I don't do new. I like old furniture, old husbands and old habits. I go out of my way to plan my spontaneity very carefully. I like to carve out a comfortable little rut for myself and stay right inside of it. That's just how I feel most satisfied. This is especially true when it comes to my holiday celebrations. Tradition is very important to me. Every year I rely on the same old recipes, lean towards the same decoration placement and listen to the same Christmas music. It gives me a sense of history and warmth knowing that each year will be a version of the same. But last year, five days before Christmas, the rock of my life - my grandmother - passed away. That threw a big old wrench into my holiday wheel.
So today, for the second time in two months I find myself visiting family in Tennessee. Very generously, my parents arranged a vacation so that our family could be all together on Christmas. I am officially WAY outside of my comfort zone. I'm in a new place, with new smells, new food, and most importantly....new accents. And of course, in anticipation of the visit I approached things with the restraint and sensitivity that have come to be my hallmark (bwahahaha). My preparation for this trip consisted of making minimally fourteen jokes per day about hillbillies, banjo players and people with dental 'defficiencies'. When we got on the plane yesterday I started singing (about four keys away from anything resembling a tune and with an intentionally exaggerated twang) the Alabama lyrics 'a tender Tennessee Christmas is the only Christmas for me....'. Needless to say, that went over like a lead balloon with my mom.
But now it's time to admit that it was all a ruse. I am excited about this opportunity. I am thrilled to see my family. I am giddy about the potential for snow on Christmas. I am thankful for the blessing that came from tragedy (if grandma hadn't passed away last year none of this would be possible). So thank you Lord for knowing the plan; For making it better than anything we could imagine; And for using tough times in our lives to show us that, not only do you love us, but that Christmas means so much more than the comforts of our traditions.
Remember: If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a boring holiday. Merry Christmas to you and yours.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Sneak
Twas the night before Christmas, when I left for the store
and heard Copper asleep on the couch, with a snore.
I placed treats out for guests, on the table with care,
I’d be gone for a few. But they should be safe there.
Perhaps I should take him? No, I’ll leave him instead.
And I’d no sooner gone, then he’d raised up his head.
Never dreamed he’d do damage before I got back.
But that nose woke him up, led him straight to the snack.
Out of reach was the tray, but that didn’t matter.
He sprang from the couch and it caused quite a clatter.
His leap was too great. That pup slid like a flash.
Skidded ‘cross the table. Hit the plate; what a crash.
The carpet now covered with new-fallen treats
Made it easy for Copper to get at the eats.
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a platter of caramel foil covered reindeer.
With a little old trick, and a scamper up quick,
Those reindeer were gone in as much as a lick.
Yet more goodies waited. Some were found on the shelf.
He devoured them. It’s Christmas. Why not help himself?
"Now Hershey! now, Reeses! now, Nestle and See’s!
Candy canes! Nut clusters…anything please!
From friends’ kitchens or stores that are found in the mall
Now eat ‘em up, eat ‘em up, eat ‘em up all!
As dry heaves came and went, with wild eyes he did spy,
that yummies were sitting up high in the sky.
Though forty pounds heavy, it seemed that he flew,
to the top of the bookshelf, quite nimbly too.
And there red and green M&Ms in a bowl
became some of the next type of sweet that he stole.
He swallowed them quickly. With a hop turned around.
And from six feet up down he came with a bound.
His coat was still clean, from his head to his foot,
But his muzzle, from chocolate, looked covered with soot.
And the scene was left clean. Not one mess did he make.
Nor was there trace evidence left in his wake.
His eyes were glazed over, in near coma from candy.
At times he acts dense but those smarts come in handy!
He had a sweet face and a stout little belly
That dragged when he walked. And boy was he smelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
A sharp, impish dog who was proud of himself!
Familiar sounds came, raised his ears on his head.
As I pulled in the drive, he was soon filled with dread.
A last glance at the scene, oh so proud of his work,
While I came through the door, pushed it closed with a jerk.
He sprang to couch, laid his head on a pillow,
and fooled me. I praised him, that crafty ole fellow.
When I peered through the house I was fooled by his ploy,
"Aww, he’s still asleep. Why he’s such a good boy.”
My hands filled with bags, off to put them away.
Then I paused…didn’t I leave some treats on that tray?
and heard Copper asleep on the couch, with a snore.
I placed treats out for guests, on the table with care,
I’d be gone for a few. But they should be safe there.
Perhaps I should take him? No, I’ll leave him instead.
And I’d no sooner gone, then he’d raised up his head.
Never dreamed he’d do damage before I got back.
But that nose woke him up, led him straight to the snack.
Out of reach was the tray, but that didn’t matter.
He sprang from the couch and it caused quite a clatter.
His leap was too great. That pup slid like a flash.
Skidded ‘cross the table. Hit the plate; what a crash.
The carpet now covered with new-fallen treats
Made it easy for Copper to get at the eats.
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a platter of caramel foil covered reindeer.
With a little old trick, and a scamper up quick,
Those reindeer were gone in as much as a lick.
Yet more goodies waited. Some were found on the shelf.
He devoured them. It’s Christmas. Why not help himself?
"Now Hershey! now, Reeses! now, Nestle and See’s!
Candy canes! Nut clusters…anything please!
From friends’ kitchens or stores that are found in the mall
Now eat ‘em up, eat ‘em up, eat ‘em up all!
As dry heaves came and went, with wild eyes he did spy,
that yummies were sitting up high in the sky.
Though forty pounds heavy, it seemed that he flew,
to the top of the bookshelf, quite nimbly too.
And there red and green M&Ms in a bowl
became some of the next type of sweet that he stole.
He swallowed them quickly. With a hop turned around.
And from six feet up down he came with a bound.
His coat was still clean, from his head to his foot,
But his muzzle, from chocolate, looked covered with soot.
And the scene was left clean. Not one mess did he make.
