My thought for the day: In my beloved US of A, anyone can get a gun, yet very few can get health care. That should be reversed in a healthy society!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
A love note to those who rush in when the rest of us rush for cover.
It’s been a rough 48 Hours for St. Petersburg, Florida. On Monday, we had a violent monster kill two St. Petersburg police officers and wound a federal marshal. One of the police officers has three young children. As Mayor Bill Foster said, it was a dark day for St. Petersburg.
Tuesday evening, a strong line of tornadic storms hit Florida, with one unconfirmed tornado hitting here in St. Petersburg, resulting in a gas station awning and pillars getting up-ended along with a car, and the car ended up crushed and on its side with the driver trapped inside. She was extracted by rescue personnel and heavy equipment and is now recovering in the hospital. I passed by the scene on the way to work this morning and, trust me, the photos I’ve seen on the news do not do justice to how horribly the real thing brings to light the power of nature, specifically wind. Also on my way to work, I saw several huge trees down, etc. It was like a hurricane had hit the city. It reminded me of how powerless and insignificant we are when, as my mom puts it, “nature flicks her tail”.
Now, these two events were very different in nature: one was a human tragedy and one was a natural event. Yet something jumps out at me, in trying to wrap my head around the last 48 hours here in my beautiful, beloved city of St. Petersburg, Florida. Something that the two events each led me to: Thank God for first responders.
Thank God for police, for fire and rescue, for paramedics, for everyone who rushes in when the rest of us rush for cover. These folks risk their lives for us and I say TAX ME MORE, if necessary, to ensure that they are paid enough, trained enough, armored enough, equipped enough, have enough health insurance, and know that they are valued. I just want to say THANK YOU to everyone who puts themselves on the line for us every day, making heroism seem routine.
I particularly want to give a deep, heartfelt thank you to the St. Petersburg Police Department, which I had the privilege of partnering with as a citizen volunteer Wrice process anti-drug marcher for many years. We marchers always felt safe, no matter what dangerous situation we faced, because the St. Petersburg police were right there with us. We were threatened, taunted, had lights shone in our eyes, even had weapons brandished at us by drug dealers, yet we always kept our focus, stood our ground, and continued chanting. Was this because of extraordinary bravery on our part? Speaking for myself, I can say no, I’m a huge chicken. So why did I feel safe in those inherently unsafe situations? Again, we felt safe because we had the St. Petersburg police right there with us. They would (and did) protect us, no matter what, and we always knew that. For all those times they were with us, surrounding us, supporting us and protecting us, I hope they know that today, the heart of every St. Petersburg Wrice process anti-drug marcher (we haven’t marched in a few years, but once a Wrice marcher, always a Wrice marcher), as well as the heart of every citizen of St. Petersburg, is with them and their families, surrounding them with appreciation and love.
In the words of one of our Turn Around St. Petersburg, Wrice march chants: "Support your men and women in green, they're the best we've ever seen!"
Tuesday evening, a strong line of tornadic storms hit Florida, with one unconfirmed tornado hitting here in St. Petersburg, resulting in a gas station awning and pillars getting up-ended along with a car, and the car ended up crushed and on its side with the driver trapped inside. She was extracted by rescue personnel and heavy equipment and is now recovering in the hospital. I passed by the scene on the way to work this morning and, trust me, the photos I’ve seen on the news do not do justice to how horribly the real thing brings to light the power of nature, specifically wind. Also on my way to work, I saw several huge trees down, etc. It was like a hurricane had hit the city. It reminded me of how powerless and insignificant we are when, as my mom puts it, “nature flicks her tail”.
Now, these two events were very different in nature: one was a human tragedy and one was a natural event. Yet something jumps out at me, in trying to wrap my head around the last 48 hours here in my beautiful, beloved city of St. Petersburg, Florida. Something that the two events each led me to: Thank God for first responders.
Thank God for police, for fire and rescue, for paramedics, for everyone who rushes in when the rest of us rush for cover. These folks risk their lives for us and I say TAX ME MORE, if necessary, to ensure that they are paid enough, trained enough, armored enough, equipped enough, have enough health insurance, and know that they are valued. I just want to say THANK YOU to everyone who puts themselves on the line for us every day, making heroism seem routine.
I particularly want to give a deep, heartfelt thank you to the St. Petersburg Police Department, which I had the privilege of partnering with as a citizen volunteer Wrice process anti-drug marcher for many years. We marchers always felt safe, no matter what dangerous situation we faced, because the St. Petersburg police were right there with us. We were threatened, taunted, had lights shone in our eyes, even had weapons brandished at us by drug dealers, yet we always kept our focus, stood our ground, and continued chanting. Was this because of extraordinary bravery on our part? Speaking for myself, I can say no, I’m a huge chicken. So why did I feel safe in those inherently unsafe situations? Again, we felt safe because we had the St. Petersburg police right there with us. They would (and did) protect us, no matter what, and we always knew that. For all those times they were with us, surrounding us, supporting us and protecting us, I hope they know that today, the heart of every St. Petersburg Wrice process anti-drug marcher (we haven’t marched in a few years, but once a Wrice marcher, always a Wrice marcher), as well as the heart of every citizen of St. Petersburg, is with them and their families, surrounding them with appreciation and love.
In the words of one of our Turn Around St. Petersburg, Wrice march chants: "Support your men and women in green, they're the best we've ever seen!"
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Ever Fiercer Urgency of Now
"We must continue to delve deeper into the philosophy of non-violent resistance, for there is something about this method that has power."
Quote by Martin Luther King, Jr.
MLK on non-violence
MLK's way of creative non-violence is still the way to heal the world. His message is still so relevant, moving and profoundly important. If anything, "the fierce urgency of now" he felt and spoke of so passionately and eloquently has become even fiercer. We must embrace a new path of non-violence, of respect, not just for each other, but for all of God's creation/nature, including and especially for this awesome planet that sustains us, as our very existence is at stake.
Quote by Martin Luther King, Jr.
MLK on non-violence
MLK's way of creative non-violence is still the way to heal the world. His message is still so relevant, moving and profoundly important. If anything, "the fierce urgency of now" he felt and spoke of so passionately and eloquently has become even fiercer. We must embrace a new path of non-violence, of respect, not just for each other, but for all of God's creation/nature, including and especially for this awesome planet that sustains us, as our very existence is at stake.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Better to Light One Candle: Love Trumps All at Elizabeth Edwards' Funeral
I am so inspired and my seemingly ever-imperiled faith in my fellow human beings is so recharged by what happened outside the church at Elizabeth Edwards' funeral. In short, love overpowered hate. It doesn't get any better than that.
Love eclipses hate...
