Living in a "Tilted World"

I guess it is time to blog.


It has been a very long time …


… I think.


I crawled out from my bed today and truly didn’t know what month it was – I have been down for the count for more than a week – I lost track of how many days. I thought it was October something – until I consulted my trusty computer calendar.

The last time I blogged was over two weeks ago. It might be a record … it might not – I am too tired to figure it out.


I was waiting for the words to come ....


... the right words. The proper words. The respectful words.


... but they never came. So this will be a clumsy, awkward post. But I felt it was time. I have avoided writing about silly, trivial things since it felt, well, so silly and trivial. But I feel it is time - me ready with the correct words or not ...

In my previous blog - way back when - I mention that I am a firm believer in the random “Shit Happens” theory of why bad things happen to people. I was never a ‘Why me?’ type of gal – more a ‘Why not me?’ – what made me so special that bad things should not happen to me?

I realized sometime this month, well – probably last month if I am honest with myself that my world has shifted on its axis and I am now living in a topsy turvy world where I am at a continual incline – struggling just to stay on and not slip slide right off the edge. I am unsure what is over the edge, but I have a pretty good feeling that is isn’t good – not good at all – thus I struggle, and grasp, and reach and try to stay … here. With umpteen chronic illnesses now – I need to get my world back on level since the effort seems to be wiping me out …


Why did my world shift? Because I realized that the “Shit Happens” theory of mine has a teeny tiny exception …


… who knew?


As I said – I would always ask myself why I felt that I was so special that bad things shouldn’t happen to me …

… still the case. But all of a sudden I realized that there ARE two people in this world that I feel ARE SO SPECIAL that bad things should not happen to them. They are my parents. Can’t seem to change this feeling no matter how hard I try – and I have tried really hard – hoping that my world would flatten out … if you will.

The day I wrote “The Petals and My Mother” on 2 August 2012 – I had received an e-mail – one that I knew was coming, from my father with results of my Mother’s tests. Yes, he wrote, she has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. And even though I had seen the ‘signs’ and knew it was coming, it was like an anvil smacking me upside the head. And after reading the e-mail multiple times …


wishing …



hoping …



praying …



that THIS time when I read it, it would say something, anything other than what it said. But oddly – it always said the same thing.

I have received some really shitty communiqués in my lifetime, but this was a first – the re-reading something hoping for a different outcome. It felt very surreal and sort of ... not like me - I am generally more - grounded than that.


And then slowly my world started to tip …


My parents are the two most wonderful people in this world (OK – two of three – Gary included) and I cannot abide that this is happening to them. And I feel so helpless.


I don’t know what to do.


I don’t know what to say.


So I just weep and hide.


I have NEVER wanted to take something away from someone more than I want to take this away from my mother. My friend. My phone buddy. My mentor. My nurse. And no matter what I do …


… or where I turn


… I know that I will never be able to.


And for some reason, right now I just cannot live with that …


I remember at some point breaking my 'Never Say Never' rule. Someone was discussing a parent with Alzheimer's and I thought the unthinkable:


"I could NEVER do that."


I went on to think - thank heavens we are a family of stroke deaths! Faculties intact, one day a hand to the head, an 'Oh!' and keel over dead. The way to go. This is a first on either side of our families - so no preparation, no examples - all just new to us.

Sometimes - during those dark, lonely, painful, sleepless nights I wonder - irrationally - but yet ... still - did my "Evil Guardian Angel" hear me and decide that "Why yes, Lori, you CAN do that." and set things in motion? Ludicrous I know, but I am rather superstitious about saying that I could 'Never' do something since after, oh, about 3 or 4 of these thoughts and then the EXACT thing coming to fruition - I decided to be on the safe side and go with the 'Never Say Never' stance. It had done me well ever since.

Do I really think that I brought this on my mother?


No.


I do not.


But it still stands: I feel as if "I could never do that" ... so things are at a sucky impasse ...


My heart breaks for my parents, for lost conversations, for changes that will happen …


not tomorrow, or the next day – but sometime …


and I just cannot go there.


But one day - I will have to and I hope by then that I am over this immature snit, and more, what? Prepared? Can you really prepare for something like this? I really need to be, but know in my heart that I won't be - I will do what I have always done throughout trials in my life - hang on for dear life and make it up as I go, fly by the seat of my pants ...


... I really know nothing else in the way of coping skills - how pathetic is that?




And since I mentioned it in my last blog - there is a wonderful song that I recently heard from Matchbox Twenty's new album North. They explain that it is about a couple that has been married for 40 or 50 years and that the wife has Alzheimer's. Yes - a wee bit too timely for my taste - but it is absolutely beautiful. That I cannot listen to it without sobbing uncontrollably puts a bit of a damper on it though.

The chorus has a line:

"When you don't know, I will" and they explain that the husband is telling her that even if she has forgotten, he remembers so everything will be OK.

Why, oh why did they have to write this beautiful song? I cannot stand to listen to it but it is so beautiful and haunting - I cannot bear not to ...




Note: As I mentioned in my previous post - my mother has given me permission to share this.

What is This Feeling?

Today was my monthly doctor’s appointment.

Got in my car and headed out as usual. Made a vow that I would not take any photographs while driving. I sighed heavily as I drove past beautiful fields of mist with a hint of a sunrise in the background. I almost didn’t care. I felt that this might be a wee bit odd.

Got on the Westpark Tollway to discover that for some reason known only to the Houston Commuter gods, it was a parking lot.

As I inched along, quite sure that I would be late for my appointment, I realized that pretty soon a huge yellow ball of fury was going to rise above the trees that I saw it hiding in. As I slowly inched through the dip at Hwy 6 – I discovered that I was holding my camera and that it happened to be on.


Odd …


So I decided to snap a few shots.

Here are a few – I so dislike ranting and raving on my lil’ ole blog without photos. And I have a feeling this is going to be a long one … so I will throw in some photos along the way just to break up the monotony …


and the whining …

As I was driving along holding my camera, I discovered that I was rather indifferent to the entire ‘Should-I-take-a-photo-of-this-beautiful-sunrise?’ issue.


Odd …


I decided to think about this as I inched along with the gazillion other cars on the toll way.

Lately, I have had a torrent of emotions rushing about in my brain … most of them not good. This is a bit unusual for me and I understood that, in part, had to do with a very large, very sad issue that I have been trying to emotionally work my way through.

Since it involves someone that I love more than life itself, I am rather emotional about it. She has given me permission to write about it, but no matter how deep I dig – I cannot seem to unearth the appropriate words. For me this is rather problematic since writing is my therapy.

I have a feeling that soon, this issue and my inability to write about it will resolve itself. Today, out on a big brown UPS truck is a CD with a particular song on it. It is the new album from Matchbox Twenty called "North", the song called "I Will". The satellite radio station that I listen to have these little ditties where before an album is released for sale, they have the artist or group come in and play it, track by track, in its entirety. While they are doing this, they discuss each song, or discuss how it came to be or how it changed along the way – just sort of talking about stuff pertaining to the song and the album – rather informal and I actually have found them quite interesting.

Unfortunately, for me – that is, they hit a song where, as they started to discuss what it was about – I realized that I was in terrible trouble. It is a song about the ‘BIG’ issue that I am trying to get my heart and head around. Then, unfortunately, for me – they played the song. I was rather surprised to discover that I could cry as I did. Racked with sorrow, a paroxysm of sobs so severe that they hurt - I seemed to be completely lost in the moment and unable to extricate myself and find safer emotional ground. The song is rather beautiful and haunted me for the rest of the sleepless night.

