Dealing with Losses

Riley has his own Facebook page, Living the Life of Riley.  He tries to spread the word of canine epilepsy and what it means to live with it.  Through that page we have connected across the globe with other who live in that same world, and we are as united as any family.  Common threads.  I posted this on his page today.  The canine epilepsy family had another loss today.  I never met them, didn't know them, but my heart broke for yet another pet parent facing what we can't fix.  There has been a lot of that this year.

 

Dealing with losses.  Our little Facebook family has seen so many lately.  Too many this year.  You question, why?  Why my baby?  They didn’t deserve this.  All they ever did was love me.  You doubt God.  How could a loving God allow this to happen?  Surely there is no Supreme Being if innocent animals are allowed to get sick and die.  It just isn’t fair. 

You grieve. 

And then you start to live again.  Tentative at first.  Is it okay to laugh?  Too soon?  Am I a bad pet parent?  I just slept through the night and didn’t wake up at every little sound, worried.  We just went all day and never thought about med times, even once.

Without loss, in my opinion, there can be no growth.  A tree planted in a flowerpot will only grow so much.  There is no place for the roots to spread and pull all the necessary nutrients from the ground that it needs to reach its fullest potential.  Losing someone you love hurts like hell.  No question.  But if we can focus less on why they are gone and more on why they were in our lives to start with, then maybe the doors start to open a bit.  Something, or someone, can move in.

Christy and Stormy were the original Tanksley "Girls".  Precious Pomeranian hairballs!  Mom and Dad loved and adored them.  They went everywhere together and it was a perfect little family of four.   Later Molly would join the family as the first rescue, adopted from the Wyandotte County animal shelter.  And then Midnight as a stray “let’s get this baby out of the 10 degree winter Kansas night and find her owners in the morning”, for whom that morning never came, but so many other wonderful mornings did as a Tanksley.  And life was good.

One day Mom noticed sores on Stormy’s little pink tummy.  She took her their vet, whom they really liked, and it went from allergies to bacteria and needing her teeth cleaned and back to allergies and back to teeth cleaned.  Mom got a second opinion.  Stormy was diagnosed with Cushing’s Disease.  Mom and Dad did their research and learned what they could.  Not long after, Christy faced the same diagnosis.   They took their medicine and it was easy to treat.

Until it wasn’t. 

After several years of living with Cushing’s, Stormy had developed right-sided heart disease (yes, there is a difference in heart disease based on location).  They took her to the emergency vet at her Cushing’s doctor on a Friday night, came home with Lasix to try to relieve the fluid around her heart over the weekend and they would do more test on Monday.  Mom took her on Monday, and they ran their tests and sent her home.  That night Mom was trying to give her the medicine for her heart.  It had not been easy.  She was carrying Stormy in her left arm and talking to Daddy on the phone with her right hand.  Stormy’s heart suddenly seized up and she died.  Just like that.  Right in the crook of Mom’s arm.  They said it could have been a blood clot from the Cushing’s or the heart disease.  We’ll never know for certain.  

Mom and Dad cried for three straight days.  Barely able to even move.  It was a loss unlike either had ever experienced.  It seemed senseless and completely unfair.  She had just turned 11 years old the week before.  Still young in their eyes.  She’d never done anything to anyone except to love unconditionally.

After toying around with having Stormy hermetically sealed in a space bag or cloned (animal cloning was big in the news about that time), Mom and Dad decided to cremate her so that, like in life, she could always be wherever they were.

Looking back now, I can see how much I have benefitted from Stormy being a part of Mom and Dad’s world.  I never knew her.  Mom and Dad didn’t even move to Mississippi until after she had passed.  But the things they learned from her may have been big contributing factors to them even agreeing to keep me when they found me.  They learned that no matter how much you love your vet, it is okay to get a second opinion.  In fact, it may be crucial.  No one person can know everything about everything and you have to ask questions.  You don’t always just accept.  Mom never would have done that before, and she does it all the time now.   They learned to research; to seek out their own information to pose the right questions.  They learned about diets and medications and supplements.  That the world is not a one-size-fits-all kind of place.   

Christy lived to be 16 with Cushing’s Disease.  Her lesson to Mom and Dad was that sometimes things do get managed.  You find the right fit and life rolls on.  I was definitely the beneficiary of all that.  Mom and Dad working as a team with multiple vets in various disciplines earned me two seizure free years.  If they had followed the advice of some of the first vets, I wouldn’t be here today.  My tenure as a Tanksley would have only been months instead of the almost seven years I have gotten so far.

They learned that hearts heal.  And get bigger.  So many people won’t get another pet after they lose one.  Hurts too much they say.  Mom and Dad not only got another one, but there was a whole population explosion!  Every time we lose a family member, seems like there is another someone in need waiting in the wings.  Had Stormy lived as long as Christy, there might not have been room for Frankie, or Patches.  Molly’s passing made room for Maggie.  Midnight left a spot that Gabby ultimately filled.  If Mom and Dad hadn’t taken me in, I would not have made so many wonderful friends through this virtual family we have.  The world of canine epilepsy is so much vaster they realized and they learn from others every day.  Mom wouldn’t have connected with a fabulous woman with not just one but two epi warriors.  That gave her the strength to consider a second one for us when there was a warrior in desperate need of a safe home.  In the end, his family kept him, but Mom and Dad probably wouldn’t have even given it a glancing thought five years ago.  I was enough of a handful!

So yes, losing hurts.  But it is what is left behind that makes it okay.   You don’t always see it, or know it, immediately, but one day it just “clicks”.  And you know.  There is a reason why we come into a life, and a reason we leave it, and leave it when we do. 

 When our work here is done.

Pura Vida

Better late, than never.

On April 18, 2015,  Billy and I embarked on a journey to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary.

Yep, that same anniversary that was in August, 2014.

The original plan was to go in November, 2014, around Thanksgiving.  I can usually take a 10 day vacation during that time of year and, planned correctly over holidays and weekends, it will only take 3 or 4 actual vacation days from work.

But work was hectic and I didn't feel like I could enjoy myself with so many open items on my plate, so we postponed.  The week between Christmas and New Year's sounded perfect.

But work was full and I was behind and, again, I didn't see how I could have a nice trip with so much hanging over me.  So we postponed, again.

Billy suggested February.  OK, I gave him a pass.  Surely in 25 years together he realized February was the heart of my busiest time of year and I just moved past that idea.

April 18, while still not perfect timing for me, was the first available time for us to go and I refused to let work take precedence yet again (side n ote, I actually lost paid time off last year because I let work take precedence too often) so we booked our airline tickets and jetted off to paradise.

Costa Rica.

Pura Vida.  The Pure Life.

For one week, we were unplugged and surrounded by some of God's greatest handiwork.

We learned about life over there.  Transportation (don't rent a car); industries (coffee anyone?);  and the huge ecological impact - not just the rainforest but recycling is huge over there!

We saw howler monkeys and other native animals.

(Ok, that one is a joke.)

Played in the Pacific Ocean.

Tried new foods.



Made good friends.



And don't forget the volcano!



But mostly, we just enjoyed each other.  Totally unplugged.  Most of the television stations were in Spanish, which neither of us speak, so we were not constantly bombarded with news, like we are at home.  I wanted very much to turn off the television when we returned home.  Just to keep that blissful feeling.

