Whether it be the way we live our life or the simple way we react to a sudden situation – what we do says a lot about who we are.
I guess yesterday I was crazy.
There are a lot of people in my life – who know me well enough – who could have just read that sentence and not even paused for reflection. I am crazy – much of the time.
But yesterday, I knew in my heart – I was not THE crazy one.
So, I am walking into my vet’s office – more like a taj mahal - one that I like to think I helped build through my 3 ferrets, two hamsters, 7 cats, and 12 dogs – but none the less I was walking in to get some special food for my ever special dogs when I walked in with a woman who had to Italian Greyhounds.
Any animal would have gotten my attention. I love them all… but the IG breed holds a special place in my heart because a dear friend of mine does IG rescue… not just partakes in IG rescue – but leads it – is passionate about it. She was my very first real friend at my very first dog auction – and well, because of that – I will always think of Carol fondly and with respect.
Anyway, so I am walking in with this woman who has two IG’s… when we get into the lobby – I courteously confirm that they are IG’s and then proud as a peacock offer up that I have a good friend who does IG rescue.
Here’s the thing… while I know that a lot of people buy their dogs from breeders, or, god forbid, pet stores.. I try to maintain my own selfish point of view that all dogs have been rescued.
I really believed in my heart that when my conversation with this woman would come to an end – we would realize that we both knew Carol… that Carol actually participated in working out the adoptions.
It’s a perfect little fantasy world – one I like to call my own.
I have struggled ever since getting involved in puppy mill rescue with asking people where they got their dog. Because, when they tell me a pet store – I want to smack them and then I want to run down the street screaming and finally fall into a lump on the curb balling my eyes out. I have learned in the last 3 years – to stop asking – to stop torturing myself.
But, every now and then – I fall prey to my best intentions. This would be one of those times.
No, this woman did not rescue her dogs… In fact, she thought the idea of rescue in general was wasteful. No, she was about as far from rescue as she could be – she was a…. BREEDER. – And she said it as though neither her shit or her two innocent dogs’ shit didn’t smell.
I know the letters B-R-E-E-D-E-R don’t resemble any of the common four letter words we all despise. Dog breeders, to me, are like bumble bees to everyone else. Deep down we know they have their place in the world – but on a daily basis they just seem to irritate us.
She was a breeder alright. The attitude, the prance of her dogs – and the lash of her tongue – because what came out next actually took me off guard.
Here I am standing in my bright green sweatshirt that reads “Find love – ADOPT” with a big dog on it and she says, “You know who is absolutely crazy – “those idiots” who go and rescue puppy mill dogs. What is the point?”
It was a pivotal moment for me - whether to react or to take a deep breath and walk away... But, I chose to react.
In a very agitated, raised voice I "explained" that I personally rescued two of my dogs from mills - that the vet we were standing at had never seen a little uterus so bad... that my dog lost half her teeth – and that no dog deserved to be in a mill.
I haven't ranted in a year - haven't felt my blood boil - like it did yesterday. Of course she went on to say how nuts "some" rescue people are - trying to infer I was not one of "those." And, had to end the conversation on how people like me always want to put people like her in the same category as millers or mass producers of dogs.
I don’t think that is true – people just like her (not all breeders) and people who have puppy mills just happen to be the same – one sided – opinionated individuals who fail to have a lack of respect for humanity – that’s all.
She disliked people like me – who rescued dogs – dislikes the idea that we, as a nation, rescue dogs at all.
I wanted to scream – my heart was racing and I felt like I did a few years ago – when ignorant people would say ignorant things about something they knew nothing about.
This woman’s only comment on puppy mills was, “I have heard that the mills can be bad.”
I wanted to say, “Gosh, you sure know a lot about a profession you practice.”
See, if I were to be a real breeder of dogs – not only would I be a good one – I would educate myself all about the competition – I would stay ahead of them. I would seek out laws to put an end to their cruelty – not just because they are hurting my reputation or denting my profits but because I love companion animals.
And that is where so many breeders rub me the wrong way. They choose to stay in some little bubble – doing whatever they can to protect their own rights instead of taking action to protect the very dogs they breed.
To me, as an IG breeder – she should know about IG rescue – she should support it. Instead, it seems she is just out making more Italian Greyhounds as hundreds of others are left in shelters with no homes.
She walked into the patient room – her two show dogs at her side – I swear they were there to be bred.
Rattled and upset – I looked to the other side of the lobby where I saw the most amazing yellow lab ever. Blocky and stocky and down right the cutest BIG thing ever.
Being me, again, I walked over and asked if I could pet him… The owner smiled, “Of course.”
I asked if he was “just” a lab… and, no, of course he was NOT. He was a show dog – an English Labrador working on getting some special title this weekend in Chicago at the International Kennel Club show.
Another breeder.
It must have been my lucky day.
But, regardless – as futile or crazy as my actions yesterday or in all the days previous have been – rescuing puppy mill dogs and believing that I could change the world –they have helped define who I am as a person: admittedly, a bit de-ranged at time, emotionally unstable – but always passionate about the cause – and wanting to make a difference.
