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Soul petrol

Posted on June 17, 2012 by pencil pilot

Returning home from my daughter’s wedding early last week,  my car nearly coasted in to the gas station on fumes. This was kind of surprising, seeing as how I’m usually a person who fills the tank when it falls below half.

The next day, however, I realized that my personal “gas tank” was as low or lower than this gauge.  I hadn’t anticipated this. I chalked it up to tiredness and figured I’d be fine the following day.

The wedding was wonderful.  My daughter made a very beautiful bride (even if I am biased), and my son in law was as handsome as they come. The venue was breathtaking…the weather was picture perfect. Even her parents’ divorce didn’t dampen the moment. With the ink on our decree less than six months old, my ex husband and I got along very well. All of his siblings came and they were respectful, even inclusive.

I had all three of my children…healthy, happy, and in one place, at one time…our family and friends all gathered together with us. The whole setting was the stuff of dreams…how blessed I was to get to see my daughter’s dreams coming true.

Everything had gone really well. And yet…afterwards… still, here I was, motivation, energy, enthusiasm… all pegged, on “empty.” The grey, the numbness was palpable.

I told myself this was normal. I called a couple friends. I sat down and tried to write out what I was feeling. I tried a funny movie. It wasn’t funny. I tried favorite music; I felt nothing. For a couple days, I indulged in my tried and true carb-laden comfort foods. None of these things worked.

In the end, instead of desperatly continuing to figure a way to fill myself up I, instead, surrendered. I emptied my tank even further, choosing to have a long cry. I can’t tell you why the tears, I just know they were necessary.

My dog gave up her preferred spot to hop up on my bed and glue herself to me, all night. If I opened my eyes, she opened hers, lifted her head slightly and stared at me until I closed them again.

In the morning, I figured I owed her a longer walk. There was a plume of smoke rising, in the distance, from a brush fire.  I sent an ‘arrow prayer’ up that it might be contained quickly. “Wow, the sky is really blue,” flitted across my mind.

Walking. Breathing in slowly…and exhaling slowly. Feeling the warm sun on my arms. Watching my dog excitedly zig zag back and forth on our walk.

There it was. I could almost hear it.   ….the switch.

The ‘little things’ started registering again. The refilling has started.

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A new leash on life, lesson 3

Posted on April 15, 2012 by pencil pilot

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.

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Posted in Appreciation, gratitude, journal, joy rising, life, mindfulness, musings, ocd, pets, random thoughts, Uncategorized, women and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Castle Spice err freshener

Posted on March 26, 2012 by pencil pilot

With Eau de Wet Dawg cologne hanging in the rain laden air,  my “delicious girl cave” has technically smelled a little less than delicious. It’s also been reported a time or two that Callie (my cat), while a fastidious groomer, has some perhaps less-than-delicious scents associated with her occasionally, as well…  The latter data has been submitted from non cat lovers, however, I’m not completely throwing out their observations.  And you’ll be relieved (or astonished, depending on how well you know me) when I report I didn’t throw them out, when they made them. ☺

Over the weekend I decided to improve the air quality of our girl cave. I try to be “green” whenever I can and also try to keep green in my wallet whenever I can… so I absolutely rebelled against spending money to purchase man-made sprays or plug ins designed to give me something that is best described as chemical, intense, and the opposite of their touted “natural” sounding names and promises.  I grabbed a small pot, filled it with water and boiled together the rind from an orange, about a tablespoon of whole cloves and two cinnamon sticks.

An dear old friend ♥ taught me this little homemade remedy years ago and she used to call her concoctions “Castle Spice.”  I was thrilled to realize that since my humble abode is much smaller than a castle ☺ the wonderful, wonderful aroma quickly and awesomely surrounded us almost immediately. So simple. Natural. I had my delicious girl cave back! Afterwards, I refrigerated the royal sounding nectar. I’ll be pulling it out to simmer again as the rains returneth.

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Flee advice from my veterinarian

Posted on March 11, 2012 by pencil pilot

Yes, it’s a pun.

I recently took my dog to her veterinarian for a check up and shots. It didn’t occur to me, until a little later, how apropos his advice about snakes was for my own preservation, not just my dog’s.

With a short and mild winter here, we are rapidly approaching the beginning of rattlesnake season in our region. The warm temps and sunny weather will soon be bringing out not just blossoms and allergies but also snakes, sunning themselves in grassy areas and on warm pavement.

Because my dog walks me I walk my dog, daily, along a nature trail that has some identified rattlesnake areas, I told the vet of my concerns and asked what things I can do to reduce the risk of my dog getting bitten.

