Set Your Own Pace, Run Your Own Race

In January of this year, 2016, I ran my first half marathon.

It was supposed to be my second.  I had been training last fall for an event in November, a half Ironman distance triathlon.

A couple of weeks before the event I had a health concern.  I called my doctor on a Monday.  They saw me on Wednesday.  And again on that Friday.  At Friday's appointment words like "biopsy" and "surgery" were brought out.  A biopsy was done. 

It was all very quick, and very unexpected.  Surgery was required, the extent of which to be determined by the biopsy results.

I sat on the table, somewhat dazed.  I had not brought anyone with me to the appointment because I really thought it was "no big deal" kind of thing. 

But one thing I did have the presence of mind to ask was whether or not I could do the triathlon the next Saturday.  The doctor gave me a look that I'm sure others have received when asking a seemingly ridiculous question.  Sure, I could participate but under the circumstances he didn't really think I would want to.

Ultimately, I didn't.  Too much had happened in too short a time.  I knew that mentally I was not in the right place.  (Especially dangerous if you are looking to swim 1.2 miles in open water.  Must be focused on the task at hand.)

I waited the next week for "the phone call".  What would that biopsy show?

In the end, I got the best news.  No cancer.  Still had a health issue but the surgery would take care of everything and it was scheduled for December 1.  The Tuesday before Thanksgiving I was pre-admitted and the Tuesday after, I went under the knife, except it was all done by lasers.

One month to six weeks recovery.  No driving.  Limited exercise.  I worked from home starting the second week so I could work when I could, and rest when I needed.

On December 23, 2015, I was released from the doctor.  I had done exceptionally well with my recovery and, yes, I was free to drive myself to Arkansas for Christmas.  Great!

But, I had another question.  Could I still do the half-marathon on January 17 that I had registered for months earlier?  Different doctor's office personnel, but same quizzical look.  No reason that I couldn't, medically.

Only issue was an obvious lack of recent training.

I arose very early on that Sunday morning.  Several times that preceding week Billy had questioned my sanity.  In a very rare act for me, I asked him not to go.  I wasn't positive that I could do it, and I didn't want him to watch me fail.  But I knew I had to try.

My trip to Baton Rouge was not without its bumps and, in the end, I arrived at the start 5 minutes too late.  With tears running down my face, I asked the race director if I could still run but just not receive an official time.  He paused for only a second (the race is on public streets after all) and not only told me I could, but after the race he would get me my shirt, bib, swag bag, etc. 

And off I went.

I had been very nervous leading up to this.  I was nowhere close to be physically fit for this event.  Mentally, I was not confident, either.  I knew I'd have to walk most of it.  Could I finish in time?  I'd checked the rules and I had about 7 hours to complete the course.  I could do that, right?  What would people say about me walking?  Would that be frowned upon?  Would I be embarrassed at the back all by myself as others took off running?  I hated the thought of the poor policeman that would have to tail this poor, lone "runner" as she struggled through.

If I hadn't already dropped $20 to park I might just have well turned around and gone home as to take off on that run.

But I started.  I was a ways behind the pack but I was trying.  Run, walk.  Run a little, walk a lot.  Run a little more. 

Slowly, I made ground and I actually started closing the distance.  Soon, I was passing others that were walking.  As I walked, I could hear other participants in conversations.  To my amazement I heard one lady saying she couldn't believe people ran these things.  She had no intention of running one step.

She registered for a half marathon with NO intention of running it!  Whoa!

Maybe my walking wouldn't be so bad after all.  Hmmm.....

Soon, I was up with the others.  Two miles passed.  I texted Billy.  "Just passed two miles."

"4 miles, 55 minutes."

"Halfway!"

"Just five more to go!"

"10 miles? Done!"

After all those texts, I got this response: " You got it now.  Just think of how far you've come in all this athletic stuff.  And think of all those that thought you couldn't ever do this."

That day, I learned a lot about myself, and others.  I saw young and old, men and women, all shapes and sizes.  Some just walking, others pushing themselves. 

All doing the best they could.  Bettering themselves and furthering their journey to a better them.

We were all running our own races, at our own paces.

I have always known that I don't race others.  I only compete with myself. 

