This is it; this is winter

Just as the summer season has its own singular flavor to it, so too does winter have a unique feel. And although the dead of winter does not always inspire the same euphoria that a mid-summer evening might, it still merits a few words of tribute. Growing up in Denver, I was somehow under the impression that it snowed a lot there and I found the snow and cold to be somewhat limiting to my ability to enjoy life. I guess I should point out, I was not a skier. So I thought going to college in Los Angeles seemed like a fabulous solution for my snow aversion. Then of course, my mom moved to Minnesota, and eventually I would move here, too. Only then did I discover the true meaning of winter.

The Minnesota winter is like nothing I have ever experienced. Other cities I've called home, like Denver or Boston, get snow and cold weather, it’s true, but nothing arctic like the North Star state. And it’s not just the cold that makes it winter. It’s the duration, the gray, the bitterness of a sub-zero night that really sinks into your heart and reminds you, this is it, this is winter.

This winter has been funny in that it almost seems like it has been completely snow-free up until a few days ago. There have been a few passing storms but it seems they’ve all been followed up by warm weather that actually melts all the snow. That, in itself, is highly unusual. Many winters I’ve spent here seem to start in November with a big snow storm and I swear I can still recognize the same snow in March that I first saw in November. I spray paint a small patch after the first snowfall to be sure I’ll still recognize the same snowflakes 4 months later. But even without the snow this year, I find that many of the same emotional elements of winter persist in spite of the difference in scenery.

Many days pass without any appearance of the sun but defy the simple description of merely “cloudy.” The atmosphere and the landscape seem to meld in a misty nether region between sky and earth that acts as a vacuum for any stray light or color that finds its way outside. It often feels depressing but sometimes you welcome it as an opportunity to stop all activity, as if your mind regenerates during these days in the same way the dormant plant life is storing up new energy for spring.

After an evening out in the middle of winter, the return to one’s car in the cold is like the dark, mind-numbing opposite of a summer night spent outside, enjoying a breeze and a cold drink. In June, when dusk holds off until later, it almost lets you believe you are more alive during the summer. But in the winter, the challenge is to feel alive in spite of the temperature. Even with layers of fleece and thinsulate and your hands, neck and face wrapped up against the wind, you can still feel the cold deep inside you, stiffening your limbs. The car holds no comfort as even the skin on your head seems to be frozen with goosebumps and you huddle in front of the useless heating vents. Midway home, the car’s heat kicks in and you briefly know a little comfort but your windows are frosted over, encasing you in the chill. My favorite is when there is a full moon on a night of sub-zero temperatures and its icy white glow freezes even the light shining down on you. The coldness is absolute.

Last winter, my daughter entertained a brief obsession with The Decembrists’ album The King is Dead. Her favorite song was Dear Avery and she’d ask to play it repeatedly during dinner time. It’s got a fairly melancholy feel to it anyway, but listening to it over and over again while staring at the grayness outside would often threaten to send me over some ambiguous edge, making me want to just lay sprawled on the ground, staring out the window at the sky until some shred of sunshine and color returned to the world.

It’s easy to succumb to this kind of desolation during the winter here, but the weird thing is that spring just wouldn’t be spring unless you endured the cold and darkness. And even though December 21st is the shortest day of the year with the fewest hours of daylight, it seems to me that it’s not until the bone-chilling days of late January that you really start to realize… winter is here. Winter is finally, undeniably here. Once we get some sledding in, the year will be complete.

2011 bubble lights retrospective

You know how when your favorite sitcom passes some big milestone, like the 100th show or some anniversary or something, and they make the 30-minute montage of the show's funnier moments, so instead of getting to watch a new episode of your beloved show you are forced to sit through countless clips that you have already seen because, duh, it's your favorite show and you are a faithful viewer? Well, imagine my blog is your most favorite (and mega-hilarious) sitcom. I'm taking a look back at 2011 and pointing out the highs and the lows, blog-wise.

Let's get this party started...

January blog (January 18, 2011)
It doesn't say a whole lot, just that I decided to start a blog and that I hoped to tell some funny stories along the way. Also, I was under the impression that last January was particularly difficult because we were inundated with snow. However, I'd like to update that now and say that January sucks just as much without snow.

A little intro... (January 19, 2011)
Since it was the early days of the blog, I provide this introductory piece. It's more a brief look at the formative years of my writing career (or lack thereof).

State of the fam (January 26, 2011)
I wasn't crazy about this one after I wrote it but a few people really liked it. It appeared that I was being extremely clever since that was the evening of the State of the Union address (in case you didn't figure that one out). The truth is, I blatantly ripped off this clever idea from another blogger who had been featured on NPR's web page that day. If you want to read something laugh-out-loud funny, read the Suburban Kamikaze. Then come back and read my blog, too. SK, many thanks from this novice blogger.

The f-word ***RATED R*** (February 3, 2011)
This is a favorite of mine, simply because it was so much fucking fun to write. Looking back at it now, I feel I have really let myself down by not swearing more in my blog. One person who would not agree with this is my father who, if you can imagine it, seems to find this language "vulgar." Well, what the fuck is wrong with vulgar? I'm not the fucking Queen of England here.

I used to have a real thing for John Elway (February 6, 2011)
Obviously, this was the Super Bowl edition. I'm not sure how well-liked it was, but I can tell you I was sure highly amused with myself when I wrote this. I find as I compose this retrospective that many posts fall into that category. Oh well, at least I know one person liked it. I'm particularly fond of the photo of myself, sporting my Bronco gear. Good times.

A few words about Autism (February 10, 2011)
Here is the point at which I introduce my daughter and the fact that she is on the Autism spectrum. I have always wanted to write more about my daughter and autism. I think I am afraid that once I get started, though, I won't be able to stop. The topic overwhelms me. But fortunately for us, it is not all trials and tribulations. Mostly my daughter is a source of joy and, without question, the best thing that ever happened to me.