For one week, just the two of us.  Walking to the grocery store.  Only getting on the internet twice a day to check on the "kids", and even then only in the hotel room, not out on our adventures.  Seeing the world.  No cares.  Exploring.  Learning. 

Life was good that week. 

It was Pura Vida. 

Not My Fault, He Did It!

Watching the news right now and I have to say I am truly disgusted. An illegal alien/immigrant/whatever you want to call them with a criminal record kills a beautiful, innocent, young woman and the sheriff's office that let him go is blaming the federal government.  But not for what I wish they were blaming them for - that he was even in this country.  The sheriff's office let him go because they are in a Sanctuary City (San Francisco, California) and the Feds sent the wrong form.  If they had sent the right one, they would have honored it.

BS!

Let's count how many things are wrong with this:
1.  Killer is in this country illegally.  This problem has existed for as far back as I can remember so I lay this at the feet of multiple administrations.  All talk, no action.  The border patrol has their hands full, and tied.  Not near the resources required to stop this.

2.  Killer has been convicted of at least 7 previous crimes, all felonies I think, and has been deported multiple times.  And he was back in this country again to be able to commit his eighth crime.  Refer to item 1 above.

3.  Sanctuary City.  So, if we, as a people, decide we don't like something the federal government is doing we can just vote to ignore it?  Last time a people wanted to rise up against the federal government and protect the states' right to have a say in their own government the Confederacy was born and a civil war broke out.

4.  Lack of personal responsibility.  The finger-pointing in this case is staggering.  To the Feds I say if you know you are dealing with a Sanctuary City then make certain your ducks are in a row. Send the right paperwork for Pete's sake.    To the sheriff I say if you know you have a serial criminal in your jail you find a way to detain that individual until you get the proper papers.  He was illegally in this country therefore he has no rights as far as I'm concerned.  

If you are caught illegally in other countries you get jailed, or permanently deported, or even worse in some.  The treatment is such that you make certain you never go back to that country, even accidentally, without following all the proper channels.  You would not dare to do otherwise.  We pass out jobs, drivers licenses, and enroll in our federal assistance programs anyone that asks.

I am not anti-immigrant.  I know this country was built by persons from all over the globe.  Please do not go down that road with me.  I just believe in the rule of law.  If I speed in my car, I am intentionally ignoring a law.  If I am caught, I deserve a ticket.  If I am caught multiple times I deserve to have my right to drive revoked.  I have traveled outside this country a few times and I've made certain I followed every rule, produced every document requested, and waited in line as long as it took to get processed.

I resent those that take shortcuts.  I would not receive the same treatment if I committed the same crime.  And that is just not right.

My heart aches for the families of several recent victims whose loved ones were cut down by persons who did not have the right to be in this country.  It should never have happened.

It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World!

I have started this post many times.  Each time I get it all worked out in my head, something else goes horribly wrong in the world and only adds fuel to my fire.  It started getting so far out of hand that I just stopped.  I've decided to split into two.  Fluff stuff, and not so fluff stuff.

With all due respect to Stanley Kramer, Spencer Tracy and the whole cast of the 1963 comedy film of the same name as this post, I find nothing really comedic with what I see in our society every day.  It is truly a mad, mad, mad, mad world out there.

Last year, when this post first started forming in my brain, it was the result of my decision to cancel my subscription to People Magazine.

Those of you that know me probably just spit out your coffee, or at least lowered your mug in disbelief.  For those that don't, let me share with you just how big a deal this is.  People Magazine has been a cultural icon in my life since the first issue was taken off the presses and placed in the rack at the grocery store.  That first issue had Mia Farrow, biting on her pearls, on the cover, March, 1974.

I would be shocked to find if my mother did not still have that issue, somewhere.  You see, I grew up with this magazine.  Mom got them every week, saved many of the issues,   Them, and other magazines, would get stacked in the living room, next to the piano, for "posterity".

 As I got older, I read them as well.  I bought them in college with my own money.  And then I eventually got my own subscription when I moved out on my own.  As I traveled every week with my job, I could count on the newest issue being in my Friday or Saturday mail and I would take it on the road the next week.  I could read it as I dried my hair, or waited on the hot rollers to cool.   It gave me glimpses into the worlds of those I watched on the big and small screens.  I could see things from all over the country, and around the world even. I would read them from cover to cover, skipping only the television, movie or book reviews.  I like to make up my own mind about those things.

And I saved the "special issues".  The royal wedding, and Princess Diana's death.  The passing of the Hollywood cultural icons.   The second generation royal wedding.  Sexiest Man of the Year.  I have years of magazines hidden in cabinets and trunks.  When I was in the local production of "Steel Magnolias" we were discussing the stage dressing.  The whole play is set in Truvy's beauty shop and one constant in every beauty shop is magazines.  The concern was the time period of the play and that our dressing would look too current.  Have no fear.  I showed up with issues from the 1980s and '90s.

So, for the better part of 40 years, People Magazine has been an institution in my daily life.  The only time I can remember not having a subscription as an adult was during a time when we really had to make some budget cuts.  Since then, if I even mention not renewing for financial reasons, Billy would nix it.  We could cut something else.  He knew I loved it.  It was just a part of me.

So, now you see why me giving them up was a big deal.

I found that I started reading them less in the last couple of years.  I would still read them all as I had before, but not as quickly.  They might stack up for few weeks until I could get caught up.  It seemed that every cover and every issue would have the latest celebrity unwed mother, or the wedding of the couple that already had two or three or six children together.  In the "Passages" section under Births, the couple would have to be identified as the husband or wife.  Before, titles were only used if the couple was unmarried.  Now, they felt as if they had to tell us they actually were, as that was the uncommon situation, the exception instead of the rule.  And the coverage of the deaths of some of the greats of the past generation would only garner a paragraph in passing, maybe a page if they were a huge star.  People that you could actually feel good about emulating were glossed over for pages on the last ridiculous baby name.  Issues devoted to people who were only famous for being famous (read KarTRASHians, or Hilton) instead of those had true merit.

And the stories inside of real people were wonderful, but not plentiful.  I loved reading about the Los Angeles teens that make hundreds of burritos every day and feed the homeless.  Or communities that fill backpacks with food for low income children to take home on weekends when they don't receive school provided meals.  Real people doing real good in their worlds.  Being the kind of people that deserve to be on the covers.  That have earned the recognition that they never sought.

But no, we get Honey Boo Boo.

So, is this a classic case of the chicken and the egg?   The content of the magazine continues to go downhill.  Is that a result of what we are willing to accept in society and it is reflecting that acceptance, or is society accepting it because it keeps getting thrown in our faces as being "okay".  If it is on the cover of every magazine and they are still selling, it must be acceptable, right?

I've harped on this before.  No point in prattling on and on about it again.  But, at this point in my life, I had to take a different stand.  Some of the only ways I know to make differences are by effecting folks in their pocketbooks.  If everyone that didn't want to see another unwed mother glorified with a magazine cover would not purchase that issue then maybe a message gets delivered.  If issues with the latest celebrity affair or "starter marriage" or divorce after 45 days would go unread then maybe they would quit producing them.  I absolutely love "The Big Bang Theory", and "Friends" when it was airing, but who is worth $1 million an episode?  No one, in my estimation.  Teachers, police officers, firefighters, soldiers all have to work multiple jobs in many cases to make their ends meets and support their families.  And three of those positions I listed including potentially dying for a total stranger as a job requirement.  And teachers have been known to die for and with their students in school violence and all they are trying to do is educate future generations.  Why is the value placed on their professions so much less than those of actors or professional athletes?  Why are stories about these real-life heros buried in the pages of the magazines behind the latest fashion trends or photos of the glitzy parties?

