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Monthly Archives: April 2012

A new leash on life, lesson 3

For all my efforts to begin thinking and living outside the box… my most recent pup lesson has reminded me how joyful and exciting and, yes, freeing, it can sometimes be inside the box.

This week, they created a small dog park where I live. I had been told there was one in the works when I was shopping apartments. It didn’t really matter to me, initially, because I associated a dog park with lots of dogs :-D and, truth be told, for all my dog’s wonderful and awesome qualities… she does not always play well with other canine children. The reasons behind this are varied: part inexperience, part submissive personality (which, a dog trainer explained and I can attest, is not to be confused with passive) from having been the runt of her litter….but probably mostly attributable to a freaked out OCD mom loving, but at times irrationally overprotective, moi when she was a young puppy. From Callie’s tutelage (her cat ‘mom’) she does, however, do very well with the cats in the area who approach her. Go figure.

So, fast forward. There is now a smallish enclosed fenced area that will be a full fledged dog park, by some residents’ standards, once the water source is operational and they get the bench in (I assume this is for the humans? :-D  For now, it’s just a nice fenced in grassy area located in a spot where a few residents used to routinely let their dogs off leash.

In addition to our long daily walks,  I’ve taken Keeva to the new park three times. Each time, she enjoys herself more… we both have enjoyed ourselves more.  And, as usual for my writer’s brain, I have been stepping outside this picture and contemplating my potential human application.

Regardless of the time I’ve driven or walked by the area, I’ve not witnessed any dog parties in the park, but, instead, individual owners with their respective dogs. And they’ve all been doing what Keeva and I have been doing, once in the park…which is playing, to our hearts’ content, in a safe area where there is no worry about an errant dash across a busy street or the approach of a dog-fearing jogger or bicyclist. She plays fetch almost endlessly (this may have something to do with that last word in her breed, labrador retriever). We play keep-away and our version of tag… we romp around like we were, both, years younger.  ♥  And, no, I’m not ashamed to say that I openly admit to “romping” at my age.  :-D

Many boxes, self-imposed or other-imposed, are stifling and breaking out of the box is to find true freedom. But I’m learning that sometimes, when it is of our choosing,  utilizing a box can be useful. Sometimes a box is simply an area, defined by healthy boundaries, which can actually empower by the freedom created, within.

You know you needed to laugh when…

… you find out that the newest follower of your blog?… is yourself.

In trying to follow someone’s blog I was reading, I must’ve somehow, instead, hit “Follow” on my own. That fact didn’t immediately jump out at me. I did begin to vaguely wonder about not receiving notice of their posts (and I briefly thought, “what’s up with that??”)  But a day or so later, the answer!  I checked my “Blogs I Follow” list and that blog wasn’t there. Then I saw the dropdown list of followers on my blog… and there was my gravatar.  At first, I just stared… “REALLY? I did this?”

And then I had to crack up…but still, (and I swear, on a stack of dusty cookbooks, that this is true), I still surreptitiously looked around me, behind me, just to make sure no one else saw my gaffe. :-)

whew! I’m not telling aNOTHer soul!!!  Well, except you.  In case you needed a laugh, too.

A new leash on life, lesson 2

* a departure, of sorts, from my usual musings…this post has spiritual/religious overtones. be forewarned ♥

I think my dog is brilliant. I am quite certain that had she been employed as a rescue dog or drug sniffing dog  she would have gone really far. As it was, she was called to a different life… that of rescuing my family. Or, that is what she’s done thus far. I’ll confess that there exists a part of my brain where I entertain the notion that, once Keeva settles down some more (she’s ten but thinks she’s only three), she may yet become one heckuva therapy dog, helping comfort and uplift the elderly. And, contrary to my kids’ definition in this instance, I’m meaning more ‘elderly’ than myself.

One of the more functional things I’ve taught Keeva is to physically respond to my saying “other way”  when we are out walking. I can say it in a gentle way, a matter of fact way - there is never a need to yell or scold.  I say this to her when we are walking along and I go one way and she goes the other way …around a tree, lightpost, bush, or fire hydrant.  Sometimes she notices this herself and corrects, but when she doesn’t, I just say “other way” and she turns around and comes back around the object to join me. I don’t ever take this for granted and I praise her each time.

Friends have long commented that Keeva is one really smart dog because their dogs, and other dogs they’ve known, have never learned this particular feat. I haven’t weighed out, in my mind, whether this is mainly intelligence, whether it is just from repetitive puppy training – or, probably the most likely answer, that it is the combination of both.

Lately the practicality and the impact of this useful response has been reverberating inside me. I see the application in terms of my own life… in terms of who I perceive God to be.  I have been going through a series of life experiences in the past two years, particularly marital separation, divorce and the loss of a parent, that have resulted in transition, a new awakening.  I have begun looking at life with what feels like just-opened eyes, seeing new and previously unexplored opportunities around me, before me. I am, for the first time in thirty years, unfettered and completely free to choose for myself. And I am, slowly but surely, losing fear and guilt and empowering myself to explore my environment with confidence, with enthusiasm, and with an open mind.