I am the funniest person in the world (February 11, 2011)
This one just kind of came to me all at once. It's probably another one that falls into self-amusement category. My favorite part is the photo of Don Rickles.

Anything goes (February 19, 2011)
This one is fairly random. I wrote it in response to a conversation I had with my brother-in-law. It's sort of for him, although it doesn't really say a whole lot.

I really think I could see Lindsay Lohan see the error of her ways... (February 25, 2011)
This post is really just an excuse to tell you the story of my shoplifting days from high school. And why wouldn't I want to share that story? It was a real highlight of my 15th year. Or thereabouts.

Soap scum abatement (March 6, 2011)
At this point in my blog-writing career I was starting to ponder just how to come up with new and interesting topics. Ok, I am still pondering that. But spending hours scrubbing a bathtub? For better or worse, that qualified as a major activity for the day, so I tried to spin it into a blog post.

How to outsmart your not-very-smart dog (March 9, 2011)
Most definitely, this post was one I found hilarious. Whether or not it is hilarious to anyone else, I cannot say. It doesn't really matter. I do know, however, that my neice was really impressed by this piece of writing. I love that girl.

me me me so dumbfounded by the unadulterated sucky-ness of this song (March 18, 2011)
Um, this is probably the one post I've considered actually deleting. It's pure idiocy. But so is Rebecca Black's song about Friday, so what do you expect?

A trip to the serious side... (March 21, 2011)
I don't really remember what this one actually says and I am avoiding re-reading it. I do know that I was depressed at the time. It was a harsh winter.

But wait, there's more! (April 13, 2011)
Probably the long winter and my unpleasant disposition explain the long break between the last post and this one. I just wanted to let everyone know I wasn't giving up. I should write more about Charles Dickens. I bet he was a fun guy.

Why I hate being an adult (April 14, 2011)
This post is essentially just about the need to call my health insurance company because they wouldn't pay for certain services and I fully expected that my inquiries and pleas for assistance would be met with ignorance and spite. Personally, I really like the way I disclose my regular appointments with a mental health professional.

Lunch from hell (April 15, 2011)
This one is about the Oscar Mayer Lunchable™, plain and simple. My daughter pines for these as a lunch option. I hate them. End of story.

(untitled) (April 17, 2011)
I forgot to name this one. It's chit-chat, stories about my daughter. I was trying to write every day for a week but I just couldn't come up with enough material. The anecdote about Martha's joy over a dandelion she pulled out with the weed popper, however, is priceless. I do love my Martha.

Daughter Words (April 21, 2011)
This post is my very favorite. It is a perfect description of the connection between my daughter and me.

Happy Birthday, Sweet 13 (May 3, 2011)
I wrote this for one of my nieces, whose birthday is May 3rd. I see a lot of myself in her and I hope she doesn't mind that.

Dating Sucks (May 14, 2011)
This title was designed to fool people into thinking I was really going to talk about dating, as in social engagements with a person in whom one is romantically interested. It's not. It's about play dates and how bad I am at arranging them. I hope my daughter's social development is not damaged by my aversion to the play date.

Haiku For a Rainy Day? (May 20, 2011)
Here's a little poetry about me riding my bike in the rain. I didn't say it was good poetry. But it is little.

Post failed-rapture Musings (May 22, 2011)
This one was written very spontaneously. It, too, qualifies for the self-amusement category.

Cyclist or Bike-Rider? (May 31, 2011)
I liked this one. It was just a reflection of what was on my mind as I tried desperately to get comfortable on my new road bike. In retrospect, I'm more of a bike-rider than an avid cyclist.

Benny and the Jets (June 3, 2011)
Purely written for my own amusement, I tell a story about an incident on the Denver city bus when I was 16. I happen to think it's a pretty good story, but maybe you had to be there.

Trying out for the part of Wonder Woman (June 18, 2011)
More self-amusement, written after I moved the piano across the basement by myself.

June 27, 2002 (June 26, 2011)
June 27th is my daughter's birthday so, in honor of that big day, I wrote about the day she was born. What a freaky, mind-blowing, wonderful day!

I probably shouldn't do this but... (June 28, 2011)
This takes the cake for posts that I found highly amusing to write. However, it was not well-received by some family members who worried it was aimed at them. It really blew me away that what felt like pure folly to me was taken so seriously by someone else. It was so interesting to me to realize my words had power.

Corrections, retractions, and expressions of concern (June 29, 2011)
This post is sort of, but not really, an apology for the previous one, but only if you insist on it.

Searching for Zen (July 5, 2011)
On July 9th last year I participated in a triathlon and this post is about my intense desire to sleep in the morning of the race and just skip to the pancake breakfast. I never did figure out the reason for my intense aversion to doing the race, but since I didn't end up skipping it, I guess it's a moot point.

Race Report from a Mere Mortal, part 1 (July 14, 2011)
Sort of self-explanatory, wouldn't you say? I'm not really clamoring to do another triathlon this year, but you never know.

Race Report, part 2 (July 15, 2011)
Post-triathlon, I think I was sort of grappling with my identity as an athlete and a mom and after fantasizing for months about proving I was an athlete, in the end, I felt happier about being a mom. Go figure.

Nothing so satisfying as home-ownership... (July 17, 2011)
Another one for the self-amusement file. This post did not get many "pageviews" but it served it's purpose as an outlet for my frustration while I waited for something to happen with my vast array of home repair issues.

"This is it, this is summer..." (July 28, 2011)
I don't know if this post came out quite as I intended. I really wanted to capture that feeling you get in the middle of the summer when you realize the world is beautiful and your life is beautiful just because the weather is nice and everything is alive and thriving and it's 9:30 at night and you are just watching the sun go down. It's a very illusive sensation. But mostly, I just wanted to say summer is grand, even though most people already know this to be true.

