I received a horrible email yesterday from an anti-puppy mill group I am a member of. This group works tirelessly to end puppy mills in IL and to support legislation to make them illegal across America.
Here is what I received:
On Thursday morning ABC News - Good Morning America, aired a segment on designer dogs. Not only did they promote these dogs as great pets for people who live in cities, have allergies, or don't want a barking dog, but they also stated that the breeding of these mixes produces only the best traits of both breeds in the offspring. They stated that to get these quality puppies you have to pay up to $1,400 in pet stores. There was no mention of where these dogs are bred or how they get to the pet stores.
For all of us that work so tirelessly across the nation educating the public about the puppy mill to pet store connection, this was a huge set back. Obviously they did not do any research on this subject and instead chose to air a totally false and irresponsible piece that chose to encourage sales and "educate" the unsuspecting public about what a "Morkie" really is. New York City is number two in the sale of puppy mill dogs in the country and this segment certainly will help to keep them there.
Please contact ABC TV and let them know how you feel and what they have done. Ask to speak to the producer of the segment at 212-456-7000.
The Puppy Mill Project is recommending boycotting Good Morning America until further notice.
To view the segment Click on the link below:
http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/video/pet-trend-designer-dog-breeds-13426493
To contact ABC News Good Morning America click on the link below:
http://abcnews.go.com/Site/page?id=3271346&cat=Good%20Morning%20America
This is so frustrating. People, like me, who have actually seen the conditions these so called “designer dogs” come from become enraged when anyone promotes buying them.
My heart breaks when I see news like this because there are enough ignorant people out there who don’t know any better – and who believe that getting some designer dog for $1400 dollars at a pet store means more than rescuing a dog for so much less and yet is so much more rewarding.
Its not to say that these poor dogs who had no control over their fate should go homeless – its just to say that purchasing these dogs from scrupulous breeders and money hungry pet shops only perpetuates the cycle of cruelty.
Never fear that these dogs will go homeless… If everyone stopped buying them altogether – those left would end up in shelters where they would ultimately find homes anyway.
If every animal rescuer and adopter could shout from the rooftops that buying dogs from pet shops and over the internet breeds not a good dog but an industry of neglect maybe then both the government and the media would get the message.
It has to be acknowledged that just a decade or so ago “designer dogs” were considered nothing more than mutts. Truthfully, that is what they are. And as much as I dislike the AKC – at least they haven’t stooped too low and included them as registered canines. (I love mutts, don't get me wrong)
If you have the time – it takes about a minute – please click on the ABC link and tell them you are disappointed that they would promote designer dogs at all. Ask them for a retraction or at the very least a segment devoted to where these designer dogs come from…
And if you have more time – volunteer at a shelter to walk a few dogs – and if you are reading this and want a designer dog – visit www.petfinder.com - I am certain you will find a dog who meets your needs and will be rescuing a friend for life.
Until we put an end to the breeding of dogs as an industry – millions of homeless dogs will continue to be euthanized and that is what is saddest of all.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Truths: A tree with many leaves
The last few weeks, maybe even months, have been quite reflective for me… Between the loss of loved ones, holidays and everyday life – I have been made to realize some important things about family.
For much of my adult life – I have tried very hard to capture the spirit of my childhood holiday memories. You know the ones where you remember the whole extended family sitting around the living room sipping cocktails and chatting while the kids played happily in the basement. The entire house filled with aroma of a freshly roasted turkey and the green bean casserole baked in the oven.
If it happens to be Christmas – the gifts are piled around the beautifully decorated tree and the kids are patiently awaiting a surprise visit from Santa. Or maybe its Easter and there are a bunch of eggs hidden in the yard.
It sounds like Martha Stewart was my mom and the Dickens were my family – but while that is not true – these are the memories I hold from my childhood. I was lucky.
(Now who knows what my mom’s version of these holidays were – I can only envision that she was rattled for weeks prior to the events – tackling department store lines since we didn’t have Amazon.com, fighting her way through the grocery store chaos and sweating as she dusted the china cabinet…but for me, I just had to show up and believe that I had the most amazing family holidays ever.)
As the years went on and I grew a bit older – it became clear that I wasn’t raised in the home of the Brady Bunch and my family and its traditions slowly became a little less amazing.
The glisten of extended family tarnished… and soon I would find myself married and taking on the tradition of my new family. Again, mostly perfect – but with it came compromise – whose family for Christmas, Thanksgiving – whose Mom for Mother’s Day… Until 7 years later we had it down path and filed for divorce – changing my family dynamics again.
For a few years as I was a single mom – I did my best to create memories that Abby would cherish (even though she was 2 at the time)… and I continued to grasp at straws to keep what was left of my extended family together. Though, no holiday ever seemed to resemble that of my childhood.
Once again, I found myself married and wiggling my way into a new extended family. One that I had no history with – and one that came with two step-daughters. Certainly this is never how it played out in my dreams.
It was all clumsy for quite awhile – how to create a new history with these people who were now my in-laws – and how to develop a relationship with my new step-daughters without seeming to desperate or too controlling…
Its officially 6 years this Saturday… and after our recent visit to San Diego for Easter – I finally get it.
My parents moved to Florida full-time a few years back, my Aunt and Uncle (I only had one set) fled the family and my brothers became unavailable… My grandma was about the only family who was near enough to share holidays with… My straws were quickly disappearing.
I fumbled for awhile – trying to make sense of it – coming to terms with letting go of my childhood holiday wishes – but I flailed…and I failed.
This past Christmas – I made one last attempt at bringing my family together along with my step-children and grandchildren and for the most part it worked.
Today my grandma is in a nursing home and once again what I knew as a family is changing. I have been left feeling like a doll split in half during a tug of war. Half in one hand and half in the other.
Until last Sunday. When I found myself with Oliver on my lap and Bill on my right and Lindsey and Dave sitting around a table in a beautiful beach side restaurant enjoying Easter brunch.
Yes, Abby was missing and Kristin, Jeffrey and Josee – but this was my immediate family and these were the childhood memories Oliver would have and making them happen was now, essentially, up to me.
No neither my parents or Bill’s mom were with us – or my grandma – and its not that I didn’t miss them, I did, its just that this is my future moving forward – these are the people whom I will have to share a whole new generation of holidays with and these will be the moments that make up a whole new set of memories.
I have doubts that I will ever have everyone sitting around our living room at the same time, I even have doubts that there will be a turkey roasting in my oven… but I do believe that I can re-capture those feelings of possibility, of warmth, of family…
And just what is family anyway? I was reminded last night at a band concert that family is certainly not what used to be its definition.
As Bill and I sat and watched the concert – I could not help but realize that we were sitting with Keith, my exhusband. Carol wasn’t there so it was just us three sitting and talking and laughing…none of us even thinking about the oddity this presents to some people.
This Saturday, Molly, Keith and Carol’s daughter, will make her first communion – and we will be there to support her and to share in the family party afterwards. This August when Jeffrey and Kristin get married, Keith and Carol will be there with us to share the big day.