She thinks I am crazy – I think she is selfish and in the end – neither of our opinions of each other matter.
I fell asleep last night believing in all the “crazy” things I have done to save a dog. And I would do them all again tomorrow if I could.
Those things define me. I could have taken a deep breath yesterday and just walked over to the cute lab and never said a word about being one of those people who rescues dogs… that woman could have went on with her day – perhaps never in her life actually meeting – someone like me. But, I had to say who I was because it defines who I am.
And truthfully, if you are too embarrassed to say who you are – you should probably be something else.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Truths: The marketing black hole
So, it happened yesterday. I am sure you have seen those “live” signs? For a while they were on every busy street corner. People shaking signs to get your attention, some of them even dressed in a costume like the statue of Liberty or a furry bunny. They offered up, “Sandwiches for $5.00” or “Your Taxes done TODAY” or like the one yesterday, “Store Closing 20-40% off EVERYTHING!”
Here in the midst of an ice storm were numerous people lining a busy street in McHenry waving signs that read, “Borders CLOSING – everything on SALE.”
Let’s start with the real horror: a bookstore is CLOSING! I am a writer, a writer with a novel in progress and the thought, or should I say reality, that a book store is closing is pretty devastating to me. My life long dream is to see my book published and displayed in a store just like Borders – is my pipe dream lost forever?
I know, I know – its not that people aren’t reading its just that they aren’t going to bookstores to get books and also true is that people have turned to those “Kindle” things where they can download a hundred books and just take this 8” computer with them anywhere. No heavy books to carry, no library late fees, no nothing. So, sadly, places like Borders begin to disappear.
It breaks my heart – especially the heart of my writer self. I really want my book displayed when people walk into a bookstore. I want to see the book jacket, I want to physically hold the book in my hand, I want to sign copies for my “fans.” I want the whole damn dream.
But enough about that… Borders is closing and that means a sale.
I always felt bad for the people holding the signs on the corner. It seemed humiliating to me – and at the same time was a haunting reminder of how horrible our economy had become. In the depression, they used to pay people to wear barrels with advertising on them as a way for people to earn money – to me, holding these signs on street corners was just a modern billboard for, “we are facing the depression of 2009, 2010, 20…”
I also always questioned if those signs really made a difference. That is until yesterday.
My daughter had asked if we could go to Borders because she has a gift card (which of course she left at home but I could buy the books and then she would give me the gift card). I said no we weren’t going – we had other things to do.
That is until we saw one of those people holding one of those signs telling us that we could save 40%. Well, that changed everything.
A sudden u-turn and we found ourselves amongst the hundred other people who also saw the signs and were desperate for a bargain book.
As we made our way to the front door passing numerous people carrying full bags – we walked in and it was as though we had been transported to the Eve of Christmas – the store was packed with people!
Abby went off to the “stuff aisle” filled with pencil cases and notebooks and a myriad of other unnecessary things – why did I ever think she was there to get actual books?
And I meandered to the magazines because they were 40% off. I found a writing one and a Packer one for my husband and when Abby returned from what she would consider Heaven on Earth – I found myself drawn to the cookbooks. Crazy, right? But I am still working towards making cooking something I enjoy and cookbooks on sale seemed like an appropriate way to further my education.
The thing about cookbooks is that even though there are hundreds of them – no matter what one you open you are bound to see a recipe for curry chicken or black bean soup or braised lamb, or… you get the idea… see in our family NO ONE is ever going to eat those things. Why isn’t there a cookbook for “normal” if not tastebud challenged people?
I don’t want curry in my beef stew. I don’t want sage on my turkey. I don’t want a salad that looks like someone just pulled the weeds in my garden. I don’t want to go to 10 different grocery stores just to find some spice that a recipe calls for.
I just want simple, good food.
I must be the only one.
We spent 30 minutes in that section – much to Abby’s dismay. Who at many times throughout the half hour asked, “Why are you even looking at these books – you don’t use the cookbooks you have?”
I did come across two that I later bought. The first couldn’t be more appropriate, “Martha Stewart Cooking School.” This book was written for me.
There are 200 recipes in it and most of them seem “normal.” But more importantly it explains in easy to read detail how to do all those things I never knew. Such as how to make a cream soup, how to boil lobster, how to bake clams, how to de-bone Dover Sole and my favorite, “How to fold butter into dough” – Are you kidding me?? But, I am going to do that before the year is over.
The second book is Campbell’s soup recipes – I don’t believe there is a casserole out there I haven’t loved when it had some kind of Campbell’s soup in it. Now that is true cuisine!
At some point between Martha and Campbell – Abby had walked away and began searching for her own books – she came back with two. Yay, my daughter isn’t illiterate!
When Abby had originally asked to go to Borders my one thought was to get this newer book out by Merrill Markoe, “Nose Down, Eyes Up.” I had read, “Walking in Circles Before Lying Down” and laughed almost the whole way through – I was looking forward to reading more of her work.
Well, seeing that sale sign at the stoplight intersection must have been orchestrated by fate because wouldn’t you know that Borders had one book by Markoe and yes, it was “Nose Down, Eyes Up.”