Reflections on language and re-gatherings... (August 19, 2011)
I went to my 25th high school reunion this summer and this was my attempt to capture some of the thoughts I had about going back to Denver and seeing many old faces.

Occupation (August 21, 2011)
This post is essentially about the weird compulsion we have to identify ourselves by what we "do" for employment and how, not having paid employment, I often feel at a loss to describe who I am.

End of summer blues (August 30, 2011)
With this piece I am trying to capture that particular angst that one experiences as summer obviously draws to a close and school and/or "real life" starts back up again. The transition from summer to fall seems to me to be such a poignant reminder that time is passing and we can't hold on to the past even when we want to.

"Mom, sometimes I just think the world is a scary place..." (August 31, 2011)
My daughter has a lot of anxiety and at the time I wrote this she was going through a particularly anxious period, thinking about school starting back up again, but also, more consciously, thinking about dead bugs (which are everywhere at this time of the year). I suspect there is something in here, too, about my own anxieties.

The joys of family fitness (September 5, 2011)
This was written after an agonizing effort to get all three members of our family out to a local lake for some biking and running. Even as you present it as a fun and attractive option you know full well that there is potential for a lot of dischord. And that is the joy of family fitness!

Home organization and mental disorder... same or different? (September 8, 2011)
I love home organization. I love tiny containers. I love categorizing things, any things. I am filing this post, like many others, in the self-amusement file.

September 11th (September 11, 2011)
My father-in-law was in the North tower of the World Trade Center on September 11th. I was feeling torn about re-telling his story and in the end, I don't think this post says a whole lot. I could have skipped this one.

Sammy (September 21, 2011)
I witnessed a dog getting hit by a car this fall and it just about broke my heart. I wanted to share my story with someone, even though it's such a sad story.

A Spontaneous Ode to R.E.M. (September 23, 2011)
Music can be such a powerful source of memories. R.E.M. was one of my favorite bands for a long time and I identify so much of their music with my youth. This post details a few of my favorite R.E.M.-oriented memories.

Buried treasures or how far should I dig before I decide I need to seek help (October 4, 2011)
This was another favorite post of mine, mainly because the whole incident of the dreadful sewer line replacement and the subsequent discovery of the mysterious old bottles was such a fun, unique experience. In the end, I am glad I decided to just fill the hole and get new concrete instead of taking my gardening trowel down into a pit to find some more old trash.

Rule of Life #343: A play date is a fine time to showcase one's skills (October 13, 2011)
Written while Martha enjoyed a rare play date in our basement, I was mostly just so amused and tickled by the interaction between my socially awkward daughter and her friend that I had to try to capture some of that.

Road trip (October 21, 2011)
In October we took a trip to Chicago for a long weekend. I really just wanted to be able to say I was "blogging from the road." The rest of what followed was a little bit of free association.

When good hard drives go bad (October 26, 2011)
The hard drive on my laptop crashed. I was subsequently horrified by my feelings of loss and frustration afteward. I didn't expect anyone else to care, but I wrote about it anyway.

Doing the dirty work (October 29, 2011)
This one is about who does what around our house in the way of chores. I found that a vaguely sexy image of Madonna in lingerie scrubbing the floor will bring more readers to my blog. So clever...

Spooktacular Halloween edition (October 31, 2011)
Admittedly, this post is ridiculous. It's a photo of one of my favorite halloween decorations but, if I do say so myself, I thought the caption was pretty damn good.

Lunch from hell, part II (November 3, 2011)
Here's a littel update on my efforts to get Martha to eat our homemade substitute for the Oscar Mayer Lunchable™. The photos are really the highlight, if you ask me.

When bad parenting comes back to bite you in the ass (November 6, 2011)
This was a complicated post for me, inspired by two stories of abuse and neglect I had read recently, but also about my own anxieties about being a "good" parent. I was able to reach Hillary Adams, the abuse victims from one of the news stories I wrote about and she passed it on via Twitter. I got an overwhelming number of readers and responses from total strangers. (Overwhelming relative to my other posts.) It was a very interesting experience.

Self-expression (November 10, 2011)
In this post I'm just trying to process the response I got to the previous post. I'm not sure this one came out as I intended.

Poetry by Martha... a light interlude (November 12, 2011)
I just wanted to share Martha's work and also lighten things up a bit.

7 Habits of Highly Irritable People (November 16, 2011)
One thing I'd like to work on during year two of the blog is how to move beyond the emotions that are on the very surface of my mind and write something that isn't just a pure reflection of my mood. Yes, I am moody, that is obvious from all these posts, but I'd like to try accessing other thoughts and emotions in spite of my mood. This post is an attempt to be humorous about my own irritability.

Gone to the dogs (December 6, 2011)
And finally, my last post of 2011 is about one of my foster dogs. My experiment with being a foster care home for rescue dogs turned out to be so incredibly consuming that I was unable to keep up with much of anything else in my life. It was a weird month. But Lacey, the dog in this post, was so very sweet and I did love her to pieces. She found a wonderful home and I'm so glad I got to be part of that process.

That was it for 2011. 54 posts seems like a nice collection of writing for my first year of blogging, especially considering I have never felt very certain about the future of this experiment. All in all, I'm quite happy with my effort. Yes, there's a lot of silliness in here, but there's a lot of other stuff, too. Thank you for reading! Let's try another 12 months and see what I can come up with.

To be or not to be...

*****

"stop with the existential angst about your blog"

This is a direct quote from a friend, and just like that, the future of bubble lights the blog will be solidified; time to leave that question and move on to more important issues. Like, does William Shakespeare look like he's wearing an earring in this picture?