In my last blog, I discussed how a hate group planned to "protest" outside of Elizabeth Edwards' funeral and how I hoped that would not impact the mourners. I'm heartened to report that the haters were outnumbered by loving, brave, caring, respectful people and that love trumped hate. The mourners were allowed to mourn (and celebrate Elizabeth's life) in peace. From all accounts of what went on inside the church, it was a very loving, peaceful, healing, beautiful service.
The whole thing reminds me of what I personally experienced on September 11, 2001. My faith in not only human beings but in God could have been shattered when the planes shattered the twin towers. That there is such evil in this world is, and certainly was then for me, very challenging to one's faith. To have hate come crashing in from the clear blue sky with such violence and kill so many innocent people is something that can explode one's faith in the good in people and in God him/her/itself. I was in real danger of that happening, but something saved my faith in human beings, in goodness, and by extension in God that day.
What saved me is that I work at a blood bank. Within what seemed like minutes of the second plane crashing into the twin towers, there was a long line of people stretching out the doors, and it just kept growing and growing. It seemed like the whole world spontaneously, without being asked, just showed up at the door to donate blood. I work on the second floor and there is an open overlook into the first floor lobby and the main entrance. I just stood there with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat, wanting to run down there and hug each person in line and say thank you. Thank you for choosing to take this good, loving action in this shocking moment of hate and evil seeming to overpower all that is good. Thank you because you didn't let the shock paralyze you. Thank you because you are not only doing something great by donating blood, you are doing something great by lining up, hundreds strong, showing that actually good is stronger than evil, love is stronger than hate, and when evil and hate rear up and try to roar, love and goodness can stand up quietly yet even more powerfully and overpower that ugly roar with the quiet light of decency. Thank you for demonstrating, today of all days, when we all so need to see it, that love really is more powerful than hate, and good really is much stronger than evil.
I feel the same way about what unfolded at the Edwards funeral. A few haters showed up, wanting to intoxicate the event with their poison. But many, many more good, decent, loving people showed up, vaccinating the proceedings with love.
Yes, there is evil, hate and violence in the world. But no, it will never triumph over good, love and respect in the end. Not if we don't let it. Not if we stand up. Not if we, instead of cursing the darkness, choose instead to light one candle.
Love eclipses hate...
In my last blog, I discussed how a hate group planned to "protest" outside of Elizabeth Edwards' funeral and how I hoped that would not impact the mourners. I'm heartened to report that the haters were outnumbered by loving, brave, caring, respectful people and that love trumped hate. The mourners were allowed to mourn (and celebrate Elizabeth's life) in peace. From all accounts of what went on inside the church, it was a very loving, peaceful, healing, beautiful service.
The whole thing reminds me of what I personally experienced on September 11, 2001. My faith in not only human beings but in God could have been shattered when the planes shattered the twin towers. That there is such evil in this world is, and certainly was then for me, very challenging to one's faith. To have hate come crashing in from the clear blue sky with such violence and kill so many innocent people is something that can explode one's faith in the good in people and in God him/her/itself. I was in real danger of that happening, but something saved my faith in human beings, in goodness, and by extension in God that day.
What saved me is that I work at a blood bank. Within what seemed like minutes of the second plane crashing into the twin towers, there was a long line of people stretching out the doors, and it just kept growing and growing. It seemed like the whole world spontaneously, without being asked, just showed up at the door to donate blood. I work on the second floor and there is an open overlook into the first floor lobby and the main entrance. I just stood there with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat, wanting to run down there and hug each person in line and say thank you. Thank you for choosing to take this good, loving action in this shocking moment of hate and evil seeming to overpower all that is good. Thank you because you didn't let the shock paralyze you. Thank you because you are not only doing something great by donating blood, you are doing something great by lining up, hundreds strong, showing that actually good is stronger than evil, love is stronger than hate, and when evil and hate rear up and try to roar, love and goodness can stand up quietly yet even more powerfully and overpower that ugly roar with the quiet light of decency. Thank you for demonstrating, today of all days, when we all so need to see it, that love really is more powerful than hate, and good really is much stronger than evil.
I feel the same way about what unfolded at the Edwards funeral. A few haters showed up, wanting to intoxicate the event with their poison. But many, many more good, decent, loving people showed up, vaccinating the proceedings with love.
Yes, there is evil, hate and violence in the world. But no, it will never triumph over good, love and respect in the end. Not if we don't let it. Not if we stand up. Not if we, instead of cursing the darkness, choose instead to light one candle.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Hateful "Church" Plans to Protest Elizabeth Edwards' Funeral: At what point does free speech become harassment?
I am horrified to hear that the profoundly hateful, sick Westboro Baptist Church plans to "protest" Elizabeth Edwards' funeral:
Westboro Baptist Church to Protest Edwards Funeral
I pray that their presence will not in any way impact Elizabeth Edwards' youngest two children. I hasten to add that, of course, I also pray that it doesn't impact her adult daughter, Cate, or any of the mourners. It's just that, upon learning of this horrible prospect, my first thoughts were of the two young children, Emma Claire and Jack. I am especially concerned for them and I hope it doesn't affect even one tiny aspect of the experience for them. This should be a day that helps them process their grief and makes them feel surrounded by love, comfort and family. I don't want hate or ugliness to even touch them, they've been through enough.
Of course, none of us wants to see hate or violence touch any child, ever, but for the possibility of it to happen on the day of their mother's funeral seems especially egregious and awful.
I am one of the staunchest defenders of the constitution and civil rights that you will ever come across. I am so grateful that we live in a free country, but to me, free speech ends at the point at which it becomes harassment. If these people get too close to the church and hurl hateful attacks at the mourners, they would be engaging in harassment, not free speech, wouldn't they? I mean, if they have to stay a certain distance back from the funeral venue and from the mourners, then I can see and must concede that tolerating them is the price we pay for free speech (even speech that most of us find abhorrent). But surely there is some law that would prevent them from verbally attacking mourners--including children--at a funeral?
I defend the right of everyone to engage in free speech, including speech that I find offensive and repugnant, because if they don't have the right to say what they want, I don't have the right to say what I want. However, at what point does free speech morph into harassment? When does a peaceful protest become a verbally violent attack? I think the point at which people disrupt mourners, including young children who have just lost their mother, attempting to enter and/or leave a funeral, by spewing hateful verbal attacks at them could conceivably be such a point. I think this "protest" just might fall outside the wide embrace of constitutional protection, as the rights of the mourners to gather peacefully, without being harassed, in order to grieve need to be protected, too.
If these hateful, sick people want to "protest" a certain distance away from the church, then I don't see how it can be stopped, frankly. However, surely there is some minimum distance they can be legally kept back from the funeral venue and/or from the mourners, isn't there? If not, there should be. There is free speech and then there is disruptive harassment. Where is the line?
