently. Consequently, all of that had to somehow be reflected in the name of my blog.
Suggestions included "No Bones About It," "A New Leash on Life," "My Life As A Wag Queen" (still like that one,) but nothing quite hit the mark. I started thinking about what my life is like with the dogs, and how it all comes into play when I juggle them with my career, spending time with family and friends, etc. No matter what I'm doing and where my brain is focused, the dogs are always an undercurrent. They always come into consideration. I recently commented to somebody about all of the things that go with living with 4 dogs, and how I don't even give those things a second thought, it's just part of the routine. For example, you never leave food on the counters. It's advisable to keep the bedroom doors shut (or somebody will decide to rumble around on the bed.) You always keep the toilet lid down to prevent it from being used as a water bowl.
Wait. That was it!
"Life With the Lid Down."
The hard cold fact is: No matter WHAT is going on that I have to deal with, no matter how busy I am, how happy, sad, you name it, I always have to remember every day to put the lid down. That applies literally and sometimes figuratively.
There are instances in life when the best option is to put the lid down and move on.
I generally don't get too swept up into the whole New Year's resolution business, at least not anymore. In most cases I've found it sputters-out after a week or so. However, I can honestly say I feel different moving into this year. I think it's because it struck me the other day that one decade of this century has now passed.
What? How can that be?
When I take a long hard look back at things from the last 10 years, and look at things now, something struck me, and I heard this voice (Yes, THAT voice. Doesn't everybody hear that voice, or is it just me?) Anyway, the voice asked: "Lisa, what in the hell happened to you? Somewhere along the line, you lost your drive. You've lost your focus. You let your edge get away from you. You've lowered your expectations. Face it girl, you're dangerously close to losing your mojo altogether and you should be ashamed of yourself!"
It's an interesting twist because I did accomplish the goal of getting in better shape by my 45th birthday, but it was the goings-on in my head that got high-centered on some sort of speed bump. It's like I gained one thing but lost the other.
Well, not anymore. Things will be back in sync for 2011. I have no doubt in my mind about it. I already recognize the old familiar, calm focus. It's happening.
Be afraid…. Be very afraid.
Okay, I'm just kidding about the fear part. But it sounded good, didn't it? I bought these great tall black boots today and I just had a moment here where I envisioned wearing them, with a long black cape swirling at my ankles, forcefully stomping along with Darth Vader's "Imperial March" playing in the background ("Dum-dum-dum…dum-de-dum…dum-de-dum.")
"Alright, Lisa, do what your blog says, and put a lid on it!"
(There's that voice again.)
So, in honor of Dave Bell, there's the first blog for 2011, with more to come. There will be talk about the dogs, of course, the crazy goings-on at dog shows, and "The Things I Know For Sure about Puppies." Then there's how I can't eat gluten anymore and how it's resulted in me hearing the phrase "Can you eat THIS?" more times than I ever figured I would in my life. I'm sure my hatred of laundry will come up, and how I don't like to mow, but I LOVE the leaf blower.
Yes, there's an endless supply of topics
You doubt me? You shouldn't do that.
You don't want me to get out the black cape and the boots!
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