Me, myself and I.

Together, we did it.

I pushed myself, but not too hard.  I made certain that I ran part of every mile, if only a few hundred yards in some.  I didn't want to go all out at the beginning, exhaust myself, and possibly damage something. 

I stayed inside my head.  Drawing encouragement from cheerleaders lining the streets, signs in yards, volunteers at the water stops making sure we had all we needed.

It was a proud drive home.  And much easier than the journey there early in the morning.  Maybe I subconsciously sabotaged my drive because my head was talking louder than my heart.

But the heart ultimately won.

It will, when allowed. 

Never compare yourself to someone else.  In anything.  God made us all different, and I am the only Me there is.  There is no set mold for a runner/doctor/teacher/mailman/CPA/minister/nurse/any other profession.   All we can do is our best.

Whatever your goal, run your own race at your own pace.  Finishing is all that matters.

For the Love of Law Enforcement

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"Do you need an ambulance, fire or police?"

"Where are you located?  Can you see a street sign, a landmark?"

"Is the victim breathing?  Is the victim conscious?"

"Is there a weapon anywhere?"

"Can you move?"

"Are you safe?"

All of the above are questions posed by emergency dispatchers.   You'll notice not a one of them asks of the caller their race, gender, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, educational background, political party preference, social standing, economic status, or any one of the other myriad topics that divide and label us daily.

When officers are called to help, they go.  There isn't a discussion of  "do we have an officer available that doesn't mind helping a white/black/Asian/Jewish/Christian/Gay/Republican/Atheist"?

No, they just go.  They.just.go.

They don't know what is on the other end of that phone call, just that their dispatcher gave them an order and they are the closest responders.  They go where needed, thinking only of helping someone, but their training is there to keep them safe.  Like a natural instinct they arrive with a sense of urgency, tempered with precaution.  They assess.  They decide.  They make things happen that need to happen.

And all too frequently, they die.

Last summer, it was a war on officers after Ferguson, Missouri, Baltimore, Maryland, and New York.  Three deaths at the hands of law enforcement that social and other media deemed "unjust".  None of the officers involved, however, have been convicted of anything in a proper court of law.

Subsequently, it was open season on officers.

We saw officers just sitting in theirs cars assassinated.  Officers who had nothing to do with the deaths in question.  For weeks we were bombarded with stories of officers doing nothing more than their jobs, killed for doing so.  We watched violent protests break out, endangering law abiding residents of many towns and cities.

And this summer, it is happening again.  Last week two young men, black men, were killed by police officers.  One in Baton Rouge, Louisiana and the other in Minnesota.  No one has officially determined any wrongdoing by the police.  In both cases the deceased did have a weapon on their person.

In Dallas, days after the deaths, people took the streets, like they did before, in an effort to make their voices heard in what they believed were cases of excessive force.  The march was a peaceful protest.  The streets were lined with the officers protecting the protesters. 

Yes, the protested protected the protesters.

Because it is the right of all American citizens to have their voices heard.  We express ourselves when we vote.  We can disagree with our leaders without fear of retaliation.  No "off with their heads!" for us.   I can say I don't like the President/Governor/Mayor/Dog Catcher and I don't have to worry if I will wake up in the morning.  No gang of goons is going to slip into my house in the dark of night and guarantee I never see daylight again.

But in Dallas shots rang out.  Reminiscent of the John Kennedy assassination, the shooter holed up in a tall parking garage and sniped the officers from different levels.  His military training working to his benefit.  In the end, six died and six more were wounded.  The shooter was taken out by an explosive-toting robot.

He said he wanted to shoot white cops.  In my estimation he wanted to leave his mark on this world.  He left his mark alright - all over the side of that parking garage wall.

All because he was angry.

Back in Baton Rouge a few days later, another shooter ambushed local law enforcement.  He lured them in on a fake emergency call and then opened fire. Another three officers reached their end of watch.  The shooter said he wanted to effect change in the way officers did their jobs. 

Again, those officers were not involved with death in question. 

Nine officers have lost their lives for nothing more than doing their jobs.  (A tenth in Kansas City yesterday was killed while in his car, looking for suspects.)  They just put on their uniform, like every other day, strapped on their weapons and went to work.