I searched and searched for the lyrics online, but since it was not even for sale at the time – I could not find them.

As my satellite radio station is wont to do – it replayed the ‘Track by Track’ session numerous times. Since I am often at my computer with this station playing, I generally get to hear it more times than I care to. Often I have to jump over to my trusty iTunes since I get rather bored hearing the same discussion over and over.

Each time I got on my computer to discover they were in the middle of another encore, I would freeze with indecision. Should I listen? Did I want to hear that hauntedly beautiful song again? Was I up for a huge weeping session? Was I ready for the rest of the day to be shot to hell?

No matter what I answered to the series of questions that ran through my head – I could not just ignore it. About the fourth or fifth time I heard it, I realized that my emotional reaction to it was not waning even a little bit. Generally, if I play a song multiple times – I get better about it hijacking my emotions and I can sort of emotionally prepare myself so that it does not take me to the deep end of the pool. The ‘racking my body’ types of sobs was getting old and annoying, the huge deluge of sorrow and despair was really, really not fun and I was finding it all untenable. So … the next time I sat down at my computer and discovered it was on again – I clicked the ‘pause’ button and started up my iTunes.

Unfortunately, for me – I did something rather odd after that. I got on Amazon and pre-ordered it.


It arrives today.

I am not looking forward to it, but I am obsessed and want the lyrics. I am pretty sure that it will be the catalyst that opens the gate and more words than I care to use will come flooding out. As in all of my writings about a particular situation – if it is to be therapeutic at all for me – it must be the RIGHT words.


‘Ay, there’s the rub’ …


So … I am planning on a wonderfully wretched, woeful, weepy afternoon.

Good times …


Good times ...


Hmmm – I started out discussing my ‘situation-for-which-I-cannot-find-the-words’ to sort of segue into my current, unfamiliar emotions about another thing. I didn’t realize that I would ‘blather on’ for such a long time and a huge red neon sign:


“Whining”


is flashing on and off in my brain.

Sorry about that … you may stop reading any time. I just need to write this – and maybe learn a thing or two about myself and my current situation if I steadfastly trudge on …

Ever since I heard the words: “Chronic Mono” my feelings about my health and how it affects my lifestyle have been in the forefront of my brain. I have mentioned before that ever since April of 1992 I have felt like I had the flu - every single day. That’s how it goes. Sometimes it isn’t so bad and sometimes I am in bed too sick to even read a book. And as I said – that’s how it goes.

It used to be that I could knowingly overextend myself for something I really wanted to do – knowing that it would put me flat in bed for a few days, but that if I stayed flat in bed for a few days – I would get ‘better’ or my body’s definition of ‘better’. Sometime last year I realized that this was no longer the case.

If I overextended myself, the usual happened - I was ill and I would put myself to bed to rest for a couple of days, fully expecting to be back to my body's idea of 'normal' after two or three of these 'manditory rest' days. But sometime in the past couple of years this routine stopped working. I would become rather ill - and generally not because I had overextended myself - I was feeling quite ill all of the time, thus did not feel up to overextending myself - I would just, at random times start feeling much more ill than my 'usual' and would end up in bed. This started the beginning of a plethora of tests to see if somehow my situation had changed. And that led to the words: “Chronic Mono” and a discussion with my doctor that this situation will probably not change. NOW I feel - as before - that I have the flu – but NOW it seems about doubly worse than what I am used to. The ‘will probably not change’ part bothers me. The entire situation sucks.

That being said – I am a proponent of the theory that “Shit Happens”. That it is random and everybody is within range – there are no exceptions, nowhere to hide and does not discriminate. Thus over the years I have tried, when I happen to be the one that is ‘hit’ to shrug my shoulders and get on with my life. I am not a “Why me?” type of gal. If the question happens to show up – by another asking me or somehow sneaking in sideways somehow by me – I immediately answer, in all honesty: “Why not me?”. I am a firm believer that in the world of “Shit Happens” it is an even playing field – and why would I think that I was so special that somehow I was exempt? It has really never been an issue or something I have dwelled on – it just is what it is and I know that.

I am still a believer of this theory to explain life in general, but somewhere, somehow, something has changed.

As I type this, Gary is in Utah attending a wedding of one of our nephews. At the time the question of whether or not I would attend – I was rather ill and couldn’t conceive of travel. That my doctor’s appointment was on the same day also presented a problem, but one that could be worked around. I receive my monthly prescription of my two types of morphine, plus a few other extremely controlled prescriptions at my doctor's appointment and, due to the fact that they are extremely controlled - they are not issued early … ever … by my doctor. I would have had to reschedule for next week and had a few days without my usual meds. I would rather not think of it as an issue where I had to choose between morphine and my nephew – but there you have it … in addition there is the issue that travelling is hard on me and I am a wee bit ill at the moment, but still somewhere in my head I feel rather ashamed that I picked the morphine.

It bothers me that I seem too ill to travel. Gary was going to stay in Utah until Sunday. It is a nephew on his side of the family and since his mother passed away (his father had passed away before her) he is not up there much and does not see his siblings and their families like we did before both his parents were gone, so he was going to stick around for a bit.

Then work reared its ugly head and he needs to be in Italy by Monday morning (Italian time) for meetings. He changed his flight and he will be home mid-afternoon on Friday – turning around and flying back out again on Saturday.

When he first mentioned that he needed to go to Italy – a very odd, unfamiliar feeling washed over me. I was confused – what was this feeling? Why has it totally overtaken me? I thought about it for a while and realized that for the first time … ever … with his work related travels that I was jealous.

I told him I wanted to go. He explained that he didn’t really know the situation this being his first time over and that it involved long days with some evenings givinig him almost no free time. He said he thought that this would not be the best time for me to tag along. He said he would have a better feel for the situation of me tagging along after this and that the next time he would add a few vacation days and we could do it right.

I had said OK, but I was very frustrated. I have not travelled at all this year since I have been so ill and have a SERIOUS case of cabin fever. I am also going through withdrawals of ‘no photo taking opportunities’ and that is a tough one.

Rationally, I realize that I have been too ill to travel and thus, take photos of something other than my house. But ever since those words: “Chronic Mono” and the issue of travel have come up I realized that I was not only jealous of Gary I was angry. Really, really angry. My health issues have brought up an entire book of emotions in the twenty years that I have been dealing with it, but as I think back – seething anger has not been one of them.

Frustration? Yes.


Annoyance? Oh, my yes.



Inadequacy? In spades.


Guilt, distress, envy, deficiency, anxiety, loss, desolation, worry, exasperation, unhappiness, boredom, displeasure, irritation, dismay, distress, sadness, depression?

Yes, yes, yes … etcetera, etcetera, etcetera …



But not really anger.



Not really despair.



Not really defeat.



Not really failure.



This is no longer the case, though. It is a new situation and one that I am extremely unhappy with.

As I have mentioned several times – as an advocate of the “Shit Happens” world – situations that while I might have not had anything to do with the fact that something ‘bad’ has happened to me – say … as in insurance company speak: an “Act of God” type incident - my main goal is to react to the situation in a manner that meets my approval.

Surprisingly enough – being seething mad at the fact that I am a bit too ill to travel and thus take photographs of new things does not meet my approval.

I know, shocking, isn’t it?

But there you have it.

I seriously cannot come up with another situation happening to me (my family, it seems is another story – something ugly happens to them and I can get extremely angry about it – thus we have to leave them out of this) I cannot think of a time where I have been this angry over a situation I find myself in. And it is an anger that seems to not wane as time goes by.

Since the words “Chronic Mono” implies that it is not a short term issue – it becomes problematic to me that I am livid. I know this is not healthy. I know that it seems to be a package deal – bonded to depression, hopelessness and despair.