My faith is one of the areas I’ve begun to explore with more freedom, more confidence. I have stopped looking heavenward, fearing a direct and immediate lightening strike, when I have dared to touch my toe outside of the very traditional religious ‘box’ in which I have lived. This has been frustrating to some of my family and friends. They love living in the box. They know, without question, that the box is where I need to be. But I know, deep down, I must continue this exploration. Letting loose of that fear has been work…and my pace is sometimes at barely a crawl. But I’ve had some amazingly refreshing, soul-comforting conversations with God….my Source, my higher power,  in ways I never have before. I’ve griped. I’ve cried. I’ve questioned. I’ve thanked him for this beautiful world. I’ve meditated. I’ve sang to him. And time and time again, I’ve asked him to be with me, to continue to give me confidence to expand my understanding, to continue growing my acceptance and peace.

Last week, making a decision during a particularly stressful time, I began leaning on my old instincts. And it was then that I clearly heard God say, lovingly and without judgment…  “other way.”  There was no feared lightening strike. And there were no heralding trumpets, either. There was just peace. It was the awareness that I am walking the path I need to be walking. And the comforting knowledge that even if I don’t see I’m heading off that path… I can trust that if I am open, if I am listening, I will absolutely hear “other way.”

Vegging In

If necessity is the mother of all invention, then a growling stomach and achy head is probably the mother of previously unimagined food combinations.  Actually, I can vouch for that fact.  Now, what qualifies for ‘food’ or for ‘combination’ is in the eyes of… well, someone besides grouchy and impatient me, who is undelicately devouring the results of all the inventiveness.

It all started when hunger pangs finally led me to my refrigerator. I opened the door, found a really unique and very limited assortment of food items and muttered something like, “Oh, mother!”   hmmm.  I didn’t mean that to sound quite the way it probably does in written form. Maybe I better make that “Oh, brother!”  Yeah, that’s what I said.

This is the “off” week that I don’t have my youngest daughter staying with me. And, during these off weeks, in the truest sense of the word, I’m frequently “off.”  Off kilter, occasionally… off schedule, sometimes… off on tangents (this weekend I actually found myself dreaming of tanned gents, I couldn’t beLIEVE it, that’s the first time since… since forever!, but that’s a whole different hunger blog… for another day, or another year).  ;-)   geez.  Where was I??

Anyway, when my daughter is not here, I have what I might refer to as occasional ~lapses in judgment~ about food. Such as… incorrectly negatively responding to my own question, “Do I really need to go grocery shopping?” Or such as miscalculating how many veggies one person can bring home, in hopes of “getting healthy,” and expect to actually e-a-t before they go bad, or-r-r-r  overestimating how frequently and in how many ways one person can consume plain yogurt.

When the rubber meets the road (maybe I should use ’meats’ the road? no, no, that can’t be right, there’s no meat)…. I open my refrigerator and find three bags of broccoli (various stages of green), a wrinkled yellow crookneck squash, a red bell pepper, half a cucumber, some wilted lettuce, an onion, a carton of egg substitute, a tub of  I Can’t Be Sure Maybe It’s Butter, double fiber bread, peanut butter, a mostly empty 64 oz (!) container of plain non-fat yogurt, and some chicken broth that has def-f-finitely seen better days.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Bread + peanut butter = Voila!! And, if I hadn’t been eating peanut butter sandwiches since yesterday morning, I would be, too. But since I have, I took that off the table, so to speak.

So. I steamed two crowns of broccoli, sliced some bell pepper, toasted and fake-buttered a piece of double fiber bread and snarfed down yet some *more* plain yogurt, this time with a splash of vanilla. I was actually pretty surprised. It wasn’t half bad. It won’t appear on Rachael Ray’s or Martha Stewart’s shows any time in the near future – but it definitely had color and some tiny measure of ~penache~ ……   Penache: a word of French origin that carries the connotation of a flamboyant manner and reckless courage. Yep, the French have loads of ~panache ~…. they have to, after all, they eat escargot.

Upon finishing my little penache-y concoction, I remembered I have a counseling appointment later today. With that amount of fiber and my digestive processes being what they are on my “off” weeks, I will be really lucky if I escape without having any accidental “audibles” during my appointment. If I do, I hope we will observe a standard Dr <–>patient denial clause. In other words, if we don’t acknowledge it, it didn’t happen. I learned this clause during an interesting dental appointment a few years ago. From my dentist. Of course, he had a mask on at the time.  hmmm.  At any rate, I’ve decided what will be, will be. If my body raises some late-arriving objection to the unusual meal, oh well!  I’m in counseling strictly to get my head together. I’m aFreud no one has said anything about my stomach.

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