Its unconventional, but its our reality.
I have tried so hard for so long to create some picture perfect family – some rendition of an oil panting from yesteryear – while all long I was surrounded with people I care about.
Whenever people create family trees – they tend to leave out the branches that sway – the ones who perhaps grew out from the seeds of other trees and somehow found their way entangled with the mighty tree – usually made up of rings bound by “true blood.”
My faith in family was renewed in just the last two days by a revelation that family isn’t something you can force – but it is something you can create – no matter how it came to be.
For much of my adult life – I have tried very hard to capture the spirit of my childhood holiday memories. You know the ones where you remember the whole extended family sitting around the living room sipping cocktails and chatting while the kids played happily in the basement. The entire house filled with aroma of a freshly roasted turkey and the green bean casserole baked in the oven.
If it happens to be Christmas – the gifts are piled around the beautifully decorated tree and the kids are patiently awaiting a surprise visit from Santa. Or maybe its Easter and there are a bunch of eggs hidden in the yard.
It sounds like Martha Stewart was my mom and the Dickens were my family – but while that is not true – these are the memories I hold from my childhood. I was lucky.
(Now who knows what my mom’s version of these holidays were – I can only envision that she was rattled for weeks prior to the events – tackling department store lines since we didn’t have Amazon.com, fighting her way through the grocery store chaos and sweating as she dusted the china cabinet…but for me, I just had to show up and believe that I had the most amazing family holidays ever.)
As the years went on and I grew a bit older – it became clear that I wasn’t raised in the home of the Brady Bunch and my family and its traditions slowly became a little less amazing.
The glisten of extended family tarnished… and soon I would find myself married and taking on the tradition of my new family. Again, mostly perfect – but with it came compromise – whose family for Christmas, Thanksgiving – whose Mom for Mother’s Day… Until 7 years later we had it down path and filed for divorce – changing my family dynamics again.
For a few years as I was a single mom – I did my best to create memories that Abby would cherish (even though she was 2 at the time)… and I continued to grasp at straws to keep what was left of my extended family together. Though, no holiday ever seemed to resemble that of my childhood.
Once again, I found myself married and wiggling my way into a new extended family. One that I had no history with – and one that came with two step-daughters. Certainly this is never how it played out in my dreams.
It was all clumsy for quite awhile – how to create a new history with these people who were now my in-laws – and how to develop a relationship with my new step-daughters without seeming to desperate or too controlling…
Its officially 6 years this Saturday… and after our recent visit to San Diego for Easter – I finally get it.
My parents moved to Florida full-time a few years back, my Aunt and Uncle (I only had one set) fled the family and my brothers became unavailable… My grandma was about the only family who was near enough to share holidays with… My straws were quickly disappearing.
I fumbled for awhile – trying to make sense of it – coming to terms with letting go of my childhood holiday wishes – but I flailed…and I failed.
This past Christmas – I made one last attempt at bringing my family together along with my step-children and grandchildren and for the most part it worked.
Today my grandma is in a nursing home and once again what I knew as a family is changing. I have been left feeling like a doll split in half during a tug of war. Half in one hand and half in the other.
Until last Sunday. When I found myself with Oliver on my lap and Bill on my right and Lindsey and Dave sitting around a table in a beautiful beach side restaurant enjoying Easter brunch.
Yes, Abby was missing and Kristin, Jeffrey and Josee – but this was my immediate family and these were the childhood memories Oliver would have and making them happen was now, essentially, up to me.
No neither my parents or Bill’s mom were with us – or my grandma – and its not that I didn’t miss them, I did, its just that this is my future moving forward – these are the people whom I will have to share a whole new generation of holidays with and these will be the moments that make up a whole new set of memories.
I have doubts that I will ever have everyone sitting around our living room at the same time, I even have doubts that there will be a turkey roasting in my oven… but I do believe that I can re-capture those feelings of possibility, of warmth, of family…
And just what is family anyway? I was reminded last night at a band concert that family is certainly not what used to be its definition.
As Bill and I sat and watched the concert – I could not help but realize that we were sitting with Keith, my exhusband. Carol wasn’t there so it was just us three sitting and talking and laughing…none of us even thinking about the oddity this presents to some people.
This Saturday, Molly, Keith and Carol’s daughter, will make her first communion – and we will be there to support her and to share in the family party afterwards. This August when Jeffrey and Kristin get married, Keith and Carol will be there with us to share the big day.
Its unconventional, but its our reality.
I have tried so hard for so long to create some picture perfect family – some rendition of an oil panting from yesteryear – while all long I was surrounded with people I care about.
Whenever people create family trees – they tend to leave out the branches that sway – the ones who perhaps grew out from the seeds of other trees and somehow found their way entangled with the mighty tree – usually made up of rings bound by “true blood.”
My faith in family was renewed in just the last two days by a revelation that family isn’t something you can force – but it is something you can create – no matter how it came to be.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Tails: My return to epiphany
My husband and I spent the long holiday weekend in San Diego visiting our daughter and our grandson. It was Bill’s birthday and I surprised him with the trip.
We had an amazing time – and just can’t get over how big Oliver has gotten and what a happy, adorable baby he is.
My dear stepdaughter knew it was important that I get time at none other than dog beach… and it was just as perfect as the last time.
I took my spot on the rock cliff and sat down amongst three dogs I didn’t know. And was immediately greeted by two more not to mention two friendly dog people – who just seemed to smile because they knew I was loving this.
While the dogs as the beach are entertainment alone – the genuine kindness of the dog owners is refreshing in itself. They share everything – toys, water, towels and they share themselves without guard. Dog people at dog beach are about the best people around.
I looked out at at least 50 dogs and I swear tears welled up in my eyes.
There were Chihuahuas standing next to Great Danes – Pit Bulls playing with Yorkies – Labs making friends with Cattle dogs – both vying for the tennis balls. There were even two Greyhounds off leash (rare for this breed).
I know most people could walk passed dog beach with merely a quick smirk but for me – well, it is where I belong.
There are few times in your life that take your breath away – times that bring tears to your eyes out of sheer joy – times that you find yourself speechless. Going to dog beach is one of these times for me.
The surf, the sand, the sun… and the myriad of dogs running free – it is a moment when all I can think is the world really is a beautiful place.
As I sat and basked in not just the rays but the power of watching something so simple and yet so incredible – all I could ponder is how few times we find true meaning in our lives.
Being at dog beach is like a continual ‘a-ha” moment for me. I have found true meaning in animals and all that they have to offer the world – from puppy mill horror to therapy dog success – animals have a way of connecting me to the world – of grounding me – centering me…
I wish, for one moment, that everyone could experience dog beach like I do – this ultimate moment of zen – utter happiness - absolute honesty.
Dog beach is inspiration to my soul – a faith that I am on the right track with my life – that my heart knows its direction. Few things can bring out such revelation but dog beach is an epiphany for me…and truly should serve as one to everyone… If a Daschund can hang out with a Mastiff – surely we all can find a way to get along and make peace in this world.