Nor was there trace evidence left in his wake.
His eyes were glazed over, in near coma from candy.
At times he acts dense but those smarts come in handy!
He had a sweet face and a stout little belly
That dragged when he walked. And boy was he smelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
A sharp, impish dog who was proud of himself!
Familiar sounds came, raised his ears on his head.
As I pulled in the drive, he was soon filled with dread.
A last glance at the scene, oh so proud of his work,
While I came through the door, pushed it closed with a jerk.
He sprang to couch, laid his head on a pillow,
and fooled me. I praised him, that crafty ole fellow.
When I peered through the house I was fooled by his ploy,
"Aww, he’s still asleep. Why he’s such a good boy.”
My hands filled with bags, off to put them away.
Then I paused…didn’t I leave some treats on that tray?
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Just as good as football
Well, I got my wish. My daughter is a full fledged dance junkie. I find myself reliving my memories through her and I love it. From the moment I walked her into the studio and was hit with the fond smell of broken in leather and hair spray I have been nothing but thrilled to see my childhood through her eyes as she is now establishing many of the same memories for herself.
And tonight marks a milestone in our combined experience. Tonight we will walk through the backstage doors for her first ever Nutcracker performance. I spent many, many, MANY hours on a Nutcracker stage (six performances a year for sixteen years..although, I have to admit that it kind of scarred me for a while. You know those stories that you hear about war vets who freak out when they hear the sound of helicopters? It's reminiscent of that). Tonight I will be on the flip side of things. Tonight I get to play hair and makeup mistress to my daughter. Tonight I get to wait backstage and watch her perform her heart out. Tonight I get to give her a flower as she takes her bow. After all the years of being the one in the spotlight, tonight I will have the honor of waiting in the wings and watching my little girl shine.....pink, sparkles, and all. Good luck princess.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
If I had to choose, I would say that my favorite activity of the Christmas season is unwrapping all of the ornaments in preparation for decorating the trees. (Yes, I said trees...8 of them to be exact...sigh). There is something nostalgic about unwrapping the carefully packed pieces. Something about gently unfolding the tissue paper that has cradled a special ornament for the past year evokes the excitement and anticipation that I felt as a child unwrapping a gift. And as each ornament is revealed, so is a memory. Perhaps I am overly sentimental but I have very dear memories about most of my ornaments. Some are old, some are new. Some are handmade, some are store bought. But, they all hold a very special place in my heart.
There are many nominees for favorite. My 'NOEL' balls remind me of Aunt Mildred and Uncle Jim (they were always in place, front and center on their tree). I have several ceramic pieces that were cast and painted by my super talented Aunt Nettie. Many an ornament comes from my dancing days and are 'Nutcracker' themed. Then we have my silver ornaments (given to me over years and years by everyone in the family). And, of course, my Lenox ornaments (each and every one from Grandma....those are even more special now). But if I had to choose one....just one....as my very favorite, it would be the porcelain bell with Santa kneeling and praying before the baby Jesus.
This ornament reigns as favorite year after year for several reasons. First, because it was an ornament that I inherited from Grandma. Second, because it was given to her by her closest friend Janet. But most of all it is my favorite because I believe that is a fabulous and succinct display of how we should celebrate this incredible holiday season. As cliche as it has come to sound, Jesus is the reason for the season. And I am a Christian who celebrates as such. And, in addition (not substitution) my daughter has been raised to believe in the magic that is Santa Claus. I don't see why being a Christian must be mutually exclusive with Santa Claus. It's all about keeping things in perspective and in their proper place. How does leaving out some cookies threaten a belief in the Saviour? Why does a visit to the man in red minimize the babe in the manger? If your faith is threatened by the whimsy and fantasy of the north pole, then you have a much more serious issue to deal with than ole St. Nick. Is Jesus what is most important at Christmas time? Absolutely. So to that end we read the Christmas story from our Bible each night of December and my daughter's favorite Christmas carol is 'Joy to the World'. But we also get a visit from Santa at our party every year and we leave out cookies (good ones, too) for Santa and carrots for the Reindeer each Christmas Eve. And, if ever I feel my perspective getting a bit out of whack I take a stroll over to my tree and I gaze upon the man in red kneeling before the Lord.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Prince or Pyro?
For me, a fireplace is a must. Gotta have one. There is nothing quite as lovely as sitting on the couch, cuddled in a blanket, reading or watching while the fireplace is ablaze. It is nearly a complete sensory experience. Smelling the smoke, listening to the crackle, watching the flames dance, feeling the warmth. Love it. Luckily I married a man who also appreciates a nice fire and as a result, as soon as the temperature drops, we crank up the fireplace.
Now, I am connoisseur of the fireplace fire, but my husband is a fire purist. Seriously, sometimes I think he's a little crazy. There are no gas lines for him. No four hour burning logs. No faux fire that you make appear with the touch of a switch. No...for him, the act of creating a fire is a complete, almost religious experience.
It all begins the previous year. As our pine trees drop their needles (which most people mow up and toss away) Joel is out there raking piles and storing them for kindling. Next comes the treks up the mountains to hunt and gather downed wood. It's just him and his tools (radio, chainsaw, gloves and the trusty Bear Grylls survival kit - a leatherman and flint). He goes up alone and comes home with a truck bed full of wood. This process is repeated several times.
Next comes what I believe is his favorite part: the chopping of the wood. It's quite a sight to behold. He gets out there with this bright yellow ear plugs and his Mark Knoffler headband and he's ready to go. There is a whole, elaborate set up. An axe and a sledge, several wedges, a brick lined area for the wood to rest during splitting, large piece of wood to act as a rise, covered nook for stacking. It's the most (only) organized thing that he does. For hours upon hours you can hear the sound of the axe falling deeply into the wood....the sound of the sledge driving the wedge, splitting the logs. He's like a combination of Ron Reagan, Abe Lincoln and Paul Bunyan. Except Paul Bunyan had Babe the Blue Ox to keep him company. Joel just has Copper the Dimwitted Dachshund.