They were killed, in cold blood, for who they were and what they were.  Peace officers.

To me, these killers are no better than animals.  Loss of innocent lives is not necessary to make a point or effect change. 

Last year I wrote about ISIS murdering journalist and Christians for no other reason that what they did, who they were, what they believed.  These killers are in the same category for me.  Innocent lives lost over ideology.

Terrorists.

Plain and simple.

A terrorist is anyone that intentionally acts to elicit terror in the victim.  They don't have to be a radical Muslim or any other specific category.  All they have to be is someone that hates and wants to control and inflict pain.

Someone told me not long ago that the persons that died at the hands of the officers had committed crimes, yes, but nothing that warranted a death warrant.  I say the same about the officers that died.   Officers have to make split second decisions to protect themselves.  If they even suspect for an instant that their lives or the lives of persons in the vicinity are in danger then they must take appropriate action. 

And it is our job to not put ourselves in a position that gives them that opportunity.  Don't rob a store, don't go for the officer's gun, put your weapon away when asked, don't run when they tell you to stop, keep your registration and licenses current.

Just do as you are asked.

Everyone gets stopped on occasion.  I'm sure there are people that don't speed, never run a stop light, always come to a full stop at stop signs and so on.  I am not one of them. 

In July, 2013, Billy and I were able to settle his brother's estate.  When we were finished at the attorney's office I was charged with driving his pickup truck back to Mississippi from Arkansas.  A truck that had sat in one place for most of two years and had expired tags.  We debated on the best way to do it - take the tags off or leave them on - knowing that neither option was good and both ran a risk.  I was stopped just before the state line crossing into Louisiana.  The officer was very nice, and professional.  He explained why he was stopping me and asked for my driver's license.  I did as I was asked, and handed him my license.  I also handed him my conceal carry permit, like I knew I was supposed to.  He probably never would have known if I hadn't, but I know the right thing to do and I did it.

(Yes, I travel with a gun.  I cover a lot of back roads and small towns by myself and we decided a few years ago it would be safer for me.)

He asked where my gun was and I told him it was in my purse.  He requested that it stay right there.  I sat there making perfectly sure that I did nothing that would give him a reason to worry.  That is just plain common sense.  Keep your hands where they can be seen and don't even move toward to the purse. 

To do otherwise could have resulted very differently. 

To make the argument that "death sentences" are unreasonable for a petty theft is certainly true, but to create a situation where the officer is deciding between his safety and your life based on your own stupid actions is just that - stupid.

"The greatest gift a man can give is to lay down his life for another."  I don't know who said it, or if I quoted it correctly, but it is a true statement.  We expect law enforcement officers do be ready to do this every shift, every day.   They deserve our respect.  Our cooperation.  Our support.

They deserve to go home every night to their families, same as teachers, doctors, CPAs, librarians, bankers, ministers, mayors, CEOs, and every other profession.

The men and women in blue deserve to not have their families wear black.

The Lights of Their Eyes

Billy and I walk in the mornings.  Sometimes with dogs in tow, sometimes alone.

We try to be friendly; speak to everyone.  Some speak back.  A smile and a wave.  Others ignore you.  Some will grunt at you but never look up from their phone.

Billy is not always the most social of beings.  Once he quite playing softball, which took him away from home five or six nights a week, he was content to not leave ever again.  That was about 25 years ago. 

And he is no fan of small talk or chit chat, which is typically the bulk of the social networking things I attend here in town.

So, it actually takes some effort for him to put himself out there and speak.  It is out of his comfort zone somewhat.  I, on the other hand, talk to everyone.  I don't even care if they return the favor.  He gets annoyed at grocery shopping with me (or, should I say, me going with him) because I talk to people in line, in the aisles, wherever.

Some mornings we have the whole downtown Natchez to ourselves, others it is packed.  Minutes getting out of the house in the morning can absolutely make all the difference in the world.  One morning was particularly busy and we passed a lot of folks, a disproportionate amount we had to force to say hi and acknowledge us.

Billy turned and said "I want to be someplace where people still get a light in their eyes when they see you."

How true. 

