15 Things To Do During a Power Outage

We've been in a serious drought all year, so I was actually looking forward to the thunderstorms rumored to occur this weekend.  My hubby was out of town for several days, so I imagined it would be a perfect time to sit down next to a cracked window, listen to the rain, and finish up my book.  About mid-storm when the power went out, this is what I did instead:

1. Fumble for candles and matches; trip over dog in process.
2. Overreact to thunder and corral all fur babies (and myself) to the hallway for safety.
3. Frantically search the internet via mobile for information on the weather.
4. Post to Facebook to let everyone know how I spent what I imagined to be my final hour.
5. Realize that cell phone battery won't last forever. Adjust power settings and set aside for emergency use.
6. Become impatient, decide to leave shelter of hallway to take pictures of the storm from the window.
7. Determine that the worst of the storm has passed; release pets from hallway.
8. Laugh at self for trying to plug in cell phone, turn on lights, and switch on ceiling fan.
9. Pour wine; settle for merlot as to avoid opening the refrigerator for the pinot grigio.
10. Realize that lighting ten different scented candles at the same time, in the same room, was a bad idea.  Search for unscented candles.
11. While searching for candles, find never opened leather conditioning kit for couch.  Consider trying it, then decide to sit on couch with wine instead.
12. Attempt to read Kindle by candlelight.  Fail.
13. Explain to the dog why he can't go outside in the thunderstorm; wish for dog sized litter box.
14. Eat entire box of goldfish crackers for dinner; finish wine.
15. Resign to go to bed early. Get settled just in time for power to return, lighting up the entire house.

My Path to Minimalism

I live in a beautiful newly constructed home on three acres of land, right across from a golf course.  Sounds great, right?  While I appreciate and am thankful for the ability to live comfortably, I just don’t feel like this is right for me.  I’ve owned three homes in the last three years, and each one has gotten progressively smaller in square footage.  And I like that.

In my first year out of college, having finally achieved my goals of financial stability, I married my high school sweetheart and we bought our first home.  The house was a great one, and it featured all of the suburban buzz words. Before moving in, we lived in a tiny 1 bedroom apartment barely large enough for the two of us and the cat.  We went from laminate to granite, peel-and-stick to tumbled ceramic, aluminum to vinyl, ramen noodles to risotto, and from about 500 sqft to about 2100 sqft plus a yard.  It was quite a change.

At first it was all very exciting, and in my monthly budget I included a hefty portion to be set aside for furnishings.  Having all those extra rooms setting empty started to eat away at me, and I felt a strange sense of urgency to fill them up with stuff.  That’s when the trouble started.  Beds, mattresses, dining tables (yes, multiples), area rugs, coffee tables, couches… so many couches.  Thankfully I had not developed an appreciation for quality yet, and was content with getting most of the furniture from Ikea.  But still… it was a lot of stuff.

Minimalist Art at the Rothko Chapel which we visited recently.

Towards the end of the first year, I started feeling strange about our house and all the stuff in it. My contemporary tastes didn’t sit well in our traditional suburban home, and neither did my happy hour, yoga class, farmer’s market lifestyle.  I would sit in meditation practice and feel weighed down by my new world of stuff.  This was the first time in my life that my burdens were not financial… they were material.  I felt pressure to buy more stuff, and yet I resented having it.  The line between “need” and “want” became grey for the first time, and I started to lose sight of the frugal, practical girl I was in college.

So I decided to move, and my poor husband went along with me. (This was after all a completely insane idea, and he hadn’t lost his frugal, practical self.)  I moved to the other side of town, where there were less small children and less retirees.  More yoga, more cocktails, more me.  Our new-old (new to us, but built in the 1960’s) house would have much less space, forcing me to really take inventory of all the stuff I had acquired.  It felt wonderful.  I realized that when I move, I purge.  Suddenly those bottles of nearly empty bath products don’t seem so valuable. That old chair from college wasn’t worthy of my new space.  By choosing what to take with us, it was like re-defining who I was going to be in my new home.

Sadly, two short months later we were asked to relocate and leave our fabulous new-old house.  And while I was again able to downsize in square footage, I gained three acres and went back to traditional new construction.  Even after two months, I managed to do some purging to squeeze into a slightly smaller space, but we had failed to apply the lesson we had only just learned the year before. We shopped for resale, not for us.  As I look around my home, I realize how little of the space I actually use.  I have an entryway, but I enter through the garage.  I have a guest bedroom, but we rarely have visitors.  I have five different sinks for two people. I have ample storage space, much of which is empty, and some of which is full of stuff I don’t want or need.  I have stainless steel appliances that attract slobbery puppy nose marks and sticky husband handprints. I have a garage that houses two vehicles which we have to drive 30 minutes to get to town.

So now it’s almost moving time again, and I am trying my best to consider the lessons learned.  I am a happier person when I live in a smaller space, with less stuff.  I don’t want to live in a large new house in the suburbs, however beautiful, clean, and tempting it might seem.  I don’t want to live on land, where I spend ridiculous amounts of money watering, plowing, mowing, spraying, and maintaining space I don’t use.