I need to fix this.



I don’t know how.

The other day Gary was talking to me while he was preparing something for his dinner. He was in the kitchen and I was in bed reading. He had said that arranging his trip to Italy was not going well. He said that it looked like he was not going to be able to get a flight directly to … wherever he needs to be … and thus forcing him to fly into Venice or Rome and drive there.

Apparently he expected me to answer this. I, in another lifetime would have sarcastically said something like: “Poor baby” but instead I started to silently cry as a heavy, deep depression settled about me.

As he waited for an answer, he said “Not even a response?” I just kept crying. He gave up after a bit and finished preparing his meal and that was it. But I couldn’t snap out of it. About 24 hours later I apologized for being so withdrawn and tried to explain it to him. This is rather difficult since I don’t really know myself – explaining it to someone else has a few problems.

When I finally got out that I was just so immensely angry – he said: “At me?” I told him no – that I was angry about my current situation. That he could even think that I was angry at him seems so … sad.

I know that I really need to fix this.


I know that.


I want that.


I need that.


I have no idea if I have the skill set to do so.

But something needs to happen. Really, really, really – and soon.

Looking back, after I had my ‘non-discussion’ of Italy with Gary, I seemed to make some very unwise decisions. I had started a book my sister had urged me to read. On page 19 was a statement that upset me. It enraged me and I disagreed with it - and since it was the basis for what the book was all about, I decided that I just couldn’t read the book. I wrote her an e-mail to apologize, but that I just couldn’t read it.

Oh, if I could have just left it at that – but the new me … the seething, angry person – seems to be an idiot – that I am an idiot is common knowledge – but I have taken it to an entirely new level. To put it kindly – I … vented. It was not nice. It contained some very ‘not nice’ type of words. It was not an attack on her – or so I thought, but thinking back on the e-mail now – it sort of was an attack on her – a sneaky sideways approach. It was mean.

I am not a mean person.


Really.



It is something that I have known about myself – I am generally a kind person. The Golden Rule is important to me. I have tried to keep it in mind as I stumble along in this life.

Apparently I have tossed the ‘Rule Book’ out the window.


She never responded to my e-mail and in a somewhat fanciful, delusional way – I have hoped that she didn’t get it. But I am pretty sure she did.

My son, around this time had texted me something that was rather upsetting to me. And again, I decided to whip out an e-mail. It was harsh and hurt him – which is something that I try really, really hard not to do. As I wrote it – I seemed totally unconcerned with that fact that it would hurt him.

I sort of snapped out of it a few days later and realized at this rate, I could be estranged from my entire family in under a week. Throw in Gary’s side of the family and make it two weeks. I told myself I needed to knock it off. I think I will come up with a set of rules to live by when in the grips of this new, all-encompassing anger – starting with “No e-mailing family or friends about anything … if absolutely imperative they get an answer for something from me – it must be a straight ‘yes’ / ‘no’ or one sentence reply”. I mean, really … how much damage can I do in one sentence?


OK – don’t answer that …


I think the rules need to be thought out for a bit longer …


Hopefully I am getting a handle on this anger thing. Now that I know what the problem is, and have given it a considerable amount of thought – I am hopeful that I am smart enough, emotionally mature enough to work this out.

Apparently I have a ways to go …

The other night I mentioned to Gary that I did not have his itinerary for his trip to Italy and basically know nothing except for the fact that he leaves on Saturday. I told him that I didn’t want to talk about it, but could he just e-mail it to me? He handed me a copy of it the other night. It is sitting around here somewhere – but I cannot bring myself to read it.

Is he going to Rome or Venice to start his toodling around the Italian countryside?


Where is he supposed to end up?


When does he get home?


I have no answers to these questions.


All I need to do is pick up his itinerary and read it.



I’ll get right on that …







… maybe tomorrow.

This is NOT sleep ....

What is it about my psyche that wants me to wake up spitting mad? Really?

Years ago, I spent countless nights chasing up and down strange houses with bizarre floor plans looking desperately for my crying children. I could hear them, I would yell “Mommy’s coming!” but I could NEVER find them - not once.

When I woke from these dreams – ALWAYS was SO RELIEVED because of the level of desperation and the frantic feeling were very real. Apparently so was the running, because I never awoke refreshed – I was always exhausted and drained. I would then, breathe a sigh of relief and drop back into the same troubled sleep.

Thing is?

The floor plan? That I was getting a hang of, and where I had cleared say floor one through three and only had the fourth floor and the spooky attic to go – WOULD TOTALLY CHANGE to an entirely different floor plan. But my children were still crying for me and I was still going to find them … but – not before shaking my fists in the air and screaming “It’s not fair! You CANNOT change the floor plan!” apparently at the “Sleep gods” and apparently I knew I was dreaming or at least remember the previous dream so that the sense of injustice made me mad enough to scream at my “Sleep gods”.

It always seemed as if I searched for hours and hours and I would roll over after awaking yet again – shaking and exhausted and only twenty minutes had elapsed.

Sometimes this went on all night.

UNTIL …

I wised up and decided that NO SLEEP was TOTALLY better than this, and I would get up and stay up the rest of the night. WAY LESS EXHAUSTING.

Who said sleep was supposed to be restful?

They never had the dreams I have!

Apparently, I have grown out of the ‘Searching-For-My-Crying-Child’ dreams – or at least I cannot remember the last time I had one – but now that I mention it, I will be totally prepared for that evil mansion and a crying young’un tonight …

NOW – my psyche apparently misses tormenting me so it has come up with a NEW “Lets-Keep-Lori-Running-All-Night-Just-For-Fun” dream. It’s called:

“Going to the mall with my extended family – and Gary … who does not want to go ….”

Oh, yeah. Fun times.

The first thing I remember is that when we arrived home – to a home I TOTALLY did not recognize, there was a RV in the driveway full of strangers – complete with two very ratty, tatty children. They hung around the rest of the dream – so I brought it up.

Went into the ratty, tatty house that apparently was … someone’s. I don’t feel as if it were mine – maybe we were just visiting – maybe another planet since nothing looked familiar. Someone made the monumentally stupid suggestion that we go eat dinner at the mall.

My sister had come in wearing the softest sweater and told me she would show me where she got it. Problem was, my other sister or someone was also speaking to me at the same time and I didn’t really hear everything she said since neither stopped speaking since the other was. I felt it would be rude to interrupt the one who continued to speak to tell my oldest sister that I would love to get a sweater like the one she had – but somehow indicated this to her. Apparently, as I think back on it – since we never really got round to that – maybe she didn’t get my hand signals at all …

Eeeek! Went to a Chinese type restaurant but they were out of most everything and I won’t bore you with all the trouble that abounded while in there.

But really, now … what is it about my subconscious that insists that I wander aimlessly, worried about something for hours on end all night? What does this say about me?

After the restaurant, I was leaving, oddly with a high school friend who had taken me out for ice cream on my birthday (in a previous dream episode – not in real life). She looked just as she did in High School, but I was the age I am now I believe. She is active on my Facebook – thus incorporated into my dream. Another lady that is active on my Facebook from my old ward down here where we lived before we moved to Norway was apparently the executive from the ice cream place and had told Allison, my friend, that if I took her out for ice cream on her birthday – she would get film and it would be a sweet news item.

I don’t like my photo taken – let me tell you – being ‘Film at Eleven’ was 100 times worse and I told Allison that this just clinched the fact that I would NEVER take her for ice cream on her birthday – sorry.