I am going to pray very hard that their actions do not impact the Edwards family, particularly the two youngest children, in the slightest. If they do, I think it's a crime, literally...or it should be. It's harassment, it's stalking, it's something. Maybe John Edwards, an outstanding attorney, could make it a new cause of his to find some legal way to stop these folks from doing this at any future funerals, or if not stop them altogether, at least keep them from getting too close to the venue or the mourners.* Freedom of speech is a precious right, but the rights of mourners to attend a funeral in peace must also be respected and protected.
* Edited to add: I have learned that there is a current Supreme Court case (Snyder v. Phelps) pending regarding a past funeral protest by this "church" and whether it constituted free speech or harassment:
Washington Post article on Snyder v. Phelps
MSNBC.com article discusses Snyder v. Phelps
Westboro Baptist Church to Protest Edwards Funeral
I pray that their presence will not in any way impact Elizabeth Edwards' youngest two children. I hasten to add that, of course, I also pray that it doesn't impact her adult daughter, Cate, or any of the mourners. It's just that, upon learning of this horrible prospect, my first thoughts were of the two young children, Emma Claire and Jack. I am especially concerned for them and I hope it doesn't affect even one tiny aspect of the experience for them. This should be a day that helps them process their grief and makes them feel surrounded by love, comfort and family. I don't want hate or ugliness to even touch them, they've been through enough.
Of course, none of us wants to see hate or violence touch any child, ever, but for the possibility of it to happen on the day of their mother's funeral seems especially egregious and awful.
I am one of the staunchest defenders of the constitution and civil rights that you will ever come across. I am so grateful that we live in a free country, but to me, free speech ends at the point at which it becomes harassment. If these people get too close to the church and hurl hateful attacks at the mourners, they would be engaging in harassment, not free speech, wouldn't they? I mean, if they have to stay a certain distance back from the funeral venue and from the mourners, then I can see and must concede that tolerating them is the price we pay for free speech (even speech that most of us find abhorrent). But surely there is some law that would prevent them from verbally attacking mourners--including children--at a funeral?
I defend the right of everyone to engage in free speech, including speech that I find offensive and repugnant, because if they don't have the right to say what they want, I don't have the right to say what I want. However, at what point does free speech morph into harassment? When does a peaceful protest become a verbally violent attack? I think the point at which people disrupt mourners, including young children who have just lost their mother, attempting to enter and/or leave a funeral, by spewing hateful verbal attacks at them could conceivably be such a point. I think this "protest" just might fall outside the wide embrace of constitutional protection, as the rights of the mourners to gather peacefully, without being harassed, in order to grieve need to be protected, too.
If these hateful, sick people want to "protest" a certain distance away from the church, then I don't see how it can be stopped, frankly. However, surely there is some minimum distance they can be legally kept back from the funeral venue and/or from the mourners, isn't there? If not, there should be. There is free speech and then there is disruptive harassment. Where is the line?
I am going to pray very hard that their actions do not impact the Edwards family, particularly the two youngest children, in the slightest. If they do, I think it's a crime, literally...or it should be. It's harassment, it's stalking, it's something. Maybe John Edwards, an outstanding attorney, could make it a new cause of his to find some legal way to stop these folks from doing this at any future funerals, or if not stop them altogether, at least keep them from getting too close to the venue or the mourners.* Freedom of speech is a precious right, but the rights of mourners to attend a funeral in peace must also be respected and protected.
* Edited to add: I have learned that there is a current Supreme Court case (Snyder v. Phelps) pending regarding a past funeral protest by this "church" and whether it constituted free speech or harassment:
Washington Post article on Snyder v. Phelps
MSNBC.com article discusses Snyder v. Phelps
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Living Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Not a lot of hype, no commercialism, just being grateful for the simple gifts in life: our loved ones, the wonderful bounty of nature, and all of our blessings. It’s about finding and celebrating the sacred in the seemingly ordinary: family, friends, home, hearth and a wholesome meal harvested from the good earth. So simple, yet so sacred.
There’s a saying that I used to think was so odd and meaningless, but in recent years I’ve realized it is very deep and profound: “You’ve got to take the good with the bad.” I used to hear people say that and I’d think, “You've got to take the good with the bad? What does that even mean?” Well, now, upon years of pondering it in my peppermint way, I know what it really means: there is always good and bad in our lives, so don’t let the bad stuff paralyze you and keep you from appreciating and enjoying the good stuff. A younger me used to think, I can’t be happy because I have A, B, and C bad stuff going on, so I can’t enjoy D, E and F good stuff that is also in the mix. How sad. Now I finally understand that, even with the inevitable bad stuff going on in your life at any given time, ya gots to make room for the good stuff, let it in, revel in it, appreciate it, and enjoy it! You've got to carpe diem! Don’t wait for the bad stuff to clear out, or you be waiting a lifetime. Grab hold of the good stuff and appreciate the hell out of it!
This year, like every year, sure, I have my share of difficulties and challenges, sad things and bad things, and I hasten to add that it is healthy to give them their fair share of energy and attention. However, perspective is the key. Thanksgiving is a day for focusing on all we have to be grateful for, and grounding ourselves deeply in that gratitude. As a matter of fact, every day, I thank God for all the blessings I’m grateful for, and even for the challenges given to me, as those can be, and usually are, blessings, too—even our losses contain gifts for us to open and learn from. I think it is important for my spiritual and emotional health, and I suspect for my physical health as well, to make every day a mini-Thanksgiving.
People who choose to focus on what they are grateful for are so much happier and healthier than those who focus on everything wrong in their lives. Mind you, I’m not saying we should ignore or sweep aside the “bad” things, or our feelings about them. In fact, I strongly believe it is imperative for our health to allow all our feelings to flow freely in and out like the ocean tides, and that feelings are to be acknowledged, accepted and respected, not judged and controlled (which is why I can’t STAND people like one infuriating Wayne Dyer or books like “The Secret”, as apparently, according to them, we are supposed to squash down all feelings and thoughts other than those involving flowers and rainbows, and if anything negative happens to us in our lives, it's our fault because we allowed “negative” feelings or thoughts in...don’t even get me started—rant-worthy blog unto itself ALERT!). I think that all feelings are okay and are there for a reason, so don't let anyone tell you that you shouldn't feel something that you feel. It is how we choose to act on our feelings that counts. That said, on Thanksgiving and, really, every day, the healthiest approach is to stay firmly grounded in gratitude, for even in our darkest days, there is usually something to be grateful for, some light to acknowledge, fix our gaze upon and trust to lead us on, even when darkness seems to surround us. The very act of choosing to focus on the light and not the dark adds to the light. As the saying goes, “Better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.”