After weeks of preparation and hard work we have enough wood to satisfy our desire for the cheapest form of entertainment in which we partake. During the winter we have fires nearly every night and I love it. And it's all because my crazy, hardworking husband refuses to go to a gym. Why do endless reps with a barbell when you can just be a modern day mountain man? Thank you Joel for your wood.
Now, I am connoisseur of the fireplace fire, but my husband is a fire purist. Seriously, sometimes I think he's a little crazy. There are no gas lines for him. No four hour burning logs. No faux fire that you make appear with the touch of a switch. No...for him, the act of creating a fire is a complete, almost religious experience.
It all begins the previous year. As our pine trees drop their needles (which most people mow up and toss away) Joel is out there raking piles and storing them for kindling. Next comes the treks up the mountains to hunt and gather downed wood. It's just him and his tools (radio, chainsaw, gloves and the trusty Bear Grylls survival kit - a leatherman and flint). He goes up alone and comes home with a truck bed full of wood. This process is repeated several times.
Next comes what I believe is his favorite part: the chopping of the wood. It's quite a sight to behold. He gets out there with this bright yellow ear plugs and his Mark Knoffler headband and he's ready to go. There is a whole, elaborate set up. An axe and a sledge, several wedges, a brick lined area for the wood to rest during splitting, large piece of wood to act as a rise, covered nook for stacking. It's the most (only) organized thing that he does. For hours upon hours you can hear the sound of the axe falling deeply into the wood....the sound of the sledge driving the wedge, splitting the logs. He's like a combination of Ron Reagan, Abe Lincoln and Paul Bunyan. Except Paul Bunyan had Babe the Blue Ox to keep him company. Joel just has Copper the Dimwitted Dachshund.
After weeks of preparation and hard work we have enough wood to satisfy our desire for the cheapest form of entertainment in which we partake. During the winter we have fires nearly every night and I love it. And it's all because my crazy, hardworking husband refuses to go to a gym. Why do endless reps with a barbell when you can just be a modern day mountain man? Thank you Joel for your wood.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Who wears lipstick to the gym?
Went to the gym today. I went, as I always do, in workout attire; some black stretch pants and a t-shirt (this is essentially my uniform for life. Black pants, U of R shirt). My hair was tied in a knot and since I was going to be working out and soon to be drenched like a sweaty beast, I didn't see the need to touch up my left over make-up before I went. After all, I'm going to the gym to workout, not to make a fashion statement (That's what the rest of my life is for. I'm SUPER stylish----please take note of the sarcasm). And I assume that everyone who is going to the gym has the same mindset. Couldn't be more wrong.
I've gathered from my observations, made during hours spent walking my way to nowhere on the treadmill, that there are three types of people who frequent the gym. Each group has it's own look, style and characteristics, much like the cliques found in a high school quad. I fall into group one. We're the fatties who have found our way into the gym, perhaps by mistake (those strip mall doors all look alike....mirrored so you can't see what's inside. You mean this isn't the frozen yogurt place?) but now that we're here, we are committed to working hard and getting healthy. We're the ones who are hanging off of the elliptical, red faced and sweaty, appearing to be seconds from a heart attack. We don't have the latest workout gear or the fancy shoes, but we're there....slightly intimidated my the crazy contraptions some call weight machines, but we're there nonetheless.
Group two is made up of former members of group one. These are the people who have worked hard and it shows. They are toned, running with ease and getting in a great workout. Their clothes are legitimate workout attire, not just some old cut off sweats, and they have shoes that keep them from pronating. They are friendly, helpful and I am inspired by their work ethic. You can tell that it's hard work, but oh so worth the effort. I like these people. They are who I aspire to be.
Then we come to group three. Ahh, group three. You know them. Hopefully you AREN'T them. Group three are the size zero girls with the watermelon breasts (oops, you mean my shoes don't match?) and the fake tans, who you can tell have obviously gone to great pains to prepare themselves for their 'workout'. They've showered, carefully selected an adorable outfit and spent far too long on their hair and makeup than anyone should who's destination is a gym. Group three are the huge, greasy dudes in the free weight section who are yelling at each other to get in 'one more baby....one more!' They're the ones who must rub up against the machines when their backs itch because they can't get their morbidly over sized arms to bend far enough to reach the spot (it's very reminiscent of the gorillas on the Discovery channel. Maybe I'll put down my People magazine and watch these guys for a while). Group three doesn't actually do much working out at the gym. There is a lot of walking back and forth between the machines and using of the mirrors to check themselves out from all angles. Group three pisses me off. They are who I hope to fall on after I clutch my chest and go flying off of the treadmill.
I've gathered from my observations, made during hours spent walking my way to nowhere on the treadmill, that there are three types of people who frequent the gym. Each group has it's own look, style and characteristics, much like the cliques found in a high school quad. I fall into group one. We're the fatties who have found our way into the gym, perhaps by mistake (those strip mall doors all look alike....mirrored so you can't see what's inside. You mean this isn't the frozen yogurt place?) but now that we're here, we are committed to working hard and getting healthy. We're the ones who are hanging off of the elliptical, red faced and sweaty, appearing to be seconds from a heart attack. We don't have the latest workout gear or the fancy shoes, but we're there....slightly intimidated my the crazy contraptions some call weight machines, but we're there nonetheless.
Group two is made up of former members of group one. These are the people who have worked hard and it shows. They are toned, running with ease and getting in a great workout. Their clothes are legitimate workout attire, not just some old cut off sweats, and they have shoes that keep them from pronating. They are friendly, helpful and I am inspired by their work ethic. You can tell that it's hard work, but oh so worth the effort. I like these people. They are who I aspire to be.