Birthday blog

It's not my birthday. It's my blog's birthday. Ok, technically yesterday was the one year anniversary of my first post, but I have been crabby lately. Really crabby. So crabby that many days I think "I hate this stupid blog. I should just delete it and be done with it." Of course, there is no logical connection between my crabby mood and the necessity to delete this blog, my little writing forum that I have, for the most part, really enjoyed over the last year. But I am rarely logical, often moody, and very, very fond of obsessing over what I "should" do. Thus, in the middle of wallowing in my crabbiness I will remember that I "should" write something and then the crabiness intensifies ever so slightly and if I delete the blog then maybe I can remove one source of crabby production and then voilá, instantly I will be less crabby. What would Spock think of my logic? What would Spock think of this whole blog? It's fitting, isn't it, that I should make a Star Trek reference in my one-year commemorative blog post, since my very first post also included a Star Trek reference?

Anyway, when I began writing these posts a year ago, I didn't really have a clear vision of what I wanted it to be all about. The phrase "a mental dumping ground" really seems to sum it up best. I thought I would write more about books I've read, as an occasional "feature," or maybe write more about my garden, which is a huge interest of mine during the warmer months. But books and gardening never seemed to fit with the mental dumping I did in so many other posts. Motherhood and my daughter's quirky autism spectrum-y behaviors could take up a lot of this, too, but there are days when my thoughts don't really converge with that part of my life either. So I've never bothered limiting myself to a specific focus and I have been wondering lately if I should change that. I was thinking about re-naming the blog (again) but wonder if that just gets annoying. And I am quite fond of the little bubbles floating up above. Anyone out there with kids ever watch the Teletubbies? Anyone out there without kids ever watch the Teletubbies? If so, that's kind of strange. The grassy hill in the bubble image above reminds me of Teletubbie land, which always struck me as a really pleasant locale, except for maybe the resident Teletubbies who I could see kind of wearing on you after a while with all that hugging and soft, gentle cooing they do. But Teletubbie land is always sunny, the grass is green, flowers are blooming and cute, little, fuzzy bunnies are hanging around nibbling on the vegetation. It looks very serene. No traffic, no pollution, the noo noo cleans up after you. Nice! Anyway, major digression, but that is another reason I've grown attached to the image of the bubbles floating above a grassy hill. I can always use a little serenity.

This is all just me taking stock in where the bubble lights are at right now. I am open to feedback. I'll even share with you the new name I was entertaining: mad chronicles. My daughter's initials are MAD, and yes, I was aware of that when I chose her name. Mad is also another term for crazy, which I generally characterize myself as, although I am also aware that I am not technically clinically mentally ill. I mean, I'm sure someone somewhere could diagnose me with something, but so, too, could just about anyone else out there be "diagnosable." In which case, we are all nuts, and isn't that nice that we are not alone? And mad, of course, also just means angry, which is not an unusual emotion for me to be feeling. So what do you think? One problem could be that there is already a blog out there in cyberspace called "Mad Chronicles" but don't ask me what it's about because most of it (other than the words "mad chronicles") is in another language, as well as another alphabet, and which one that is I haven't the foggiest idea.

So this is where I find myself and my "online writing" (which sounds better than blog) one year after the snowy, dark winter evening that produced the january blog. More will follow, no doubt. Maybe I will tell you all about my haircut, which makes me look like a child. A child with an oddly aged-looking complexion. Or maybe not.

Crazy lady may require more help than just the adoration of dogs...

You want to love me.

Over the last year I have written a bunch of different stuff for this blog. Normally, I’d sit here trying to compose a slightly more eloquent or sophisticated sentence than that, but in this case, I really think “a bunch of different stuff” is about as descriptive as I can be  about my collection of blog posts. When I started the blog, I didn’t intend to write about dogs but this is where my life has taken me and so it seems appropriate that my writing reflect what is important to me. And this post is about something that has become extremely important to me in an extremely short period of time. Her name is Esme.

My previous post about Lacey tells the brief story about how I found Secondhand Hounds and became enamored with the face of every dog they rescue. My first foster dog, Lacey, was adopted a few weeks ago by an incredibly sweet couple who I feel confident are showering her with love right this very moment, so even though it was a lot of work having Lacey, I’m happy I could help connect the dog to the humans. It will be an amazing relationship for both species, I’m sure!

Two days ago I brought Esme home and I have fallen head over heels in love with her, just like I did with Lacey. Esme is some sort of wire-haired terrier mix, but I haven’t a clue what she is mixed with. She has the cute, scruffy terrier face but a funny long body and furry, curlicue tail. She reminds me of a wild animal the way she slinks down the stairs like she’s getting ready to pounce on something, as opposed to the double-legged gallop that my Jack Russell Terrier employs. Her hair is a sandy mix of tan and rust colors and, as the name indicates of course, is wiry in some spots but smooth and soft underneath. She’s got big pointy ears that she can rotate like little sonar discs, picking up important signals like the sound of food being unwrapped. There are few noises that seem quite so important to a dog.

Esme came to the Twin Cities from Joplin, MO where she had been spending time in an overcrowded shelter. I don’t know a single thing about her past life beyond this. There are two little white marks on her nose that make me wonder if they are scars from some run in with claws or teeth of another critter, which in turn makes me wonder about mistreatment. She seems very frightened of the world but still has an incredibly sweet disposition in spite of her fear. In the past 36 hours, she has discovered one thing that makes her feel better, though, and that thing is me. And that is the whole reason I wanted to try fostering rescue dogs. Is it totally narcissistic and self-centered to crave the love and adoration of a frightened animal? I don’t know. What I do know is that it is so easy to love this dog, as it would be easy to love probably any dog that came into my home.