I'm not saying get rid of the party pics and fashion tips.  I love those.  But maybe just rethink what images are representing the brand?

It's a crazy world out there.  Everything seems to be acceptable and anything goes.  I wonder if it can be changed.  Can we reverse course?  What happens if we don't?

I don't know.  But I can hope.

And I can help.

Last August I called customer service to not renew my subscription.  I wanted to tell someone why I didn't want to renew.  After multiple trips through the phone tree, to no one that spoke more than broken English, I had to cry uncle temporarily.  I finally worked my way through the website and cancelled the auto renewal in February this year.  Starting in January I received notices weekly that the next issue would be my last!  Don't delay!  Renew today!

I didn't.  Let it stop.

But they haven't.

To this day weekly issues of People Magazine continue to be delivered in my mail.  They are stacked in my bathroom.  About a foot and half tall.  I'm currently working through November 2014.  I won't throw them out until I've read them.  Even though I recycle them, it feels wasteful to just toss them in the bin unopened.  Trying to find the redeeming stories and skimming the rest.  Passing over the fashion trends that are now 8 months out of date.  Wondering how many of the weddings being covered will be over before the year is out.  Looking at award show pictures for movies I still haven't seen.  Cheering the good deeds and crying over the evil that exists in the most unexpected of places.

And wondering when real people will grace the covers.

Beverly

The day started like so many Saturdays, busy.  Billy and I had gotten up, had coffee, fed the Herd, and so on.  Then he left for a paying job and I headed out to catch up on some of my volunteer work.  I was dressed in my running clothes, thinking I would get my miles in after I finished up my treasurer duties.  I had no idea how long Billy would be working.  He usually doesn't even know until he gets to the job.  I walked up the street to the United Way office, did what I needed to do, then walked back home.  Planning on hooking up Doozer and striking out.

I was quite surprised to find Billy home when I got back there a few minutes later.  Not just home, but already out of the shower!  He spends longer in the shower than anybody I know so I knew my work had taken longer than anticipated.   But he was working with a mission in mind - Derby Day.

Billy and I have always enjoyed horse racing, which sounds odd coming from a couple of animal lovers.  Yes, I hate that the jockeys use whips on them and I usually hold my breath the entire race, praying silently that all the horses make it to the finish line uninjured.  I hate that the Kentucky Derby will allow 20 horses to race each other.  That is way too many and just invites trouble.

But I find them breathtaking animals and I admire what they are able to accomplish.  I love watching them run.  When Afleet Alex stumbled in the home stretch of the 2005 Preakness and not only recovered but beat the field handily, I knew I was seeing greatness.  When Barbaro passed after trying so hard to recover from his injury in the 2006 Preakness, I cried along with so many others.  He was a beautiful creature.   Growing up in Arkansas, going to the Oaklawn race track was a treat, and something we did every so often with Mom and Dad, or friends in college.

When we lived in Kansas City, Derby Day became a big deal for us, as did each leg of the Triple Crown.  There is a horse and dog track there and they would simulcast the races.  We would go out the night before and pick up the Daily Racing Form.  Resplendent in the bright colors that always adorn the covers for the special races.  We would take turns studying it and then, secretly, make our picks for the next day.  We would ride out to the track, just a few minutes from home, and spend the afternoon having a good time betting on the horses and enjoying each others company.  But I would never reveal my picks to him until after the race was over.  Hopefully as I was cashing a winning ticket.

It has been different since we moved, but we have still found ways to enjoy the day.  We can't purchase a Daily Racing Form locally, but we can view it online.  There is a nice casino on an Indian Reservation about an hour and a half away and we've gone over there to place our bets in the past.  And that was Billy's plan on this day.  We were headed to Marksville.  I didn't have time to change but I brushed my hair and threw on a little makeup.  Plus, I still hadn't run so I didn't want to get out of those clothes.  As long as I am dressed to exercise, I believe I will do it.

We arrive, only to discover the Off Track Betting section of the Paragon has been closed.  The next nearest option to bet on the race is over an hour away.  Not enough time to get there.  And it is in the opposite direction from Natchez so we'll be headed too far away.

We look at each other.  At least we can hit the buffet and get a meal out of it, right?   That way the drive won't be a total loss.  We walk over to the restaurant and yep, you guessed it.  Buffet doesn't open for almost 20 minutes.  At this point, Billy is getting what my Daddy used to call "the bumps".  He is agitated and aggravated.  But we decide to wait.  I don't think either of us had actually eaten all day.  It is, as buffets go, not bad.  We've eaten there before.  We ate our fill, plus some, and then headed back.

Now I am getting anxious.  I have been sitting a whole lot more today than planned - working, riding.  I am full, stuffed actually, and I really want to take to a walk.  Doesn't have to be a long walk, but I want to get out.  It is late in the day and it has been a bit exasperating.  I can feel myself needing and craving exercise.

We get home and before I know it, Billy has already gotten out the dog bowls for the afternoon feeding.  I grab Doozer's leash.  He practically inhales his food so I know he'll be ready to rock and roll in mere minutes.  We sneak out the front door while everyone else eats and head out.

We have a few regular routes that we follow.  One takes us on the edge of some less than "nice" streets so I decide, with daylight starting to fade and without Billy (or my mace) that we won't go the usual way, but we head in the Plan B direction - straight to the bluff.  As we get a couple of blocks closer, I see two young boys playing with a puppy in the street and the field at the bluff's edge.   The puppy is running loose.  Not wishing to intentionally put Doozer in a situation where he could fail, I turn onto a very nice street.  One of my favorites in town, and the same one as our first house contract when we were planning our move.  (We had contracts on four houses in Natchez before we could get all the way to a closing.)  I time it so the puppy is out of sight as Doozer and I round the corner.

About a block and half up, I hear leaves crunching behind me.  Crunching quickly.  My immediate thought is that the puppy is running up to us, or some other loose dog.  Don't ask me why, but I never considered that a person was behind us.  But is was.  I stopped Doozer and turned and there was a lady standing just a few feet behind me.  I jumped, startled to have someone that close.  She jumped a little, too, when I did.  I just said "I'm sorry. You startled me." and I walked Doozer up to the nearest driveway and we got off the sidewalk.  I was giving her room to pass us.  She got to the end of the driveway and stopped.  I'm thinking to myself, of all the places I could have stopped, I picked her house and she wants by.  Doozer can be a little, okay, a lot, intimidating and I thought she just didn't want to walk past him.  I wouldn't have either, if I were her.  Doozer is the consummate "mama's boy" of the canine world and no one would be safe around him if he felt threatened or perceived that I was being threatened.  One of the primary reasons I take him.  I know that he can't stop a bullet or anything like that if someone horrible was out there, I don't mean that.  But he has jaws of steel and those teeth hurt and he is going to at least make someone think twice.