Then we come to group three. Ahh, group three. You know them. Hopefully you AREN'T them. Group three are the size zero girls with the watermelon breasts (oops, you mean my shoes don't match?) and the fake tans, who you can tell have obviously gone to great pains to prepare themselves for their 'workout'. They've showered, carefully selected an adorable outfit and spent far too long on their hair and makeup than anyone should who's destination is a gym. Group three are the huge, greasy dudes in the free weight section who are yelling at each other to get in 'one more baby....one more!' They're the ones who must rub up against the machines when their backs itch because they can't get their morbidly over sized arms to bend far enough to reach the spot (it's very reminiscent of the gorillas on the Discovery channel. Maybe I'll put down my People magazine and watch these guys for a while). Group three doesn't actually do much working out at the gym. There is a lot of walking back and forth between the machines and using of the mirrors to check themselves out from all angles. Group three pisses me off. They are who I hope to fall on after I clutch my chest and go flying off of the treadmill.
Monday, August 9, 2010
A fat kid visits the gym.
I love food. Everything about it. The way it looks, the way it smells, cooking, eating......love it. This is not a good thing when combined with my addictive personality. Some people struggle with alcohol or cigarettes. I struggle with the overwhelming lure of the Sausage McMuffin.....or three Sausage McMuffins to be exact. And possibly a hash brown or two. (Seriously, do they put crack in that stuff because they are irresistible to me on every level.) And I'm no better than the junkie laying in the street. I crave them. I can literally taste them in my mouth every morning as I make the drive to score my daily fix. If I don't have any money, I start digging under the couch cushions in order to scrape up enough cash for at least one of the delicious treats.
Then you throw into the mix the fact that I have copious deficits of will power. Sometimes I'll be okay. Sometimes I'll make the trek to the drive in and purchase just one McMuffin (okay, it's never less than two. I mean, who are we kidding?). But with almost total certainty I'll make a second trip that day and get two more. Does it count as four if you eat them two at a time, twice a day (I was never very good at math)? I'm terrible and I know it....clap your hands.
Way back in the 1900's, circa the time of Ace of Base and Alanis Morrisette, I was a gym rat. I loved to work out and it showed. I had always been a dancer, so I had that great dancers body, made even better by the sculpting of weight lifting. But eventually you get a life and six days in the gym turns to four. And four turns to two and eventually I was only driving by the gym on my way to the doughnut shop. Although, I'd always be sure to wave my chocolaty fingers at the people inside (those poor people....don't they know how much better it is on the other side? The first one is free...). I was okay for a while because I was still pretty active. I was coaching and choreographing and taking care of my grandmother; all things that kept me in shape.
But lately I've noticed a recurring problem that I find quite unsettling. When I picture myself in my mind I look the way I did when I got married ten years ago. Then I walk past a mirror and think 'who's that fat chick'? Oh wait, it's me! Not good. I've turned into the cliche fat cheer coach. Definitely not good. Ok, time to do something about this. So on that note this morning I got my fat butt out of bed, drove my fat butt to the gym and hoisted my fat but onto the treadmill. I'm determined to look better and feel better and to have the vision in my mind match the reflection in the mirror. So it's off to the gym 5 days a week and no more McDonald's.....okay, maybe just one....two. Definitely no more than two.....per day.....dammit.
Then you throw into the mix the fact that I have copious deficits of will power. Sometimes I'll be okay. Sometimes I'll make the trek to the drive in and purchase just one McMuffin (okay, it's never less than two. I mean, who are we kidding?). But with almost total certainty I'll make a second trip that day and get two more. Does it count as four if you eat them two at a time, twice a day (I was never very good at math)? I'm terrible and I know it....clap your hands.
Way back in the 1900's, circa the time of Ace of Base and Alanis Morrisette, I was a gym rat. I loved to work out and it showed. I had always been a dancer, so I had that great dancers body, made even better by the sculpting of weight lifting. But eventually you get a life and six days in the gym turns to four. And four turns to two and eventually I was only driving by the gym on my way to the doughnut shop. Although, I'd always be sure to wave my chocolaty fingers at the people inside (those poor people....don't they know how much better it is on the other side? The first one is free...). I was okay for a while because I was still pretty active. I was coaching and choreographing and taking care of my grandmother; all things that kept me in shape.
But lately I've noticed a recurring problem that I find quite unsettling. When I picture myself in my mind I look the way I did when I got married ten years ago. Then I walk past a mirror and think 'who's that fat chick'? Oh wait, it's me! Not good. I've turned into the cliche fat cheer coach. Definitely not good. Ok, time to do something about this. So on that note this morning I got my fat butt out of bed, drove my fat butt to the gym and hoisted my fat but onto the treadmill. I'm determined to look better and feel better and to have the vision in my mind match the reflection in the mirror. So it's off to the gym 5 days a week and no more McDonald's.....okay, maybe just one....two. Definitely no more than two.....per day.....dammit.
 |
| Before pic (soon to be 'again' pic) |
Waaaaay, back in the day.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Sunday Blessings
Every Sunday I like to post a few things for which I am grateful.
- Family. What would we do without them?
- My puppy dog Peaches. 17 years old and going strong.
- The simple pleasure that is listening to and watching Joel and the babygirl camping out in the backyard.
- Books.
- A remarkably cool summer.
- The sense of peace that is derived from knowing God is in control.
Friday, August 6, 2010
A harrowing experience.
We descend the steps and place our things on an adjacent surface. Something catches his eye. The ground below our feet is hot but he is not phased as his swift pace keeps him from feeling the heat. As I proceed he darts back and forth, always a few steps ahead. I've decided that in spite of his warnings, his frantic warnings, that I must reach out and take hold of this perceived threat. My arm is nearly fully extended, my hand just about to touch what is hanging from the wall, when suddenly he crashes into my legs throwing me off balance. I let out a frustrated cry. "Relax. It'll be okay" I yell.