I couldn’t have been happier (at that moment).
Abby and I wandered through the fitness section gazing for Yoga books – made another trip to the young adult section, fumbled to the toddler section for my grandkids and then while we were in the very back of the store – got in line!
Yes, we stood in line for 30 minutes. But, it wasn’t that bad – we were able to browse hundreds of books as we made our way to the front. And, who am I kidding – we picked up a half a dozen new ones for our basket along the way.
The people in line were all jovial – not the typical holiday crowd who is always agitated and in a hurry. Nope these people were all out buying for themselves and allowing themselves to believe they were saving money – even though the only things that were actually a full 40% off were the magazines.
While we were in line – an ambulance pulled up – apparently someone had slipped on the ice and cracked their head open (just what Borders needs right now – a lawsuit!)
As we checked out and I read the sign that said, “Absolutely no returns – ALL SALES FINAL” the clerk asked if I wanted my receipt in the bag or with me to which I replied, “Does it matter? Can’t return anything anyway.”
We made our way back to the car – cautiously walking on the entire parking lot of black ice – (you would think Borders would put some salt down). More cars were pulling in looking for spots… The hustle and bustle probably wouldn’t die down for weeks.
And the truth of it is while those signs read 20-40% off everything – they really only mean 20% since none of the actual books are more than 20% off… and I have to believe that if Borders would have just always sold their books for 20% less – they might not have ever went bankrupt. Or if nothing else, at least advertised 40% off and kept a small corner in the back with useless items on clearance… The influx of people would have never stopped.
Maybe all they really needed was one of those damn signs on the street corner all along?
At any rate – my kitchen cabinet is a little fuller, my daughter’s junk drawer a little more stuffed and our thirst for reading a little more quenched – all because of some guy standing in a barrel on route 31.
Here in the midst of an ice storm were numerous people lining a busy street in McHenry waving signs that read, “Borders CLOSING – everything on SALE.”
Let’s start with the real horror: a bookstore is CLOSING! I am a writer, a writer with a novel in progress and the thought, or should I say reality, that a book store is closing is pretty devastating to me. My life long dream is to see my book published and displayed in a store just like Borders – is my pipe dream lost forever?
I know, I know – its not that people aren’t reading its just that they aren’t going to bookstores to get books and also true is that people have turned to those “Kindle” things where they can download a hundred books and just take this 8” computer with them anywhere. No heavy books to carry, no library late fees, no nothing. So, sadly, places like Borders begin to disappear.
It breaks my heart – especially the heart of my writer self. I really want my book displayed when people walk into a bookstore. I want to see the book jacket, I want to physically hold the book in my hand, I want to sign copies for my “fans.” I want the whole damn dream.
But enough about that… Borders is closing and that means a sale.
I always felt bad for the people holding the signs on the corner. It seemed humiliating to me – and at the same time was a haunting reminder of how horrible our economy had become. In the depression, they used to pay people to wear barrels with advertising on them as a way for people to earn money – to me, holding these signs on street corners was just a modern billboard for, “we are facing the depression of 2009, 2010, 20…”
I also always questioned if those signs really made a difference. That is until yesterday.
My daughter had asked if we could go to Borders because she has a gift card (which of course she left at home but I could buy the books and then she would give me the gift card). I said no we weren’t going – we had other things to do.
That is until we saw one of those people holding one of those signs telling us that we could save 40%. Well, that changed everything.
A sudden u-turn and we found ourselves amongst the hundred other people who also saw the signs and were desperate for a bargain book.
As we made our way to the front door passing numerous people carrying full bags – we walked in and it was as though we had been transported to the Eve of Christmas – the store was packed with people!
Abby went off to the “stuff aisle” filled with pencil cases and notebooks and a myriad of other unnecessary things – why did I ever think she was there to get actual books?
And I meandered to the magazines because they were 40% off. I found a writing one and a Packer one for my husband and when Abby returned from what she would consider Heaven on Earth – I found myself drawn to the cookbooks. Crazy, right? But I am still working towards making cooking something I enjoy and cookbooks on sale seemed like an appropriate way to further my education.
The thing about cookbooks is that even though there are hundreds of them – no matter what one you open you are bound to see a recipe for curry chicken or black bean soup or braised lamb, or… you get the idea… see in our family NO ONE is ever going to eat those things. Why isn’t there a cookbook for “normal” if not tastebud challenged people?
I don’t want curry in my beef stew. I don’t want sage on my turkey. I don’t want a salad that looks like someone just pulled the weeds in my garden. I don’t want to go to 10 different grocery stores just to find some spice that a recipe calls for.
I just want simple, good food.
I must be the only one.
We spent 30 minutes in that section – much to Abby’s dismay. Who at many times throughout the half hour asked, “Why are you even looking at these books – you don’t use the cookbooks you have?”
I did come across two that I later bought. The first couldn’t be more appropriate, “Martha Stewart Cooking School.” This book was written for me.