This year, I’m most thankful that my 86-year-old mom is here with me in this world and that we will be together on Thanksgiving. That's the most sacred blessing of all to me. We are invited to her cousin’s house for Thanksgiving, which is another thing I’m grateful for, as when I moved to Florida, I had no family here--zero. Now I have my mom and her cousin, so my familial cup runneth over. It will be me, my Mom, her cousin, and one of her cousin’s daughters for Thanksgiving. I don’t have to cook the whole meal (yet another thing to be grateful for!), just “Page 26”, as we call it in my family, a DELICIOUS spinach-artichoke-cheese casserole side dish that my mom and I have every year. I’m also planning to bring cranberry relish and some sort of beverage. My mom’s cousin is making the turkey, veggies, and apparently there will be a pie (made by either the cousin or her daughter), but I’ll stay away from that on account of that I know wheat is not my friend (yet ANOTHER thing to be grateful for—my knowledge about what foods to eat to keep me healthy). If there is any stuffing, I'll stay away from that, too. I love stuffing, but it's a wheat-laden affair and wheat is my nemesis. I love health more than I love stuffing. Anyway, having spent more than a few Thanksgivings since moving to Florida with no family at all, I’m really looking forward to this foursome. Most years since my mom moved down here, it’s just been the two of us, which is lovely, but there will be something very special about getting together with extended family. I really appreciate it.
I’m also extremely grateful for my health, which I was scared about this time last year after my very first ever routine EKG during a physical resulted in me being diagnosed with left-bundle branch block (LBBB), an electrical conduction prob in my heart that results in a dyssynchronous heartbeat. After the primary care doctor used language that scared me to death and ended up NOT being the case for me (thank God, and I do!!!), such as “enlarged” and “hypertrophic” heart, and sent me to a cardiologist, who had me undergo further testing, it turns out that I’m basically healthy as a horse, other than the LBBB, as nothing else scary is present with it (no enlarged heart, no hypertrophic heart, no evidence of a heart attack, no heart disease, no nothing—thank God!), which is unusual, and is DEFINITELY something to be grateful for every day, especially on Thanksgiving. Also on the grateful-for-health front, I’ve lost about 81 lbs since I started the GenoType Diet two years ago Thanksgiving Day, so I am extremely grateful for that, as I've blogged about several times and no doubt will many more. I feel very empowered by knowing what foods to eat to keep myself in biochemical balance and at a healthy weight. Wow. And of course, I'm so blessed to have the means and access to keep my kitchen stocked with those healthy foods. Speaking of means...
In this horrible economy, I’ve got a job. Now, I could choose to focus on the many and varied BAD things about my job, but the bottom line is that it is, in fact, a JOB. Enough said. I’ve also got a house. Again, I could choose to focus on the fact that it is a termite-ridden pile of disintegrating sticks, but, hey, it’s MY termite-ridden pile of disintegrating sticks, dang it! And it’s on MY tiny bit of land, in a wonderful neighborhood (trust me: again, I’m choosing to AC-centuate the positive when I say that *tee heee*), in a beautiful city, in the greatest country in the world...even though said country is currently circling the drain—but you never know, maybe we’ll get it together before actually getting sucked down the drain, so THAT is what I'm choosing to focus on, on Thanksgiving.
As far as “Black Friday”, a day when many Americans choose to go thing-crazy to what I consider a ridiculous and severely pathological degree, I will instead be with a new friend of mine, whom I met at the dog park, doing something that involves no shopping, no consumerism (gasp!), and which continues the Thanksgiving theme of enjoying the simple, sacred things in life: we will be taking four dogs (my dog, her two dogs, and a visiting dog she is dog-sitting), to a gorgeous county park called Fort De Soto Park, which has a spectacular dog park and also a dog beach. Instead of a black Friday, we will have a bright Friday, full of shimmering blue-green water, sky, nature and enjoying our “furkids”. It doesn't get any better than that.
In short, I know we all have troubles, woes, and assorted and sundry losses, sadness and painful challenges in our lives. Yet, no matter how bad things are, surely we can all look around at our beautiful world, take a deep breath, and realize the miracle of being alive, can’t we? I’m grateful for this dazzling world/nature, my mom, my pets (who are like my children—heck, they are my children), my health, and all the gifts I've been given—including challenges and losses, for sometimes they are the greatest gifts of all, even though they sure don’t seem/feel like it when we are experiencing them. I pray that I will be a respectful human being and use all my blessings to do good in this world. I pray these things every day. On Thanksgiving Day, I try to stretch that prayer into the entire day, living my gratitude, appreciation, and intention to be respectful and do good. If I and all of us could stretch that Thanksgiving spirit out even further, into a lifetime of intentionally focusing on being and acting grateful for creation/nature and being a part of it, and being respectful and doing good, think of how we could heal our world.
There’s a saying that I used to think was so odd and meaningless, but in recent years I’ve realized it is very deep and profound: “You’ve got to take the good with the bad.” I used to hear people say that and I’d think, “You've got to take the good with the bad? What does that even mean?” Well, now, upon years of pondering it in my peppermint way, I know what it really means: there is always good and bad in our lives, so don’t let the bad stuff paralyze you and keep you from appreciating and enjoying the good stuff. A younger me used to think, I can’t be happy because I have A, B, and C bad stuff going on, so I can’t enjoy D, E and F good stuff that is also in the mix. How sad. Now I finally understand that, even with the inevitable bad stuff going on in your life at any given time, ya gots to make room for the good stuff, let it in, revel in it, appreciate it, and enjoy it! You've got to carpe diem! Don’t wait for the bad stuff to clear out, or you be waiting a lifetime. Grab hold of the good stuff and appreciate the hell out of it!
This year, like every year, sure, I have my share of difficulties and challenges, sad things and bad things, and I hasten to add that it is healthy to give them their fair share of energy and attention. However, perspective is the key. Thanksgiving is a day for focusing on all we have to be grateful for, and grounding ourselves deeply in that gratitude. As a matter of fact, every day, I thank God for all the blessings I’m grateful for, and even for the challenges given to me, as those can be, and usually are, blessings, too—even our losses contain gifts for us to open and learn from. I think it is important for my spiritual and emotional health, and I suspect for my physical health as well, to make every day a mini-Thanksgiving.