After what seems to be an inordinate amount of time I finally posses what is wreaking such havoc in the mind of my companion. I don't understand his apprehension. Why does this thing, this inanimate object create such a frenzy? It's merely a tool. But not to him. To see it through his eyes it is a dangerous nemesis; something that must be conquered sooner rather than later.
As I make my way his anticipation grows with each passing second. He tries desperately to knock it out of my hands. All the while letting out terrible ear piercing hollers. It's become a dance. He leans in, I step back. I step aside, he lunges across me. He's begun to circle me now in the hopes of...I don't know what? Frustrate me? Cause me to fall to the ground thus loosening my grip and allowing him to finally prove his dominance over this terrible foe?
I am vigilant. I must continue with my quest or our trip will be for naught. As I proceed, my friend has begrudgingly resigned himself to the position of usher. He guides me through the process with fast paced breath and a heart rate in the hundreds. It is almost finished. Soon we will be able to partake of the refreshing experience that has brought us here today. With one final stroke of the hand my job is complete. But there is no time to celebrate. I must still make way to return this tool. My friend senses that we are nearing the end and knows these moments mark his last chance for success. I move quickly hoping to end this confusing and difficult incident; understanding but not accepting the fact that it's actually not an incident but a horrible, horrible pattern and all will be repeated tomorrow
I've managed to take the lead and am in sight of my destination; my protector is circling me once again in a last desperate attempt to seek and destroy. But alas, I have won......
I've managed to replace the pool skimmer on the wall without Copper chewing it to bits. He runs full force at the wall and leaps through the air with all his might. Once he pounces off the wall and lands back on the deck he glares at the cleaning apparatus.
"Some day" he seems to say. "Some day I'll get you pool skimmer."
After what seems to be an inordinate amount of time I finally posses what is wreaking such havoc in the mind of my companion. I don't understand his apprehension. Why does this thing, this inanimate object create such a frenzy? It's merely a tool. But not to him. To see it through his eyes it is a dangerous nemesis; something that must be conquered sooner rather than later.
As I make my way his anticipation grows with each passing second. He tries desperately to knock it out of my hands. All the while letting out terrible ear piercing hollers. It's become a dance. He leans in, I step back. I step aside, he lunges across me. He's begun to circle me now in the hopes of...I don't know what? Frustrate me? Cause me to fall to the ground thus loosening my grip and allowing him to finally prove his dominance over this terrible foe?
I am vigilant. I must continue with my quest or our trip will be for naught. As I proceed, my friend has begrudgingly resigned himself to the position of usher. He guides me through the process with fast paced breath and a heart rate in the hundreds. It is almost finished. Soon we will be able to partake of the refreshing experience that has brought us here today. With one final stroke of the hand my job is complete. But there is no time to celebrate. I must still make way to return this tool. My friend senses that we are nearing the end and knows these moments mark his last chance for success. I move quickly hoping to end this confusing and difficult incident; understanding but not accepting the fact that it's actually not an incident but a horrible, horrible pattern and all will be repeated tomorrow
I've managed to take the lead and am in sight of my destination; my protector is circling me once again in a last desperate attempt to seek and destroy. But alas, I have won......
I've managed to replace the pool skimmer on the wall without Copper chewing it to bits. He runs full force at the wall and leaps through the air with all his might. Once he pounces off the wall and lands back on the deck he glares at the cleaning apparatus.
"Some day" he seems to say. "Some day I'll get you pool skimmer."
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
My address to the Yucaipa City Council
This evening I had the opportunity to speak to our city council regarding the numerous attacks by Pitt Bulls in our community. Here is what I said:
Thank you to the City Council for allowing me the opportunity to speak this evening. I am here to speak on behalf of my mother. She and her dog were the victims of an attack by two American Staffordshire Terriers, more commonly know as Pitt Bulls, on February 1st here in Yucaipa. As a result of this attack my mother has been suffering not only from physical ramifications such as heart palpitations but also anxiety and a tendency to be suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, thus my being her tonight.
The morning of the attack my mom was taking her daily walk with her dog Maggie. It’s important to note that she was doing this in compliance with all of our laws and city ordinance; Maggie has had her shots, is licensed and was on a leash. After rounding the corner of our block she saw the two dogs running up the street erratically. In the time it took her to make a decision as to how to proceed, the Pitt Bulls had descended upon them, knocking both my mother and her dog (a 105 lb Bernese Mountain Dog) down into the gutter, pinning them to the ground on their backs. My mother was able so scramble to her feet and scream for help, which arrived in the form of several neighbors. Two of whom were pummeling the violent animals with baseball bats, to no avail. At the behest of another neighbor who had arrived on the scene, my mother and Maggie were able to scramble into the woman’s van, thereby ending the attack. My mother was taken to the hospital in an ambulance and I took Maggie to the vet. With the aide of time, medication and countless trips to doctors they are thankfully on the road to recovery.
My greater concern as a member of the community was the manner in which this incident was handled by our local Sheriffs Department and Animal Control. By the time the Sheriff and Animal Control arrived on the scene my mother was already en route to the hospital, leaving them only able to speak with the owners of the animals. No neighbors or witnesses were interviewed or even contacted. We had to call the Sheriff in order to file a report only to have them tell us that this was under the jurisdiction of Animal Control. My mother was not contacted by Animal Control to give her statement until the following day after I called and spoke with a Lt. Brawly. They did not seek her out. They did not follow up on their own. They did not dispatch an officer to get her side of the story and take a report from the victim until ‘a concerned neighbor’ called to complain. Please tell me how this procedure expedites justice? Had I not called to question why the dogs had been left in home quarantine she would never have been contacted. I find that very curious and question, is it not the responsibility of Animal Control to seek out and correctly document information regarding incidents like these?