He asked me several questions about our walking habits and I explained that I always keep my dog on a leash, although the leash can expand to 12 feet and I normally give her “free dog” roaming capability unless we encounter bikers, runners or other dogs. Still, she sticks mainly to the fringes of the nature area, and I don’t permit her to venture into the underbrush.

He’s familiar with the area and said yes, once spring weather hits, it isn’t uncommon to encounter snakes on occasion.  I felt a little better when he said the chances of my dog getting bitten are reduced because of the fact she isn’t roaming freely off leash and running into high grass chasing after balls, etc.

Then I told him, in addition to the nature area, we also walk in a field near my apartment complex where the wild grass is still low but where there are some gopher holes, etc.  This brought an immediate smile and raised eyebrows and he kind of chuckled and said, “Wellllll, if there are gopher holes, there are gophers. Probably mice and so forth. You have to remember…where there are gophers and mice, there will be snakes around… because that’s what they eat.”

I made a face. My dog loves that field and I dread having to curtail our walks there.  But then my vet offered that nugget of advice that struck such a chord:

“What can I say? If you want to avoid snakes, you’ll want to steer clear of places where there are mice.”

Hmmm. Over the next couple of days, out walking with my dog, I thought about that advice. And one morning, it struck me how truly applicable that pièce de résistance is to my life.  I’ve been repeating it, in one form or another, every day:

If I want to decrease my chances of having to deal with snakes, I need to avoid behaviors that, in any way, make me resemble….a mouse.

* editor’s note:   The term “snake” is not meant to be figuratively interchangeable with or negatively reflective of actual people in my present life circumstances.

Wait a minute.

OK, maybe it is.  ☺

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Showdown at the Not O.K. Corral

Posted on March 5, 2012 by pencil pilot

My dog had a rather full day Friday. She went to the vet and had her heartworm test and various shots. As with a lot of dogs, she expends a lot of energy at the vet’s office. So, the rest of her day, I think Keeva pretty much rested and recuperated. Not that her R&R looked a lot different than any other typical day.

Friday night, around 9:30pm, I was returning a key I had borrowed from a friend. I mentioned taking Keeva out, first, before dropping by and she invited me to bring her with me. This was kind of surprising to me, but it was not an uninformed invitation. She knows Keeva — definitely knows she can be high energy, which I mentioned, again, just so we were all on the same page. I reminded her that, especially in new settings, Keeva doesn’t have a “lower energy” switch that kicks in at 9pm (or 10 or 11…).

But my friend really wanted to see Keeva, which I can understand. She lost her own dog a few years ago and she said, again, how much she misses having a dog around. She also said that one of the foreign exchange students, currently living with their family, is away from and also missing his dog, so it was an easy decision.

So away we go, over to this house full of teenagers…at 10 o’clock at night. Keeva just loved the attention, the huge house, complete with five teenagers with which to roust around, and the back yard to explore. Both Keeva and I had a good visit, both wore ourselves out. [which I can sometimes do, just staying awake past 10pm…]  Time flew and we didn’t wind up leaving to go home until around 11:30pm.

When we got back back home, I was trying to be as quiet as possible, so as not to disturb the young couple (with a dog and a puppy of their own) who live in the apartment below us. Not sure if they were home or not, or awake or not, but it just seems the neighborly thing to do at midnight.

With no warning, in the blink of an eye, something lit up Callie (my cat) and the dog reacted….or, something lit up Keeva and the cat reacted. I have no idea which scenario, or what combination thereof, happened. Even if I could have hit ‘replay’ I don’t know that I could have detected the split second interaction that sent things reeling.

Out of nowhere, Keeva is on the cat, loudly growling and (what appears to be) snapping at her, with Callie rolling around on the carpet, hissing and howling like a bobcat, in her own right. I moved towards them and called out Keeva’s name to stop, reaching out, all in one motion, but I was helpless to get them apart. It continued for just a very few seconds – which felt like minutes.

Callie ran off to the bathroom, hissing non-stop and wedging herself in the corner between the toilet tank and the tub. (which looked as weird as it sounds, writing it) Keeva took one look at my shocked face, lowered her head, went over and curled up on her bed…and stared at me with a half-apologetic “I dunno either?” look on her face.

After a couple minutes, I was successful in un-wedging Callie from her bathroom corner refuge. After a thorough going-over, I could see that she had no broken skin anywhere, no broken bones. I held her in my arms and talked quietly to her, smoothing her fur. She started up the purring machine, after a time, and I took her to her food and water. She had a late night snack and then followed her usual nighttime ritual, heading to my bedroom and curling up on my bed.