I can’t keep Esme, as much as I love her, just as I knew I couldn’t keep Lacey. My dog, my family, my life is just not the best fit for this girl. But it is at least adequate to give her a temporary layover between her previous life and the Joplin shelter and a potentially fabulous future home full of love and soft blankies to curl up on. Have you ever thought about owning a dog? Have you ever wanted a furry, four-legged child to love more than life, one who will never learn to talk and argue and beg you for stuff and then get mad and tell you “it’s not fair?” Do you know anyone who does want this? Because if you do, I have the girl for you. She will learn to love you in no time flat, she will put her fuzzy little paws on you and look into your face with more sincerity than any human being could possibly muster. She will learn quickly just what you want from her and she will be happy to perform.

She needs a little work on the potty training front, but shows no signs of not being able to grasp this concept. But mostly all she needs is love and time to get comfortable, time to learn that the world is not so scary, and time to trust you. She is not a yappy dog and seems to like my curmudgeonly pooch Carson despite Carson’s unprovoked sniping. She seems like she has a lot of energy if you are looking for a playful dog, but she is also cool with the relaxing and snuggling. She might even learn to bring you your slippers.

Have I sold you yet? Think about it, because I know she could make the right potential dog-owner a very happy human being. I wouldn’t normally resort to a blog post advertising my foster dog, but I’d like to get back to writing, which has been sparse since my foster care started and I’d like to help out my family (dog, child and husband) who are all a little stressed out by our latest visitor, not because of who Esme is but because of who we are as a family. We’re high maintenance, I admit it, and maybe this is part of the reason I want my foster dog to adore me in spite of my shortcomings. But who wouldn’t like that, right? Like I said before, sometimes we all need a little rescuing and we most definitely need to be loved.

Find Esme and tons of other cute, deserving pups at Secondhand Hounds!

Gone to the dogs

I’m sure many of you have been wondering what happened to me as it has been several weeks since I posted anything. But have no fear, dear readers, I did not fall into a deep abyss (is it necessary, or even appropriate to qualify an abyss as deep? Isn’t an abyss deep simply by definition? You wouldn’t really pass a small hole or impression in the ground and think “whoa, check out that abyss. I mean, it’s not a deep one, but it’s an abyss all right!”). You see? I am still here, pondering the important things in life.

Well, maybe figuratively speaking I have fallen into the abyss of dog-fostering, but really, I’d say it’s more of a pool than any abyss. It’s like a pool that’s about 5’10” deep so only if I stand on my tippy toes can I keep my head above water and even then I might falter and go under, sucking in just enough water to cough and choke for a moment, or a wave could hit me and temporarily make it difficult to see what’s coming so that when I do regain my focus I realize that someone has thrown a large boulder into the water and if I don’t get out of the way I am definitely getting beaned so I had better get moving and fast! Yes, that’s sort of what the last two weeks have felt like to me.

For many months I have been following several dog rescue groups on Facebook and one in particular, Secondhand Hounds, has cleverly caught my attention and made me want to care for virtually every dog in the world who has ever been mistreated or abused or tied up to a tree and ignored. Maybe because I find humans so annoying (in general, of course, not any of you specifically) I am drawn to dogs and their seemingly innocent faces, their earnest expressions and furry eyebrows and the way they really look like they are listening to you when you talk. You really find me interesting, I think to myself, when their ears perk up at the sound of my voice. I saw one dog on their page, some sort of scruffy terrier mix named Shirley and there was just something about her mismatched tail and ears and fuzzy face that made me, somewhat impulsively, fill out the online application to foster a dog. Well, it wasn’t Shirley who ended up in my care, but instead, about a week after completing the application, I met Lacey, whose impossibly cute face is featured in the photo above. And that is why the blog has been so quiet for the past few weeks.

Secondhand Hounds appears to have some of the most amazing volunteers working for them because there are many people who care for several dogs at once. Several can equal anywhere from 2 to 8 and possibly even more. It’s quite a feat. I can barely care for myself with one dog and a high-maintenance child around so now with two dogs, I am treading water and damn, my legs are getting tired.

One of the difficulties I have encountered in my foster dog journey is my other dog, Carson. Carson and Lacey clearly live in two different planes of existence. We have always known that Carson was kind of a crotchety fellow. But Lacey’s good-natured affection and youthful exuberance has really served to underscore what a grouchy old man Carson is. Being the male, as well as the resident dog of the house, I expected him to enthusiastically accept the alpha dog role. However, he seems much less interested in dominating and leading and more interested in running away from things that bug him while casting a sheepish glance (if a dog’s glance can really be said to be sheepish) over his shoulder as if to say, “please, please don’t ask me to be assertive here. Just let me go pee on some stuff.” He is conflict avoidant. He does not wish to engage in playful tussling or butt-smelling but neither does he wish to speak up about it; he’d really rather just find a nice warm blanket to burrow into or a rodent to bark at. Lacey, on the other hand, might be willing to lead the pack if only Carson would follow. It’s hard to be the leader when your troops just shrug and walk the other direction. The task of alpha dog is left to me I guess. I worry about Lacey's self-esteem, however, when she'd really like to play with Carson and he rejects her. Oh Lacey, don't take it personally. If you were a potato chip he would pay more attention to you. Boys can be like that.

Lacey is mostly potty trained, averaging about one accident per day. I am starting to think that we could lower that figure considerably if only Carson would stop peeing all over the house. I’m not sure why Carson has “accidents.” I hesitate to call them accidents when they seem so very deliberate on his part. We know he’s old, we know he doesn’t like the cold. Sometimes he just refuses to go pee outside and eventually he’ll have to go so bad that the coffee table leg will begin to look more like a verdant oak and then we find a puddle on the carpet some time later. There are other times, though, when the cause is not so clear. For example, he may have just gone on a long walk and “marked” (i.e. peed on) about 500 different objects in the span of 30 minutes. Feeling confident that his needs have been attended to, we will decide to go on some family outing. Inexplicably, Carson will assume that he, too, is going on a family outing. When we pull out of the garage without him, Carson’s little wet dog nose is pressed to the glass of the back door, his expression somber. We return home a few hours later and there it is, the tell-tale puddle. Why Carson? Why did you do that? What exactly are you trying to say to us?