People who choose to focus on what they are grateful for are so much happier and healthier than those who focus on everything wrong in their lives. Mind you, I’m not saying we should ignore or sweep aside the “bad” things, or our feelings about them. In fact, I strongly believe it is imperative for our health to allow all our feelings to flow freely in and out like the ocean tides, and that feelings are to be acknowledged, accepted and respected, not judged and controlled (which is why I can’t STAND people like one infuriating Wayne Dyer or books like “The Secret”, as apparently, according to them, we are supposed to squash down all feelings and thoughts other than those involving flowers and rainbows, and if anything negative happens to us in our lives, it's our fault because we allowed “negative” feelings or thoughts in...don’t even get me started—rant-worthy blog unto itself ALERT!). I think that all feelings are okay and are there for a reason, so don't let anyone tell you that you shouldn't feel something that you feel. It is how we choose to act on our feelings that counts. That said, on Thanksgiving and, really, every day, the healthiest approach is to stay firmly grounded in gratitude, for even in our darkest days, there is usually something to be grateful for, some light to acknowledge, fix our gaze upon and trust to lead us on, even when darkness seems to surround us. The very act of choosing to focus on the light and not the dark adds to the light. As the saying goes, “Better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.”
This year, I’m most thankful that my 86-year-old mom is here with me in this world and that we will be together on Thanksgiving. That's the most sacred blessing of all to me. We are invited to her cousin’s house for Thanksgiving, which is another thing I’m grateful for, as when I moved to Florida, I had no family here--zero. Now I have my mom and her cousin, so my familial cup runneth over. It will be me, my Mom, her cousin, and one of her cousin’s daughters for Thanksgiving. I don’t have to cook the whole meal (yet another thing to be grateful for!), just “Page 26”, as we call it in my family, a DELICIOUS spinach-artichoke-cheese casserole side dish that my mom and I have every year. I’m also planning to bring cranberry relish and some sort of beverage. My mom’s cousin is making the turkey, veggies, and apparently there will be a pie (made by either the cousin or her daughter), but I’ll stay away from that on account of that I know wheat is not my friend (yet ANOTHER thing to be grateful for—my knowledge about what foods to eat to keep me healthy). If there is any stuffing, I'll stay away from that, too. I love stuffing, but it's a wheat-laden affair and wheat is my nemesis. I love health more than I love stuffing. Anyway, having spent more than a few Thanksgivings since moving to Florida with no family at all, I’m really looking forward to this foursome. Most years since my mom moved down here, it’s just been the two of us, which is lovely, but there will be something very special about getting together with extended family. I really appreciate it.
I’m also extremely grateful for my health, which I was scared about this time last year after my very first ever routine EKG during a physical resulted in me being diagnosed with left-bundle branch block (LBBB), an electrical conduction prob in my heart that results in a dyssynchronous heartbeat. After the primary care doctor used language that scared me to death and ended up NOT being the case for me (thank God, and I do!!!), such as “enlarged” and “hypertrophic” heart, and sent me to a cardiologist, who had me undergo further testing, it turns out that I’m basically healthy as a horse, other than the LBBB, as nothing else scary is present with it (no enlarged heart, no hypertrophic heart, no evidence of a heart attack, no heart disease, no nothing—thank God!), which is unusual, and is DEFINITELY something to be grateful for every day, especially on Thanksgiving. Also on the grateful-for-health front, I’ve lost about 81 lbs since I started the GenoType Diet two years ago Thanksgiving Day, so I am extremely grateful for that, as I've blogged about several times and no doubt will many more. I feel very empowered by knowing what foods to eat to keep myself in biochemical balance and at a healthy weight. Wow. And of course, I'm so blessed to have the means and access to keep my kitchen stocked with those healthy foods. Speaking of means...
In this horrible economy, I’ve got a job. Now, I could choose to focus on the many and varied BAD things about my job, but the bottom line is that it is, in fact, a JOB. Enough said. I’ve also got a house. Again, I could choose to focus on the fact that it is a termite-ridden pile of disintegrating sticks, but, hey, it’s MY termite-ridden pile of disintegrating sticks, dang it! And it’s on MY tiny bit of land, in a wonderful neighborhood (trust me: again, I’m choosing to AC-centuate the positive when I say that *tee heee*), in a beautiful city, in the greatest country in the world...even though said country is currently circling the drain—but you never know, maybe we’ll get it together before actually getting sucked down the drain, so THAT is what I'm choosing to focus on, on Thanksgiving.
As far as “Black Friday”, a day when many Americans choose to go thing-crazy to what I consider a ridiculous and severely pathological degree, I will instead be with a new friend of mine, whom I met at the dog park, doing something that involves no shopping, no consumerism (gasp!), and which continues the Thanksgiving theme of enjoying the simple, sacred things in life: we will be taking four dogs (my dog, her two dogs, and a visiting dog she is dog-sitting), to a gorgeous county park called Fort De Soto Park, which has a spectacular dog park and also a dog beach. Instead of a black Friday, we will have a bright Friday, full of shimmering blue-green water, sky, nature and enjoying our “furkids”. It doesn't get any better than that.
In short, I know we all have troubles, woes, and assorted and sundry losses, sadness and painful challenges in our lives. Yet, no matter how bad things are, surely we can all look around at our beautiful world, take a deep breath, and realize the miracle of being alive, can’t we? I’m grateful for this dazzling world/nature, my mom, my pets (who are like my children—heck, they are my children), my health, and all the gifts I've been given—including challenges and losses, for sometimes they are the greatest gifts of all, even though they sure don’t seem/feel like it when we are experiencing them. I pray that I will be a respectful human being and use all my blessings to do good in this world. I pray these things every day. On Thanksgiving Day, I try to stretch that prayer into the entire day, living my gratitude, appreciation, and intention to be respectful and do good. If I and all of us could stretch that Thanksgiving spirit out even further, into a lifetime of intentionally focusing on being and acting grateful for creation/nature and being a part of it, and being respectful and doing good, think of how we could heal our world.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
I've Gone to the Dogs!
Newsflash: dogs are wonderful! You read that correctly: dogs, in fact, are wonderful! Apparently, most of you out there already know this, but I’ve only recently become absolutely convinced of its veracity, and with this amazing revelation, a whole new, delightful world has opened up to me.
I began to suspect the unlikely wonderfulness of dogs during the 12+ years that I had my dear dog, Jamie, who passed away in December. Oh, I knew she was wonderful, that I realized from the moment I first laid eyes on her as she walked into my neighbor's living room with her hello-will-you-be-my-friend-and-play-with-me-I'm-up-for-anything-if-it-makes-you-happy-I-know-we-just-met-but-you're-the-human-for-me-and-I'm-the-dog-for-you-so-can-I-come-home-with-you expression, came right up to me, put her head on my lap, and gazed up at me with her friendly, guileless, deep brown eyes, just as my neighbor said matter-of-factly "She's going to the shelter on Saturday, I just can't deal with her." I think I knew right then that I was going to adopt her, even though I didn't know I knew it, but I know for sure I knew right then that she was a deeply loving, wonderful being. Yet I concluded that was probably just she and couldn’t be the case with all or most other dogs. Surely most other dogs were still suspect. What do I mean, “still suspect”? I mean, even though dear Jamie helped me get through my fear of dogs and progress to the point at which I could be around most of them and remain relaxed, I still believed that you could never fully trust a dog (except for Jamie, of course), as they could turn on you in an instant and shred you from stem to stern.