As I had turned my head and said this to her as we were leaving the Chinese restaurant (apparently my family had already abandoned me) – two other girls from High School – one that I was close to but have not really ‘spoken to’ and one that I barely knew (how your brain picks and chooses fascinates me … the thing is – I never know the answer – but still fascinating none the less …) walked by.

The one I barely knew saw me and started laughing and apologized to me.

I was confused.

She explained as she was walking past that they had ‘pranked’ me and had hidden film of me at the ice cream store – which I don’t remember doing anything embarrassing or anything, but she also mentioned they had footage of me asleep on the couch in the ratty, tatty house and them sitting on me? That seemed a titch more embarrassing, but I realized that I really couldn’t do much about it. I was at the emotional maturity I am now, not while in High School and while they might post it on You Tube – it was not the end of the world and decided that I would worry about it later.

Why?

Because I had somehow misplaced my family and I knew that Gary had not wanted to come – don’t remember him in the funky grey van that I rode to the mall in, and that he was antsy to go back … home or at least to the ratty, tatty house.

So I started looking.

I wandered and wandered.

At one point (and I only share since I want to know what the hell my psyche was thinking) I was in a ‘Ladies Room’ and as I walked in, realized that there were no stalls – just lovely toilets and bidets inserted in cushioned couch like things. I decided that ‘communal peeing and bideting’ was not my style so I left. Won’t share the conversation a mother and her tween daughter were having about the bidets – but again – psyche? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

I found my family in a store watching a movie. I was THRILLED. I had not accomplished anything but look for them so my ‘mall experience’ was rather lacking. The movie had just ended and so I was asking if we were leaving – but they told me that it was the first of three movies and so I left again – Gary seemed happy to watch the movie. Strangely enough – he had been shopping and had changed into his new duds. He had on the ugliest argyle sweater I have ever seen, some ugly mustard cord pants and some weird boots on, but hey, he was a happy guy so I let it go.

Saw a door marked “Women’s” and went through – it was just a hallway to another part of the mall. I did a bit of window shopping and was not really enjoying myself until, as I was standing in a large hallway wondering what to do next, a family walked by. Someone shouted and started speaking to them and I heard the father say it was their youngest first birthday.

At this point I realize that they are dressed in the most beautiful costumes. The one year old was a little prince – which his king of a father was carrying. Mother was queen and the two walking children were dressed as playing cards – I don’t remember what card. I wanted a photo and my camera was with my family – I needed to quickly go fetch it.

I turned to two people standing next to me handing out stuff and realized they were in costume also – as gold statues wearing white togas (psyche?) and I asked if they would be there for a bit (maybe if I couldn’t get the walking family I felt to recoup my losses I could take photos of them?) One nodded his head and off I went to where the movies where showing (in an electronics store, of course). I got there and everyone was gone.

I wandered for a bit – a little frantic that they were probably wanting to leave and couldn’t find me. I seemed to wander for hours in this hideous mall until my sister shows up and tells me to come on. I followed her to an escalator and told her that we had gone neither up nor down during the entire time we had been in the mall – so what were we doing? She muttered something about the mall being on a slope and we needed to go up.

I stepped on the escalator, but she was already to the top. As I reached the top, I realized that she had continued on to parts unknown and I was standing in a mix of that photo of the stairs that go to nowhere and the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, France. In the (massively ugly) airport – there was an area (it was being remodeled when I was there so maybe it looks better now) that was just a TON of escalators that seemed to be going off in different directions and very confusing.

Here - a photo I found of the escalators in the airport:

I had no idea where I was supposed to go and here the frantic wandering intensified.

I did it for hours and hours. I was annoyed, they were probably annoyed. I was SO READY when I found someone to shake some sense in them and give them a piece of my mind about how to help someone find the ugly grey van …


… when I woke up – totally mad at my sibs and mad as hell. And tired and frustrated.



Guys … this is not rest …





Why does my psyche do this to me?


What in my mind decides that even though I got only two hours of sleep the night before that THIS night I was going to wander a mall – a place that I shun at every opportunity?

I won’t even go into the discussion I had with an ex-boyfriend out in the parking lot when I THOUGHT I was close to the van. It was rather weird and again? Psyche? What drugs are you on?

All in all – I’m exhausted, tired but oh, so very happy to be awake!

Eeeeeet's Alive!!!

I don't have a particularly bad attitude when it comes to reptiles. I like snakes, frogs, lizards - I don't know why - go figure ...

The only time I TOTALLY freaked out about an amphibian was a few years ago. I had put Charlie out with the patio light on - which tends to attract froggies to eat the bugs that are suicidally drawn to the light.

I made the MONUMENTAL MISTAKE of turning off the light before opening the door (thinking – oh, so cleverly that I would avoid buggies flying into my house) and letting Charlie back in.

Slammed the door …

and – boing!

It sort of bounced back. Our front doors flashing (I think that is what it is called) has a piece that sticks out and sort of hampers the door shutting – so I thought that was what it was.

Slammed it again – HARDER. Then a few more times for good measure … and because I AM STUPID.

BOING!

So, I decide it was time to put some oomph behind it and shoved … HARD. And, oddly, it sort of gave, but then bounced back?

Hmmmm?

So, I my INFINITE WISDOM I decided to OPEN THE DOOR and see if there was a problem.

Oh yeah …

There was a GIANT bullfrog groaning in the door. I had slammed the door on him at least four times, them pressed it on him as hard as I could.

He looked up at me with this WTF? sort of look and I screamed (totally like a girl) for Ryan.

I can still feel the 'goosh' as I shoved the door trying to shut it and cannot get the picture of a poor bullfrog with bulging eyes out of my head when I do.

GOOSHY.

I told him I could not get rid of a frog that I had halfway smooshed. So he got a broom and schooched it out the door and shut it.

My hero.

He went back a while later at my behest to see if it was still there – in the hopes that he had TOTALLY recovered his beat down and hopped off to happier, safer climes. He came back in and said that he was still there, alive and sort of hopping in circles because half of his body didn’t work.

I felt SO BAD! By morning he was gone – hopefully a cat had finished him off – we were too big of ninnies to put the poor thing out of his misery. And this coming from a girl who – without a conscious thought at all – pithed a frog and opened it up to watch its beating heart, then somehow killed it (I cannot remember if in this biology course we were left up to our own devices for this part) then dissected it – let me tell you – that was WAAAAY more fun than dissecting that cadaver (eeek! The smell, and the old, wrinkly HUMAN skin ….) but I digress …

I was on the computer this morning - a HUGE upgrade from lying in bed cocooned in blankets too ill to even read a book. After I finished something, I told myself that I needed to go clean up the kitchen.

It was fairly clean. Gary had a group of people over for a planning breakfast Saturday and is pretty good about cleaning up after himself, but he does not posses the gene to WIPE THE COUNTERS AND WASH DOWN THE SINK. I am unsure if any man possesses this gene, actually.

Loaded a few dishes into the dishwasher and as I lifted the last plate out of the sink - there was the CUTEST GECKO EVER!!!

They get into our house ALL THE TIME and I yell and yell at them that it is a death sentence. I yell the next thing I will be doing is dropping their jerkified body in the garbage can - but do they listen to me?

No.

But this guy - happy as a clam snacking on a bitlet of pancake, taking dainty sips of water that had collected in a pecan - of which he might have been snacking on also seemed pretty content to stay and just ... well veg and eat. He had moved a bit - so I was THRILLED that I could rescue a gecko before it succumbed to all the dust bunnies on the floor.

He was NOT HAPPY about the capture, though. Maybe if I had thrown in a piece of pancake?

I let him go outside and went in to finish the kitchen.