So although we try to be vigilant with our orange spray bottle of ‘Nature’s Miracle Orange-Oxy Stain and Odor Remover,’ there are no doubt an untold number of spots or splatters around the house that smell distinctly like a fire hydrant. I imagine that Lacey and Carson are working out a little dance around the house where one sniffs out a potty spot and thinks “hey! Get a whiff of that! That makes me feel like having a little tinkle… don’t mind if I do…” Humans rush in with orange spray bottle. Minutes, possibly hours pass. The other dog finds another similar spot and thinks “well, I saw the other one do it. I guess it’s okay if I have a little wizz myself.” Again, humans descend with spray bottle. Then dog #1 finds another spot, maybe the first one, figures he/she’s not the first, what’s the harm. And so it goes. Who started it is a moot point. The question is, who is going to end it? Doesn’t either one of them want to put their little paw down, once and for all, and cease this mindless peeing indoors? Huh guys? Don’tcha?

The weirdest part of all is that, almost on a daily basis, I think I want to adopt Lacey and keep her forever. Almost every day since she came to live with us, from the time I get out of bed each day until last thing before I go to bed, I feel as if I am clawing my way through an endless list of chores that are constantly preempted by trips outside with one dog or the other (or both) in anticipation of some form of evacuation. And there are always still more things that never get done. I feel hopelessly behind, inundated with the needs of others. Yet, Lacey has the sweetest face, the softest hair behind her ears, and the most contented-looking grin when she’s getting a good scratch and she looks so damn happy to see me whenever I appear in her line of sight. There is a young couple coming from Duluth to meet Lacey this weekend and I am hoping for a sign that these humans and this dog have a potential love connection. She deserves her forever home without a grumpy old man around who refuses to romp and play. But it’s going to be hard to say goodbye to her, hard for me to leave the swirling pool of chaos I’m drowning in. Sometimes we all need a little rescuing. I love you, Lacey!

7 Habits of Highly Irritable People

1. Drink too much coffee. Does anyone remember the old 70s Sanka commercials featuring an ill-tempered individual getting highly irritated by some trivial matter and claiming the caffeine makes him tense? Then Robert Young from Father Knows Best busts onto the scene with a pot of Sanka and saves the day with “real” coffee, but that’s not really my point. I love those commercials with the depictions of pissed off moms, dads and spouses, edgy and stressed out over life’s little annoyances. But seriously, I’m not sure I actually believe caffeine makes me any more irritable than I would be simply by nature. I mean, you would not believe how irritable I could be without caffeine.
2. Never allow enough time to get anywhere. You know the scenario, you are rushing around the house trying to get out the door so that you can drive to some place for some reason and you will most likely be meeting with some people who expect you at the location at a certain time. You know exactly what time it is, you have calculated in your head roughly how long it will take to get there and you are mentally checking off what tasks are left to be done before you leave. You have got the situation under control. Do not take into account how much time it takes to go out to the garage. Do not consider the time it takes to put on shoes and a coat, particularly in the winter time, when mittens, a hat and a scarf are also highly recommended. If you are a dog owner, do not take into account the chance that your best friend will suddenly decide he/she needs to either A) pee or B) chase after a small rodent. If you have a child in tow, definitely do not allow time for the child to get shoes, socks, a coat, a snack, a drink of water or a trip to the bathroom. This will foul up your mental calculations beyond belief. 
3. Procrastinate. I’ll explain that later.
4. Set your standards very high. Don’t get lazy and just accept your slothful ways as “good enough.” Demand perfection from yourself. Are you a stay-at-home parent? Expect your home to be spotless, sanitized and highly organized. If it is not, feel irritated. Are you a professional of some sort? Expect that you should be making more money, have more responsibilities, or hold a higher position in whatever profession it is that you work. Better yet, expect that you should have been in a better profession. Are you a teacher? You should have been a doctor. Are you a doctor? You should have been a surgeon. Are you a writer? You should have published something by now. You are how old? And what do you have to show for it?
5. Develop your “all or nothing” thinking. This kind of goes along with the last one. That’s so lame, I should have come up with something more clever, used a little more imagination. This whole blog is a failure.
6. Be highly self-critical. If I had a nickel for every time someone told me “don’t be so hard on yourself!” Well… Let’s just say I would have a lot of nickels. All I know is, every time I feel like I haven’t done something quite as well as I would have liked it, I feel irritated. So it must work.
7. Be rigid and controlling and expect that people will never disappoint you. When they do, perceive it as a pronouncement on your self-worth.
8. Have children. Need I say more?

Yeah, that last one was a bonus. I’m so pleased with myself for coming up with an extra, I actually feel happy.

Poetry by Martha... a light interlude

Sun
Fiery, flaming, bright
Makes me feel happy
Sun



Nature poem, by Martha, for 3rd grade class
November 2011

Self-expression

express yourself

I’ve been thinking about self-expression ever since I posted my last blog. Obviously, that’s really what a blog is all about: self-expression. I like writing here because it is an outlet for what is in my head, and, as it turns out, it’s a fairly satisfying one, as well as more socially acceptable than many of my other impulses. Basically all I hope to do when I start out each post is just express myself. Sometimes what I want to say feels really important and sometimes it feels just plain ridiculous, but I think each post is a reflection of my mood or what I’m thinking about at the time. Many times, what I’m thinking about feels really bad inside my head and reads even worse when I try to write it out so I trash it or I leave it unfinished and I begin to feel frustrated if I go too long without posting something. The fact that I feel frustrated by that seems like a positive thing. I’d like to write a book someday, an actual published work, but I can’t say much more about it than that. I don’t know if it will be fiction or creative non-fiction, but most likely it would fall into one of those two categories. And it turns out the blog is a good laboratory for that. If I ever get that book written, in a way, all it will be is a longer, potentially more serious work of self-expression. So it’s good that I’m practicing (and kind of you guinea pigs to read!).