I ask the woman if that is her house and does she need past us.  No, she says.  She was just wondering if we were going to walk on the bluff.  I look at her.  She is not much taller than me.  I probably outweigh her by 35 pounds and I'm guessing I have about 15 years on her.  I don't feel threatened, in other words, so I say we are, but that we're going the long way around to it because of the puppy and the children playing in our path.  She asks if she can walk with us.

What to do?  As I said, she was older.  A little frail looking.  All I could think was "Doozer could rip your throat out."  All I can hear in my head is Billy's voice.  Keep Doozer away from people.  If he bites someone, even if it is justified, he'll be the loser in the eyes of the law and they'll take him away from us.  You'll lose your baby.  But my Southern manners and respect for my elders wouldn't let me say "No ma'am, you can't".  What came out of my mouth was "sure you can.  Just stay behind me and let Doozer be in the lead.  He likes to be in the front.  And by the way, my name is Deanne."  She said her name was Beverly.  And off we went.

We walked and talked.  She told me her children lived in Natchez and that she had recently moved here from California.  For years she had spent summers here, even though her husband still had work and couldn't come with her.  She normally stayed at some of the bed and breakfasts in town, but this year he bought her a little house.  In California, they had a lot of land and she had a dog that looked just like Doozer and they had competed with cutting horses in shows for many years.  She told of how she walked the bluffs every day, sometimes 8, 9, 10 times, but that she didn't want to do it alone that close to dusk.  As she told a story of a person coming up to her on one of those walks and befriending her, she described her so well I knew immediately that it was a mutual friend of mine.  This mutual friend took Beverly to an art show once and she saw many people that she had graduated with at LSU many years ago.  This continued over the two plus miles that Doozer and I cover every day.  Our mutual friend even called while we were walking and I heard her making plans to be picked up for Mass the next morning.

As we got closer to our house, I looked over at her and told her this is where our walk ended.  We were home.  I hesitated for only a second and then asked if she would like me to walk her home.  She had mentioned so many times that she didn't like walking at night and the sun was setting, the sky filled with pink and purple streaks.  It felt like the right thing to do.

Beverly got a little quiet, a bit thoughtful.  She accepted my offer.  She said "I would really appreciate it, if you don't mind.  I have dementia and it can really be a pain."  I asked her to stay on the sidewalk and let me run Doozer up to the door and into the house.  Of course, she followed me all the way up to the porch, and the front door was locked and I didn't have a key so that "drop off" became more of an ordeal than I had planned, but I did get Billy's attention and let him know that I was walking Miss Beverly home.  At this point, I had absolutely no idea where her home was, just that I needed to get her to it, and I hoped she could tell me.  I know people with dementia often suffer with Sundown Syndrome and what can seem like a perfectly normal day can be be followed with very abnormal evenings after the sun sets.  But she led me to her house, not far from where she joined us actually.  She had a moment when she couldn't find her house key and my heart beat a little faster.  What would I do then?  Turns out, she never locked her front door.  I could see some people hanging out on the cross street a half block away and I hoped they hadn't seen that her door was open.

She invited me in, but I declined.  I was more than ready to go home and get in a bathtub.  It had been a long day for me.  One that didn't end as I had anticipated.  I thought Dooze and I would go pound out some miles and I'd go home, clean up and be ready to sleep.  Instead, I had a nice walk, longer than planned.  I made a new friend, and helped someone out.

Now, will my new friend remember me?  Maybe, maybe not. Will her children know that she asked a perfect stranger to walk with her?  Probably not.  I hope she doesn't do that kind of thing often.

Along our walk, Doozer was "engaged" by the loose puppy.  That was no fun.  He and I worked our way through all the prom couples getting their picture made along the bluff, and avoided no less than six or seven cats.  He was constantly pulling or being pulled in every direction, looking at or trying to get around someone or something.  But he never even gave Beverly a sniff.  Ignored her completely.  For all he cared, she was a long time friend that he knew.  Odd, isn't it?  He can bark at the mail carrier that he sees every single day, but not care about a stranger walking with us for 45 minutes.

What if we hadn't gone to Marksville?  What if we hadn't stayed to eat?  What if we had tried to find another off track betting location?  I probably would have missed meeting Beverly.  For all I know, Beverly needed us right then.  Maybe the walking helps her deal with the dementia somehow.  The released endorphins making her feel better.  The routine of walking helping her keep a handle on her life.  I don't know.  I do know that everything happens for a reason.  We were there, where we needed to be, when we needed to be.

And I know dogs are good judges of character.  If you are okay with Doozer, you're okay with me.

The Right to Die, The Will to Live

I know that not everyone agrees with me.  Some never will.  That is okay.

In the last months, there was a fair amount of media attention given to Brittney Maynard.  She was the young lady that publically announced her decision to end her life on November 1 because on an inoperable brain tumor.  She wanted to take control of the situation and die with dignity, on her own terms.

The brought up a lot of emotions for me.

First, this whole area falls into a realm of social issues that Billy says I don't have a clear stance on.  Not true I say.  He says these times are those when he thinks I should have been a politician.

I very strongly believe that life is not ours to take.  The Ten Commandments say Thou Shalt Not Kill.  To me, that is self as well as others.  You don't do it.  As a child I learned in Sunday School that only God knows the number of our days.  In my childlike innocence I always envisioned an enormous book on a lectern, Book of Life inscribed in gold lettering on the front leather cover.  Each morning God would stand before the book and turn the page, a new date written at the top in fancy, cursive script.  If your name was on the list for that day, that was then your last day.  If not, you were good for one more.

It was not up to us to change that day.

I've had two family members with glioblastomas, which is what I believe Mrs. Maynard also had.  My cousin lived over 10 years with hers, and died from something unrelated.  Still very young, but way past the 18 months prognosis that is usually given.  My stepfather lived with his 19 months.  And live he did.  

God can work miracles.  But only if we are still here for him to do so.  By deciding on her own what her final day would be, she denied Him the opportunity to do something wonderful if He had so chosen.  She had no idea what God's plan was for her.

Now the flip side.  I do understand wanting to make that choice.  To avoid the illness.  To spare your family.  To leave while your children still have happy memories to cling to.  I was visiting a nursing home with my mother and seeing a special patient that did very little but lay in bed all day, not cognizant of her surroundings or aware of visitors or even in possession of most of her mental faculties.  The comment I made that day was that most people would not allow their dog to live like that.  (Side note, I 'm not a fan of pet euthanasia either.  But that's for another day.)  And that is a true statement.  Pets get old, incontinent, ill and the owners decide to end their suffering and have them humanely euthanized.  If we do that to people, even under the same circumstances, it is called murder.

But people can do it for themselves.  Dr. Korvorkian went to jail to defend the right of someone to assist with suicide - even if it just to provide the pills.  We all have the right to make that choice.

And that is my point.  It IS a choice.  So while my personal choice is life and life only, I recognize that it IS my choice.  No one can tell me what I can and cannot do with my body and soul.  Now, if someone approached me with with this question I would do all I could to encourage them to stick it out, live evey second of every day until God turns the page to your day.  I feel the same about abortion.  In my mind, it is wrong.  I fall into the camp that allows for a few exceptions - I can't understand what the point would be to allow a mother to die to save a child that will not have the mother to raise it that it needs - but in the majority of cases it is unacceptable to me.  Again, if I had a friend or loved one facing this decision I would do all I could to promote life, adoption, whatever but in the end, it is the choice of the person whose life is being effected.  It is not my place to decide for them.  It is choice that they should have the right to make.