We had an amazing time – and just can’t get over how big Oliver has gotten and what a happy, adorable baby he is.
My dear stepdaughter knew it was important that I get time at none other than dog beach… and it was just as perfect as the last time.
I took my spot on the rock cliff and sat down amongst three dogs I didn’t know. And was immediately greeted by two more not to mention two friendly dog people – who just seemed to smile because they knew I was loving this.
While the dogs as the beach are entertainment alone – the genuine kindness of the dog owners is refreshing in itself. They share everything – toys, water, towels and they share themselves without guard. Dog people at dog beach are about the best people around.
I looked out at at least 50 dogs and I swear tears welled up in my eyes.
There were Chihuahuas standing next to Great Danes – Pit Bulls playing with Yorkies – Labs making friends with Cattle dogs – both vying for the tennis balls. There were even two Greyhounds off leash (rare for this breed).
I know most people could walk passed dog beach with merely a quick smirk but for me – well, it is where I belong.
There are few times in your life that take your breath away – times that bring tears to your eyes out of sheer joy – times that you find yourself speechless. Going to dog beach is one of these times for me.
The surf, the sand, the sun… and the myriad of dogs running free – it is a moment when all I can think is the world really is a beautiful place.
As I sat and basked in not just the rays but the power of watching something so simple and yet so incredible – all I could ponder is how few times we find true meaning in our lives.
Being at dog beach is like a continual ‘a-ha” moment for me. I have found true meaning in animals and all that they have to offer the world – from puppy mill horror to therapy dog success – animals have a way of connecting me to the world – of grounding me – centering me…
I wish, for one moment, that everyone could experience dog beach like I do – this ultimate moment of zen – utter happiness - absolute honesty.
Dog beach is inspiration to my soul – a faith that I am on the right track with my life – that my heart knows its direction. Few things can bring out such revelation but dog beach is an epiphany for me…and truly should serve as one to everyone… If a Daschund can hang out with a Mastiff – surely we all can find a way to get along and make peace in this world.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Truths: A tisket, a tasket - what color for my casket?
In the last 30 days, I have been to two funerals. One beautiful and elegant and one simple and modest. I assume they were both how the person wanted them. One was for a dear family friend - who I was honored to do the eulogy for and the other was for a person I might have only met once: my husband's aunt.
(When you come into a marriage later in life - extended family is often overlooked - everyone is older and busier with lives of their own and meeting them basically comes down to weddings and funerals - with funerals being foremost.)
My grandma is in the hospital - she had her gallbladder taken out on Friday and her recovery isn't going all that well. She is 91 years old and any surgery takes a toll.
My parents are in their late 60's and while young...its hard to really know... My brother passed away a few years ago... so death has taken on new meaning to me.
Dying isn't something I embrace. I really don't like thinking about losing the people I love nor do I want to envision my life cut short... But, I am quite fanatical about my funeral. Maybe its just my way of accepting death.
Thanks to my dad who had me watch, I believe it was called, The Serpent and the Rainbow? It was set in some third world country with medicine type doctors and voodoo... and basically, they buried people alive. I know, now as a parent, that we aren't always aware of the effects something can have on our children - but this movie really set my beliefs into full force.
After mulling my fears for many years and then finally communicating them to my parents (not to mention yelling at my dad for making me watch that movie) my dad explained to me that a long time ago - when they didn't embalm people - they had caskets with strings tied to bells above the ground so that if a person was still alive they could ring the bell.
Yes, that is what I want. In fact, I found that they still have these for purchase.
I also want to be buried in my pajamas - with white socks. Why would anyone want to be buried in a suit? I don't want my funeral at a funeral home with low lighting and elevator music in the background.
I want it at a park - a zoo- a sanctuary... and I would really like if people brought their dogs.
And, yes, I do want lots of flowers... and lots of alcohol and I want people to laugh at the dumb things I did in life and celebrate whatever it is they found worthy.
I have known that I wanted these things for probably 15-20 years. But, no, except for this blog, they aren't written any where.
I have watched two people be buried in the last 30 days - and there is no doubt that each time you witness something like that it changes your own life. Not just accepting the fact that people you knew, loved and cared for have passed away but it reminds us how precious our own lives on Earth really are and how important it is to tell those we love that we are grateful for them.
It also demonstrates what matters in the end. You don't get buried with your house, your car or your wardrobe - you get buried clothed in what said the most about you and surrounded by the people who loved you and hopefully, that is many.
Its selfish, perhaps, to have such detailed plans for your death... but I also think it lessens the burden of the people around you when they know how you would like to leave this Earth.
Out of the loss these last 30 days - I hope I am able to take away something meaningful - something that transcends sorrow and makes me a better person - and that I am able to carry a small fragment of who I have lost with me.
Death is never really an option or a choice - we come here knowing we can't stay forever and as we get older and the people we love age - death becomes a greater part of our lives whether we like it or not.
It makes us re-think things, it makes us worry... it forces us to plan for a future we won't be a part of and it makes me realize that I would love a pink casket.
(When you come into a marriage later in life - extended family is often overlooked - everyone is older and busier with lives of their own and meeting them basically comes down to weddings and funerals - with funerals being foremost.)
My grandma is in the hospital - she had her gallbladder taken out on Friday and her recovery isn't going all that well. She is 91 years old and any surgery takes a toll.
My parents are in their late 60's and while young...its hard to really know... My brother passed away a few years ago... so death has taken on new meaning to me.
Dying isn't something I embrace. I really don't like thinking about losing the people I love nor do I want to envision my life cut short... But, I am quite fanatical about my funeral. Maybe its just my way of accepting death.
Thanks to my dad who had me watch, I believe it was called, The Serpent and the Rainbow? It was set in some third world country with medicine type doctors and voodoo... and basically, they buried people alive. I know, now as a parent, that we aren't always aware of the effects something can have on our children - but this movie really set my beliefs into full force.
After mulling my fears for many years and then finally communicating them to my parents (not to mention yelling at my dad for making me watch that movie) my dad explained to me that a long time ago - when they didn't embalm people - they had caskets with strings tied to bells above the ground so that if a person was still alive they could ring the bell.
Yes, that is what I want. In fact, I found that they still have these for purchase.
I also want to be buried in my pajamas - with white socks. Why would anyone want to be buried in a suit? I don't want my funeral at a funeral home with low lighting and elevator music in the background.
I want it at a park - a zoo- a sanctuary... and I would really like if people brought their dogs.
And, yes, I do want lots of flowers... and lots of alcohol and I want people to laugh at the dumb things I did in life and celebrate whatever it is they found worthy.
I have known that I wanted these things for probably 15-20 years. But, no, except for this blog, they aren't written any where.
I have watched two people be buried in the last 30 days - and there is no doubt that each time you witness something like that it changes your own life. Not just accepting the fact that people you knew, loved and cared for have passed away but it reminds us how precious our own lives on Earth really are and how important it is to tell those we love that we are grateful for them.