But it’s a funny thing, having the ability to send all my words out on the internet where virtually anyone can read them. It is both wonderful and extremely unfortunate (in some cases) that it is so easy to do. It feels kind of scary but also kind of meaningless. It’s like asking, if a tree falls in the forest, does it make any sound? If a thought is expressed on the internet but no one reads it, is the thought really expressed? Does the possibility of millions of readers via the internet make self-expression on a blog more powerful than self-expression in a little journal I hide under my bed? I don’t know. I can’t come up with an answer to that question. Kate Hopper, talented writer and instructor at The Loft Literary Center, do you have an answer to that? (She taught a class that I took a year ago about blog writing that was a primary motivator behind this project. I am so grateful for her nudging me along this path.)

My last blog post, essentially on the topic of child abuse, was read by a whole lot of people and one or two people didn’t care much for what I had to say. Which, I should add, is fine by me. I mean, that’s just other people expressing themselves, right? But I can't help thinking, why do these people care what I think? One of the main reasons I wrote that post was because... well, because I can. I absolutely welcome anything anyone has to say, but I have spent more than a few minutes this week wondering why some people bother to comment. I guess it’s because they can. And I guess it’s safe to say I am genuinely interested in having as many people read my self-expression as possible, otherwise I wouldn’t send the words out for the whole world to read. But it still feels odd to me that I can provoke those few readers to take issue with what I have to say.

As a potentially meaningless experiment, I’ve decided to say a whole bunch of stuff merely for the satisfaction of expressing myself. Because I can. I’m also  thinking about writing some posts on potentially controversial topics and then sending the links to the people they will most offend. Just for kicks. It will really beef up my stats, that’s for sure. But that’s a project for the future. For now, let’s keep it simple and let me get busy expressing myself.

A few meaningless facts about me:

• I am a Democrat. I almost always vote Democrat. Sometimes I even vote for Democrats without even knowing a single thing about them, I just color in the circle next to their name because they are NOT Republicans. I don’t care if this is good or bad, right or wrong. I just tend to agree with the ideas of the Democrats much, much, much more than those of the Republican Party. Also, I still like Obama. So there. Oh, you don’t like him or the Democratic Party? That’s okay. If I liked you before I knew that, I still like you. But let’s not talk politics how ‘bout.
• I support a woman’s right to have an abortion and I absolutely do not think it is the equivalent of murder. This is easily a topic I could stretch out into a whole post, then send a link to some right-to-lifers. That could be fun. But let’s not talk about that either.
• I believe in God. I don’t know why. Are we supposed to know why?
• I do not like Julia Roberts. I don’t think she is a talented actress and I am totally bugged by her facial expressions which, I would argue, are the exact same faces she makes in every single movie she’s in.
• My neighbor is a jerk. He’s an old guy, 60s or 70s, and he doesn’t like me because I blocked his view from his kitchen window when I thoughtlessly and vindictively added a garage to my then-garage-less house 6 years ago. He’s rude to me, he lies out in a lawn chair in his front yard during the summer with no shirt on (but with socks on), which I find most unattractive, and the only time he talks to me is when he wants to bitch about the “run-off” from my house washing his grass seed away in the springtime, which is so totally obviously my fault that I wonder if he actually saw me whispering to the rain “go that way, over the grass seed! And go swiftly!”

There, I think I’ve covered a few important topics: politics, religion, abortion, Julia Roberts, and my jerky neighbor. Anyone in the world could read any of these brilliant opinions, a brief effort at self-expression, and take issue with them. And I would welcome that. I am not telling anyone else how to think or what to believe and I am not trying to argue a point. I’m just saying what I think. Because I can. Because it’s my blog. And I am eternally grateful that you are reading this and that you care what I think. Buy my book (when the time comes). Thank you.

When bad parenting comes back to bite you in the ass

PREFACE: This is a far cry from things that are spooktacular and cutesy-shaped lunch meat but this post, in general, is still just a reflection of what is bouncing around in my head.

The other day I saw the story about Hillary Adams, the 23-year old woman who recently posted a video on the internet, taken 7 years ago, showing her father, a county judge in Texas, brutally beating her with a belt. If you have not seen it, you can find it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wl9y3SIPt7o&feature=youtu.be, but be warned that it is graphic and disturbing, to say the least. In the way that random, personal information broadcast on the internet sometimes does, it went viral within a few days and garnered much more attention than this young woman ever dreamed it would. I stumbled upon the story on my facebook news feed after she appeared on the Today Show talking with Matt Lauer. I watched the original YouTube video, as well as the Today Show interview. Anything that I have to say about here is, of course, only an expression of my opinion and not any kind of profound judgment or pronouncement about Ms. Adams or her family or her actions. And, by the way, just so I don’t leave you hanging, I totally support what she did and my heart goes out to her and her family. I admire her strength and courage and I also sympathize with the excruciating pain that these events must have caused her and will, most likely, continue to cause her for some time to come.