This fear I had (mercifully, it is past tense now) of dogs dates back to my earliest childhood. I don’t know if it was inherent to me as an individual, or if something(s) happened that started it all, but the bottom line is that, as a child, I was terrified of dogs. I’m not talking the normal, healthy fear that one feels when being charged by a snarling Doberman (which happened to me fairly recently and, trust me, fear was the healthy, normal response to that sitch), I’m talking abject terror, of the bordering-on-phobic-if-not-actually-phobic variety, of ALL dogs, and it didn’t matter if they were a snarling Doberman or a yapping miniature schnauzer named “Princess” (who I’ll get to), I was absolutely terrified of the lot of ‘em.
I was a very sensitive little tyke (some things never change—INFJ ALERT!) and I loved cats, yet that same sensitivity to everything around me probably led to my fear of dogs. Dogs were nothing like cats, first of all. Dogs were ferocious-seeming things that chased me, barked at me very menacingly, tried to jump on me and even to knock me down. I was absolutely convinced that they all wanted to kill me. I know I was chased home from elementary school a time or two by one or, I seem to remember, two German Shepherds of the ferociously barking and snarling variety...at least, at the time, it seemed to little 4 or 5-year-old me that they were ferociously barking and snarling. Perhaps they actually really were “trying to make friends” with me, as adults kept telling me dogs were doing every time I FREAKED OUT upon encountering the creatures. Yet, in the case of those German Shepherds (I’m sure it was two...or, one who was so scary that he just seemed like two!), I think they meant business. They meant to be menacing and mission accomplished! From then on, my long-suffering mom had to walk me to and from school, to protect me from any and all rogue dogs. I refused to walk to school unescorted, embarrassing though it was, even for a kindergartner, to have your mom walk you to school. Better to be embarrassed than to be shredded by a German Shepherd.
My little BFF, who lived in the same block as I did, had a little miniature schnauzer named “Princess” (told you we’d get to her). Now, I mean, how terrifying can a miniature schnauzer named “Princess” be? Yet I would NOT set foot in their house until Princess was either safely secured either in their back yard or relegated to the basement for the duration of my visit, poor little pooch. And if, for some reason, she did get let up into the house and commence barking at me, I would summarily FREAK OUT (to the tune of climbing up on a kitchen chair and becoming hysterical, not necessarily in that order) until someone would once again secure the terrifying beast. Poor Princess.
Adults would always try to calm me down and tell me “he just wants to make friends with you” or, my personal favorite statement, “he can sense your fear and that’s why he’s acting that way”. Um, if dogs are so great, reasoned little I, and so nice, friendly and loving, then if he can sense my fear, why is he MOVING IN FOR THE KILL versus going out of his way to reassure me that he is a gentle, sweet doggy? I didn’t believe a word they said.
My mom or dad had to accompany me trick-or-treating, to “protect me from dogs”. One of them would have to go up to the door and, if the poor opener thereof had a dog, explain to them apologetically that their kid was a high-strung little case study and would they mind securing the dog before she would walk onto their property? At that point, the person would usually try to assure mom or dad and/or me (by calling out to me at my post in the middle of the street) “Oh, he’s friendly!”, etc., etc., etc., yada, yada, yada, yeah, yeah, yeah: get him away from the door or I’m outta here, what part of that do people not get?
There was ONE dog, when I was a child, whom I did not fear. He was the gentlest, most loving Golden Retriever imaginable, named Luke. I will never forget Luke. His extraordinary gentle spirit (which I now know isn’t so extraordinary after all, it is wonderfully typical of so many dogs), combined with the fact that the adults in that house really were excellent at reassuring me and encouraging me to go ahead, pet him, we have a hold of him and won’t let him go unless and until you say it is okay, led to me being okay with Luke. I wasn’t afraid of Luke. Our families even went camping together several times, Luke included, and I loved it and him. But Luke was the one exception in my entire childhood (other than this little, ill-fated toy poodle we had for a short time, named Shadow, but poor Shadow is a sad saga unto herself—with a happy ending, though, for her, as my mom ended up making a command decision to give her away to a good home—and so we’ll just give her an honorable mention here and move quickly on, or else we’ll get bogged down in the entire spectrum of dysfunction going on in my family when I was a child and how it impacted that poor little dog...yeah, let’s move on or risk the total paralysis of this blog entry).
Right up into adulthood I kept my extreme fear of dogs, although thankfully I did get a little better as I grew up. I got to the point that, if a dog’s person told me the dog was okay, I would usually trust that (to a point) and at least be able to be around the dog. This was major progress for the little kid who needed an escort to school and trick-or-treating, and for little Princess the schnauzer to be locked away every time she went to her house to play.
I remember once, in college up in Vermont, my boyfriend, Mike, and I were out walking on a totally deserted, unpaved road for some reason, and we passed a farmhouse. In fact, now that I think about it, we may have even wandered onto a private road belonging to that farmhouse, which could explain the behavior of this, like, pack of seemingly crazed dogs that rushed at us from the farmhouse and stood there barking, snarling and looking extremely vicious to my untrained eye. I remember thinking, okay, so this is how it all ends. I grabbed Mike’s arm so tightly that I no doubt cut off his circulation. Next thing I knew, Mike issued forth one word and one word only to the dogs: “STOP.”
That’s all he said, just: “STOP.” And you know what? I’ll be damned if those dogs didn’t all immediately stop barking, sit down and just look up at Mike as if to say “Okay, we’ve stopped. What’s your next instruction?” I was dumbfounded.
I just continued standing there, frozen in place, with my vice grip on his arm. He then said to me very quietly, while keeping his eyes on the dogs, “We’re going to leave now, just turn around slowly and walk away with me.” I’ll be further damned for all eternity if we didn’t simply just turn and walk away, and those dogs didn’t make a single move to follow us. Finally, when we got a fair distance away, I said incredulously to Mike, “How did you do that? They understood what you said! How did you do that?” He said, “You just have to tell them firmly. They respond to your tone of voice.” I never forgot that. I wasn’t quite sure what the lesson was until recently, as I just thought Mike was this incredible dog whisperer. I didn’t call it that, on account of referring to anyone as a “whisperer” of anything didn’t come about, far as I know, until that movie “The Horse Whisperer”, and this was pre that (yes, I’m old, what of it?), but I thought, okay, Mike has A GIFT. Little did I know that anyone can do that and, indeed, Mike was right: it is all in the tone of voice, as well as your body language. Dogs take their cues from us. Oh sure, there is the occasional dog who is intent on shredding you no matter what, but what I’ve learned to my amazement is, those dogs, just like those type of people, are the exception and not the rule. Most dogs are closer to the gentle, loving Luke of my childhood than they are to the Doberman who recently chased me on my walk and WOULD have killed me, I’m convinced, had his owner not called him off at the last possible second (I had already hurtled myself into a two-lane main artery road at that point, deciding that being flattened by an SUV or two would be preferable to being ripped apart by one of the Hounds of the Baskervilles).