There are 200 recipes in it and most of them seem “normal.” But more importantly it explains in easy to read detail how to do all those things I never knew. Such as how to make a cream soup, how to boil lobster, how to bake clams, how to de-bone Dover Sole and my favorite, “How to fold butter into dough” – Are you kidding me?? But, I am going to do that before the year is over.
The second book is Campbell’s soup recipes – I don’t believe there is a casserole out there I haven’t loved when it had some kind of Campbell’s soup in it. Now that is true cuisine!
At some point between Martha and Campbell – Abby had walked away and began searching for her own books – she came back with two. Yay, my daughter isn’t illiterate!
When Abby had originally asked to go to Borders my one thought was to get this newer book out by Merrill Markoe, “Nose Down, Eyes Up.” I had read, “Walking in Circles Before Lying Down” and laughed almost the whole way through – I was looking forward to reading more of her work.
Well, seeing that sale sign at the stoplight intersection must have been orchestrated by fate because wouldn’t you know that Borders had one book by Markoe and yes, it was “Nose Down, Eyes Up.”
I couldn’t have been happier (at that moment).
Abby and I wandered through the fitness section gazing for Yoga books – made another trip to the young adult section, fumbled to the toddler section for my grandkids and then while we were in the very back of the store – got in line!
Yes, we stood in line for 30 minutes. But, it wasn’t that bad – we were able to browse hundreds of books as we made our way to the front. And, who am I kidding – we picked up a half a dozen new ones for our basket along the way.
The people in line were all jovial – not the typical holiday crowd who is always agitated and in a hurry. Nope these people were all out buying for themselves and allowing themselves to believe they were saving money – even though the only things that were actually a full 40% off were the magazines.
While we were in line – an ambulance pulled up – apparently someone had slipped on the ice and cracked their head open (just what Borders needs right now – a lawsuit!)
As we checked out and I read the sign that said, “Absolutely no returns – ALL SALES FINAL” the clerk asked if I wanted my receipt in the bag or with me to which I replied, “Does it matter? Can’t return anything anyway.”
We made our way back to the car – cautiously walking on the entire parking lot of black ice – (you would think Borders would put some salt down). More cars were pulling in looking for spots… The hustle and bustle probably wouldn’t die down for weeks.
And the truth of it is while those signs read 20-40% off everything – they really only mean 20% since none of the actual books are more than 20% off… and I have to believe that if Borders would have just always sold their books for 20% less – they might not have ever went bankrupt. Or if nothing else, at least advertised 40% off and kept a small corner in the back with useless items on clearance… The influx of people would have never stopped.
Maybe all they really needed was one of those damn signs on the street corner all along?
At any rate – my kitchen cabinet is a little fuller, my daughter’s junk drawer a little more stuffed and our thirst for reading a little more quenched – all because of some guy standing in a barrel on route 31.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Truths: A bump in the road
So, for all of this time I have avoided ever blogging about my running. It started back in October. I, a person who thought she would never in her whole life be a runner, became a runner. I don’t mean a sprinter or a marathoner – just an average runner.
I had begun walking my dogs on a regular basis and for some odd reason gave jogging a try. At first it was just downhill, then the straight aways – then to “that” mailbox… until I was running a full straight ½ mile.
The weather turned cold and our basement was finally done – so the treadmill came out and by my 40th birthday I was running a straight 2 miles. At the beginning of this month, I had made it to 3.
I had a whole regiment: stretch, run for 40 minutes, yoga for 20. It was this magical hour for me and I had come to LOVE it.
I never wanted to blog about it because you know how that goes – the minute you tell people about it – you find yourself quitting, giving up and then later they ask how it is going and well, you bow your head in shame.
I didn’t want that pressure.
So, two nights ago I literally crawled up the stairs to bed… I wasn’t drunk – so this made this behavior completely unacceptable.
No, I was in such pain, pain that has only gotten worse as I have reluctantly taken a break from running. I went for a MRI – only to find out yesterday – that they see nothing wrong.
That is like a double edged sword: on one hand it is good: nothing is broke and the healing time is quicker – but on the other hand – you wonder, “what the Hell is wrong with me?”
No answers – suck.
It’s been a rather depressing few weeks for me. I had come so far – actually made running a lifestyle change – I was losing weight and really feeling better about myself. And then, BAM, injury strikes and I find myself sitting in front of the TV – watching HBO – catching up on all of the movies I haven’t seen in two years and eating sno-caps. It is all like a bad dream.
So, in order to make me feel a little better, the Dr. gave me some meds – while they should have been anti-depressants – they are anti-inflammatories. I am on my second one – and it seems to be helping. Who knows if it really is – but my brain is saying it is and that is all that really matters, right?
I am trying to see this whole thing differently – like just a bump in the road – not a dead end.
Many people have offered their sympathies by expressing, “Just think how awful a set-back like this would be for an athlete (inferring I am not one…). Can you imagine what it must feel like to be training for a marathon, or worse, the Olympics and have an injury like this?”
Yes, yes, I can imagine what it would be like – because even though I am not an athlete nor am I training for some amazing race – I was training to just be a more fit, more well-balanced, healthy person. My training didn’t end with any event – it was a lifestyle change and right now – my lifestyle is in the toilet. So, yes, I can imagine the defeat, the frustration, the depression.