But as they say, just because you can doesn't mean you should.  I have the right to wear a two piece bathing suit if I want, they make them in my size, but that is not something I choose to do.  It would be an inappropriate decision.  I think I was also bothered by the publicity of Mrs. Maynard.  If you want to make that choice, why did it have to be splashed on late night television and magazine covers?  It should have stayed as it started, a private decision.  One between her and her family.

 I know of people with terminal cancer that refused treatment.  Some would argue that is not much different.  That they allowed themselves to die rather than do all they could to live.

 Is that much different from taking a lethal dose of pills?

 I maintain that it is, and it goes back to what I said earlier.  God can work miracles.  But you have to be here to receive them.

Animals are People, Too.

 

From my Living the Life of Riley Facebook page.  Inspired by another Dog Mom whose sweet dog had survived being a second round bait dog, and had the scars to prove it.  Reduced to tears by incredibly thoughtless words that never needed to be said.  For those that don't know, Riley's page is a vehicle to chronicle his life with epilepsy and it is written from his perspective, so the use of "we" below refers to his fellow animals.

 

 

Original Post Date: November 18, 2014

Here is my thought for the day. 
Lots of people look at animals differently. For some, we are surrogate children. We are given the powers to talk, to reason, to feel - even though our folks know deep down we really can't in the same way. Yes, we communicate, but not with words. We feel and we express it, but not in response to things the same way. You could curse us in a sweet voice and we ...would wag our tails ninety to nothing. Likewise you could scream I love you in your ugliest voice and we would cower. Others view us as "just animals". Incapable of emotion. Not worthy of worry or effort. Disposable. Replaceable. And some fall somewhere in between.

If you don't know where on the spectrum the human holding a dog's leash falls, then be mindful of your comments. Don't say "she's fat", "he's ugly", "why don't you put him down?", "what's wrong with her?". Maybe WE don't feel the sting of your words, but our families do. And they hurt. Same with people. Of course, some of the people we see making these comments wouldn't think twice about saying them to a human. They are just mean, rude, people. But some people are just thoughtless. The words slip out before realized, or before they can be stopped. They think they are talking to something that won't understand their words without really understanding that is not the case.

Mom tells every new member or our team (vets, specialists, whomever) not to suggest anything to her or Dad that they themselves would not like to have recommended by their own pediatrician. That is where they fall on the scale. We fully recognize that not everyone feels that way. We don't judge. Every family has to make the decisions that are right for them. Likewise we don't want to be judged. And often these voiced "opinions" feel like judgments. My mom and dad know when one of my siblings has put on weight, or when I'm wobbly and not walking well. It doesn't need to be pointed out.

So, remember, the Golden Rule applies to creatures with legs - two or four. Do unto others as you would have done unto you.

And if you can't say something nice, shut up.

Take The Time

I love to travel.  Both my parents enjoyed traveling when we were growing up (at least I guess they did - we took lots of vacations and have a friend that played professional ball and I remember going tons of fun places to watch him play) and Mom traveled extensively with her second husband as well - even up to the end after he was diagnosed with a glioblastoma - and they did so quite a bit with a group from their area on trips sponsored by their bank.  They made wonderful friendships and were a part of a small group called the "Back of the Bus Bunch". 

So I guess I come by honestly.

Since Dicky has passed, I often get to be Mom's roommate now on her adventures and I have enjoyed meeting and spending time with these same great people.  When Billy and I travel I am usually the driver so on these bus trips it is kind of nice to be able to just look at the scenery and let someone else figure out where to turn. 

The last couple of years, I have been touting Natchez as the perfect destination for some of the bank's smaller, getaway, trips.  This year, they took me up on it.

 Last Thursday I was able to spend most of the day with my Mom and her group from Arkansas. I  saw old friends, made new friends, had a lot of fun sharing my Natchez with them.  Since it was a work day for me, I missed the first house and downtown tour, but met up with them at the second home and stayed for lunch and the winery tour.  I was back in my office for a few hours late in the afternoon while they all got checked into the hotel and freshened before dinner. I was telling a co-worker about the day and his comment was how nice it was that I took the time to do that.   In my mind, I don't think I ever considered not doing it.

A friend of mine also spent that day with her mother, but, sadly as I discovered the next morning, it was her mom's final day. Her mom had been in less than perfect health for a while so it wasn't a huge surprise, yet never easy.  But I was struck by the differences in our days.  Where I got to laugh and joke and have a good time, they spent the day trying to get family flown in and do all they could in those final moments together.

And I believe they were very good final moments - tears, yes, but peaceful.  My friend had taken the time to be at her mother's side not only during the last few months, but any opportunity she had to visit her.

Take the time.

None of us know exactly when our final day will be, but only you can determine how you want to spend it when it gets here - regrets, problems, making amends, or enjoying those last precious few seconds. 

The Sparkle of Silver

On August 5, 1989, I rolled over in my sleep a little after 6 am and was started awake to find Billy's smiling face staring down at me!  If I hadn't been so miffed at the whole "can't-see-the-bride-before-the-wedding-thing" I might have freaked out a little.  But I've shared that story before - his aunt and uncle had arrived the day before bearing gifts and he just KNEW I'd want to open them right away!

25 years ago, today.

Hardly even seems possible.

I have a hard time even believing I'm old enough to have been married 25 years.  But I am.  I woke up two years ago and realized I'd been married half my life.  Billy will get that honor in October.

I thought the other day about the old story when the man stands up at his anniversary party and toasts his wife on a wonderful 23 years.  A guest leans in and says "but you've been married 25 years" and the man responds "and your point is?".

I'd be a fool to sit here and say that all 9,125 days we've been together were all rainbows and bluebirds.   You'd be a bigger fool to believe it.  Life is hard and marriage is harder.

But oh so worth it!  I am incredibly proud today of reaching this milestone.  This Silver Anniversary.

There is no one that I'd rather wake up and see every morning or kiss goodnight every night.  I can't even envision a world for me without him in it.  He has stood beside me through thick and thin - both literally and figuratively.  He has comforted me in times of loss.  Supported me in times of trouble. Loved me though good days, and bad. I believe I have done the same for him.   We are, after all, Team Tanksley.

Life isn't always perfect.  I asked him the other day if he'd ever regretted marrying me.  He grinned and said "only when I'm mad at you."  Daddy always said if a couple didn't fuss every once in a while then one side wasn't holding up their end of the deal.  But we've always come out on the other side, stronger.

Life is an adventure!  And every adventure is made better with a buddy,  a partner.   And yes, especially a soulmate.   We've gone places and done things that might not have happened otherwise.  We follow each others dreams. We are truly sharing our lives.

I've told the story before of how we met so I won't go down that road again, but I've always, in my heart of hearts, known that Billy Lee Tanksley, Jr. was the man with whom God had chosen for me to spend my life.  I think that is way we've worked so hard through the tough times and celebrated the good - we know we belong together.

We've come a long way in 25 years - and since we barely dated a year before the wedding that is really almost all it is - and we still have miles to go before we sleep.  Every day is a new day.  A new chance to change.  A new opportunity for growth.  A new window on the world, open for all it can be.