To that end, I further question a department who makes the determination to leave two vicious animals in the home from which they escaped to maul, especially when that home is thirty feet from an elementary school. Once again, no action was taken on the part of Animal Control to remove these animals from the home until my father made fliers regarding their proximity to the school and dispersed them to the unknowing parents. Between that campaign generating 77 calls to their office and my speaking with Lt. Brawly, the animals were removed from the property for the remainder of the quarantine period and ultimately destroyed.
When an officer was finally dispatched to speak with my mother, the officer was rude and abrupt as though we were inconveniencing her by asking her to follow up properly and take a report; A report which she accounted far too briefly and very inaccurately. And the salt in the 50 bite wounds was that when we finally received a copy of the official incident report the attack was listed as a provoked attack. Provoked. Implying that somehow my mother caused this to happen. She called to question this hoping that it was simply a clerical error and found that per Animal Control policy, if you ‘interfere’ in any way with the attack by trying to defend yourself or your animal then they list it as a provoked attack. I find this sickening and offensive. This was a completely innocent, law abiding woman taking a stroll with her dog getting brutally violated and repeatedly torn into by two out of control beasts. I hope that by bringing this to light we can put pressure on the Department of Animal Control to do the job that we pay them to do, to protect our community from violent animals.
Prior to this incident I was neither a proponent nor a critic of Pitt Bulls. I have subsequently taken a firm footed stance against this breed. DogsBite.org just released a 3 year Fatality Study citing that between January 2006 and December 2008 that 19 dog breeds contributed to 88 fatalities. Pit bulls accounted for 59% of these deaths. That was just fatalities, and just of people. This didn’t even take into account the deaths of beloved pets. This is a frightening breed.
• Owners and lovers of Pitt Bulls will tell you that not all Pitts are vicious.
I would argue that not all Pitts have been vicious….YET. Every breed of dog has certain inherent tendencies, innate characteristics which make it unique, and unfortunately Pitt Bulls have been bred for strength, aggression and fighting. They are ticking time bombs waiting to go off and when they do the results are scary, painful, and often catastrophic. Just as a Labrador was bred to retrieve, the breeds that encompass the title of Pitt Bull were bred to seek and destroy. That is hardwired into their brains and not always something that can be overcome with training. If you are one of the people who say that you have had Pitts in your home who were loving and kind, I suggest that you were lucky.
• Owners and lovers of Pitt Bulls will tell you that it is bad owners that make bad dogs.
To a certain degree this is true. Yes, an irresponsible owner can treat the gentlest of breeds in such a way that they will become mean and aggressive. And yes, many people who own Pitt Bull are bad people who treat their animals badly. But that is not always the case when these animals attack. It wasn’t the case in my mother’s attack. The Pitt Bulls that attacked her and her dog (causing over 50 puncture wounds) were well cared for, well loved family pets. They were treated with respect and were well maintained although they were not licensed. Until the morning of the attack they had shown no signs of aggression. Quite simply, for an unknown reason, those dogs had something triggered in their brains and they reverted to the most primal of forms…that of killing machines.
In the case of Mr. Greene being heard tonight we have a victim of an animal who had attacked previously. Unfortunately, we cannot count on or legislate people to be responsible pet owners. We cannot expect a dog who was bred for violence can be loved enough to override the hardwiring of their brains. We cannot trust Animal Control to properly and accurately account and follow up when incidents occur. Perhaps then, the safest thing for our community would be to ban these animals so that next time it isn’t you, your pet, or God forbid like in the case in Fontana, your child that is victimized by these predators and their ignorant owners. If something is established to be a potential threat then our due diligence as a community would be to remove that threat.
Thank you to the City Council for allowing me the opportunity to speak this evening. I am here to speak on behalf of my mother. She and her dog were the victims of an attack by two American Staffordshire Terriers, more commonly know as Pitt Bulls, on February 1st here in Yucaipa. As a result of this attack my mother has been suffering not only from physical ramifications such as heart palpitations but also anxiety and a tendency to be suddenly overwhelmed by emotion, thus my being her tonight.
The morning of the attack my mom was taking her daily walk with her dog Maggie. It’s important to note that she was doing this in compliance with all of our laws and city ordinance; Maggie has had her shots, is licensed and was on a leash. After rounding the corner of our block she saw the two dogs running up the street erratically. In the time it took her to make a decision as to how to proceed, the Pitt Bulls had descended upon them, knocking both my mother and her dog (a 105 lb Bernese Mountain Dog) down into the gutter, pinning them to the ground on their backs. My mother was able so scramble to her feet and scream for help, which arrived in the form of several neighbors. Two of whom were pummeling the violent animals with baseball bats, to no avail. At the behest of another neighbor who had arrived on the scene, my mother and Maggie were able to scramble into the woman’s van, thereby ending the attack. My mother was taken to the hospital in an ambulance and I took Maggie to the vet. With the aide of time, medication and countless trips to doctors they are thankfully on the road to recovery.
My greater concern as a member of the community was the manner in which this incident was handled by our local Sheriffs Department and Animal Control. By the time the Sheriff and Animal Control arrived on the scene my mother was already en route to the hospital, leaving them only able to speak with the owners of the animals. No neighbors or witnesses were interviewed or even contacted. We had to call the Sheriff in order to file a report only to have them tell us that this was under the jurisdiction of Animal Control. My mother was not contacted by Animal Control to give her statement until the following day after I called and spoke with a Lt. Brawly. They did not seek her out. They did not follow up on their own. They did not dispatch an officer to get her side of the story and take a report from the victim until ‘a concerned neighbor’ called to complain. Please tell me how this procedure expedites justice? Had I not called to question why the dogs had been left in home quarantine she would never have been contacted. I find that very curious and question, is it not the responsibility of Animal Control to seek out and correctly document information regarding incidents like these?
