Help.

Is this a posture of yearning? Or of gratitude.

But wait.

What about this posture?

Gratitude? Yearning?

Are gratitude and yearning the same thing? I didn't think so. But how do they express themselves in the same posture? And how can two postures be so entirely different and yet be expressions of the same emotions?

What?

Abby and I met this chihuahua while we were out today. Abby was very confused about what to do when dogs bark at you from their rooftops. So, she sat quietly next to me in bewilderment as I took this picture. Gotta say, it was kind of odd!

In Short

Since my last blog became an epic tale, let me just simply state that as this Thanksgiving weekend closes, I feel immense gratitude.

In My Defense

This blog is for the benefit of my children. There have been two popular accusations as of late.

First: Abby is getting treated WAY better than Roxy (our Dane of 10 years, now deceased) and

Second: I forget Abby is a dog and treat her better than my own children.

FOR THE RECORD:
Accusation #1

1. Yes, it is true. When Al and I go to Burger King, we always buy a plain hamburger for Abby.
Two reasons: It's not polite to eat in front of her and she likes hamburgers. Now WAIT! We bought a few for Roxy too, but because there wasn't room for all of you kids in the car plus the dog you wouldn't remember it .... that was something Roxy and I usually did while running errands. Trust me. Roxy liked hamburgers too.

2. Yes, it is true. We take Abby to a dog socialization class in Salt Lake almost every Saturday.
If you had been there when she was doing her "pre-socialization" behavior, you would see the need too. A 120 lb dog with no "party etiquette" makes you very unpopular in the neighborhood. Roxy on the other hand, was socialized as a pup by a constant flow of children, friends and weird teenage activity. She had "skills".

3. Yes, it is true. I take Abby out for a walk every morning, and to the store and on errands every chance I get.
Roxy didn't get daily walks, that's true too and maybe not fair. BUT, Roxy belonged to a pack of eight (plus four or five) and she went to soccer games, Petsmart and played Steal the Flag with us at the elementary school. When she was home, there was usually commotion on the trampoline, or playing tug of war. When Abby is at home, she is either alone while we're at work, or stuck with Al and I. A pack of three. Hanging out with just your parents can be kind of a drag....ask Amy.

4. Yes, it is true. Abby has a coat to wear when we go for walks in the winter.
Abby has fur, but no thick undercoat like many of her cousin dogs. Danes have a hard time keeping their body temperature when it gets ridiculously cold (It's true. Google it!) I really want to walk as long as possible. So she got a coat. HOWEVER, Abby's coat is not a weak sauce "I'm a spoiled chiweenie coat". There is a difference. Abby's is warm and functional while still allowing her to keep her dignity, in a muted dark blue with light blue reflector tape. Somewhat like a boat cover......

5. And Yes, it is true, I use a little bit of food from our dinner to flavor her food. And NO, it is NOT true that I gave the only two meatballs to Abby instead of Dustin.
Yes, I know that when Roxy was in the house, it was a cardinal rule to not feed her from the table (like Al ever felt obligated to follow that one!). That still IS the rule. Dogs are not allowed to beg for food while people are at the table eating. BUT, Abby has a hard time keeping weight on so I scoop just a little bit to help entice her to eat. She turns into a walking skeleton pretty easy. I'm pretty sure Roxy doesn't mind....she snagged enough pizzas and lasagnas off of the counter to be way ahead in the count. Which takes us to the meatball thing.... simmering on the stove was a pot FULL of meatballs, which I was in the process of bringing to the table. Dustin, you have my solemn word, if there are really, truly only two left of ANYTHING.... I will always give them to you. Always.

Accusation #2

I know my dog is different than my children because...

1. Abby sleeps on the floor. I provided beds for my children. Not that they always used them, but I provided them. Roxy on the other hand, slept in Cami or Amy's bed every day of her life until the last bit when it was too hard for her to get up and in. At that point she slept with her huge stuffed bear on the floor and stole Amy's wizard blanket (every night). So maybe that distinction isn't as clear as I thought it would be. But anyway....score one for Roxy!

2. I have to put chairs up on the couch every time I leave the house so Abby doesn't get up on it. My children are always allowed to use the couch unless your name is Scarlet, are 2 years old and trying to eat hummus with your fingers.

3. My children eat from plates at the table. Abby eats from a bowl set on a storage bin. Roxy's bowl was also on storage bin, but she wasn't opposed to eating anything dead, rancid or putrid off of the ground, out of the grass or out of the garbage.

4.When Abby did a really stupid thing and attacked another dog, I promptly made plans to evict her from our family. When my children did stupid things, I attempted to ground them for the rest of their lives, but never, EVER entertained the thought of sending them back to their previous owner.

5. My dogs pretty much sleep when I'm not home. I don't have to make sure they are going to school just because they say they did. I don't have to worry about where they are at night and who they are with and what they are doing. They don't take their friends out on the roof or cut their hair. They don't jump off of other people's roofs and swim in other peoples swimming pools or ski on the roof of cars. They don't squirt water guns at policemen (or water balloons) and they don't do tricks off of cliffs. When I leave the house, the dogs are there. When I get home, the dogs are still there. Can't say the same for my children.