And just in case you think I'm lying about cleaning out the sink - not sure why you would think that, but it's so BRIGHT AND SHINY now!

All clean and amphibian free!

I have lived here six years and this might be the first gecko I have saved from a gruesome death in my home - I am so proud.

Frogs - now I like frogs better than geckos - and the geckos bug me when they break off their tails and run like the wind - leaving their tails all a wiggling to detract me from the gecko part that is trying to escape - I find it rather creepy.

So I have rescued a lot of frogs - the big ones - mainly because I really don't want to see what they would look like dead. I find itty bitty ones dead, all the time - covered in dust bunnies which I am assuming suffocated them.

I saved a frog just last week - and he clearly was happily content to try to live out his wee froggy life in my 'garden' in the great room.

Thing is? It is damn hard to catch a frog when it does not want to be caught - but I have become rather good at it - just call me crafty ...

The other thing? After you pick them up? THEY PEE IN YOUR HAND. THIS is what you get for saving a frogs life - froggy pee all over your hand.

You've been warned ....

Kids ... Don't Do This At Home ...

Went to my monthly doctors appointment last Thursday. Told myself that I WAS NOT going to take any photos while driving. It is dangerous and stupid. After my 'big swerve' (which I was not taking photos at the time) I vowed I need to stay more focused on the road, including the crazy drivers surrounding me.

Got in my lovable Tahoe, backed him out of the garage, and as I was exiting our 'hood', I saw this ... and maybe swore a wee little bit:

I TRIED to ignore it! I really, really tried, but somehow my purse was getting itself all unzipped, the camera found its way to my hands - having it's own zipper mysteriously being undone.

And, all of a sudden ... I was pointing my baby 'point and shoot' at the beautiful mist and colorful sky ...

I decided that it was worth it ...

I LOVED the mist - Gary has mentioned it and has suggested that I go up to Brazos Bend State Park (I think it is a state park ...) and get some photos of the deer and other critters up there. I tell myself I will, but somehow I have avoided it all summer - basically I had not even seen this mist until Thursday.

I was actually pretty restrained on the photo taking this time ... but still got some pretty photos - a compromise!

And on to the Westpark Tollway!

Up, up, up and over Hwy 59 ...

And if I had tilted down that yellow sign with the arrow pointing left, it would be pointing at the clump that is 'downtown Houston' hiding behind some ugly apartment buildings!

And would you look at the Transico Tower building (sorry, I don't know its new name ...) lined up between those two poles! I did that on purpose ... *nods sagely*

And here is a non-hidden shot of the clump that is 'downtown Houston'! Also - looking like Hwy 59 ends up right in its front porch - the towers of the medical center clear over on the right hand side of the photo. The medical centers skyline has changed drastically over the years. My old 'home away from home' ...


... don't miss it at all!

Down onto 59, then right back off again ...


almost there ...

Ahhhh, my FISHIES!!! I am a wee bit early so I took photos of my fishie buddies!

No safety issues here ...

I turned off the camera flash - not only are they the most skittish bunch of scardy fishies I've come across, I didn't want a pile of those lovely photos of glass reflecting the idiot that did not turn off the flash and nothing else ...

Turning off the flash slowed down the shutter speed, which gave the fish a pretty severe case of the 'fuzzies' but I also had some funky ones like this one - when I look at this shot, I can feel the movement ...

A packed bunch ... and I just realized - they are COLOR COORDINATED! They were either Royal Blue, Bright Yellow or Silver/Grey! I had never really thought about it, but now when I look at the photos - they do look lovely!

I, personally, think that who ever came up with this idea should seek therapy - but still: SO COOL!

My fave is a MIS-MATCH!!! Just look at those lips!

ADORABLE, no?

Had a few more photo opportunities that day, but they will have to come on another day.

The Petals and my Mother ....

I have been thinking about my mother today.

Mainly one specific event, I don’t know why it has lodged itself in my brain today. It is a weird one, but I cannot really help that now, can I?

I love the marker that I had made for Rachael, I thought that it would be perfect. It is, except for one tiny little thing – people either love it, or they hate it – basically – there is no in between.

Since the episode that I am going to relate, I am always nervous whenever I head to her burial site. Her marker is directly behind a very large bush with a very large “Baby Land” granite marker in the middle of the u-shaped bushes, so I cannot see her marker until I round the bushes and I am almost on top of it.

In general, when I get there to clean it up, to remove the weeds, the overgrown grass, the lime deposits on the marker, I discover that my anonymous angel has already taken care of it. I don’t know who does it, but they do. I always find gifts on it. Small happy meal toys, candles, flowers. For some reason they make me feel odd, so I pick them all up and wander Baby Land and place the items on markers that have nothing adorning them.

These are the people who have ‘taken to’ my Rachael’s marker. This is not always the case.

The incident I was thinking about today was probably the first year after – so Valentine’s Day of 1998. I went up to clean up the marker, sit a spell and well, I don’t really know – I was new at this ‘cemetery’ thing.

As I rounded the corner I realized that something was not computing. Where Rachael’s marker should have been there was a three feet by four feet rectangular pile of shredded, ripped up roses – about two and a half feet high. I am talking a TON of roses, mainly petals, very few stems.

I immediately dropped to my knees and started digging. It is probably the most surreal experience that I have ever had. Digging through piles and piles of shredded rose petals to see if my baby’s marker was still there.

It was.

I looked up and noticed a man in a beige trench coat sitting on a bench rather near me and was watching me. I got up and started to head toward him, to ask him if he had seen anything – but he got up and ran off.

I went back to the petals and was in such a state I was totally in shock. I called my mother. She said hello and I started to sob. All I could do was scream over and over “There are so many petals, I don’t know what to do with the petals.”

Of course this makes ABSOLUTELY no sense whatsoever, but that did not deter my mom. In her calm quiet voice, every time I shouted “There are so many petals, I don’t know what to do with the petals.” she calmly said one word: “Lori”.

After I don’t know how many permutations of this we went through, her calm, quiet, gentle voice permeated my hysteria and I started to explain what had happened.

She then quietly, calmly and gently kept saying “Breathe” and I would take a breath. “Breathe” and I would take a breath. This went on for a bit and she asked me if I was OK? I told her yes, it had been such a shock and I didn’t know what to do.

She told me to go look through the cemetery and see if there was a recent burial with the same color roses, then go and report it at the office. It gave me something to do.

She asked me if I was going to be OK? I told her yes and promised to call her back.

I was now calm and had a purpose. I had needed my mother, she knew exactly what to say.

I did as she told me and when not finding any matching recent burials, went to the office where they looked at me a bit askance and said somebody was just pranking me. I told them it was disturbing – not prankish and insisted they come and see.

They did and were rather disturbed by the site also. They estimated the cost of the roses in the high hundreds and had never seen anything like it. They took photos and started a case on it. They told me the man I saw probably was the ‘culprit’ and was getting his jollies watching a bereaved mother freak out over her babies marker. They also said he was smart – if he had damaged the marker itself, it was a punishable offense – but just piling a truckload of shredded petals on top of it – obliterating it – was not. It was just – and they agreed – rather creepy. Especially since they were not just petals – they were shredded and you could just feel the rage that had gone into doing this.

I thanked them for coming out and starting a file and they left. Then I sat down in the middle of the petals and gently made sure that none were touching my babies marker. As I sat there I vowed that I would never, ever ‘put on a show’ for someone to get their jollies off a bereaved mother – thus the ‘steeling’ myself as I round the corner – because no matter what I find on her marker – I NEVER, EVER react – even if I can see no one in sight.