It also demonstrates what matters in the end. You don't get buried with your house, your car or your wardrobe - you get buried clothed in what said the most about you and surrounded by the people who loved you and hopefully, that is many.
Its selfish, perhaps, to have such detailed plans for your death... but I also think it lessens the burden of the people around you when they know how you would like to leave this Earth.
Out of the loss these last 30 days - I hope I am able to take away something meaningful - something that transcends sorrow and makes me a better person - and that I am able to carry a small fragment of who I have lost with me.
Death is never really an option or a choice - we come here knowing we can't stay forever and as we get older and the people we love age - death becomes a greater part of our lives whether we like it or not.
It makes us re-think things, it makes us worry... it forces us to plan for a future we won't be a part of and it makes me realize that I would love a pink casket.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Truths: The chicken, the egg and the ER
So, I spent 6 hours in the ER yesterday. For 5 days I had been suffering abdominal pain. And by Sunday, I was doubled over in pain.
I worried going to the ER would be an embarrassing revelation: I really just had to go to the bathroom…but that was not the case.
I started at Urgent Care, mostly because the wait is shorter and I do think it costs less. However, after a quick diagnosis from the DR. – I was told that they didn’t have the equipment to make a proper diagnosis – I would need an ultrasound and maybe a CT.
So, reluctantly, we made our way a bit further down the street to the hospital emergency room – where, just like I envisioned, it was packed.
After a few minutes I was called into triage where I was able to explain my symptoms for the 4th time in 30 minutes – have my blood pressure re-taken and asked all the same questions about medications I take and if I do street drugs.
Even in pain I found myself curious so I asked, “Do people really admit to doing illegal drugs?”
“They sure do,” said the nurse, “You wouldn’t believe what people tell us and you wouldn’t believe how much heroin is in this town.”
Good to know. And, it came as a sick relief that my social drinking was the least of their worries.
20 minutes more of waiting and I was give a room and a gown…more time passed and one of the techs came in to start an IV and take blood. He was a bit cocky, I thought, and after some tapping of my veins and no regard for my opinion which was based on 10 years of giving blood and knowing what veins produced and what ones didn’t - he chose the ones that don’t and what a surprise to find that after two failed attempts and a whole of pain – he had to call in a nurse – who, you guessed it, chose the veins I would have.
Today I have three black and blues spots and two swollen veins.
About 40 minutes passed before a Dr. came in… and I was relieved to find that he spoke English and was genuine and sincere. He took my pain seriously and scheduled a number of diagnostic tests.
I won’t go into detail – but let’s just say that I endured multiple levels of gynecological care and diagnostic testing. Which is always less than desirable.
He offered up pain medications and I happily took them – only the nurse forgot and 25 minutes later I hit the call button to remind her.
That is when I came up with the idea that medical professionals should be paid less and then tipped for their services. You can bet the tech would get nothing and the Dr. would get at least 20%.
I mean it makes sense, right? If the medical professionals made a good portion of their wages on gratuity – I would bet that what took 6 hours yesterday would have taken 3 and I wouldn’t have been poked with a needle 3 times – only once, and no one would have forgotten my pain meds.
Waitresses tend to get it right more often than not.
One person who was extremely on top of her game was the registration lady – who just happened to be the one who took your co-pay…(as you are half naked in a gown with no back and are reaching for your purse on the other side of the room hoping that what is covered doesn’t flap open) funny they don’t forget that part of the procedure.
It’s interesting how when you are not in the profession – it is so easy to come up with ways to fix it.
The best news was that at no point in the 360 minutes I was there did anyone suggest all I needed to do was go to the bathroom – somehow the pain I was experiencing was beyond a bowel movement.
As the 6th hour came to a close and the not so pleasant tests were completed the Dr. came into the room to explain the results: I had a ruptured ovarian cyst.
Cysts are a normal part of menstruation until they become enlarged and rupture. This can cause extreme pain. I can attest to that.
The thing is, as far as they explained, there is nothing to be done about one – when it happens. Eventually the pain will subside (they gave me pain killers – which I will save and sell to the druggies who apparently live all over my town) and it will all get re-absorbed into my body.
However they did say it is important I make an appointment to see my gyne – ASAP. That, alone, is another story since I am not fond of the one I have… and need to find another – which I have been putting off as well as my annual exam – which might be why I was in the ER to begin with.
Anyway, the thing I liked about the Dr. – is that amongst all the craziness that was going on in the ER (though nothing like Grey’s) he sat down and talked with me. I mean really sat down and talked to me. The rest of the chaos outside could wait until he thoroughly explained that we could do another test, a CT, but he was fairly confident that this was the right diagnosis and he didn’t see the need to expose me to that kind of radiation. If I wanted the test – he would order it but, for now, he didn’t see the benefit.
He also reiterated that he would be in the ER the next day so that if my pain worsened – I should just come in and he would manage my case again – hopefully, without all the waiting.
I believe I have said it before – but a day in a real ER is nowhere near an hour of Grey’s Anatomy or Private Practice… No one really cares about your personal life – I didn’t get to share the pressure I am under to find a Mother of the Bride dress or any marital problems I may be having (I am not).
I guess I can just be satisfied about a few things: one, I didn’t embarrass myself by going into the ER – it wasn’t about bowel movements, it only took 6 hours instead of 8, and I was fortunate enough to have an ER Dr, who not only spoke English but was kind and caring and thorough – and that I didn’t have to calculate what 20% of the bill was to tip anyone.
I worried going to the ER would be an embarrassing revelation: I really just had to go to the bathroom…but that was not the case.
I started at Urgent Care, mostly because the wait is shorter and I do think it costs less. However, after a quick diagnosis from the DR. – I was told that they didn’t have the equipment to make a proper diagnosis – I would need an ultrasound and maybe a CT.
So, reluctantly, we made our way a bit further down the street to the hospital emergency room – where, just like I envisioned, it was packed.
After a few minutes I was called into triage where I was able to explain my symptoms for the 4th time in 30 minutes – have my blood pressure re-taken and asked all the same questions about medications I take and if I do street drugs.
Even in pain I found myself curious so I asked, “Do people really admit to doing illegal drugs?”
“They sure do,” said the nurse, “You wouldn’t believe what people tell us and you wouldn’t believe how much heroin is in this town.”
Good to know. And, it came as a sick relief that my social drinking was the least of their worries.
20 minutes more of waiting and I was give a room and a gown…more time passed and one of the techs came in to start an IV and take blood. He was a bit cocky, I thought, and after some tapping of my veins and no regard for my opinion which was based on 10 years of giving blood and knowing what veins produced and what ones didn’t - he chose the ones that don’t and what a surprise to find that after two failed attempts and a whole of pain – he had to call in a nurse – who, you guessed it, chose the veins I would have.
Today I have three black and blues spots and two swollen veins.
About 40 minutes passed before a Dr. came in… and I was relieved to find that he spoke English and was genuine and sincere. He took my pain seriously and scheduled a number of diagnostic tests.