6. I found my dogs in the classified ads. My children took nine months, thirty boxes of cheerios (gingerly nibbled, one cheerio at a time), my every waking and sleeping moment and all my hopes and dreams. The level of investment between my children and my dogs: Not even close.

In conclusion:

Roxy came when there were two very different camps of people housed in one place. Roxy came to bridge the gap, soften the edges and encourage everyone in this house into a person, not a surname. Her days were eventful, and busy. She had a full life. She didn't need other people or other dogs. She had a family to take care of and faces to lick.

One of Cesar Milan's favorite sayings is "You may not get the dog you want, but you will always get the dog you need". Abby has taught me some crazy life lessons in the last seven months. Exposed parts of me that I was clueless about, and then took the brunt of my learning curve as I've wrestled with sorting them out. I owe her alot. And then again...the same could be said of my children. They have the same knack for exposing my weaknesses and then patiently riding the curve while I flounder. I owe them even more.

I'm ready now to rest my case. Only problem is maybe things are not as clear as I intially assumed. ..my defense not as air-tight as I had originally thought. Nevertheless, I will declare until the day I die, "Those were NOT the last two meatballs."

If I Am My Own Biggest Obstacle, Then Why Don't I Get Out of My Way More Often?

Without fail, every time I get in my car, there is a moment of cringe and then shame over how dirty it is. Not big stuff like paper and cups, but little stuff like crumbs, loose dirt and bits of junk. On Saturday, I pulled into a local car wash and used the vacuum. Five minutes and four quarters. No more cringe. No more shame. Well...THAT wasn't hard!

Markers

These shoes represent the 20 people (plus or minus a couple) who play Ultimate Frisbee in the freezing cold, wet, sometimes snowy month of December, just as the New Year is about to break. What you don't see is the "other" pile of shoes that missed the actual porch. They are much older, have had many more years experience and are basically thrashed beyond recognition.

There are other things that mark this group of people. Nickle Arcades, racquetball, hiking Provo Canyon, paint ball, board games and pot banging on the stroke of midnight. Yet, its this ritualistic piling of the shoes, that stops my heart every time. My brother. My nephews. My niece.

My porch never looks more content, more fulfilled, more glorious.

Some thoughts about waking up....

We were putting our granddaughter Scarlet to bed. She was all tucked in and comfy when she turned to my husband and with all the wise earnestness of her two years and eight months inquired, "Papa, how will I wake up?"

Come again ?! We inherently trust that every night as we close our eyes, there will indelibly follow a morning when we open them again. Waking up is not something that you do...it is something that happens. Does anybody besides Scarlet wonder HOW ?

It got me thinking....

Do you remember Christmas mornings as a child, when you couldn't stop waking up until your parents finally say its was OK to meet Christmas? Or when you woke up in school with your face smashed on the desk and drool all over your arm?

Today....there are many mornings when I don't want to wake up; other days when I wouldn't mind waking up...I just can't.

And what about dreams?! Remember the ones where you think you're awake only to actually become awake at the worst possible moment and discover that all of the wonderful (or awful) events you were just thrilling to (or horrified by) were really just your subconscious acting out. And how the realization brings waves of disappointment (or relief)?

Or what about when you know you are dreaming and want desperately to wake up but don't?

Have you ever been suddenly jarred awake with the sound of your own snoring and your head jerking back to upright and all the people on the plane are politely NOT staring at you.

And "wake up calls". ..not just the kind hotels offer, but the kind life gives you. Like when you're driving and you thought you were awake and then narrowly miss an oncoming car and that really wakes you up?Or the relationships that you are kind of sleeping through and suddenly you are jarred awake into realizing that people really do leave? Or when being awake makes you responsible for things you'd rather not see and so you just kind of doze, thinking you're getting away with it.

What about when your eyelids are so, so heavy that you close them for just a second only to discover that you missed the entire church service, missed the movie, missed the joke, missed the boat, missed your decade or missed your chance.

And finally, what about that one inevitable moment when we don't wake up....except we do , and find ourselves in that whole other dimension. Then we ask ourselves, which one was the dream...where we came from or where we are? Are we truly awake now? Had we really been asleep our entire life?

Waking up.... what is that really all about?

The Unveiling

So here it is! The new coat. Not the fancy "yacht" models we perused on the internet ($150.00, thank you very much). I went with more of a "dinghy", the kind you find as Petsmart ($34.95, ding ding). I actually took her into Petsmart so we could try them on. That was a first for both of us.


Abby is quite pleased with herself and her new "look". We had a fabulous walk this morning, turned a record number of heads as people drove past and thoroughly enjoyed our toasty, warm little selves.

So tomorrow morning, just as the moon sets and the sun rises.....that blue boat, with the fluorescent reflector tape you see out on the horizon..... that will be my dog. Just thought you'd like to know.

140 days and counting...(my dog is not a boat)

So Abby and I go walking every morning. Haven't missed a day since she got here. That makes 140 days if you count today. (There were five days in there, where I was in Austin. Amy was babysitting and refused to walk her. Abby jumped up and down on the bed. They walked.)