I want a home where my hubby and I can walk the dog to a local market, buy some local food, and eat it in the shade of a tree in our own yard.  I don’t think there is any material thing in this house that I would want more than to spend a morning that way.  Minimalism, to me, is about shifting my focus from materials to experiences.  And when I have an opportunity to make that happen, I'll have to remember to keep that in mind.

The Morning After... Spin Class

*Warning, this entry is borderline graphic and certainly TMI.*

Each day that passes sets a new record for consecutive days over 100F, with highs reaching up to 110F.  With temperatures like those, our evening family walk has become too miserable to keep up.  So I did that which I've been avoiding most... I joined a gym.  And now I have no excuse not to get my lazy rear into gear.

Group fitness classes have always worked well for me, because they force me to overcome my two biggest obstacles: (1) getting started and (2) quitting early.  A class means that I have to start at a particular time, which eliminates the procrastination factor.  Most classes are about an hour long, with peer pressure to boot, which keeps me going til the end. The system works for me.

For my first class at my new gym, I wanted to try Spinning.  Known primarily as a challenging cardio workout, with killer buns as a bonus, I thought it would compliment my established Yoga routine.  The instructor was gracious, helping me adjust my seat and handles, and trying to remind me not to be discouraged if I couldn't keep up at first.

The workout proved to be challenging, but not for the reasons I expected. It was cardio intensive, yes, and my thighs felt like jello when I tried to walk away.  But the body part that really hurts might surprise you, as it did me...

This was not the bike of my childhood memories.  This was the most uncomfortable, torturous contraption I've ever used. Normally when you sit, your weight is supported by your entire rear.  When I sat on this bike, my weight was only supported by my... lady area. My crotch. (Can I say that? It's really most accurate.) The pressure was balanced between my ischium bones ("sit" bones as we call them in yoga) and pelvic area.

Quick lesson from engineering school:  Pressure = Force / Area.  That means that the less area that is supported, the more pressure you feel.  So when you sit on your entire rear, the pressure is minimal.  But when your entire weight is supported by a very tiny area (the tips of the sit & pelvic bones), the pressure increases and is not comfortable at all.

The instructor did mention something to me about padded shorts or a padded seat cover, which I always thought was ridiculous.  I was wrong.  Now on this morning after, my butt is literally bruised.  I may even have a blister.  Is that possible?  And when I say "butt" I am really referring to a very small area... underneath... parallel to the floor.  Not a comfortable area for bruising.

My instructor also mentioned that serious bikers/spinners tend to develop a callus down there. And she said it as though it were a goal I ought to work towards.  Sorry, but I don't really want to callus my lady area.  I think I'd rather endure the embarrassment of padded shorts.

Or maybe I'll try Zumba.

Helpful products:

An Unexpected Addition

Little Kitten @ 8  Weeks Old

Several weeks ago, I woke up at 6:40am to start my groggy morning routine to get the hubby off to work, starting by letting the dog out to do his business.  As I opened the back door, the dog ran out and something else ran in. My eyes were still hazy with sleep, but I knew it was very small and fuzzy and fast.  Maybe a baby bunny or a tarantula. Garth, our dog, came immediately back inside after it and scooted it around with his nose, pushing it into my dining room.  My hysterical screaming only added to his excitement (hey, I thought it was a tarantula!).

Upon closer inspection, I discovered that draped over my labmaraner's nose was a tiny baby kitten.  She was so small that Garth had inadvertently scooped the kitten onto his head while attempting to sniff it. Still unsure of how Garth would react, I lifted all 2.5 lbs of her up and out of his reach.  She was slobbery, but safe.

Now, a quick background about me... I was born a crazy cat lady.  Even as a child, I would collect strays (and even not-strays that I stole from my neighbors). My husband claims to have been unaware of this fact until after were married, but by then it was too late! I adopted our cat Puddin Paws immediately after securing our first apartment together, and it would be four years until our next fur baby, Garth.  My husband, Allen, who isn't animal-crazy like me, was just beyond his comfort zone with two pets and had only recently adjusted.

So you can imagine how Allen felt when his crazy, cat-loving wife wandered into the bedroom holding a sweet, baby kitten.  I could see the fear building, as I held up the kitten saying, "Garth found her... I had nothing to do with it!"

Despite my craziness, I made a solid attempt to re-home the intruder who we called "Little Kitten".  After all, we had a 60 pound puppy who wasn't quite well-trained enough to keep his cool around such an exciting new toy.  ( I am very proud that he made no attempts to eat her, but he desperately wanted to play as if she were another puppy.)  I called every shelter in a 200 mile radius, but each of them was at full capacity.  I reluctantly told my husband that we may have to hand-pick a family for her.

All three fur babies!