But, it could be worse. I don’t need surgery, I won’t be getting any steel rods in my leg – the recovery should be minimal – as long as it already seems.
It truly is just a speed bump – a minor pothole – in my road. Maybe there was some anti-depressant in the meds he gave me – because I feel like the grey cloud has lifted some and that in just a few weeks – I can back on track – only looking back to remember that I overcame a typical hurdle in an “athlete’s” life and somehow am a better person for it.
I had begun walking my dogs on a regular basis and for some odd reason gave jogging a try. At first it was just downhill, then the straight aways – then to “that” mailbox… until I was running a full straight ½ mile.
The weather turned cold and our basement was finally done – so the treadmill came out and by my 40th birthday I was running a straight 2 miles. At the beginning of this month, I had made it to 3.
I had a whole regiment: stretch, run for 40 minutes, yoga for 20. It was this magical hour for me and I had come to LOVE it.
I never wanted to blog about it because you know how that goes – the minute you tell people about it – you find yourself quitting, giving up and then later they ask how it is going and well, you bow your head in shame.
I didn’t want that pressure.
So, two nights ago I literally crawled up the stairs to bed… I wasn’t drunk – so this made this behavior completely unacceptable.
No, I was in such pain, pain that has only gotten worse as I have reluctantly taken a break from running. I went for a MRI – only to find out yesterday – that they see nothing wrong.
That is like a double edged sword: on one hand it is good: nothing is broke and the healing time is quicker – but on the other hand – you wonder, “what the Hell is wrong with me?”
No answers – suck.
It’s been a rather depressing few weeks for me. I had come so far – actually made running a lifestyle change – I was losing weight and really feeling better about myself. And then, BAM, injury strikes and I find myself sitting in front of the TV – watching HBO – catching up on all of the movies I haven’t seen in two years and eating sno-caps. It is all like a bad dream.
So, in order to make me feel a little better, the Dr. gave me some meds – while they should have been anti-depressants – they are anti-inflammatories. I am on my second one – and it seems to be helping. Who knows if it really is – but my brain is saying it is and that is all that really matters, right?
I am trying to see this whole thing differently – like just a bump in the road – not a dead end.
Many people have offered their sympathies by expressing, “Just think how awful a set-back like this would be for an athlete (inferring I am not one…). Can you imagine what it must feel like to be training for a marathon, or worse, the Olympics and have an injury like this?”
Yes, yes, I can imagine what it would be like – because even though I am not an athlete nor am I training for some amazing race – I was training to just be a more fit, more well-balanced, healthy person. My training didn’t end with any event – it was a lifestyle change and right now – my lifestyle is in the toilet. So, yes, I can imagine the defeat, the frustration, the depression.
But, it could be worse. I don’t need surgery, I won’t be getting any steel rods in my leg – the recovery should be minimal – as long as it already seems.
It truly is just a speed bump – a minor pothole – in my road. Maybe there was some anti-depressant in the meds he gave me – because I feel like the grey cloud has lifted some and that in just a few weeks – I can back on track – only looking back to remember that I overcame a typical hurdle in an “athlete’s” life and somehow am a better person for it.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Truths: A picture is worth a thousand words
People say that it can’t be done – or maybe they just don’t want to try – or maybe they just don’t know how…or maybe for some, it just isn’t possible.
We are the lucky ones… But, its not just luck that put us where we are – it was sacrifice … and commitment to something more important than ourselves: our daughter – who now, four people would share.
It wasn’t always like this. – These things take time, patience, and unconditional fortitude to keep going and working towards a peaceful relationship.
Keith is my ex-husband, Carol is his wife, Bill is my husband and well – you know how I fit in.
We have been divorced for 10 years (wow, I can’t believe it is that long) and for 10 years we have worked towards what became ever so apparent last night. Its not just Keith and I who have worked towards it but Carol and Bill, too.
We started just being civil, then a bit social… and now, I can say that we are really good friends – and when it comes down to it – we are family.
We moved to the same neighborhood to make it easier for Abby – and maybe easier for us when we drink at each other’s houses and have to walk home… But, it wasn’t just that we moved here – its that it was a welcomed idea by Keith and Carol.
We bowl together, I babysit their younger girls, we have been to their lakehouse for the weekend, we have been there for each other like good friends would be – maybe even better than good friends would be.
At horrible times in our lives – we have supported each other unconditionally.
What we have might be a miracle – but I like to think we had a lot to do with it.
I say all this as a prelude to what took place last night – because while it has become second nature for the four of us to hang out – last night reminded me just how far we have come.
Last night was a fundraiser for breast cancer. It is an art auction and wine tasting hosted by Carol’s brother-in-laws company, Interiors for Business. Their facility is beautiful – this old building with lofted ceilings and exposed brickwork and a perfect place to hold an event like this one.
Keith and Carol invite us and we love it. We always find one piece of art that we MUST take home and while neither of us are wine drinkers – we gulp it down and always ask for more.