I won’t go into detail – but let’s just say that I endured multiple levels of gynecological care and diagnostic testing. Which is always less than desirable.
He offered up pain medications and I happily took them – only the nurse forgot and 25 minutes later I hit the call button to remind her.
That is when I came up with the idea that medical professionals should be paid less and then tipped for their services. You can bet the tech would get nothing and the Dr. would get at least 20%.
I mean it makes sense, right? If the medical professionals made a good portion of their wages on gratuity – I would bet that what took 6 hours yesterday would have taken 3 and I wouldn’t have been poked with a needle 3 times – only once, and no one would have forgotten my pain meds.
Waitresses tend to get it right more often than not.
One person who was extremely on top of her game was the registration lady – who just happened to be the one who took your co-pay…(as you are half naked in a gown with no back and are reaching for your purse on the other side of the room hoping that what is covered doesn’t flap open) funny they don’t forget that part of the procedure.
It’s interesting how when you are not in the profession – it is so easy to come up with ways to fix it.
The best news was that at no point in the 360 minutes I was there did anyone suggest all I needed to do was go to the bathroom – somehow the pain I was experiencing was beyond a bowel movement.
As the 6th hour came to a close and the not so pleasant tests were completed the Dr. came into the room to explain the results: I had a ruptured ovarian cyst.
Cysts are a normal part of menstruation until they become enlarged and rupture. This can cause extreme pain. I can attest to that.
The thing is, as far as they explained, there is nothing to be done about one – when it happens. Eventually the pain will subside (they gave me pain killers – which I will save and sell to the druggies who apparently live all over my town) and it will all get re-absorbed into my body.
However they did say it is important I make an appointment to see my gyne – ASAP. That, alone, is another story since I am not fond of the one I have… and need to find another – which I have been putting off as well as my annual exam – which might be why I was in the ER to begin with.
Anyway, the thing I liked about the Dr. – is that amongst all the craziness that was going on in the ER (though nothing like Grey’s) he sat down and talked with me. I mean really sat down and talked to me. The rest of the chaos outside could wait until he thoroughly explained that we could do another test, a CT, but he was fairly confident that this was the right diagnosis and he didn’t see the need to expose me to that kind of radiation. If I wanted the test – he would order it but, for now, he didn’t see the benefit.
He also reiterated that he would be in the ER the next day so that if my pain worsened – I should just come in and he would manage my case again – hopefully, without all the waiting.
I believe I have said it before – but a day in a real ER is nowhere near an hour of Grey’s Anatomy or Private Practice… No one really cares about your personal life – I didn’t get to share the pressure I am under to find a Mother of the Bride dress or any marital problems I may be having (I am not).
I guess I can just be satisfied about a few things: one, I didn’t embarrass myself by going into the ER – it wasn’t about bowel movements, it only took 6 hours instead of 8, and I was fortunate enough to have an ER Dr, who not only spoke English but was kind and caring and thorough – and that I didn’t have to calculate what 20% of the bill was to tip anyone.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Truths: Step one – get it over your head
Aaah – so I began my journey yesterday looking for dresses. Sigh. It started at 11:30 and the first stint ended at 2…which really could have ended at 3 but I had a hair appointment (which I was late to) so we had to rush through the last 10 dresses. I don’t know if I was just worn out by then – but the last 10 (actually 9) just didn’t do it for me or Nancy.
I say 9 because right after I got dressed and the 30 plus dresses were put away – Nancy found just one more I should try on… Her opinions had been pretty much right on the whole morning so I begrudgingly agreed to take off my clothes one more time and give it a chance..
Turns out it is one of contenders – go figure.
I ended up with two possibilities after nearly 2 hours of getting naked and re-dressed. I think most women can understand the sheer exhaustion of trying on any clothes – but trying on “wedding” dresses takes things to marathon level.
Some go over your head – as you dive in and hope that you come out near the top with the straps on your arms and not stuck around your neck.
Some you take from the bottom up and hope that the dress doesn’t get stuck on your hips or your ass forcing you to topple over onto the ground – laughing at yourself and silently crying because obviously your ass is too big.
Then comes the zipper. My method is to arch my back and wrap my arms around myself in a near contortion and yank on the zipper… when all else fails – you walk out into the open – half naked - and ask your friend to help you out.
Luckily, for me, most of the dresses were sizes that were too big on me. Big smile. Which meant that Nancy had to take the giant clip and snug me up. (I have to say the giant clip is certainly modern technology in terms of dress fitting… used to be that someone had to take a thousand straight pins to get the same effect).
Some of the dresses I could eliminate in about 10 seconds… though I would give Nancy a chance to weigh in… 99.9% of the time she instantly agreed.
And then there were the others… I would walk out – we would sigh…I would go to the pretty 3 way mirror – stand on the stool to make myself look longer and see how the dress would ultimately look hemmed and we would sigh again…sometimes saying, “I think I like it.”
At which point we would start to create ways to alter it so we would like it better.
Sigh again.
Its just some did make my ass look big, some made it look small, some just seemed to make me look old and some just weren’t me, some I wanted to like but just couldn’t and well, most just didn’t do anything at all.
So, it came down to two…
Then last night I ended up going to another place with my friend Ellen. This was more or less a disaster.
The place was busy and apparently, since I wasn’t going to buy anything white – I really didn’t matter. On one hand it was nice because it was just Ellen and I whipping through dresses – with no one else to interfere – but there were definitely times when a “professional's” opinion would have helped.
I believe we went through about 15-20 dresses in about an hour. I am getting this sport down. After a lot of contemplation about a few – it came down to one – which in the end – only came in blue and that wasn’t going to work.
We left, empty handed and exhausted… and it was 7:30 and I had not eaten all day. We finally went to dinner.
I tossed and turned all night – envisioning the two dresses – the pros and the cons… and have my reservations about both.
Is this the kind of dress that is supposed to bring tears to my eyes when it is the right one?
Well, tomorrow is round two… with my friend Monica. The one thing I did learn (that I should have known already) is I am bringing a better bra.
I say 9 because right after I got dressed and the 30 plus dresses were put away – Nancy found just one more I should try on… Her opinions had been pretty much right on the whole morning so I begrudgingly agreed to take off my clothes one more time and give it a chance..
Turns out it is one of contenders – go figure.
I ended up with two possibilities after nearly 2 hours of getting naked and re-dressed. I think most women can understand the sheer exhaustion of trying on any clothes – but trying on “wedding” dresses takes things to marathon level.
Some go over your head – as you dive in and hope that you come out near the top with the straps on your arms and not stuck around your neck.
Some you take from the bottom up and hope that the dress doesn’t get stuck on your hips or your ass forcing you to topple over onto the ground – laughing at yourself and silently crying because obviously your ass is too big.
Then comes the zipper. My method is to arch my back and wrap my arms around myself in a near contortion and yank on the zipper… when all else fails – you walk out into the open – half naked - and ask your friend to help you out.