I called my mother back. Gave her an update and spoke with her as I, armful at a time, gathered up the shredded petals and carried them to a trash can … until not a single speck was left.

I sat back down – told Rachael I was sorry, that I loved her and goodbye. Got up and went home.

I literally don’t know what I would have done if my mother had not answered the phone.


This was not the first time she has calmly ‘talked me down’, nor the last. I might have been the most hysterical, but of course, after the tornado hit our house and I had called Gary and he was on his way home – I called my mother to calm me down.

After being diagnosed with PTSD I suffered severe panic attacks and every time I would call my mother and listen to her calm, quiet, gentle voice until everything was OK again. I am sure none of this was fun for her – but she did it and she was GREAT at it.

She always knew what to say. She knew when to coach me through breathing so that I would not pass out from hyperventilating, she knew when to make me talk something out until I understood the source of my panic, she always knew the exact thing I needed.

Not only was my mom my ‘phone buddy’ – she took on some very, very heavy burdens for me when I just could not do it myself. I will forever be grateful to her for all of the absolutely horribly awful things she did for me, so that I would not have to. A lot of these had to do with Rachael and I was not functioning at 100%. I did hold her – but as my mother held her, I can still hear her quiet whispers to her. It was a healing balm for my soul – and something my soul desperately needed.

She had words when I did not. She had her arms ready when I could not. She made sure everything was perfect in the coffin when I could not. As I said – she did all the heavy lifting.

A mother’s love of a daughter is a profound thing. As is a daughters love of a mother. I cannot imagine life without her, or without my ‘go to guy’ being at the ready when I am hysterical and call. But, even when that is no longer possible – I can REMEMBER. I remember her voice – I can still hear her say to me “Lori”, “Breathe”, “Calm Down”, “Everything will be OK” and she has said all this and more to me today, in my mind – over and over and over.


I will ALWAYS have that.




And I am forever, eternally grateful. I love her more than life itself. She is truly a beautiful angel walking this earth.

Mysteries of Mortality ... Part 2: The Piano

I guess that I am on a theme here ...


Grief.


I mentioned in my previous post that I had a friend who desperately wanted me to help answer the question of 'how do you go on living' after losing a child. And I could not answer her question.

I was thinking about this as I walked from one room to another in my quiet house today and it hit me: I KNOW THE ANSWER!!!

I did not come up with it, nor am I any part of it. I found it linked to a blog that I was sneaking on. My nieces husbands brother and his wife (got that?) lost their little 18 month old daughter in a drowning and they have a blog about it. I do not know them, but my niece had a link to their website and I was going through it. I remembered when it happened and all of my nieces from their area knew them were devastated. In the section where they kept a daily update of how there daughter was doing, her death and the aftermath, she links to this post. I clicked on it one night and decided that it was the most wonderful explanation of how parents who have lost a child deal with their grief.

I am going to just copy it verbatim - it follows:

STEVEN KALAS:

When you lose a child, grieving is a lifelong experience


When our first child is born, a loud voice says, "Runners, take your marks!" We hear the starting gun and the race begins. It's a race we must win at all cost. We have to win. The competition is called "I'll race you to the grave." I'm currently racing three sons. I really want to win.

Not everyone wins.

I'm here at the national meeting of Compassionate Friends, an organization offering support and resources for parents who lose the race. I'm wandering the halls during the "break-out" sessions. In this room are parents whose children died in car accidents. Over there is a room full of parents of murdered children. Parents of cancer victims are at the end of the hall. Miscarriages and stillbirths are grouped together, as are parents who have survived a child's suicide. And so it goes.

In a few minutes, I'm going to address Compassionate Friends. This is the toughest audience of my life. I mix with the gathering crowd, and a woman from Delaware glances at my name tag. Her name tag has a photo of her deceased son. My name tag is absent photos.

"So ... you haven't ... lost anyone," she says cautiously.

"My three sons are yet alive, if that's what you're asking me," I say gently.

She tries to nod politely, but I can see that I've lost credibility in her eyes. She's wondering who invited this speaker, and what on earth he could ever have to say to her.

My address is titled "The Myth of Getting Over It." It's my attempt to answer the driving questions of grieving parents: When will I get over this? How do I get over this?

You don't get over it. Getting over it is an inappropriate goal. An unreasonable hope. The loss of a child changes you. It changes your marriage. It changes the way birds sing. It changes the way the sun rises and sets. You are forever different.

You don't want to get over it. Don't act surprised. As awful a burden as grief is, you know intuitively that it matters, that it is profoundly important to be grieving. Your grief plays a crucial part in staying connected to your child's life. To give up your grief would mean losing your child yet again. If I had the power to take your grief away, you'd fight me to keep it. Your grief is awful, but it is also holy. And somewhere inside you, you know that.

The goal is not to get over it. The goal is to get on with it.

Profound grief is like being in a stage play wherein suddenly the stagehands push a huge grand piano into the middle of the set. The piano paralyzes the play. It dominates the stage. No matter where you move, it impedes your sight lines, your blocking, your ability to interact with the other players. You keep banging into it, surprised each time that it's still there. It takes all your concentration to work around it, this at a time when you have little ability or desire to concentrate on anything.

The piano changes everything. The entire play must be rewritten around it.

But over time the piano is pushed to stage left. Then to upper stage left. You are the playwright, and slowly, surely, you begin to find the impetus and wherewithal to stop reacting to the intrusive piano. Instead, you engage it. Instead of writing every scene around the piano, you begin to write the piano into each scene, into the story of your life.

You learn to play that piano. You're surprised to find that you want to play, that it's meaningful, even peaceful to play it. At first your songs are filled with pain, bitterness, even despair. But later you find your songs contain beauty, peace, a greater capacity for love and compassion. You and grief -- together -- begin to compose hope. Who'da thought?

Your grief becomes an intimate treasure, though the spaces between the grief lengthen. You no longer need to play the piano every day, or even every month. But later, when you're 84, staring out your kitchen window on a random Tuesday morning, you welcome the sigh, the tears, the wistful pain that moves through your heart and reminds you that your child's life mattered.

You wipe the dust off the piano and sit down to play.

Mysteries of Mortality ...

My father e-mailed me today wanting permission to send me some photos to stitch in Photoshop (he does not really need my permission - he is just ... so nice). He said he had noticed that I had not been 'blogging' which generally meant that I was ill and wanted me to know that I could get to the photos when I got to them. I wrote him an e-mail back.

I am going to quote part of it, because I do seem to be in a 'blogging slump' and cannot even get the energy to type it up again:

"I'm not too bad ... just seem to be in a blogging slump. Some friends of ours from the other Ward had a serious car accident (the husband wasn't with them). She and all her children were on the way to pick up their oldest daughter on a mission (in Idaho, I believe) except her son that is on a mission. Included in the car were her, her 3 other daughters and her oldest son, who just returned home from a mission.

Two hundred miles outside of San Antonio, she swerved around some debris on the freeway, lost control of the car and hit a concrete pillar. The second to youngest daughter was pronounced dead at the scene, the youngest died in the hospital and the oldest (with her) has a brain injury and cracked vertebra - in very critical condition. She and her son had minor, or no injuries that anyone has mentioned. I am in a funk over it and decided not to spread it to my blog, I guess.

Send your photos, it will give me something to do other than checking on the latest status reports on Maegan (the daughter)."

So ... I guess I am 'spreading to my blog' ...


I have been thinking about losing a child and how absolutely mind-numbingly awful that would be.

Confused?


Have I lost a child?


No.


I have not.



I have lost a baby ... and there is a very big difference.