To that end, I further question a department who makes the determination to leave two vicious animals in the home from which they escaped to maul, especially when that home is thirty feet from an elementary school. Once again, no action was taken on the part of Animal Control to remove these animals from the home until my father made fliers regarding their proximity to the school and dispersed them to the unknowing parents. Between that campaign generating 77 calls to their office and my speaking with Lt. Brawly, the animals were removed from the property for the remainder of the quarantine period and ultimately destroyed.
When an officer was finally dispatched to speak with my mother, the officer was rude and abrupt as though we were inconveniencing her by asking her to follow up properly and take a report; A report which she accounted far too briefly and very inaccurately. And the salt in the 50 bite wounds was that when we finally received a copy of the official incident report the attack was listed as a provoked attack. Provoked. Implying that somehow my mother caused this to happen. She called to question this hoping that it was simply a clerical error and found that per Animal Control policy, if you ‘interfere’ in any way with the attack by trying to defend yourself or your animal then they list it as a provoked attack. I find this sickening and offensive. This was a completely innocent, law abiding woman taking a stroll with her dog getting brutally violated and repeatedly torn into by two out of control beasts. I hope that by bringing this to light we can put pressure on the Department of Animal Control to do the job that we pay them to do, to protect our community from violent animals.
Prior to this incident I was neither a proponent nor a critic of Pitt Bulls. I have subsequently taken a firm footed stance against this breed. DogsBite.org just released a 3 year Fatality Study citing that between January 2006 and December 2008 that 19 dog breeds contributed to 88 fatalities. Pit bulls accounted for 59% of these deaths. That was just fatalities, and just of people. This didn’t even take into account the deaths of beloved pets. This is a frightening breed.
• Owners and lovers of Pitt Bulls will tell you that not all Pitts are vicious.
I would argue that not all Pitts have been vicious….YET. Every breed of dog has certain inherent tendencies, innate characteristics which make it unique, and unfortunately Pitt Bulls have been bred for strength, aggression and fighting. They are ticking time bombs waiting to go off and when they do the results are scary, painful, and often catastrophic. Just as a Labrador was bred to retrieve, the breeds that encompass the title of Pitt Bull were bred to seek and destroy. That is hardwired into their brains and not always something that can be overcome with training. If you are one of the people who say that you have had Pitts in your home who were loving and kind, I suggest that you were lucky.
• Owners and lovers of Pitt Bulls will tell you that it is bad owners that make bad dogs.
To a certain degree this is true. Yes, an irresponsible owner can treat the gentlest of breeds in such a way that they will become mean and aggressive. And yes, many people who own Pitt Bull are bad people who treat their animals badly. But that is not always the case when these animals attack. It wasn’t the case in my mother’s attack. The Pitt Bulls that attacked her and her dog (causing over 50 puncture wounds) were well cared for, well loved family pets. They were treated with respect and were well maintained although they were not licensed. Until the morning of the attack they had shown no signs of aggression. Quite simply, for an unknown reason, those dogs had something triggered in their brains and they reverted to the most primal of forms…that of killing machines.
In the case of Mr. Greene being heard tonight we have a victim of an animal who had attacked previously. Unfortunately, we cannot count on or legislate people to be responsible pet owners. We cannot expect a dog who was bred for violence can be loved enough to override the hardwiring of their brains. We cannot trust Animal Control to properly and accurately account and follow up when incidents occur. Perhaps then, the safest thing for our community would be to ban these animals so that next time it isn’t you, your pet, or God forbid like in the case in Fontana, your child that is victimized by these predators and their ignorant owners. If something is established to be a potential threat then our due diligence as a community would be to remove that threat.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Sunday Blessings
So far, the only upside that I can see about my grandmothers passing is that is allows me the free time to enjoy my husband again. Today was the first time, in a long time, that we have spent the day together and enjoyed just being with each other. After church we made the trek to Mt. Rubidoux for a hike. It was a perfect day. Cool, grey, green mountain, good company, Gianna's energy to keep us motivated. We spent three hours hiking and exploring the mountain. It was wonderful. Coming home we drove thru the historic district of Riverside and ended the day reading together, and having a wonderful dinner.
Time....one of the best gifts I've ever received.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
This is my plight....
My daughter suffers from what I call Vaginitis. I define this as:
By the mere possession of a vagina, the inherent ability to confuse a situation by changing your mind at any given moment.
It makes things quite difficult at times. Sometimes when I talk to her I feel like I'm going crazy. She can ask for something one moment and within a matter of seconds completely change course, decide against original said request, and make you feel silly for not understanding. Here are some examples:
D-- Gianna, it's time to get ready for bed. Who do you want to help you get ready?
G-- Um, you can do it mommy.
D-- Ok, then. Let's go brush your teeth (taking hand to walk into the bathroom)
G--But, I wanted DADDY to do it (accompanied by hysterical crying).
G-- Mommy, I'm thirsty. May you please get me some milk?
D-- Sure. (gets milk, places it on the table)
G--But mommy, I asked for water.
D--It's time to get dressed. Would you like to wear your blue dress or your striped dress?
G--My striped dress please.
D--Ok. I've put it on your stool. Get dressed and meet me in the bathroom.
G-- (comes into bathroom in BLUE dress) Ok mommy, I'm ready.
D--I thought you were going to wear the striped dress?
G--NO mommy. Brothers favorite color is blue so I am wearing the blue dress. Plus, the color matches my eyes.
Pray for me.
By the mere possession of a vagina, the inherent ability to confuse a situation by changing your mind at any given moment.
It makes things quite difficult at times. Sometimes when I talk to her I feel like I'm going crazy. She can ask for something one moment and within a matter of seconds completely change course, decide against original said request, and make you feel silly for not understanding. Here are some examples:
D-- Gianna, it's time to get ready for bed. Who do you want to help you get ready?
G-- Um, you can do it mommy.