Before 24 hour a day television and electronic everything, your neighbors were your entertainment.  You socialized.  You knew everyone.  In the early advent of television not everyone owned one so even watching the nightly news could be a social event.  People would gather outside the big picture window of the appliance store and see the marvels going on places other than where they were.

You cared about your fellow man.  And you cared because you were invested in them.  In your neighborhood.  Your community.

Not only your eyes, but your whole face would light up when you saw someone you knew.  When you asked how have you been?, you meant it.  And your face would light up if you saw a stranger because it could be an opportunity to help someone in need, or share the place you loved living.  Getting to meet someone new.

Now, if it isn't communicated via text, email, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or a news scroll along the bottom of the television screen, we don't know about it.  We can't leave the house for fear we'll miss something.  We might be behind on the "latest".  When we do leave, it is with phone in hand.  And we carry around portable chargers and charging cables for both car and indoors.  Someone might need to get in touch with us and we must be available!  People can't even eat a meal at a restaurant, or, God forbid, use a public restroom, without their phone being RIGHT THERE! 

We've built electronic fences around ourselves.  You can't see them, but we are fenced in, nonetheless.

Remember the days when you could leave the house and not worry about a phone call?  If they needed you, they called the house.  If you were out living your life, they would try again later.  Eventually they left a message.  On an answering machine.  That you picked up when you got home. 

Strangers are no longer a friend that we haven't met yet, they are an inconvenience.  Someone we have to nod to, someone we worry is going to delay us along our path, interrupt our day.  Someone who is forcing us to look away from our phone.

Some days I feel like really pulling the plug on all these gadgets.  I wouldn't be the first to know if the world was ending, but at least I could enjoy myself while I waited. 

You know, read a book.  (A real book that you hold, not an eBook or an audible book.)  Sit on the porch and watch the world go by. Feed the birds.  Listen to the sounds of the river flowing south. 

And talk to people as they passed.  Give them a smile.  Look them in the eye.

Eyes with light.   

Painting With a Broad Brush

If you ever visit an artist in their studio, you'll see many things.  Drop cloths.  Easels.  Paints.  Pencils. Charcoal.  Canvases.

And lots of brushes.

Brushes of varying sizes.  Brushes with natural bristles.  Brushes with synthetic fibers.  Short ones.  Long ones.  Very fine tops, and wider heads.

One brush does not fit all.

An artist learns over time which brush yields the most desired results.  How to use the brush to get the details of the picture just so.

This past week has been a violent and turbulent one.   Two persons died at the hand of police officers in Louisiana and Minnesota.  And six officers died at the hand of a sniper in Dallas, Texas.  Six more were wounded.  The officers were on duty at a peaceful protest related to the two other events when shots rang out.  (It should be noted at the time of this writing that no officer had been charged with any wrongdoing, pending investigations.)

In a society with 24 hour newsfeeds, the coverage has been understandably constant.  The news is on at least one television in our home all the time.  Although we are working to try and stop inundating ourselves.

I write this piece not looking to give answers, but merely to raise more questions.  Maybe spark some thoughts.

All of these incidents, like the ones in Ferguson, Missouri and Baltimore, Maryland last year, center on race.  For all the working that has been done over the last few decades to erase race from our daily conversations, race relations are probably lower now that they have been in a very long time. 

Using race as the basis for the argument against the police is certainly easier than accepting that sometimes people do stupid stuff and make very bad decisions. 

I heard one man keep yelling at the television camera "white men hung us from trees!"  Yes.  A very true statement.  From a time long ago.  There were times in our history when a lynching like this describes were known to happen.  Not commonplace, by any stretch, but not unheard of either.  They were known to have happened during the years before the Civil War, usually as a warning to runaway slaves, and again in the 1960's during the height of the civil rights movement, and probably more than a few times in between.

However, the implication from this man was that it was okay to kill a random white man because in history a white man had done something terrible to a black man.  He was painting white men with a broad brush that all are evil.  That all should pay for the sins of the few.

I remember times in the 1980's when it seemed every other day carloads of young black men were conducting drive by shootings at the homes of other black men.  For those actions, sometimes, all young black men get painted with a broad brush that they are trouble.