Luckily, for me, most of the dresses were sizes that were too big on me. Big smile. Which meant that Nancy had to take the giant clip and snug me up. (I have to say the giant clip is certainly modern technology in terms of dress fitting… used to be that someone had to take a thousand straight pins to get the same effect).
Some of the dresses I could eliminate in about 10 seconds… though I would give Nancy a chance to weigh in… 99.9% of the time she instantly agreed.
And then there were the others… I would walk out – we would sigh…I would go to the pretty 3 way mirror – stand on the stool to make myself look longer and see how the dress would ultimately look hemmed and we would sigh again…sometimes saying, “I think I like it.”
At which point we would start to create ways to alter it so we would like it better.
Sigh again.
Its just some did make my ass look big, some made it look small, some just seemed to make me look old and some just weren’t me, some I wanted to like but just couldn’t and well, most just didn’t do anything at all.
So, it came down to two…
Then last night I ended up going to another place with my friend Ellen. This was more or less a disaster.
The place was busy and apparently, since I wasn’t going to buy anything white – I really didn’t matter. On one hand it was nice because it was just Ellen and I whipping through dresses – with no one else to interfere – but there were definitely times when a “professional's” opinion would have helped.
I believe we went through about 15-20 dresses in about an hour. I am getting this sport down. After a lot of contemplation about a few – it came down to one – which in the end – only came in blue and that wasn’t going to work.
We left, empty handed and exhausted… and it was 7:30 and I had not eaten all day. We finally went to dinner.
I tossed and turned all night – envisioning the two dresses – the pros and the cons… and have my reservations about both.
Is this the kind of dress that is supposed to bring tears to my eyes when it is the right one?
Well, tomorrow is round two… with my friend Monica. The one thing I did learn (that I should have known already) is I am bringing a better bra.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tails: A birthday of a lifetime
We had decided to celebrate Thorp’s 7th birthday with the kids at school… I would bring cupcakes and the kids would learn how to make homemade doggies treats. It sounded like a fun day…
But, neither, Thorp or I, knew how special of a day it would be.
Yesterday, we walked into the classroom and were immediately surrounded by the kids who were singing, “Happy Birthday” and swamping Thorp with gifts and cards that they had made and brought in.
We were barely inside the doorway and I found myself sitting down right there and watching in awe as these kids, whom we have only known for a short time, showered Thorp with love and affection.
All of the cards had a picture resembling Thorp on them – all hand drawn by the children... There were adorable paper candles made for Thorp to blow out and gift bags filled with treats and toys.
Once the initial excitement settled a bit – Thorp and I went over to “our” rug and the kids sat in their seats and in unison sang the entire birthday song including the “cha cha cha” part. It took my breath away.
To many it would seem just a fun celebration – something kids would do for any dog – but for Thorp and me – this was different.
I can never forget where Thorp came from – the life he once had to endure. The cold nights and the hot days – the loneliness and the terror.
To think just a few years ago – Thorp’s birthday meant nothing to anyone – just a dog in cage – a product on a shelf. But yesterday, Thorp’s birthday was an amazing celebration.
He was the center of attention. And, kids, who aren’t always understood, came together and showed just how caring and creative and generous they can be.
Everyone was so genuine with their affection – they truly wanted it to be a special day for Thorp.
It melts my heart to see the connection that has been made so quickly. Such as the warm welcome Thorp gets when we walk in the room or watching one of the children sit down quietly with Thorp and tell him that they missed him – well, that is priceless.
We did make treats – the kids measured out the ingredients and stirred the dough – rolling it out and using cookie cutters to make bones and fire hydrants and dog shapes.
They learned about sharing and working together and to do things for other people – well, in this case, a dog.
Once the treats were in the oven – we handed out the cupcakes and once again – they sang Happy Birthday.
Thorp sat and listened and I believe really took it all in. I know he is “just a dog” to many people – but many of us rescue people believe that a puppy mill dog always remembers where they came from and never takes things for granted.
Yesterday, amongst a class of children, Thorp was the star shining – holding his head high with kids who don’t always get a chance to show just how special they are – maybe that is why Thorp and they were meant to be together.
But, neither, Thorp or I, knew how special of a day it would be.
Yesterday, we walked into the classroom and were immediately surrounded by the kids who were singing, “Happy Birthday” and swamping Thorp with gifts and cards that they had made and brought in.
We were barely inside the doorway and I found myself sitting down right there and watching in awe as these kids, whom we have only known for a short time, showered Thorp with love and affection.
All of the cards had a picture resembling Thorp on them – all hand drawn by the children... There were adorable paper candles made for Thorp to blow out and gift bags filled with treats and toys.
Once the initial excitement settled a bit – Thorp and I went over to “our” rug and the kids sat in their seats and in unison sang the entire birthday song including the “cha cha cha” part. It took my breath away.
To many it would seem just a fun celebration – something kids would do for any dog – but for Thorp and me – this was different.
I can never forget where Thorp came from – the life he once had to endure. The cold nights and the hot days – the loneliness and the terror.
To think just a few years ago – Thorp’s birthday meant nothing to anyone – just a dog in cage – a product on a shelf. But yesterday, Thorp’s birthday was an amazing celebration.
He was the center of attention. And, kids, who aren’t always understood, came together and showed just how caring and creative and generous they can be.
Everyone was so genuine with their affection – they truly wanted it to be a special day for Thorp.
It melts my heart to see the connection that has been made so quickly. Such as the warm welcome Thorp gets when we walk in the room or watching one of the children sit down quietly with Thorp and tell him that they missed him – well, that is priceless.
We did make treats – the kids measured out the ingredients and stirred the dough – rolling it out and using cookie cutters to make bones and fire hydrants and dog shapes.
They learned about sharing and working together and to do things for other people – well, in this case, a dog.
Once the treats were in the oven – we handed out the cupcakes and once again – they sang Happy Birthday.
Thorp sat and listened and I believe really took it all in. I know he is “just a dog” to many people – but many of us rescue people believe that a puppy mill dog always remembers where they came from and never takes things for granted.
Yesterday, amongst a class of children, Thorp was the star shining – holding his head high with kids who don’t always get a chance to show just how special they are – maybe that is why Thorp and they were meant to be together.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Truths: A wedding (dress) in my future
So, this week I embark on a journey I never thought I would take at 40… looking for a “mother of the bride dress.” Or, in my case “a stepmother of the bride dress.”
And, of course, that makes all the difference – not to overlook – that I am a “young” stepmother of the bride – but thankfully – we are not the same age – just a decade apart.
I wasn’t planning on embarking on this journey just yet. The wedding isn’t until August but Kristin politely informed me that if I wanted to get a dress from a bridal store – I would need to order it soon. I know its true…
Its just that I have those pesky 10 more pounds to lose…and I wanted to be in top form before I started taking off my clothes with bridal consultants and zippering up size 2 sample dresses.