D-- Ok, then. Let's go brush your teeth (taking hand to walk into the bathroom)
G--But, I wanted DADDY to do it (accompanied by hysterical crying).
G-- Mommy, I'm thirsty. May you please get me some milk?
D-- Sure. (gets milk, places it on the table)
G--But mommy, I asked for water.
D--It's time to get dressed. Would you like to wear your blue dress or your striped dress?
G--My striped dress please.
D--Ok. I've put it on your stool. Get dressed and meet me in the bathroom.
G-- (comes into bathroom in BLUE dress) Ok mommy, I'm ready.
D--I thought you were going to wear the striped dress?
G--NO mommy. Brothers favorite color is blue so I am wearing the blue dress. Plus, the color matches my eyes.
Pray for me.
Friday, March 5, 2010
It's true....I promise.
I once saw a copy of Jackie Chan's autobiography. The last few pages consisted of a log of the injuries that he has sustained throughout his martial arts career. It was so fascinating that it inspired me to make this list of things that my dachshund, Copper, has eaten over the years.
Things my dog has eaten:
Items marked with an * come with an interesting story, which I would be glad to share if asked.
Things my dog has eaten:
Items marked with an * come with an interesting story, which I would be glad to share if asked.
- 2 lbs of candy corn*
- 1 large pepperoni pizza*
- box of bb's for a BB gun
- 1/2 of a 25 pound bag of dog food
- pair of boy short underwear*
- 2lb box of nuts and chews candy from See's*
- the entire contents of a bathroom trashcan
- 4 pair of Barbie shoes
- kitty rocha from the litter box
- cranberry cake, including parts of the broken Pyrex pan that broke when he pulled it down from the counter
- tennis balls
- balloons
- Kleenex
- papertowls
- the cardboard roll that X-mas wrapping paper is rolled on
- bark
- rubber gloves
- entire bag of Hershey's kisses, including foils and bag
- Styrofoam left over box with eggs and pancake inside
- large bowl of peanut M&M's*
- entire contents of a 5lb tin of butter cookies, including paper wrappers*
- Q-tips
- Crayons
- Playdoh
- saturated diapers
Many more items have been swept up by my little brown hoover. I'll add to the list as I remember.
Therapy
I so enjoy cooking dinner for my family. There is something about it that refreshes my soul. Maybe it's because I'm a fat kid, maybe it's because I'm Italian, I'm not quite sure of the reason. But when I get into that kitchen, throw a towel over my shoulder and start gathering the ingredients I just feel at peace. Having a daughter who shares in this experience is even more fun. Gianna loves to help me cook. She drags a chair over, straps on an apron and gets her hands dirty. I'm thrilled to be able to pass the love of cooking on to her.
I find few things more satisfying than filling the house with the smells of a delicious meal. It reminds me of my childhood and our family gatherings, no matter the size. Whether is was just the three of us on a Wednesday evening or Christmas, when we set places for nearly twenty, walking through the house and smelling the amazing things wafting from the kitchen has always made me smile.
However, the experience of cooking is not complete until we all sit down together around the big table, say our prayer and dig in to the evenings delights. It pleases me so to watch people appreciate what I have made. I like it even better when they eat a lot. It is very fulfilling to cook for someone who goes back for seconds. My old friend Michael can always be trusted to fill this need for me. He never fails me. The conversations and memories that are made around my dinner table are some of the most cherished times in my life. I hope that the people on the other side of the table feel the same way.
On that note, I'm off to drain some pasta.
I find few things more satisfying than filling the house with the smells of a delicious meal. It reminds me of my childhood and our family gatherings, no matter the size. Whether is was just the three of us on a Wednesday evening or Christmas, when we set places for nearly twenty, walking through the house and smelling the amazing things wafting from the kitchen has always made me smile.
However, the experience of cooking is not complete until we all sit down together around the big table, say our prayer and dig in to the evenings delights. It pleases me so to watch people appreciate what I have made. I like it even better when they eat a lot. It is very fulfilling to cook for someone who goes back for seconds. My old friend Michael can always be trusted to fill this need for me. He never fails me. The conversations and memories that are made around my dinner table are some of the most cherished times in my life. I hope that the people on the other side of the table feel the same way.
On that note, I'm off to drain some pasta.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
And we're off....
Haven't blogged in many months. As many of you know the end of last year and the beginning of this year have been kind of rough for the Afflerbaugh/Youngblood/Dohoda households. I've been feeling very 'blah' lately and am having a hard time getting out of my funk. Starting December 20th we've had Grandma pass away, thus losing my job, Nick left for a Christmas vacation at his mom's in WA and decided to stay, Grandma's memorial and burial, mom and Maggie got attacked by two pit bulls, and I've been sick for two weeks. Between Nick being in Washington with him mom and Grandma passing away I am getting a little taste of what empty nesters must feel. I went from being on the go nearly 20 hours a day to having more time on my hands than I know what to do with. Never thought I'd be sad to have free time. I once gave a friend some advice when he was having a bout of depression. When he asked how do I feel better I responded: 'You don't wait to feel better to do things. You do things and then you feel better'......we'll see if my advice works.
That being said, among other things, I've decided to start blogging again. I need something to fill my time and empty my mind. Since it's Sunday I'll start up again with my Sunday Blessings, things that I am thankful for and blessings that I've received/witnessed.
Sunday Blessings:
That being said, among other things, I've decided to start blogging again. I need something to fill my time and empty my mind. Since it's Sunday I'll start up again with my Sunday Blessings, things that I am thankful for and blessings that I've received/witnessed.
Sunday Blessings:
- Having the time to be a wife again.
- Sharing special moments with my daughter lately; from going to the museum to simply listening to her laugh as she plays in the backyard.
- Gianna reminding me not to be sad about Grandma because 'she can see her up in Heaven'.
- Rain
- The Olympics
- My overall health
- Good friends and wonderful family
Take time to appreciate the little things in life!
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