In all that I do, the only time I'm truly happy is when we're together.  Watching an old movie, surrounded with puppies.  Quietly enjoying each other's company.  And yes, I have told him that.  I say it almost once a week, if not more.

So, thank you, Billy.  For everything.  For being my rock, my life, my love, my everything.  May I spend at least the next 25 years at your side.

We've come a long way, baby!

We Are One

As the Olympic Games draw to a close, I have been struck how, for at least a little while, we have been one nation.

I watched the opening ceremonies and you see the pure joy and excitement on these athletes' faces.  For some, that Parade of Nations IS their Olympic experience.  They will compete, but the expectations for some are not so great.

After the first round of team ice skating and the now famous images of Ashley Wagner's face and her commentary on the judges' scores for her performance, I took to Facebook and was immediately conscious of the terms "our girl" and "the American" when my friends were voicing their thoughts on the judging.  "How could the Chinese girl score better when she fell and our girl didn't?"

Aside from the issues of judging certain events, and, let's face it, scoring is easier when there is a time clock involved - no one ever awards style points because your skies sparkled or matched your racing suit better - there were very valid injured feelings towards "our girl".  I doubt many had heard of her before that night but now everyone was up in arms and ready to defend her!

We are a nation of labels - Republican, Democrat, white, black, Jewish, Protestant, Catholic, Gay, Straight, short, tall, skinny, overweight.  But during the Olympics the only labels you see are skater, skier, luger, bobsledder.  They are all Americans. The only distinguishing feature is their sport.

And we cheer for the Americans.  How many times have you turned on the television to see an event in progress and your only question is "which one is the American?  Where's our guy?".  We don't understand curling.  But we don't have to to be able to support our home team.  I can't tell a triple Lutz from a quadruple Salchow but I can cheer for the young Gracie Gold.  Because she is an American.  We don't discriminate because of someone's color, or whether or not they graduated college, or if they voted for President Obama or not.  None of that is relevant to the race being run.  Did he ski the fastest?  Did she fall during her routine?  Those are the questions that matter.

For just a little while we are not a nation of Denver Broncos vs. Seattle Seahawks, Boston Red Sox vs. New York Yankees, or SEC football vs. the rest of the collegiate conferences.  We are the USA against the World - literally.

And we love it.

I just wish we could carry it over after the cauldron flame is extinguished tonight.

Like I've said before, we come together as a nation during times of tragedy and triumph.  It's all the times in between where we drop the ball.

For two weeks we have been One Nation.  Under God.  Indivisible.

Monday morning we'll start hearing again how the Left did this or the Right didn't do this.  News stories will be told that identify the people as a White Man or a Black Woman when the color of the person's skin is truly and completely irrelevant to the story (not like a missing person or an escaped convict).

People will be labeled according to any manner of means.

I'm not a fan of labels.

I am just me.

I am an American.

I think we would all be better served if we could learn to put those monikers aside and remember that People are People.  We come in all shapes, sizes, ethnic backgrounds, religious ideologies and a myriad other preferences.  But if we can look beyond and really, truly, see the person behind the label, I think we could see that we all have something that is worth cheering.

And we shouldn't wait two more years until the Summer Games to do so.

They Were Right

(NOTE>  I did write this on January 2nd - just didn't hit the right button to publish it.  Sorry for the lateness.)


I remember when I was growing how the "old folks" would talk about how fast time flew the older they got.

Pffttt! I would think.  Of course, a child has no real concept of time.  Someone tells you when to get up in the morning; when to go to school; when to go home; when to go to bed.  In the summer, time was daylight to dark.  But how could it go faster?  60 minutes in an hour.  24 hours in a day. 365 days in a year. 

Time was finite.

Au contraire!

Now, I get it.  I woke up yesterday and it was 2014.

How did that happen?

I have no idea, but I do know that 2013 was a very good year.  (After 2011 the bar wasn't really very high, but still, a good year is a good year!  I really don't remember much about 2012 as 2011 was carrying over.)

One of the highlights, a beautiful trip to the Emerald Isle with my mom.  Love her for taking me on the trip and allowing me to cross an item off my Bucket List (and yes, I really and truly do have an honest-to-goodness handwritten list in a notebook).  I need to write all about it, and I will.  We had a lovely time and I met some very nice folks with whom she travels.  I want to go back to Ireland with Billy (and not just so I can stand on the Cliffs of Mohr) and do a few more things but it was a great scouting trip.  (Mom has now decided that she has seen Europe and will forego any other destinations.)

I completed my first triathlon in 2013.  I say "first" because I had a ball (and a bawl - it's on video) and I intend to do others.  I'm anxiously combing the websites for 2014 dates.

 I also did two bike events last year.  The first was 16 miles which I was extremely proud of since I was on a borrowed bike and decided about a month before the event that I was going to participate.  The second was a 50 miler.  Half of the Big Dam Bridge 100.  What made that even more special was that for probably the first time since we were on a swim team together, Andrea and I were in the same sporting event.  She did the full 100 miles.  I know my limits.  I even have the one picture of the two of us together before it started.  Mom managed to see both of us as we rode and we gave her framed pictures of us together and our individual pictures crossing the finish line.  (Side note - Billy's reaction to Mom opening the present was to ask what made us think she would want pictures of us on our bikes?  It's a mom thing.)

Billy and I took our two annual trips and had wonderful, peaceful times.  No stress (equate that with no hurricanes while we were away) and no outside worries.  We just packed up and left.  Both trips are for events that require us to put the cell phones away and lose ourselves in the moment.  Our two favorite weeks of the year.

Our family stayed fairly constant in size in 2013.  2011 and 2012 were both marked by significant losses, and a population explosion of grandsons for my uncle (3 in one year's time!), but we didn't really gain or lose anyone this year.  No funerals.  I like consistency.  There were some births on the Rodgers side of the family but we're all so spread out (geographically, chronologically) that those seem a little harder to track. 

So 2013 came and went without a ton a fanfare, which was good for me.  That is not to say it was without its trials and tribulations.  Some things cut pretty deeply and there is seemingly no end to my stress at work. 

But I have work.  Others don't.  

In my life I am surrounded by people I love and that return that love to me.  Many aren't that fortunate.  I come home every day to a Herd that acts as if I've been gone an eternity, even if I only went out to check the mailbox.  I love getting my face slurped!  No matter the events of the day, you cannot be in a bad mood in this house for long.  You have to leave it on the porch because these furballs will bring a smile to your face.  Some people never get to experience that true unconditional love - from man or animal.

I am blessed, and I know it.  I try my best to say Thank You every night.  (I never forget but sometimes I'm so exhausted at night that I'm asleep before I can even get started on all for which I have say thanks.)

It is sometimes a chore to remind myself to be happy.  You wouldn't think so, but it can be.  I have to stop and take stock every once in a while and remind myself that work will always be there and people will always disappoint and situations may not always go according to my plan.  But things will always go according to the Higher Plan and for that I am grateful, and happy.

So Happy New Year to one and all!  I hope that 2014 finds me here a little more often.  This is part of what makes me happy.  I didn't write enough in 2013 - but I did get some interesting reaction to some of what I did write. 

And that makes me happy.

And I now understand.  Time flies.  And it goes too fast to spend a lot of it on things that don't make you happy.  It is finite.  I commented one time, many years ago, that I didn't have time for something (since I was talking to Andrea it was probably exercise-related) and she commented that I had the same 24 hours in a day as everyone else.  Very true.  It is all in how you decide to spend yours.