It turns out that, just like with people, there are good dogs and not-so-nice dogs and, just like with people, the not-so-nice ones almost always start out as good ones, too, but get hurt by how they are raised. The vast majority are: GOOD!!! Granted, it isn’t like with cats, because ALL cats are not only good, but divine, enlightened, and one with the universe. No other species can live up to that, except perhaps for trees, but they aren’t cuddly. Dogs are just like us, they are all individuals. The revelation to me is that most of them—the vast, vast, vast majority—do NOT want to tear me to shreds. In fact, most of them are very loving, smart, fun-filled, hilarious, affectionate, AWESOME beings and I have wasted a lot of time being afraid of them, when I could have been ENJOYING them. Instead of avoiding dogs, I could have been sharing my life with them all this time, and how much richer I would have been for it.
This has been confirmed to me since I adopted my second dog, Hurley. First Jamie was wonderful, and now Hurley, where does it end? Turns out, it doesn’t! Turns out, while dogs aren’t, as a group, as enlightened as cats, they are a boatload of loving FUN and you can take them places and do stuff with them and they are playful and silly and sweet as all get out and, basically, they are just like us, only way less likely to destroy the whole earth (although goodness knows what they could get up to if they had opposable thumbs).
I plan to make up for lost time now that I really KNOW for certain that wonderful dogs aren’t the exception to the rule, they ARE the rule! How great is it to live in the same world they inhabit? For example, Hurley has a little BFF from the dog park circuit, named Bella (turns out that “Bella” is the in name right now for dogs, as evidenced by the fact that you can’t go to any dog park in my city without there being at least one Bella in it) and Bella recently (Friday!) got a new sister, named Clara. Bella and Clara’s “pet mom” and I plan play dates at the dog parks all the time for these little guys. It is at least as much fun for us humans as it is for the dogs. I wasted so much time being afraid of dogs, and here it turns out that interacting with them is one of the greatest joys of life. Who knew? I’m glad I know now. They have so much to teach those who let them in.
And a few more of Hurley, at the dog park...that black dog with him in two of the shots is not his aforementioned BFF/dog park buddy extraordinaire, Bella (I wish I had a pic of them to post doing their signature schtick of tugging on a stick together, which I guess you could call their "stick schtick" *tee HEEEE*), he is a dog who is not one of the "regulars" at the park, and he is doing Hurley's favorite thing: chasing him, YAY!
I began to suspect the unlikely wonderfulness of dogs during the 12+ years that I had my dear dog, Jamie, who passed away in December. Oh, I knew she was wonderful, that I realized from the moment I first laid eyes on her as she walked into my neighbor's living room with her hello-will-you-be-my-friend-and-play-with-me-I'm-up-for-anything-if-it-makes-you-happy-I-know-we-just-met-but-you're-the-human-for-me-and-I'm-the-dog-for-you-so-can-I-come-home-with-you expression, came right up to me, put her head on my lap, and gazed up at me with her friendly, guileless, deep brown eyes, just as my neighbor said matter-of-factly "She's going to the shelter on Saturday, I just can't deal with her." I think I knew right then that I was going to adopt her, even though I didn't know I knew it, but I know for sure I knew right then that she was a deeply loving, wonderful being. Yet I concluded that was probably just she and couldn’t be the case with all or most other dogs. Surely most other dogs were still suspect. What do I mean, “still suspect”? I mean, even though dear Jamie helped me get through my fear of dogs and progress to the point at which I could be around most of them and remain relaxed, I still believed that you could never fully trust a dog (except for Jamie, of course), as they could turn on you in an instant and shred you from stem to stern.
This fear I had (mercifully, it is past tense now) of dogs dates back to my earliest childhood. I don’t know if it was inherent to me as an individual, or if something(s) happened that started it all, but the bottom line is that, as a child, I was terrified of dogs. I’m not talking the normal, healthy fear that one feels when being charged by a snarling Doberman (which happened to me fairly recently and, trust me, fear was the healthy, normal response to that sitch), I’m talking abject terror, of the bordering-on-phobic-if-not-actually-phobic variety, of ALL dogs, and it didn’t matter if they were a snarling Doberman or a yapping miniature schnauzer named “Princess” (who I’ll get to), I was absolutely terrified of the lot of ‘em.
I was a very sensitive little tyke (some things never change—INFJ ALERT!) and I loved cats, yet that same sensitivity to everything around me probably led to my fear of dogs. Dogs were nothing like cats, first of all. Dogs were ferocious-seeming things that chased me, barked at me very menacingly, tried to jump on me and even to knock me down. I was absolutely convinced that they all wanted to kill me. I know I was chased home from elementary school a time or two by one or, I seem to remember, two German Shepherds of the ferociously barking and snarling variety...at least, at the time, it seemed to little 4 or 5-year-old me that they were ferociously barking and snarling. Perhaps they actually really were “trying to make friends” with me, as adults kept telling me dogs were doing every time I FREAKED OUT upon encountering the creatures. Yet, in the case of those German Shepherds (I’m sure it was two...or, one who was so scary that he just seemed like two!), I think they meant business. They meant to be menacing and mission accomplished! From then on, my long-suffering mom had to walk me to and from school, to protect me from any and all rogue dogs. I refused to walk to school unescorted, embarrassing though it was, even for a kindergartner, to have your mom walk you to school. Better to be embarrassed than to be shredded by a German Shepherd.
My little BFF, who lived in the same block as I did, had a little miniature schnauzer named “Princess” (told you we’d get to her). Now, I mean, how terrifying can a miniature schnauzer named “Princess” be? Yet I would NOT set foot in their house until Princess was either safely secured either in their back yard or relegated to the basement for the duration of my visit, poor little pooch. And if, for some reason, she did get let up into the house and commence barking at me, I would summarily FREAK OUT (to the tune of climbing up on a kitchen chair and becoming hysterical, not necessarily in that order) until someone would once again secure the terrifying beast. Poor Princess.
Adults would always try to calm me down and tell me “he just wants to make friends with you” or, my personal favorite statement, “he can sense your fear and that’s why he’s acting that way”. Um, if dogs are so great, reasoned little I, and so nice, friendly and loving, then if he can sense my fear, why is he MOVING IN FOR THE KILL versus going out of his way to reassure me that he is a gentle, sweet doggy? I didn’t believe a word they said.