We also get to see Carol’s family: her sisters, her brothers, her nieces and nephews, Carol’s friends from childhood. And, they welcome us with open arms and friendly conversation and overall warmth. We never feel unwanted.
Each year Carol’s niece, Kelly donates a piece of her own artwork. Every year it is amazing… and usually, Carol’s family bids so high no one else has a chance… But, last night the painting she did captured our hearts… an autumn scene of the woods on a lake with a faint pier floating on the water. Of course, this reminded us of our cabin… and we immediately envisioned it hanging over our bed.
The bidding on all of the art started and we were the second to bid on Kelly’s… and there were a few other photographs I liked and so we spent the evening sipping wine, hanging with Carol’s family and circling like vultures our cherished art pieces.
The bidding on the photos was reasonable but, like every year, Carol’s family, including Keith, were nuts about Kelly’s painting. The bidding was out of hand- but Bill kept us in it. It is the kind of painting that speaks to you – and there aren’t many of those.
When it got near the end of the night and we were in the lead – one of Carol’s family members said, “What are they doing? Don’t they know that is for our family?”
To which Carol immediately replied, “But they are a part of our family.”
And that was it – we loved the painting, but we really did know the artist and she did feel like family.
Kelly’s beautiful painting will hang in our cabin, a place we treasure, and it will always serve as a reminder of the extended family we are a part of, the accomplishment the four of us worked towards and the future we have together sharing our lives.
Metaphorically – the trees in the painting are banded together – they stand tall in the strong winds and huddle together in storms. They grow old with one another and when fall comes, their colors beam. A single tree of red is nowhere near as amazing as a whole forest of reds, oranges and yellows.
And that is what we are – a forest of family…and Kelly’s picture speaks a thousand words to ours.
We are the lucky ones… But, its not just luck that put us where we are – it was sacrifice … and commitment to something more important than ourselves: our daughter – who now, four people would share.
It wasn’t always like this. – These things take time, patience, and unconditional fortitude to keep going and working towards a peaceful relationship.
Keith is my ex-husband, Carol is his wife, Bill is my husband and well – you know how I fit in.
We have been divorced for 10 years (wow, I can’t believe it is that long) and for 10 years we have worked towards what became ever so apparent last night. Its not just Keith and I who have worked towards it but Carol and Bill, too.
We started just being civil, then a bit social… and now, I can say that we are really good friends – and when it comes down to it – we are family.
We moved to the same neighborhood to make it easier for Abby – and maybe easier for us when we drink at each other’s houses and have to walk home… But, it wasn’t just that we moved here – its that it was a welcomed idea by Keith and Carol.
We bowl together, I babysit their younger girls, we have been to their lakehouse for the weekend, we have been there for each other like good friends would be – maybe even better than good friends would be.
At horrible times in our lives – we have supported each other unconditionally.
What we have might be a miracle – but I like to think we had a lot to do with it.
I say all this as a prelude to what took place last night – because while it has become second nature for the four of us to hang out – last night reminded me just how far we have come.
Last night was a fundraiser for breast cancer. It is an art auction and wine tasting hosted by Carol’s brother-in-laws company, Interiors for Business. Their facility is beautiful – this old building with lofted ceilings and exposed brickwork and a perfect place to hold an event like this one.
Keith and Carol invite us and we love it. We always find one piece of art that we MUST take home and while neither of us are wine drinkers – we gulp it down and always ask for more.
We also get to see Carol’s family: her sisters, her brothers, her nieces and nephews, Carol’s friends from childhood. And, they welcome us with open arms and friendly conversation and overall warmth. We never feel unwanted.
Each year Carol’s niece, Kelly donates a piece of her own artwork. Every year it is amazing… and usually, Carol’s family bids so high no one else has a chance… But, last night the painting she did captured our hearts… an autumn scene of the woods on a lake with a faint pier floating on the water. Of course, this reminded us of our cabin… and we immediately envisioned it hanging over our bed.
The bidding on all of the art started and we were the second to bid on Kelly’s… and there were a few other photographs I liked and so we spent the evening sipping wine, hanging with Carol’s family and circling like vultures our cherished art pieces.
The bidding on the photos was reasonable but, like every year, Carol’s family, including Keith, were nuts about Kelly’s painting. The bidding was out of hand- but Bill kept us in it. It is the kind of painting that speaks to you – and there aren’t many of those.
When it got near the end of the night and we were in the lead – one of Carol’s family members said, “What are they doing? Don’t they know that is for our family?”
To which Carol immediately replied, “But they are a part of our family.”
And that was it – we loved the painting, but we really did know the artist and she did feel like family.
Kelly’s beautiful painting will hang in our cabin, a place we treasure, and it will always serve as a reminder of the extended family we are a part of, the accomplishment the four of us worked towards and the future we have together sharing our lives.
Metaphorically – the trees in the painting are banded together – they stand tall in the strong winds and huddle together in storms. They grow old with one another and when fall comes, their colors beam. A single tree of red is nowhere near as amazing as a whole forest of reds, oranges and yellows.