And neither brush is the proper tool for the picture.

No group in humanity is without its faults.  The history of this country is not always pretty.  Slavery was a low point in the development of our nation.  But slavery is not unique to the United States.  The Europeans that came over in the 1400's brought their slaves with them.   The Egyptians enslaved the Hebrews, the Romans their conquered, Greece, China, Mongols, Africa - all have histories of slave labor.

To imply that all modern day white people have to continue to pay for actions over 150 years ago isn't fair.   That assumes, also, that all white people went along with that practice and thereby invalidates all the men and women that fought, and died,  for the Union in the Civil War.  I have a picture of my great-great-grandfather in his Union army uniform.  On my dad's side of the family, my cousins and I are all first generation Arkansans.  My grandparents were born in Oklahoma and Missouri.   Their children were all born in Oklahoma.    Oklahoma was still the Indian Territory during the Civil War years.  No one in my personal history owned slaves, or condoned slavery.

So why does it keep getting brought up?

The 1960's were a time of change in this country.  Even though all men had been free for 100 years, everything was not equal.  There were still divides.   Some were natural and organic and should have been left alone, and others were absolutely right to be abolished.  But, again, that was over 50 years ago. 

At some point, the past must be left there, in the past. 

Unless it is, we will continue with the violence we have witnessed this week, and in recent months.  It is impossible to move forward if you are always looking in the rearview mirror.

All white police officers are not bad.  Neither are they all good.  Each officer is an individual who makes decisions in each situation they face.

Not all black men are bad. Many have been instrumental in the growth of this nation.  George Washington Carver.  J.C. Watts.  Frederick Douglass.  Martin Luther King, Jr.  Jackie Robinson.   

The same is true for every group.  Male and female.  White, black, brown.  Gay and lesbian.  Young or old.  Doctors, lawyers, teachers, soldiers.  Every group that can be defined can be found to have both the most exemplary members, and those that are merely a waste of the air they breathe.

You cannot paint all peoples with one brush.

A Nation of Laws?

"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

- Abraham Lincoln, The Gettysburg Address.  Underlines added for emphasis



Of the people, by the people, for the people.

I have been struggling with this concept of late.

Full Definition of REPUBLIC

1

a (1) :  a government having a chief of state who is not a monarch and who in modern times is usually a president (2) :  a political unit (as a nation) having such a form of government

b (1) :  a government in which supreme power resides in a body of citizens entitled to vote and is exercised by elected officers and representatives responsible to them and governing according to law (2) :  a political unit (as a nation) having such a form of government

c :  a usually specified republican government of a political unit Republic

Full Definition of DEMOCRACY

1

a :  government by the people; especially :  rule of the majority

b :  a government in which the supreme power is vested in the people and exercised by them directly or indirectly through a system of representation usually involving periodically held free elections

2

:  a political unit that has a democratic government

I realize that there are people who read blog this that think I'm a little on the fringe of things, and that's okay.  We all aren't going to agree on everything.  Daddy always said that's why they make chocolate and vanilla.

For this post, and any subsequent discussion, I'm trying to focus more on a one or two broad concepts, not just my view of the topic.  If I am successful, at the end of this you won't really know which side of the topic I fall on, and I will tell you that many of you would be surprised if you knew.

The United States of America is referred to as a Democracy - majority rules.  Based on the above definitions, an argument could be made that we are a Republic.  Both definitions fit our style of governing - the citizens vote, free elections, representatives elected to represent our views.  The people of this nation all having free and equal voices in the governing of same.  The Will of the People.

In recent months, it seems as if the Will of the People has been completely ignored on some major social issues. 

Let's take same sex marriage.  By and large, up until recently, marriage was viewed as a State's jurisdiction.  States determined who could marry, at what age to marry, proper licensing to marry, and so forth.  If a state didn't want to grant you a license to marry, then you didn't get married in that state.  Seems simple.  It was one in a long list of items that each of the 50 states in our nation controlled.  And the Supreme Court agreed.  At least until they didn't.