Its an interesting journey looking for a mother of the bride dress… because as I am sure you pictured the same thing - everyone does… a long, loose skirt of lace coupled with a chiffon camisole and a matching (long) lace jacket. We have all seen it – the typical mother of the bride dress… and, well, that certainly ain’t me!
It’s not any of the moms in this wedding.
But, I am also not a suit kind of girl. (notice I still call myself a girl). I need something fun – something pretty and maybe a bit sexy – why not?
I know being a stepmother of the bride – isn’t some new phenomenon. There are thousands of them. But, for me – well, it’s a little something new.
I have wrangled up a few friends for my little excursion. I need them to be honest but kind – as I am certain to be a bit rattled – a little unnerved and I hope when I find the right dress – completely elated.
The groom’s mom was able to find her dress by going to one store and spending an hour trying on dresses. Unless there is a dress God – this will NOT be me. I already have appointments at 4 bridal stores and hours allotted for two high-end department stores. I am a shopper who must exhaust all possibilities before committing to something – especially something this important.
And let’s not overlook the elephant in the room… I am the step-mom – and while I think I have a wonderful relationship with my stepdaughters – whom I love dearly – I am still the step mom and that leaves me in a very precarious situation on the wedding day.
I will be a part of the day – but it will not be my day to be THE mother of the bride… Hopefully, that day will come in 10-15 years… Unless Abby elopes, or decides she would rather spend her life saving the world, or following a band – or maybe she will be a lesbian - which would be okay… and maybe by then marriage will be legal and I will still get to plan her wedding… But at any rate – that will be my day.
Until then – I sit back and celebrate that Kristin fell in love with Jeffrey… I revel in the happiness that they share and the beautiful daughter they have.
And hopefully, by week’s end I will be toasting with my dear friend Nancy to my beautiful new dress that makes me look slim and sexy and doesn’t require 3” heels or spanx and is easy to dance and go to the bathroom in… That isn’t too much to ask, is it?
And, of course, that makes all the difference – not to overlook – that I am a “young” stepmother of the bride – but thankfully – we are not the same age – just a decade apart.
I wasn’t planning on embarking on this journey just yet. The wedding isn’t until August but Kristin politely informed me that if I wanted to get a dress from a bridal store – I would need to order it soon. I know its true…
Its just that I have those pesky 10 more pounds to lose…and I wanted to be in top form before I started taking off my clothes with bridal consultants and zippering up size 2 sample dresses.
Its an interesting journey looking for a mother of the bride dress… because as I am sure you pictured the same thing - everyone does… a long, loose skirt of lace coupled with a chiffon camisole and a matching (long) lace jacket. We have all seen it – the typical mother of the bride dress… and, well, that certainly ain’t me!
It’s not any of the moms in this wedding.
But, I am also not a suit kind of girl. (notice I still call myself a girl). I need something fun – something pretty and maybe a bit sexy – why not?
I know being a stepmother of the bride – isn’t some new phenomenon. There are thousands of them. But, for me – well, it’s a little something new.
I have wrangled up a few friends for my little excursion. I need them to be honest but kind – as I am certain to be a bit rattled – a little unnerved and I hope when I find the right dress – completely elated.
The groom’s mom was able to find her dress by going to one store and spending an hour trying on dresses. Unless there is a dress God – this will NOT be me. I already have appointments at 4 bridal stores and hours allotted for two high-end department stores. I am a shopper who must exhaust all possibilities before committing to something – especially something this important.
And let’s not overlook the elephant in the room… I am the step-mom – and while I think I have a wonderful relationship with my stepdaughters – whom I love dearly – I am still the step mom and that leaves me in a very precarious situation on the wedding day.
I will be a part of the day – but it will not be my day to be THE mother of the bride… Hopefully, that day will come in 10-15 years… Unless Abby elopes, or decides she would rather spend her life saving the world, or following a band – or maybe she will be a lesbian - which would be okay… and maybe by then marriage will be legal and I will still get to plan her wedding… But at any rate – that will be my day.
Until then – I sit back and celebrate that Kristin fell in love with Jeffrey… I revel in the happiness that they share and the beautiful daughter they have.
And hopefully, by week’s end I will be toasting with my dear friend Nancy to my beautiful new dress that makes me look slim and sexy and doesn’t require 3” heels or spanx and is easy to dance and go to the bathroom in… That isn’t too much to ask, is it?
Friday, April 8, 2011
Truths: Is blood thicker than water?
Last night my husband and I were talking about some couples we know that are either divorcing or going through a hard time. Bill brought up how the one guy recently sold his fishing boat after the divorce – Bill said he thought it was because he didn’t need the excuse anymore… which meant that the guy was only fishing to get away from his wife – now that she was gone – he was free to enjoy life on the couch again.
That led us into a longer discussion about friendships and spending time with friends. My dear, sweet husband said that he doesn’t enjoy his fishing trips as much anymore because he would rather spend time with me. (He really did say that – I do know how lucky I am)
But, in turn, I felt I had to defend my time with my friends because I certainly don’t spend time with them just to get away from Bill. I love my husband and I love all the time we spend together, I really do.
However, my friends are very important to me – very important.
I can’t remember a time in my life when my friends weren’t there for me. Sure they have been around for the laughs and the good times – but above all else – they have been right beside me when times got tough.
I have been through a lot in my short 40 years on Earth. There are many times in my life that I am not proud of – moments that I would perhaps take back if I could. But my friends never judged me.
When I was getting divorced and the life I knew was falling apart around me – it was my friends above all else who held me together. They never let me down. They stood next to me, held my hand, wiped my tears and gave me a shoulder to lean on.
I don’t have any sisters but I have amazing girlfriends.
I have a few friends right now facing tough decisions and going through difficult situations…and I do everything I can to be there for them because I know how important having them was for me.
I think, as a culture, we don’t give friendships the merit they deserve. We are forced to include “family” in things like weddings and birthdays and graduations – often trumping friends due to space and yet, for people like me, it is our friends who have stood by us, who know us, who know what we love, what we hate and what we aspire to be.
The best birthday and Christmas gifts I have gotten have usually came from friends because they KNEW without asking what I wanted – what I liked.
My circle of close girlfriends is truly my extended family. They are the family I chose and the family I would go above and beyond to protect and to comfort.
Bill knows my gratitude for my friends, he knows that they have saved me and love me unconditionally when some of my family chose not to and he knows that my time spent with them is not to be thought of as time away from him – but instead time spent with my family…because for me, blood isn’t thicker than water.
That led us into a longer discussion about friendships and spending time with friends. My dear, sweet husband said that he doesn’t enjoy his fishing trips as much anymore because he would rather spend time with me. (He really did say that – I do know how lucky I am)
But, in turn, I felt I had to defend my time with my friends because I certainly don’t spend time with them just to get away from Bill. I love my husband and I love all the time we spend together, I really do.
However, my friends are very important to me – very important.
I can’t remember a time in my life when my friends weren’t there for me. Sure they have been around for the laughs and the good times – but above all else – they have been right beside me when times got tough.