(Remember, work will always be there.)

Au Revoir, 2013!  You were a very good year.

Bonjour 2014!  Can't wait to see what you bring!

Forgiveness: The Gift You Give Yourself.

Anyone that reads this very often realizes that I have been through some struggles in the last year and half or so.  Things too personal to put out here, but things that were shaping my life on all levels.  I had been extremely hurt by some people that I thought never would, and I was really dealing with that.

We all hurt people we love.  Rarely do we intend it.  But it does happen.  And if you are in any kind of relationship at all with someone, those hurts hurt.  If you aren't in a relationship then you usually blow it, and maybe the person, off and move on.

This particular string of events for me, and it was that -  a series of hurts that just kept compounding on themselves, left me very angry.

Very angry. 

Angry that this person could say and do these things.  And seemingly without conscience.

Angry that someone else that I love very much was wounded beyond measure by these events.

Angry that the actions of these other people were dictating things in my life.  Things that were very important to me.  Selfish, I know, but I resented it on so many levels.

Angry that years devoted to these relationships was cast aside in really a very short time.

Just angry.

And I found that anger consuming me and my day.  I thought about the situation all the time.  I let it effect some very important aspects of my life.  I was in a perpetual state of upset.

Someone asked me why I was allowing all of that to dictate to me.  Why was I giving these people this much power over my life?  Why was I making decision to do and not do things based on what was going on with a relatively small group of people.  My priest asked why I would allow the "SOBs to steal my peace".  (I have fairly straightforward priest.)

Why?

A very good question.  One for which I had no good answer at the time.  I was upset and I was going to stay that way.  The whole situation was not going to change.  The players involved were going to see to that.  But these were people that I was supposed to like and care about and have in my life.  I was struggling to reconcile the reality with what I thought I was acceptable.

But I could change.

After all, the only person I could control in this whole mess was me.

After a time I found what I could consider "forgiveness". 

I started by forgiving those I felt had wronged us.  That is really tough to do when there has been no apology.  No request for forgiveness.  Just an empty space in our lives that I had "forgive". 

 Then I forgave myself. 

And that was a very necessary step to healing.

I had to forgive myself for all the hard feelings that I harbored and then felt guilty about.  I had to understand that the world is not always rainbows and roses. I had to accept that not everyone is going to like me and that is okay.  I have absolutely no control over that.  I can only be myself and if the other person isn't happy about who am I then I really don't need them in my life.  Even if the societal conventions of the day say they are "supposed to be".  I had a very black and white view of the world and these players in it and it wasn't panning out that way.  That's not to say this was a gray area.

There was no gray.  None.

I guess it was more of a case of things I viewed on one side of the line ended up being on the other side.  White became black.

I had to say that it was okay to be angry.  Anger is a God-given emotion.  It is what we do with that anger and how we process it that makes the difference.  We can allow it to destroy us - eating away at the healthy relationships and good things in our lives; act on it which can destroy our very beings; or process the feeling and put it away.

 I had to say to myself that feeling as I did - angry, betrayed, disappointed. disillusioned, broken - was all perfectly normal, acceptable reactions to the situation but they were merely that - feelings.  They couldn't be guiding forces.   My values and morals had to continue to guide my actions, or inactions.  They, in and of themselves, were not going to change anything one iota.  I had to stick to my guns, what I knew to be right, and let the chips fall where they may with the other parties.

That "letting go" of all those emotions was a way of giving myself forgiveness.  Of saying, yes, you have wasted a lot of time and energy on a situation that isn't going to change but you won't let it effect the rest of your life.  I forgive you for the lost time.

None of this I did with a real consciousness of purpose.  I sort of woke up one day and realized that this issue that had been all-consuming for months, permeating every minute of my days and a lot of nights, was not longer as ever-present.  I thought about it less.  Actually didn't think about it all on some days.  So the forgiveness was not overt, but it had to be there.  Without that acceptance I don't think I could have moved forward.

Some might think I'm confusing forgiveness with acceptance, and you'd have a good argument.  But I think the two go hand in hand.  Without accepting the situation, or whatever it is that has you bugged, for what it is and accepting that it may never change but your reaction to it can, then I don't think you can forgive.

Webster's Dictionary defines to forgive as follows:

for·give  [ fər gív ]

 

1.   to stop being angry about something: to stop being angry about or resenting somebody or somebody's behavior

2.  pardon somebody: to excuse somebody for a mistake, misunderstanding, wrongdoing, or inappropriate behavior

How can you stop being angry unless of two things has happened - either the situation has changed or you've accepted it for what it is and are willing to move on?

The gift of forgiveness was truly for myself.  The other parties have no idea.  I never called them and said "I forgive you".  But it was a gift.  I got my life back.  My health improved.  My mood certainly improved.  I started doing things again that made me happy and moved out of that space.  (Some might think I need to call and have that conversation to truly have closure but I don't think so.  I do not have to live in a world where I like everyone and everyone likes me.  We're all made different.  We do have to coexist.  And you can love someone without liking them.  I firmly believe that.  I can love my neighbor as myself without all the strings).

As my priest would say, I had peace again.

I only wish I had done it sooner.  I lost some valuable time.

And besides, who doesn't like to receive a gift?  Even if it from yourself.

They Earn It

NOTE>  I started this post on March 9, 2009, but never finished and posted it.  In rereading it today, it still seems applicable.  Only differences are that Riley gets his meds four times a day instead of three and there are seven other dogs watching, as of this writing.

If Big Brother is really watching, I'll probably get in trouble for this one, but here goes.

Having a dog with seizures means that he gets special treatment. He takes medicine three times a day and gets extra low calorie treats since we have to keep his weight under control. Since he thinks he's starving to death all the time, he is subject to get his extra treats (green beans and canned pumpkin) fairly frequently. But, as long as he's full, everyone is happy.

Having six other dogs in the house means a whole lot of eyes staring at you wondering why they aren't getting something also. You can't explain to them that the little piece of hot dog he just got was stuffed with his pills. They don't get it. They run to the bowl to see if there is a green bean or scrap of pumpkin left. Then they stare at you some more.

The more I watch our leaders at work, the more I think of my animals. All these stimulus bills and bail outs. Its almost as if everyone is adding something to the pot because they don't understand why they aren't special too. Why can't they have a billon dollars for their project, so and so in the next state over got some?

Gosh Mom, there's plenty of treats in that jar. Why can't I have one?

Gosh Treasury, you can print all the money you want, why can't I have some?

For some reason a few days ago I was thinking about all the bailouts and the way our tax dollars are being spent like Monopoly money. The people spending it won't be around to pay it back so there aren't any consequences for their decisions. John Houseman and the Smith Barney commercial came to mind - They make money the old-fashioned way. They earn it.

No one is earning it right now. Automakers are asking for millions and billions. Congressmen are asking for millions and billions. And the government just seems to want to keep handing it out. Sure, they talk about conditions and so forth, but they don't do anything about it, really.

Nope, nothing has changed.  Our national debt is out of control because of spending and our Congress' inability to work together - as a team.  Lots of talk, no action.  No one wants to play nicely in the sandbox.  It's all do-it-my-way-or-I'll-take-my-toys-and-go-home.