Same sex couples seeking legal recognition of their unions wanted to be married.  In a church, in a courthouse, by a Justice of the Peace, it didn't really matter.  They wanted to be married like their heterosexual counterparts.  Unwilling to just grant this wish, state and local governments gave the question to their constituents and votes starting popping up all of the country.

And the people said no.  Each time the resolutions would be defeated by a vote of the people.  And the states used that as a foundation to say that same sex couples could not be married.  Challenges to these laws were filed in the courts and the local courts would uphold the Will of the People.  And there would be appeal after appeal after appeal. 

All the way to the Supreme Court.  Not wanting to get their hands dirty they simply refused to hear the appeals cases on the grounds that the heart of the matter was a State matter and not a Federal one. 

After all, the State was still the governing body issuing the marriage license. 

But then, one day, the Supreme Court said, in effect, all you people out there voting against recognizing a marriage by two people of the same sex are wrong and all you states out there upholding that decision are being unlawful and unconstitutional.

The same group that used to say "not our decision" with one sweeping broad stroke of a pen decided that the Will of the Nine was better than the Will of the People.  They didn't change the law to make it a federal issue, they just said you were wrong and mandated that the states had to issue the marriage licenses no matter what their people said.

Your view of same sex marriage will make you either love or hate this decision, but I'm talking about making the decision in and of itself.  What gives this one small group of people the ultimate authority to decide something like this?  They themselves had already been very clear that the root of the question was not under their purview.  So they changed their purview.

Earlier this year I touched on illegal immigration.  The people of this nation continue to voice support for stopping the flow of people skirting the rules and entering this country at will.  Resolutions are passed, votes are taken, all worthless.  Because someone, somewhere, decides they have the authority to make this decision on behalf of the rest of us.  Yes, we do elect officials - senators and representatives to actually do this, vote on our behalf on issues of this magnitude - but it is hard to say they are doing that when vote after vote after vote says secure the borders, deport, build a wall, change the vetting process and the answers to those votes continue to be amnesty, grandfathered in for those already here illegally, executive orders by the President changing the action to what he thinks best, establishment of Sanctuary Cities, and so forth.  Relatively small groups of people have decided that they know best and their Will is more correct than the Will of the People.

So, you have to ask yourself, Who is Running this Show?  Is this a government of, for and by the People? 

and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth." 

There is no worse feeling than being in the minority when the majority rules.  No one wants to be passionately behind an issue and it be voted down.  It is hard to sit quietly and watch changes going on all around that you disagree with.   What do you channel that passion to then?   How do you continue to make your voice heard?  

But here is where another part ofwhat is becoming the problem.  I'm not saying that you stop.  That you decide that one defeat is going to slow you down and keep you from doing what you think is best and right.  But we are becoming an extremely politically correct country and that is not always the proper answer.  Let's say one hundred people attend a sporting event where an opening prayer for the safety of the athletes and wisdom of the officials was asked.  Or Nativity scenes at state capitols.  Statues of the Ten Commandments in state courthouses.  At one time, this was commonplace but we no longer pray or allow Christian displays because one of the hundred might be Jewish, or an atheist, or a Muslim.  Ninety-nine want to pray but the Will of One stops it.  We don't want to exclude anyone, or make anyone feel uncomfortable. 

So we acquiesce.  To the few.

Communities vote to fly the American flag in their front yards and common spaces, but then someone asks what about those that aren't American, or that don't support the military and view the flag as a symbol of oppression? 

So flags come down.  Can't fly those anymore. 

It doesn't matter that almost everyone wants to, only that one doesn't want to. 

And the One wins.

What lesson does that teach the next generation?  The only laws you need to obey are those you like and agree with?  Someone will just change it anyway, or there will be some way around it. 

I have no problem with systems  and laws changing, but from the inside.  Step up and state your case and get the majority on your side of the issue so the Will of the People will once again be the majority, and the majority rules.

So, are we a Nation of Laws?  A nation with a government of the people, by the people, for the people?  Or are we a nation of my way or the highway?  I don't like how it's been done so I'll just do it my way. 

"My Way" was great when Frank Sinatra and Elvis sang about it.  One of my favorite songs, ever.  And while it is not a bad philosophy for living your life, I'm not sure how great it is for governing an entire nation.

Just a Random Thought.

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.