I have been through a lot in my short 40 years on Earth. There are many times in my life that I am not proud of – moments that I would perhaps take back if I could. But my friends never judged me.
When I was getting divorced and the life I knew was falling apart around me – it was my friends above all else who held me together. They never let me down. They stood next to me, held my hand, wiped my tears and gave me a shoulder to lean on.
I don’t have any sisters but I have amazing girlfriends.
I have a few friends right now facing tough decisions and going through difficult situations…and I do everything I can to be there for them because I know how important having them was for me.
I think, as a culture, we don’t give friendships the merit they deserve. We are forced to include “family” in things like weddings and birthdays and graduations – often trumping friends due to space and yet, for people like me, it is our friends who have stood by us, who know us, who know what we love, what we hate and what we aspire to be.
The best birthday and Christmas gifts I have gotten have usually came from friends because they KNEW without asking what I wanted – what I liked.
My circle of close girlfriends is truly my extended family. They are the family I chose and the family I would go above and beyond to protect and to comfort.
Bill knows my gratitude for my friends, he knows that they have saved me and love me unconditionally when some of my family chose not to and he knows that my time spent with them is not to be thought of as time away from him – but instead time spent with my family…because for me, blood isn’t thicker than water.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Truths: Life and all its lessons
Its been awhile since my last blog – there has been a lot going on – all of which deserves its own blog – but here’s the thing that it all comes down to – friends and family and the free life lessons they offer along the way.
Three weeks ago, a dear family friend passed away. I had known her my whole life. She was the kind of person who everyone viewed as a saint. She was always sincere, always thoughtful and completely selfless. At a time in my life when everything had gone awry – she offered unconditional support and I was grateful.
A few years my back my brother passed away and I wrote his eulogy. Apparently, it touched Pat’s heart and at the time she said when she dies, she would like me to write hers. And so two weeks ago, I did and was asked to give the eulogy.
I was overtaken with both honor and… complete fright. The writing part was easy – it was the idea of speaking in front of hundreds of people. But right before I walked up there I knew it was going to be okay because I knew that what I had to say about Pat was important; she deserved to be celebrated for all of the amazing things she had done – not just for me – but for everyone in the room.
And it went well…really well – and I can only hope that the tribute I gave was what Pat had wanted – that it lived up to her expectations – because as a person and a dear friend she certainly always exceeded mine.
A few days following the funeral, I left for Spain to see my dear lifelong friend, Mary Kate. She met and married a great guy from Spain and three years ago – moved away to start a life in a foreign country. The irony is that out of all of us – Mary Kate was the only one to study German in high school!
Sure I was excited to go to Europe but truthfully, my trip was about seeing my friend.
She and her husband planned out every day to the hour – we saw castles and cathedrals, ate native food (some of which I can’t talk about without either crying or throwing up) drank beer and had an absolute incredible time.
But, one night as Mary Kate and I were walking down the street after going to the grocery store and buying beer to take home it hit me. Here we were these two women – friends since we were 10…we lived across the street from each other, played dolls, and smurfs and spin the bottle – drank at parties and were in each other’s weddings… here we were walking down a street in Zamora, Spain – and we were the same little girls running in the street, getting dressed for prom, crying over boys… You could take us out of our home – but you could never take away our friendship – the years we have helped each other through and the bond that is so tightly sealed.
Here we were two American girls – not really fitting into the Spansh culture and truthfully, not really caring. The cathedrals were pretty, the castles breathtaking… but that one moment of realization of seeing the two of us and the years we have shared transcend time and distance – that made the whole trip memorable and priceless.
I am blessed to have and to have had such wonderful people in my life. And moments such as the ones I have had these last few weeks are unforeseen reminders of what is important in life – the ties we form with those around us. The love we offer and the acceptance we give.
Sure people come and go in our lives and that’s okay. But the ones who stick around, the ones who celebrate the good times but never fail you in the bad times – those are the ones we cherish.
Its never about the stuff – its about the moments we share together – the things you really can’t hold or touch but the feeling you get when you are together.
I miss Pat and I miss Mary Kate but whether it be an ocean or a heaven in between us – I know that neither of them are far away. I will always have this special place for each of them – this warm spot within my soul from the ways they touched my life. Those are the real blessing in life.
Three weeks ago, a dear family friend passed away. I had known her my whole life. She was the kind of person who everyone viewed as a saint. She was always sincere, always thoughtful and completely selfless. At a time in my life when everything had gone awry – she offered unconditional support and I was grateful.
A few years my back my brother passed away and I wrote his eulogy. Apparently, it touched Pat’s heart and at the time she said when she dies, she would like me to write hers. And so two weeks ago, I did and was asked to give the eulogy.
I was overtaken with both honor and… complete fright. The writing part was easy – it was the idea of speaking in front of hundreds of people. But right before I walked up there I knew it was going to be okay because I knew that what I had to say about Pat was important; she deserved to be celebrated for all of the amazing things she had done – not just for me – but for everyone in the room.
And it went well…really well – and I can only hope that the tribute I gave was what Pat had wanted – that it lived up to her expectations – because as a person and a dear friend she certainly always exceeded mine.
A few days following the funeral, I left for Spain to see my dear lifelong friend, Mary Kate. She met and married a great guy from Spain and three years ago – moved away to start a life in a foreign country. The irony is that out of all of us – Mary Kate was the only one to study German in high school!
Sure I was excited to go to Europe but truthfully, my trip was about seeing my friend.
She and her husband planned out every day to the hour – we saw castles and cathedrals, ate native food (some of which I can’t talk about without either crying or throwing up) drank beer and had an absolute incredible time.
But, one night as Mary Kate and I were walking down the street after going to the grocery store and buying beer to take home it hit me. Here we were these two women – friends since we were 10…we lived across the street from each other, played dolls, and smurfs and spin the bottle – drank at parties and were in each other’s weddings… here we were walking down a street in Zamora, Spain – and we were the same little girls running in the street, getting dressed for prom, crying over boys… You could take us out of our home – but you could never take away our friendship – the years we have helped each other through and the bond that is so tightly sealed.
Here we were two American girls – not really fitting into the Spansh culture and truthfully, not really caring. The cathedrals were pretty, the castles breathtaking… but that one moment of realization of seeing the two of us and the years we have shared transcend time and distance – that made the whole trip memorable and priceless.
I am blessed to have and to have had such wonderful people in my life. And moments such as the ones I have had these last few weeks are unforeseen reminders of what is important in life – the ties we form with those around us. The love we offer and the acceptance we give.
Sure people come and go in our lives and that’s okay. But the ones who stick around, the ones who celebrate the good times but never fail you in the bad times – those are the ones we cherish.
Its never about the stuff – its about the moments we share together – the things you really can’t hold or touch but the feeling you get when you are together.
I miss Pat and I miss Mary Kate but whether it be an ocean or a heaven in between us – I know that neither of them are far away. I will always have this special place for each of them – this warm spot within my soul from the ways they touched my life. Those are the real blessing in life.
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