I was thinking about this at the same time this tragedy in the other Ward was unfolding, but not because of it. It was because of a beautiful photo of a beautiful blond haired teen whom I had grown to love as a baby and of HER loss.

I wrote the woman who posted it, since the beautiful blond haired teen's mother - a very good friend of mine and I have lost touch - which was an actual, very hard decision on my part - not wanting to cause her any more pain - so I wrote my new Facebook friend wanting to hear reassurances that my old friend is in a 'better' mental place now.

I hope it is true ....


And again - I realize that I don't have the energy to write the back story - thus I am copying and pasting the entire Facebook 'message' verbatim (OK, I took out the last name and added a bit of info in parentheses):


I saw your post on Courtney. After Gary got his masters degree we moved back to Logan for a time and built a house up on the 'shelf' and I was in Sue's ward.

We were in YW together and she would always bring Courtney into class the weeks I was teaching, which for teenage girls - babies? or lesson? It made me laugh - we became very close friends.

I remember when Courtney passed away (when she was in High School) and I called Sue. She had a friend over and said they were cleaning out Courtney's room ... she sounded so - normal. I assumed that she was doing much better than when I lost Rachael, and was happy for her.

Many years later, I was in Logan and wanted to get some photos of our old house and some photos of the Logan Temple from that angle and drove by her house and stopped out of impulse.

I cannot remember how long ago it was, but it was after we lived in Norway (2004 - 2006). I had completely forgotten that my mother-in-law had told me that she had twin boys. They were about 4 years old - so whenever that was.

We sat in her living room and talked. I remember our conversation will haunt me forever and I want you to tell me she is better now (if it true). She kept asking me and asking me how I could 'do it'? And I didn't understand her. She finally told me she meant go on living after losing a child.

I quickly told her I didn't have the answer she was looking for since I had never been through what she had. She insisted that I had and that I could give her some insight on the grieving process. I insisted back that I never 'knew' Rachael, laughed with her, was friends with her - apples and oranges. I did tell her that I really think moving to Norway did it for me. I said it was a peaceful time and things went from being a tragedy to a bittersweet memory during that time.

I mentioned that I knew that moving from my home helped. There were too many memories in too many places that I could not ignore when I was there. Too many ghosts ... I had nothing else for her. I told her I was completely OK with Rachael and that I knew that she would be OK one day also ...

But she was so ... haunted and looked so full of grief and I knew that it had been years. I think of her often and hope that she found the peace she was looking for.

I wish I could have told her something that would have helped, but as I said - she was asking the wrong person.

We don't keep in touch - I took her phone number, but felt as if I had failed her somehow, and in addition - I reminded her of a loss - thus maybe me calling her was not such a great idea ...

If you are close with her - will you tell her hello for me? If you know how she is, I would LOVE to hear. I think of her often and wished that things would have not turned out the way they did ...


... but I guess that is what we all wish, isn't it?

******

So, as I think about my old, beautiful friend - I hope that she did find the peace that she needed so desperately to find.

And as I think of our friends here - I cannot imagine going through what they are going to have to go through and coming out the other end sane ...





I really, really can't ...

Kjærlighet

Kjærlighet is Norwegian.

Maybe those three words up there explain everything.

Or maybe they explain nothing at all …


Norway is a rabies free country, thus have very strict import rules when bringing Spot the family dog to live there. Once they survive the trip in the airplane – nestled snugly with the luggage, they are put into quarantine for six months. I believe that number might have been changed to three months right before we moved there …. but still – NO. Just – no.

So my sister adopted our Boxer, Aggie, and we became a ‘dog free’ family. We looked for boxers, sort of, once we moved there. Knowing my sister – we knew she would fall in love with Aggie and refuse to give her back – thus we were a ‘permanent’ dog-free family – we realized this going into the situation. The only question was how long it would actually take her. Six months? A month? Her partner Patti said that TWO DAYS later she was sobbing that she would never be able to give her back to us!

About six months into our ‘Norwegian Adventure’, Gary – being the Young Men’s President – had been on a camping trip with all the boys and happened to be hanging out in the church parking lot waiting for parent’s to come pick up their boy when one of them wandered past holding a puppy. He discovered that it was ‘pick’ of the litter? I don’t know if there is a term for the puppy you save for the owner of the male dog you bred your female dog with. I do know it is customary to do this. Our friend had a female dog – ½ Gordon Setter and ½ Medium Schnauzer. They bred her with a full bred Schnauzer.

After the puppies came along – they pulled out the cutest, sweetest, smartest little puppy for the daddy’s owner.


He didn’t want her.


The decided they didn’t have room for another dog.


Gary pulled out his cell phone and snapped a photo of her:

He inquired about the price and a few other things and headed on home. He showed me the photo when he got back and, well … I sort of fell in love …

I don’t remember in what context Gary and I were talking about purchasing Kjærlighet and making her our own, but we were discussing the photo Gary had me look at. I told him: “You had me at the puppy paws!” TOTALLY in love with the little black bear puppy paws! Not to mention that adorable face and big ole’ floppy ears!

Got her home and she was a little nervous – so I took her down to Lori’s room to sleep – thus not waking Gary up every hour or so. There was a set of French Doors heading into that room – so I could keep her contained. I fell asleep at some point and dreamed that we had named her ‘Charlie’. When I opened my eyes, the sweetest little puppy was sitting on the floor right in front of my face – just staring at me. I smiled and said “Hello, Charlie!”


And, I swear,




she smiled back!

I felt she needed a Norwegian name – so I thought about it all that day. I had already introduced “Charlie” to the family and they approved. They asked why? And I said it is just her name – I didn’t really choose it – it is just her name. At some point during the day the word Kjærlighet came to mind and I realized that THIS was her real name! It is pronounced shar-lee-het – thus ‘Charlie’ was a perfect nickname. Kjærlighet is one of the words for ‘Love’ – perfect!

*** Nature vs Nurture ***

A question and a stroll down doggy-memory-lane for me.

We had been the proud owners of three boxers before we got Charlie. The first: Chance, was my brother Jeffs dog, but he was leaving for Afghanistan or somewhere and Jeffs wife thought Chance would be happy at another home … We were looking for a dog – I had mentioned it to Mom one day on the phone. Mom played matchmaker, and the rest was history …

He was the BEST dog! To this day, we cannot discuss Chance without adding the sentence “Chance was a good dog” – it just always comes out – always there. He got me through many major disasters as he was our dog during the year 1997.

We decided that maybe he was lonely and like idiots got a female boxer: “Logan” to come live with him. Discovered very quickly that Chance – while being ‘a good dog’ seemed to have issues with sharing and such which left Logan rather desperate for entertainment (will discuss in a sec) and one day I threw my arms in the air and called it quits. Called Marci and asked her if she wanted a boxer? She said yes, so we got out a map and marked a dinky town in Oklahoma halfway between her Colorado home and our Texas hone and the very next day Logan moved to Colorado!

After we had to put Chance down, we started looking and found the cutest little boxer puppy! And Agatha Wishbone “Aggie” (and she had a wishbone shaped white mark on her snout) came to live with us.

Here’s the question:

Can you ‘raise’ a dog to be … well …


weird?

Either we have been exceptionally … lucky(?) or you can shape and mold a dogs personality.

As this ever-so-long-and-getting-longer-post was being hatched in my brain – I was wondering about that very thing. I asked Gary to name the weirdest thing that each of our dogs did. There were a ton of things to choose from, but the top one or two are the same.



Chance:

1) Chance LOVED to catch wasps in his mouth. They would buzz around a bit in there and get good and angry, then Chance would come over to you and spit it out on your lap. The wasps (oddly enough) were PISSED and stung the first thing it could find. We got really good at scattering whenever there was that odd buzzing noise coming from the general vicinity of Chance’s mouth.