And that is what we are – a forest of family…and Kelly’s picture speaks a thousand words to ours.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Truths: My everyday blizzard
So, we are all home today – our town hit with a blizzard – record snowfall of 18” plus. I remember the last two blizzards in ’99 and ’79… ’99 I was stuck inside with a brand new baby and NO WHERE to go… You can imagine my insanity. And in ’79, I was 8 and thought it was the best thing in the world as me and my best friends played “king of the mountain” on a snowdrift 10’ tall in my backyard.
Today, I look out similar drifts – without, quite, the same inspiration. Yet, even my husband couldn’t go to work and there is something comforting, quieting about all being safe and secure in our own home.
The one good thing about a blizzard like this is that nothing else matters. There is no where to go, no expectations of the day – just sitting inside watching the news and hearing about how much snow we got and that there were a bunch of crazy people who failed to heed the warnings and found themselves stranded on the highway waiting for the brave emergency workers to save their ignorant asses.
I guess “roads closed” means something different to everyone.
Last night I went to the grocery store to stock up on essentials just in case the weather people were actually right this time (there is usually a 50/50 chance of accuracy). I walked the aisles aimlessly only to fill the cart with the frozen pizzas, chips, cereal and amazingly, I did get water. It is so not like me to plan for a true emergency.
As I wandered the crowded aisles filled with people just as bewildered as I was – I heard one mom reply to a neighbor, “Oh, no this is actually my regular shopping day.”
That caught my attention because it inferred one of my deepest longings, “To have a consistent way of life.” She obviously goes grocery shopping every Tuesday of nearly every week. She probably plans her whole week’s menu, kids’ lunches, etc. She probably has one of those family calendars – color coded with each family members’ activities… Yep, she is one of those… and I am soooo not.
I want to be. I constantly try to be. I don’t know how many times I have scheduled my life: days to work on my book, days to clean, days to grocery shop and run errands… But, for me, life gets in the way and the schedule I meticulously planned out gets crumpled and thrown in the trash…again.
Maybe that is why I like today… Sure the blizzard got in the way of my plans – but it got in the way of EVERYONE’S plans – yep, everyone is like me today!! Yay!! I bet those people are freaking out!
Not me – I am used to chaos – used to my plans changing on a whim. I am relishing this day.
Yesterday was a slap of reality on many levels… It started in the morning when Maggie, a housekeeper recommended by a friend, came over to quote how much it would cost to clean my house. A wonderful, Polish woman very sweet and sincere.
I had done my best to straighten out the house the night before – things put away in their places, piles of laundry hidden in closets. I managed to wipe down the bathroom sinks and figured she would just look at the other rooms and not touch anything.
I walked her through the house – God knows what SHE saw – maybe the cobwebs on the light fixtures or the dust bunnies (more like dust elephants) under the sofa… but then, just when I thought I was safe – she touched the banister… Just like a real maid, she slid her hand down the woodwork and I gasped… and she looked at her finger and did her best to hide what was caked on it…
It was after that that she said, “I was thinking that maybe the first time we come – we could spend a little extra time wiping down all of the woodwork and the cabinets – it will cost a little more than the normal rate but…”
What she meant was, “Your house is a pigsty… and I will only feel good about cleaning it if I am able to have a fresh start.”
What I said was, “You take as much time as you need to get it clean…” Looking down at the ground I added, “I know it could use it.”
To add to the kind insult – she said, “Maybe you could show me the cleaning products you DO use?”
I know she meant, “Do you use any cleaning products? When was the last time you actually washed a wall? Do you know how to dust?”
What I said was, “Well, all the cleaning supplies are in the laundry room and that is where I put the dogs…maybe you could just tell me what you need.”
It wasn’t so much that the dogs were in there – it was that everything that didn’t have a place – including the piles of unfolded laundry was in that room… After the filth on the banister – there was NOWAY I was letting her in there!”
So, instead she just gave me a list of the things she would need… I should mention that she described these things as though I wouldn’t even know where to find them at the store.
Maggie left – and I was embarrassed but the good part is that she is coming back and eventually my house will meet her approval.
Maggie left and a few hours later I found myself at the hair salon – sitting in Heather’s chair – telling her that a few weeks ago when I turned 40 – my hair actually turned grey. I told her how I swear that the grey just poured out and it was everywhere.
She sat me down and started scurrying through my hair… and didn’t say anything. She didn’t respond with, “Oh there isn’t much – its not that bad.”
No, she didn’t say anything. Until she said, “Oh… yeah… I see it all over… It’s not in the back, yet, but it is all through the top. Gosh, it sure did take over.”
“Can you make it go away,” I asked.
“Well, luckily your hair is highlighted so it won’t show that much. If we highlight it in lighter shades we should be able to cover it, for now.”
I love Heather – she has done amazing things with my hair… But, really, she couldn’t pad my ego a little and say she didn’t see any grey??
I have often lied and told her I loved how she blew my hair dry – when in reality I sped home to re-wash it.
The dust, the grey hair – those are MY daily blizzards – my personal disasters – the kind that don’t make the morning news but always seem to be the headlines in MY paper…
But like my hair, once I left the salon, the grey is “gone” (okay, hidden) and soon, because of Maggie, the dust will be wiped away and the snow piled in my drive will be plowed and then, yes, I will have a life where I can actually say, “No, Tuesday is my regular day to grocery shop.”