My mom or dad had to accompany me trick-or-treating, to “protect me from dogs”. One of them would have to go up to the door and, if the poor opener thereof had a dog, explain to them apologetically that their kid was a high-strung little case study and would they mind securing the dog before she would walk onto their property? At that point, the person would usually try to assure mom or dad and/or me (by calling out to me at my post in the middle of the street) “Oh, he’s friendly!”, etc., etc., etc., yada, yada, yada, yeah, yeah, yeah: get him away from the door or I’m outta here, what part of that do people not get?
There was ONE dog, when I was a child, whom I did not fear. He was the gentlest, most loving Golden Retriever imaginable, named Luke. I will never forget Luke. His extraordinary gentle spirit (which I now know isn’t so extraordinary after all, it is wonderfully typical of so many dogs), combined with the fact that the adults in that house really were excellent at reassuring me and encouraging me to go ahead, pet him, we have a hold of him and won’t let him go unless and until you say it is okay, led to me being okay with Luke. I wasn’t afraid of Luke. Our families even went camping together several times, Luke included, and I loved it and him. But Luke was the one exception in my entire childhood (other than this little, ill-fated toy poodle we had for a short time, named Shadow, but poor Shadow is a sad saga unto herself—with a happy ending, though, for her, as my mom ended up making a command decision to give her away to a good home—and so we’ll just give her an honorable mention here and move quickly on, or else we’ll get bogged down in the entire spectrum of dysfunction going on in my family when I was a child and how it impacted that poor little dog...yeah, let’s move on or risk the total paralysis of this blog entry).
Right up into adulthood I kept my extreme fear of dogs, although thankfully I did get a little better as I grew up. I got to the point that, if a dog’s person told me the dog was okay, I would usually trust that (to a point) and at least be able to be around the dog. This was major progress for the little kid who needed an escort to school and trick-or-treating, and for little Princess the schnauzer to be locked away every time she went to her house to play.
I remember once, in college up in Vermont, my boyfriend, Mike, and I were out walking on a totally deserted, unpaved road for some reason, and we passed a farmhouse. In fact, now that I think about it, we may have even wandered onto a private road belonging to that farmhouse, which could explain the behavior of this, like, pack of seemingly crazed dogs that rushed at us from the farmhouse and stood there barking, snarling and looking extremely vicious to my untrained eye. I remember thinking, okay, so this is how it all ends. I grabbed Mike’s arm so tightly that I no doubt cut off his circulation. Next thing I knew, Mike issued forth one word and one word only to the dogs: “STOP.”
That’s all he said, just: “STOP.” And you know what? I’ll be damned if those dogs didn’t all immediately stop barking, sit down and just look up at Mike as if to say “Okay, we’ve stopped. What’s your next instruction?” I was dumbfounded.
I just continued standing there, frozen in place, with my vice grip on his arm. He then said to me very quietly, while keeping his eyes on the dogs, “We’re going to leave now, just turn around slowly and walk away with me.” I’ll be further damned for all eternity if we didn’t simply just turn and walk away, and those dogs didn’t make a single move to follow us. Finally, when we got a fair distance away, I said incredulously to Mike, “How did you do that? They understood what you said! How did you do that?” He said, “You just have to tell them firmly. They respond to your tone of voice.” I never forgot that. I wasn’t quite sure what the lesson was until recently, as I just thought Mike was this incredible dog whisperer. I didn’t call it that, on account of referring to anyone as a “whisperer” of anything didn’t come about, far as I know, until that movie “The Horse Whisperer”, and this was pre that (yes, I’m old, what of it?), but I thought, okay, Mike has A GIFT. Little did I know that anyone can do that and, indeed, Mike was right: it is all in the tone of voice, as well as your body language. Dogs take their cues from us. Oh sure, there is the occasional dog who is intent on shredding you no matter what, but what I’ve learned to my amazement is, those dogs, just like those type of people, are the exception and not the rule. Most dogs are closer to the gentle, loving Luke of my childhood than they are to the Doberman who recently chased me on my walk and WOULD have killed me, I’m convinced, had his owner not called him off at the last possible second (I had already hurtled myself into a two-lane main artery road at that point, deciding that being flattened by an SUV or two would be preferable to being ripped apart by one of the Hounds of the Baskervilles).
It turns out that, just like with people, there are good dogs and not-so-nice dogs and, just like with people, the not-so-nice ones almost always start out as good ones, too, but get hurt by how they are raised. The vast majority are: GOOD!!! Granted, it isn’t like with cats, because ALL cats are not only good, but divine, enlightened, and one with the universe. No other species can live up to that, except perhaps for trees, but they aren’t cuddly. Dogs are just like us, they are all individuals. The revelation to me is that most of them—the vast, vast, vast majority—do NOT want to tear me to shreds. In fact, most of them are very loving, smart, fun-filled, hilarious, affectionate, AWESOME beings and I have wasted a lot of time being afraid of them, when I could have been ENJOYING them. Instead of avoiding dogs, I could have been sharing my life with them all this time, and how much richer I would have been for it.
This has been confirmed to me since I adopted my second dog, Hurley. First Jamie was wonderful, and now Hurley, where does it end? Turns out, it doesn’t! Turns out, while dogs aren’t, as a group, as enlightened as cats, they are a boatload of loving FUN and you can take them places and do stuff with them and they are playful and silly and sweet as all get out and, basically, they are just like us, only way less likely to destroy the whole earth (although goodness knows what they could get up to if they had opposable thumbs).
I plan to make up for lost time now that I really KNOW for certain that wonderful dogs aren’t the exception to the rule, they ARE the rule! How great is it to live in the same world they inhabit? For example, Hurley has a little BFF from the dog park circuit, named Bella (turns out that “Bella” is the in name right now for dogs, as evidenced by the fact that you can’t go to any dog park in my city without there being at least one Bella in it) and Bella recently (Friday!) got a new sister, named Clara. Bella and Clara’s “pet mom” and I plan play dates at the dog parks all the time for these little guys. It is at least as much fun for us humans as it is for the dogs. I wasted so much time being afraid of dogs, and here it turns out that interacting with them is one of the greatest joys of life. Who knew? I’m glad I know now. They have so much to teach those who let them in.
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| My dear Jamie 1996 - 2009 |
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| Hurley, my sweet little canine son, at the dog park |
And a few more of Hurley, at the dog park...that black dog with him in two of the shots is not his aforementioned BFF/dog park buddy extraordinaire, Bella (I wish I had a pic of them to post doing their signature schtick of tugging on a stick together, which I guess you could call their "stick schtick" *tee HEEEE*), he is a dog who is not one of the "regulars" at the park, and he is doing Hurley's favorite thing: chasing him, YAY!
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