Sad, really.  Greatest nation in the world and you'd never know it by looking.  More and more people are lining up with their hands out.  And why not?  The government is not only making it easy to get assistance, they are encouraging it.  As Billy and I have discussed more than once lately, the only thing keeping us from doing the same is our personal pride.  I'd love to stay home and write all day.  I'd have a whole lot less stress and I'd finally get to see what a Saturday in early spring looks like instead of having to work 7 days a week for months on end.  An early retirement, if you will.

But we don't.  We work, and work hard, for everything we have and everything we still want.  We don't live overly extravagantly but we enjoy ourselves and do what we want, when we can afford it.  Sometimes that takes planning but we do it.

We earn it.

And we can look at everything we have with pride and satisfaction of knowing that we did it the old-fashioned way.  

The Forgotten Holiday

I have long pitied Thanksgiving.  It seems to me to be the Rodney Dangerfield of holidays.

It gets no respect.

It was a slow process at first.  But slowly and surely, Christmas started to follow Halloween.  Now, it even proceeds that in some cases.

George Washington declared November 26, 1789, as a "day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favours of Almighty God".  The fourth Thursday in November was later fixed by Abraham Lincoln as the official day for Thanksgiving across the United States.  The origins and basis of the holiday are somewhat disputed, but many will include the original settlers to America, the Pilgrims, as the founders.  They gave thanks for a great harvest after a somewhat rocky start in the New World.

No matter the origins, when it comes to celebrating a holiday, Thanksgiving is just different.

But why?

It isn't a gift-giving holiday like Easter or Christmas or Hanukkah.  It isn't a religious holiday, either.   So there is no commercialism to aggravate those that that wish we would remember the Christ in Christmas and no crosses or nativity scenes to draw the ire of the atheists.  It doesn't specify one segment of society over another (does anyone but me ever wonder why the world closes for the observation of Christmas Eve and Christmas day for the Christian holiday but not one day of the eight for Hanukkah or for Yom Kippur for our Jewish counterparts?) nor does it have any really stringent "musts" as far as the propriety of celebration go.  Almost anything goes in that department.  We used to have Thanksgiving dinner in a hotel room at the Tom Penny Inn before walking to Cowboy Stadium and watching football.  The only real point was that we were together as a family.

It does not require anything more than simply stopping for one day to reflect on our blessings and be thankful for them.  No matter whether or not you believe in God or any other Higher Power you can still be thankful - for your health; for having employment; for those you love; for the ability to smell the flowers, hear the music of your children's laughter, see the sunshine reflecting off water, feel the softness of your loved one's kiss and taste the sweetness of lovingly prepared food.

It should be single-most favored holiday across the board.  It doesn't have any elements that disagree with anyone!

So why does it get so short changed?   People can't wait to clear the dishes on Thursday and pull out the Christmas decorations.  Some start that night.  Black Friday, the massive shopping day for Christmas is starting to encroach on Thursday.  Many stores were open Thursday evening, others opening at Midnight - shifting the focus of the true meaning of the day to getting ready for that night's adventure.  I heard people talking about having to go the grocery store and shop for the big meal, having to cook so many pies and side dishes, having to get up early because they had to drive a distance to see their family.

I'd like to borrow my cousin's blog theme and remind people you don't HAVE to, you GET TO.  You may need to go to the grocery store because you get to prepare food for those you love.  You may need to get on the road early because you get to spend the day with your family.  Reminding us that not everyone is so blessed.

Of course, we should be thankful every day, and Christmas should live in our hearts year 'round, but we aren't always.  There shouldn't need to be a reminder by setting aside a day.  But the day is there and I'd like to embrace it.  I know a lot of people on Facebook listed one thing every day they were thankful for, up until yesterday.  I'm not so public about things like that but I did give it some thought.  I have been truly blessed and I know it.  I try to say a prayer of thanks every day.

Can I change things? No.  I'm not going to get Wal-mart to not play Christmas music and set up trees before Halloween.  Christmas is a huge profit generator for the retail industry and the sooner they can get consumers to think about it the more they may sell - maybe not, but it is worth the gamble to the big players. All I can control are my actions and reactions.

And possibly give some food for thought for you.

Food that doesn't have to peeled, chopped, mixed, baked, roasted or served.

Are you giving the day of Thanksgiving all it deserves?

Not So "Gentle" Reminders

The United States received several reminders on Monday.

As everyone knows by now, terrorists detonated two bombs at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.  Yes, I called them terrorists.  They commited an act intended to inflict terror.  Has nothing to do with where they are from or what they look like.

We were instantly reminded that we are still very vulnerable.  Despite all our best efforts since September 11, 2001, we are still vulnerable to terrorism.  Two men walked down the street, dropped their backpacks on the ground and walked away.  Minutes later, three are dead and hundreds were wounded.  An eight year boy, a Chinese student, and a young female waitress - gone.  In literally a puff of smoke.

We are also reminded that we have successfully avoided this situation many times before.  I daresay we do not even know how many times a potentially devasting event was thwarted.  If you see something, say something.  A simple phrase, but effective.

Sadly, it also took an event like this to remind us that we are all humans and we come together for each other when needed.  Runners stopped running and spectators stopped watching and started helping and doctoring -  carrying out the injured, applying tourniquets, calming the wounded.  Anything they felt they could do.

 It was no longer a race, but a race against time.

Much like September 11, for that moment in time, we were all just Americans.  Angry, ticked off Americans.  Not Democrat or Republican.  Not liberal or conservative.  Not Yankee or Southern.  Just neighbors helping neigbors.

I know I've asked before, but why does it take this kind of reminder?  Why can't we all continue to live with the spirit in which we currently find ourselves?  Why do we allow ourselves to be attacked, invaded, wounded,  knocked to the ground before we step up and stand shoulder to shoulder with our fellow man?    Is this what it takes to get citizens to stand up and sing our National Anthem?  Do we need this type of a reminder to reach out to our fellow man and reach with an open hand and not a closed fist?

I have to wonder why they chose this event.  I guess because of the crowd, but there are lots of events that could have been targeted.  As I alluded to earlier, maybe larger events have been unsucessfully targeted.   As a new runner, it does bother me.  I would love to say I hope to qualify for the Boston Marathon someday.  (A stretch, I know, but I'd at least like to watch it at some point.)

But, as a friend pointed out, I do believe it is symbolic that the bombs went off at the Finish Line.  Starting a race is pretty cool;  finishing one is awesome.  Crossing that line - first, tenth, fiftieth, doesn't matter - is a feeling unlike any other.  It is an accomplishment.   As I commented, it is an "I really did it!' moment.  The terrorists took away that accomplishment.  They stopped a major event and temporarily crippled the United States.

Crippled, but not paralyzed.

Our annual family girl's trip this summer is to Boston.  Been planned for many months now.  I want to go and stand in that space.  Feel the American Spirit present.  Same as Billy and I visit Ground Zero in New York.  To be reminded.  

Reminded that when the chips are down there is no one else I'd rather have by my side than a fellow American.  Reminded that not everyone in the world loves us and our way of life and it is solely up to us to protect it.  Reminded that some people have no regard for human life but we can make sure that no loss of life is in vain.  We can and will bounce back, and do so even stronger.

And if any more terrorists groups forget that, we will be happy to remind them.