A girl can dream, right?
Today, I look out similar drifts – without, quite, the same inspiration. Yet, even my husband couldn’t go to work and there is something comforting, quieting about all being safe and secure in our own home.
The one good thing about a blizzard like this is that nothing else matters. There is no where to go, no expectations of the day – just sitting inside watching the news and hearing about how much snow we got and that there were a bunch of crazy people who failed to heed the warnings and found themselves stranded on the highway waiting for the brave emergency workers to save their ignorant asses.
I guess “roads closed” means something different to everyone.
Last night I went to the grocery store to stock up on essentials just in case the weather people were actually right this time (there is usually a 50/50 chance of accuracy). I walked the aisles aimlessly only to fill the cart with the frozen pizzas, chips, cereal and amazingly, I did get water. It is so not like me to plan for a true emergency.
As I wandered the crowded aisles filled with people just as bewildered as I was – I heard one mom reply to a neighbor, “Oh, no this is actually my regular shopping day.”
That caught my attention because it inferred one of my deepest longings, “To have a consistent way of life.” She obviously goes grocery shopping every Tuesday of nearly every week. She probably plans her whole week’s menu, kids’ lunches, etc. She probably has one of those family calendars – color coded with each family members’ activities… Yep, she is one of those… and I am soooo not.
I want to be. I constantly try to be. I don’t know how many times I have scheduled my life: days to work on my book, days to clean, days to grocery shop and run errands… But, for me, life gets in the way and the schedule I meticulously planned out gets crumpled and thrown in the trash…again.
Maybe that is why I like today… Sure the blizzard got in the way of my plans – but it got in the way of EVERYONE’S plans – yep, everyone is like me today!! Yay!! I bet those people are freaking out!
Not me – I am used to chaos – used to my plans changing on a whim. I am relishing this day.
Yesterday was a slap of reality on many levels… It started in the morning when Maggie, a housekeeper recommended by a friend, came over to quote how much it would cost to clean my house. A wonderful, Polish woman very sweet and sincere.
I had done my best to straighten out the house the night before – things put away in their places, piles of laundry hidden in closets. I managed to wipe down the bathroom sinks and figured she would just look at the other rooms and not touch anything.
I walked her through the house – God knows what SHE saw – maybe the cobwebs on the light fixtures or the dust bunnies (more like dust elephants) under the sofa… but then, just when I thought I was safe – she touched the banister… Just like a real maid, she slid her hand down the woodwork and I gasped… and she looked at her finger and did her best to hide what was caked on it…
It was after that that she said, “I was thinking that maybe the first time we come – we could spend a little extra time wiping down all of the woodwork and the cabinets – it will cost a little more than the normal rate but…”
What she meant was, “Your house is a pigsty… and I will only feel good about cleaning it if I am able to have a fresh start.”
What I said was, “You take as much time as you need to get it clean…” Looking down at the ground I added, “I know it could use it.”
To add to the kind insult – she said, “Maybe you could show me the cleaning products you DO use?”
I know she meant, “Do you use any cleaning products? When was the last time you actually washed a wall? Do you know how to dust?”
What I said was, “Well, all the cleaning supplies are in the laundry room and that is where I put the dogs…maybe you could just tell me what you need.”
It wasn’t so much that the dogs were in there – it was that everything that didn’t have a place – including the piles of unfolded laundry was in that room… After the filth on the banister – there was NOWAY I was letting her in there!”
So, instead she just gave me a list of the things she would need… I should mention that she described these things as though I wouldn’t even know where to find them at the store.
Maggie left – and I was embarrassed but the good part is that she is coming back and eventually my house will meet her approval.
Maggie left and a few hours later I found myself at the hair salon – sitting in Heather’s chair – telling her that a few weeks ago when I turned 40 – my hair actually turned grey. I told her how I swear that the grey just poured out and it was everywhere.
She sat me down and started scurrying through my hair… and didn’t say anything. She didn’t respond with, “Oh there isn’t much – its not that bad.”
No, she didn’t say anything. Until she said, “Oh… yeah… I see it all over… It’s not in the back, yet, but it is all through the top. Gosh, it sure did take over.”
“Can you make it go away,” I asked.
“Well, luckily your hair is highlighted so it won’t show that much. If we highlight it in lighter shades we should be able to cover it, for now.”
I love Heather – she has done amazing things with my hair… But, really, she couldn’t pad my ego a little and say she didn’t see any grey??
I have often lied and told her I loved how she blew my hair dry – when in reality I sped home to re-wash it.
The dust, the grey hair – those are MY daily blizzards – my personal disasters – the kind that don’t make the morning news but always seem to be the headlines in MY paper…
But like my hair, once I left the salon, the grey is “gone” (okay, hidden) and soon, because of Maggie, the dust will be wiped away and the snow piled in my drive will be plowed and then, yes, I will have a life where I can actually say, “No, Tuesday is my regular day to grocery shop.”
A girl can dream, right?
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