But first I am reminded of another horror story about poor parental decision-making that I read about recently. This story is about an 11-year old boy who was abandoned by his father several months back. The father, Steven Cross, facing foreclosure on their Lakeville, MN home left the son one night last summer and drove his van to California, leaving a note with the boy instructing him to ride his bike over to a neighbor’s house and another note addressed to the neighbors giving them his permission to care for the child in his absence. The father was eventually tracked down, arrested and brought back to Minnesota to face child neglect charges. In the article I read most recently about this family the dad expresses genuine dismay over the public and legal reaction to his decision to ditch his son. He appears to maintain the belief that leaving his son in the care of the neighbor family was clearly a more responsible decision than sticking around and allowing his financial troubles to affect the child. Although virtually everything about this story disturbs me, this is the part that I find the most difficult to comprehend; how can this man, father to a child with whom he has spent the last 11 years, presumably loving and caring for, not understand the profound wrongness of abandoning his child and disappearing in the middle of the night, assuming that a neighbor will seamlessly take over his parenting responsibilities and all will be well? How can he fail to see the damage he is doing to his child? How does he miss that?

In the case of Hillary Adams, her father has made statements to the fact that the abuse on the video looks worse than it is. He appears to believe he has done nothing wrong. How can that be? Who can fail to recognize the obvious physical and emotional damage that he inflicts on his daughter in just a few seconds of the beating shown in the video?

The parent/child relationship is a unique dynamic. Initially within the relationship, the parent is in a position of absolute power; the child is completely dependent on his or her parent. As the child grows and becomes more independent, more developed, the relationship also evolves into one where the child assumes more power over his or her life, and, ideally, the parent begins to relinquish control over the child who can now share in the responsibility of living. Ultimately, when the child becomes an adult, the two adults, while still parent and child, have the potential to be equals. The power dynamic essentially evens out over time. But anyone who has had a relationship of any sort with their parents knows that this is not necessarily accurate. Even at age 43, my mother, unwittingly, I suppose, maintains an immense amount of power over me. She can swing my mood from cheerful to hateful faster than you can spell the word dysfunctional. Or she can make me feel invincible with just the smallest nod of approval. And although I struggle against it, am hyper-aware of it and take care to analyze the crap out of it at every turn, I know that it is also inevitable that she will always have the ability to influence my emotional state simply because that power dynamic existed in our relationship so pervasively from day one and it was imprinted on my brain and my emotional development throughout my childhood.

Although I haven’t had time or the motivation to do exhaustive research on the subject, I am fairly certain it’s not inaccurate to say that child abuse and neglect not only traumatizes a child, having very real physical and emotional affects, but also has the potential to alter a child’s brain development. When you are 16 and your father comes into your bedroom and beats you mercilessly with a belt despite your cries and your obvious pain, your brain is directly affected, changed and forced to grow and adapt in ways that would otherwise not occur were it not for the abuse. Or when you are 11 and you awake in the safety of your own home only to find that your one known parent who supposedly loves you more than any other individual in the world has deserted you, your brain suffers a type of injury which can leave scars that physically change the course of your neural development irrevocably. How can a parent not be aware of their profound influence over the growth of their child? How is that overlooked?

One of the reasons that these stories stick with me, and particularly stick out in my mind at this moment is because I spend a great deal of time and energy every day worrying about my parenting abilities and whether or not I am doing things “the right way” or even “a good enough way.” It consumes me some days, and I recognize that this is not necessarily a good thing. A very sweet friend of mine made a remark the other day that she sucked at being a stay-at-home parent, which said to me that she, too, experiences similar feelings of self-doubt and concern that her parenting is sub-par. Which makes me think that these feelings of incompetence, more pronounced in some, but still present in most parents, is actually normal, fairly universal and possibly even an indication that we are being diligent, thoughtful and careful in our daily task of raising our children. And that’s good. It’s really good. The abusive parent who firmly believes he has done nothing harmful to his child would do well to question his actions, really spend some time obsessing over whether or not he has done the best job possible for the welfare of his child. And should he eventually consider the possibility that no, in fact, he has not done a good job and has, instead, fucked up royally, he should feel no shame in admitting that and finding some way to ask for help. I won’t exclude the possibility of forgiveness or redemption. But a parent should have to work really hard for that.

Hillary Adams’ father claimed in an interview that he believes he has done nothing wrong other than discipline his child for stealing (the video-taped beating was punishment for illegally downloading material from the internet). His choice of language confuses me but I’m not sure it’s relevant to dissect his grammar – OK, humor me – if he has done nothing wrong other than discipline his child, doesn’t that statement allow for the possibility that disciplining his child falls under the heading of “doing something wrong?” Whatever, I’m pretty sure he believes he is blameless. I am no authority to say what the legal consequences should be for this man or for the father who abandoned his child. But I do feel pretty strongly that whatever consequences there are within the relationship between parent and child following abuse and neglect, they are most likely warranted. Although Ms. Adams’ father may not face criminal charges, he has left his job and left his hometown and is probably not really enjoying all the attention he is getting as an internet star/child abuser. Is that fair to him?

I guess this is my essential point here; in my opinion, who cares what is fair to him? He forfeits his daughter’s consideration when he takes a belt out and whips her repeatedly. He abuses his child, abuses his position of power, physically harms his daughter and alters the course of her development. When Ms. Adams made him aware of the video, does he take any responsibility for his actions? No. Steven Cross says he would still like to see his son (who he abandoned) and seems mystified by the court’s decision to deny him visitation. For now, it seems he has pretty much trashed his relationship with his child. Do I feel bad for him? No.

As good, conscientious parents, we know we have an obligation to do right by our children. Sometimes, life seems to conspire against our desire to be good to our kids. We get angry, we yell, we take away privileges. We make our kids cry. And we worry like hell that we are harming them, that we are doing such a horrible job of parenting that our kids will have psychological scars for life. But then stories of real child abuse remind us what psychological scars really are. One of the many professionals with whom I have crossed paths in my own parenting journey once said (of parents relative to their children) “we are bigger, stronger, wiser and kind.” In the end, this is what we owe our children, our best ability to treat them with kindness, which includes apologizing when we are wrong and taking responsibility for our actions. If we can’t even do that much, then I’m not sure our kids owe us anything either.