Lately we watch the moon go to bed and the sun rise. No talking, just walking. Traveling buddies. But its turning cold. The other day, 6:15 am, we stood at the door, all leashed up and ready until the cold air hit our faces. We both hesitated. I pulled the "pack leader" card and pushed us both out the door, but I can see up ahead as the winter comes on that the weather is going to be our enemy. The only real answer is to get Abby a winter coat. I've been cruising the internet to see what's available. I've included pictures of current dog coat styles for your browsing pleasure. Please keep in mind that Abby is not a purse dog...those coats are ridiculous. But I included them so you could appreciate what fashions Abby will NOT be sporting this winter. Katie commented on how the Great Dane coats look like boat covers! Well, she will not be mistaken for a boat once I get her winter boots on her :)

The back 50

The back 50

So I'm turning 50 years old soon. By my reckoning, that puts me at about half way. I expect to get to 100 (give or take a month or two) and so while time isn't actually "running out", I am approaching my "hump day".

The first 50 years were pretty set out for me.

1. Grow up: check (depending on the day)
2. Getting married: check and check again
3. Have children: check then double check
4. Raise the children: check and almost check

That pretty well sums up the front 50. The back 50 isn't quite so mapped out. I'm afraid if I don't consciously create something, then nothing will happen. I don't want to live by default.

So this isn't a comprehensive list, but its a good start, I think.

I want to belong to a global neighborhood. I want to find myself on the back streets of foreign countries. Walking with a purpose and a project. I want to know the people that I pass by and be able to greet them in their own language. I want to inquire about their families and know the name of their dog.

I love words and the sounds they make and the meanings they represent. I love the people that use them and the way they wrap them around their own personality and expression. I want to speak Russian fluently and then maybe French or Spanish or Italian or something.

I want to sing really loud. Really really loud. Heidi got pulled over one day because she and her friends were singing Michael Jackson really loud and the car windows were rolled down. I'd maybe like to try that.

I want to dance, in the middle of the night, with long lines of people snaking and circling around a bon fire or an impromptu band like that night in France.

I'm sure there is more, but I think that's a pretty good start. Walking, talking, singing, dancing. That's not so far fetched, right? Here I go...wish me luck :)

That time

Its that time. The milkweed is out. I see it everyday on my walks. Its all along the roads. Each time I pause and look... just in case I see one. Do you remember? So many monarchs born during those years in the yellow house. That was fun.

A Haiku: Time Zone

I went to bed early.
Couldn't sleep.
Got up.
Did computer stuff.
Should go back to bed.
Don't want to.
I used to call Cami in the middle of the night.
She lived in Hawaii.
She would be on her way to soccer practice.
Cami went on a mission.
Guess I'll go back to bed.

Ode to Amy

I don't know who exactly made Amy my fashion police, but it is a job she took on at a very early age. One look from her would send me back to my closet.

There was a time I was not allowed to go shopping without her. I think the conversation started out something like,"Next time you go shopping mom, I need to go with you." And if on occasion, I would sneak out by myself, I always had her voice in my head as I tried things on. I knew I would have to answer to her when I got home. We didn't always agree, but I know for a fact she saved me from a major fashion nightmare, multiple times.

My most favorite pair of shoes of ALL time came from a shopping trip with Amy. She noticed them on the rack and demanded I try them. They didn't look very interesting to me, but I tried them on anyway. HOW DID SHE KNOW!? Invariable, the times Amy has "dressed" me, or I'm wearing some of her stuff, people notice.

Over the years, I've come to depend on it. Even now, all's it takes is a look, or a comment or even an unspoken energy from her and I realize that I need to tweek the outfit. And she's always right. I'm sure I rarely hit the top ranks of fashon, but without Amy's vigilant eye, I would regularly be quite the embarrassment.

So the other day at work, a group of girls were talking about hair fashion and the current trends. Out of the blue, one of them turned to me and said, " You know, Kathy, you can't wear scrunchies anymore." "Of course!" I replied confidently, "Those are so outdated." (Amy already told me).

Cow Tipping

So everytime I walk past a motorcycle that is parked, like in front of a house or in a store parking lot, I get an overwhelming urge to push it over. So far I've managed to restrain myself, but what if one day it just happens!? That's ok, right? Isn't it just like cow tipping?

The Final Concession

I remember how opposed I was to using a word processor to write my school papers....a typewriter was so much easier. My daughter insisted I get a debit card....I preferred writing checks. Long story short...I now own a laptop, depend daily on a jump drive, have wireless internet in my home, can text, have a Facebook page and a Netflix account. I never wanted to blog. Blog pages have to look like you and the wallpaper and music and clip art represent all that you are, or want to be, or hope to be. That overwhelms me. At this moment in time, I don't have a clue as to who I am. Who I wanted to be has fallen by the wayside somewhere and who I hope to be never quite materialized. Which font type, pictures and special designs represent that?

The final concession is that I'm going to give this running dialogue in my head, a voice. A page. My life is truly of no great consequence or meaning. But from where I stand, there are moments so intriguing, questions so puzzling, hearts so troubled and truths so stirring that I really must comment.