2) Chance loved to suck on frogs. When he was done with them, they also go spit out in your lap. Generally this did not cause a widespread panic from the humans – but the frogs looked pretty pissed also. I am not sure why he did this – but he seemed to be SUPER hyper afterwards and frothed from the mouth. I have a sneaking suspicion that the dude was GETTING HIGH on frog … something.


Logan:

Due to the fact that Chance was incredibly stingy and twice her size – Logan’s toys were always taken from her by Chance and stored in places unknown around the house – or he just played with what ever she wanted himself. This led to some boredom and ‘creative’ play by Logan:

1) She ate a hole in our wall. Yes …

A hole …

In our wall.

And the really weird thing? It was not at a corner – just on a flat piece of sheetrock – leaving a hole about as big as her head. How does one start a hole on a flat surface with just a boxer face? Seriously? Now TELL ME you have a weirder pet …

2) She ate a couch. I don’t believe that much of it actually passed through her – but take a full size couch, pull out all the stuffing and shred the cloth – of the couch and all three cushions and you have a HUGE incentive to call your sister and ask her if she wants a dog …. (forgot to mention the ‘couch eating’ habit …)

And just for fun – when Logan slept on our bed and it was time for her to get off – when she was sleeping so sound that we couldn’t wake her – you could shove her off a 2’ – 3’ bed (on the high side – I am no good in estimating) and she would just slither off, fall with a big ‘ploink’ and never wake up.



Aggie:

Aggie was quite weird … really. But as Gary and I discussed it – we came up with the same weird thing – and only the one. When Aggie got on the bed in the evening – she was ON THE BED FOR THE EVENING. She loved to burrow under the covers – down at the foot of the bed – totally trapped. You would see a doggy head moving around every now and then – but pretty much asleep – or, as I kind of believed – in an oxygen deprived stupor …

Maybe she didn’t have any more weird items to check off the list is because she lost 100,000 brain cells every evening due to a lack of oxygen.

Charlie:

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie (shaking my head back and forth and clucking my tongue). I have to say that she is the smartest dog we have ever had. OK – Chance was smart. He was also quiet and dignified. You can hide a LOT of 'stupid' behind quiet and dignified ….

We would be here all night if I were to start listing the weirdness that is in that dog … if I only stuck to REALLY weird – it would still be rather lengthy.

I was thinking about a few of the ‘fun’ times we had with Charlie – in those first, important, impressionable months.

She would want to get up on the bed with me while I was reading. So, she would back up and make a run for it. I would see a little black blur caroming toward the bed, feel a thud against the side, hear a grunt and see two little black paws hanging on for dear life as they slowly …


slowly …



slowly …



slid out of sight. Then a soft little ‘plonk’ as she hit the ground! EVAH’ SO MUCH FUN to watch! Every day more and more of her would be visible! And EVERY DAY I just watched and gave her encouragement and constructive criticism. I guess I could have helped her out … but where is the fun in that?

Then, one day, we discovered the most hilarious combination: Take one very energetic puppy, a yellow tennis ball and the yellow room and you have the potential for hours of hilarity and laughter! OK – Yellow Room? Yeah – the beautiful mountain home that we were living in was over 100 years old and started out its life as a lodge / hotel. On the main floor there were three what you would call living rooms – each complete with a fireplace. One had built in shelves – thus COULD have been called the ‘Library’ but that sounded too snooty – so as the movers were bringing in furniture – we told them to put it in the Yellow Room, or the Gray Room or the Red Room – yes – incredibly creative, but it worked and it stuck.

The Yellow Room is between the Red and Gray rooms and it and the Red Room, instead of having unfinished pine floors, theirs were ‘finished’ – stained and shiny and SLICK! As a side note – only second to the smell of a spud cellar – the smell of that beautiful mountain home after mopping the raw pine floors with grønnsåpe (green soap) is my favorite smell!

Take said ball and with Charlie standing in the doorway between the Gray Room and the Yellow Room and toss it into the Red Room! Watching a hyper puppy run and run and run and NEVER get anywhere is seriously more fun that words can describe! Watching the hyper (and a wee bit clumsy) puppy actually get some traction just to find out she is smashing face first into the open French doors i s equally fun! I’m not a MONSTER – it is not like I had the French doors closed off to her – she was just a bit directionally challenged as a tot.

Ryan’s theory on Charlie is that all of the above mentioned ‘Quality Time’ that Charlie and I shared every day while the kids were at school caused irreparable damage and that I am the sole cause of her ‘weirdness’. I am not really sure – but I am pretty sure that if it is me – I must be perfecting my technique since she kicks butt in the weirdness category.

I know – this became totally out of control – sorry. All the crap I wrote up there is a small introduction to “Charlie – the Weirdest Dog on the Planet”. I might have caused SOME of her weirdness – but not nearly HALF as much as what damage has been caused by her thinking that she is a human being ….


Seriously …


A HUMAN


She will just stare you down if you want to get into an argument about whether she is a human or not. It is a not a discussion she will engage in – she knows who she is and NO ONE is going to change her mind.

Now – take the fact that Charlie thinks she is human, add in the fact that a Frisbee being thrown in an area where she can run and jump and catch it is EXACTLY like crack to her, and throw in the only decent Frisbee tosser arriving home from work and you get chaos, bedlam, pandemonium and an all round out of control freak show of a dog.

I should also mention that Gary is a HUGE softie when it comes to Charlie and her getting anything and everything she wants from the man. She has had a Frisbee thrown to her in our front yard after Gary gets home from work EVERY day that it is possible. If it is raining or wet she does not get to play – but other than that – things have gone along those lines for all the years we have lived here.

Here’s the thing …

Somehow, somewhere in the past, a fun time for Gary and Charlie to bond and Charlie to get a wee bit of exercise became some twisted, weird NEED in Charlie and she moves beyond desperate to a little bit psychotic about it. She, also, has developed a sense of entitlement about the entire thing. Gary has mentioned more than once that he is just an ‘arm’ to Charlie. He is her own personal Frisbee tossing slave and if he hesitates to throw – the lady gets …

… grumpy.

Remember that Charlie-thinks-she-is-a-human thing? Yeah, that? Well, if things don’t go according to plan on the nightly Frisbee toss – Charlie will give you a ‘piece of her mind’.


How does she do this?


She TALKS …


of course.


I mean, duh – how else do y’all think we communicate?


A few weeks ago Charlie became exceptionally disturbed by Gary’s total and complete lack of skills in the ‘slave’ department and literally RANTED. We both burst out laughing and ever since I have tried to capture Charlie ‘talking’ with my camera.

Oddly, (seriously) Charlie is camera shy. If I ever start taking photos of her – she moves away. We are not talking about a flash or anything – just does not like it. That being said – I was pretty sure I was not going to be able to get a flat out ‘sentence’ from her – but thought I might capture something.

Today was the best I could do and I don’t know how the volume will be on your computer (and I don’t think it will play on the ‘i’ family) but it is seriously fun to listen to Charlie using her ‘angry voice’ and bawling out Gary (I repeat the last time she grumples a few times so that you can hear it):

Yeah – and that last part? She used to ‘speak’ a lot more than she does now …

I think that she got tired of us not answering her back, but we always said she sounded like Muttley. To get that little ditty of a clip – we had to actually type in the words “Muttley swearing” and then that would show up. Not Muttley laughing. Not Muttley talking. Not Muttley yelling.


It is Muttley swearing. So pretty much You Tube and I agree about what is coming out of Charlie’s mouth …