I was still in shock and uhhhh mode. As in, “Uhhh, what the…heck…just happened here, and can it happen again?” This was not the first time they have ever had ‘words’… but definitely the most intense and physical. Keeva is, naturally, bigger…however, Callie absolutely has an ornery side and sometimes forgets that ‘small’ detail.

There was no summit to discuss the dust up. There has been no olive branch offering from either party. Saturday morning, Callie was on my bed and I called Keeva to hop up. They looked at one another semi-inquisitively for a few seconds, about 18”  from nose to nose, but each curled up and each remained on her respective side of the bed, mom still under the covers, right in the middle. Callie stayed somewhat in spring-loaded readiness, for a few mintues, but ultimately they both put their heads down and ignored one another.

I love both of my pets. I am protective of both of my pets. Also, I hold each pet accountable for her own behavior when there is a problem in our girl cave.  I was shocked, scared, and tremendously saddened to see their fight.  I was extremely relieved that neither was hurt and grateful to realize the goal was undoubtedly boundary setting rather than injury.

I’ve thought about it several times. I’ve asked myself what *I* can do to keep it from happening again. I don’t have an answer; I don’t know that there is an answer. But there’s one thing that I do know.  Strange as it may sound (and the feeling was stranger, yet), helplessly, painfully watching my pets fighting with one another was, for me, as close as I’ve come to truly understanding how my children felt as they watched their parents going through divorce.

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a new leash on life ~thanks to my dog~

Posted on January 30, 2012 by pencil pilot

I was walking with my dog early this morning. Big whoop, you say? Or I say to myself; it’s so hard to figure out where those voices actually come from…

I began thinking that my life, my post divorce status, is much like my dog’s newfound situation. whoa!  I was present enough to ask myself, is this the writer’s brain at work again? Reaching?

Upon fleshing out the idea, I found there’s actually truth there. My life is like a (my) dog’s life.

My bubbly, all-comforting furry daughter had nearly ten years of living in a ranch style house, complete with a grassy back yard in which to cavort. [sorry, I love that word, cavort. I’m always looking for ways to use it.]

Anyway, she had ten years, her entire life, living in the theoretical lap of luxury. She’s an indoor dog, so it can be said she had the best of both worlds. She had a very large back yard, with few amenities around which to navigate. This is a nice way of saying we made very few improvements to the yard, like a swimming pool or elaborate landscaping. It was, essentially, just a big ol’ grassy (or weed-y) dog run kind of a yard.  In addition, she had a carpeted and climate controlled gigantic ‘doghouse’ – decorated with human furniture like sofas, oversized chairs, beds…all of which she was free to climb up on, even encouraged to climb up on, any time.

In moving to this delicious girl cave (aka a smaller apartment) with me, my dog has had her environment changed, her domain severely reduced. I have faced this reality, usually while climbing up or down my stairs, too many times to number and have suffered accompanying guilt pangs each and every time.  How does one take a Labrador retriever, accustomed to a big back yard, and confine her in an apartment? An apartment where, heaven forbid! she’s even supposed to be quiet for 97% of her day? How is this fair? How can she not be negatively affected?

And yet, she thrives.

How can this be so? She no longer has the luxury and freedom of a grassy fenced yard. She no longer can race down a long hallway from bedroom to family room, and, barking up a storm, haul ass back again.

And yet, she thrives. THRIVES.

Aside from smaller digs, another new reality is we walk at least 15 minutes each morning. We take other, shorter, quickie potty breaks, (for her, not me) of course. But we walk, at least 15 minutes each morning. Every morning. Wind, rain, 28 degrees?… we walk. Weekends, longer.

Outside the girl cave, the complex has multiple grassy areas. And we are very blessed to be situated near a nature path. Beyond one of the manicured grassy areas in the complex, there is a large empty field, complete with gopher holes, snake holes and who-knows-what-kind-of-hole holes. This is what’s known as Dog Heaven.

The scents and scenery change daily. Probably hourly. So each and every time we go walking, my pup has a veritable smorgasbord of new things to check out. She can barely contain herself. She has her nose to the pathways, sidewalks. She lifts her head and just stands, for several minutes, taking in the scents wafting in the air. [wafting is another favorite word I try to throw in as often as possible]. She notices the birds, ahead, in the distance. Her attention immediately zeroes in on any other dog who, like herself, is out walking his or her master.  She watches all the activity around the complex with the intensity of a kid playing a video game. Or my Wuzband playing World of Warcraft. Yes, I mean that kind of passion.

She l-o-v-e-s the daily walk.

She no longer has the luxury of a big back yard. But she’s gained other things, things she is loving just as much, or more. We are both beginning to understand, and even appreciate, the changes to our lives.

We are thriving. ♥

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