In the meantime, Garth & Puddin were adjusting to Little Kitten. I created a "cabitat" in Garth's old crate where she could live safely, but still see & smell the resident critters.  I was taking her for her vaccinations and developing a new routine at home.

When Allen told me that he had found a good home for her, it was difficult to hide my disappointment.  I knew in all practicality that Little Kitten would be perfectly happy with her new family, who had recently lost their very old family cat.  So we packed her up and made the four hour drive to her new home, where we spent with weekend with friends, watching Little Kitten get settled.

Two weeks later, I received a message from the new family to let me know that Little Kitten could no longer stay with them.  She had attacked their youngest baby girl and was just not good around the children.  My reaction was inappropriately overjoyed.  I approached my husband, whose eyes filled with fear once again, and suggested that we had a responsibility to take her back.  He reluctantly gave in, knowing that he had lost the battle long before the conversation began and would have had to put considerable effort in convincing me to give her up twice.

So I made another long drive, although it didn't seem as much, to reclaim our little intruder.  Allen, who has naming rights to all animals as compensation for allowing me to have them, decided to appropriately name her Bunny.  I'm just happy he chose that over Tarantula.

All About the Washingtons

This desk is on my Wish List...

I GOT A JOB.

If you follow me, you know that I've struggled with embracing my domesticity. While I thoroughly enjoy having a clean house and having time to cook and pursue hobbies, I desperately missed the feeling of accomplishment that only a hard day's work can provide.  The confidence to say "I'm going to buy that, because I've earned it, by gosh." (Those of you who know me also know what phrase to insert in lieu of "by gosh".)

I've always thought that my perfect job would be something professionally challenging in content, but part-time in nature.  Something I could do remotely would be the cherry on top.  If someday I ever start a company, I am only going to hire moms to work while their kids are at school... the Part-Time Professional.  Part-time accountants, part-time lawyers, part-time engineers, part-time project managers.... why not? Why does part-time have to imply some lower level, no-education-required type job?  It's just a schedule, and some of us have other things to do.

I came across an opportunity to work part-time, from home, in an industry that actually interests me.  And although it's not engineering, neither in challenge level nor in salary, it scores 2.5 out of 3 stars on my scale.  When/if my husband gets relocated again, I won't have to quit just to pack up and follow him.  That's really the biggest perk for me, because emotionally that was holding me back the most.

So let me pose a question:  if someone offered you a job, let's say your current job, but let you work less time for proportionally less pay, would you take it?  If you could pick your kids up from school everyday, or sleep in every morning... would you take less money?  Or if you could take a week extra of vacation, even if it was unpaid... would you?

Friendly Broccoli Salad

Serve this with a turkey sandwich for a quick & healthy lunch… much better than potato chips! B, this one’s for you and your love of Greek yogurt.

Admittedly, I don't actually measure anything. Still good!

Friendly Broccoli Salad

Ingredients

5 c       chopped broccoli

1/2 c   nonfat Greek yogurt
2 tbs   balsamic vinaigrette
2 tbs   sunflower seeds
1/4 c   golden raisins

Directions:  Chop, toss, & serve!

Notes: Throw in any extra veggies you have, like grated carrots or squash, to mix it up.

Bread-winner or Bread-maker?

The first house we ever owned. Who knew it would be one of many?

I recently made the transition from full-time professional to housewife, but I have by no means fully adjusted to the change.  Theoretically, I am happy to support my husband by temporarily sacrificing my career in pursuit of his. And he is happy to support me, financially.  As I’ve said before, we came to this decision in a very calculated and practical manner. And I always thought that once we found a more permanent home, I would go back to work.

Now, as rumors spread about our next potential move, I am realizing that it might not be any more conducive to a career for me. It might also be temporary. It might be in the middle of nowhere. It might just not be practical for me to have a career.

Before the judgments kick in, let me say something. This is not a “lazy” thing.  I’m perfectly aware that I could get a job no matter where we are and for any duration.  That’s not what I’m talking about. To be frank with you, it’s not worth my time to work at some crappy job just for the cash, and my husband agrees.  I’m talking about the personal satisfaction of a career.

We haven’t actually heard anything substantial about moving or not, but the gears are turning to produce a series of “what if” scenarios. So I’m faced with the decision again, except this time it’s my job of housewife that is under question.  While I bake muffins and clean the floorboards, I wonder what my options really are in a constantly temporary scenario.  I may never be able to open up a business of my own, knowing I’ll have to leave it before I see any profits. I can’t take a job with any ambition in my heart knowing I’ll be leaving it down the road. It’s easy to find a job for a year or two, but it’s difficult to pursue a career in that time.  I’m not prepared to take a “job” without a larger goal in mind.

Is it acceptable for me to find contentment as a stay-at-home oilfield wife?  And can I be satisfied with that?

Subliminal Gardening

Fished flower bed... now just waiting for blooms!

My husband recently built me a set of raised cedar gardening beds, and I rushed to fill them with a variety of purple, pink, and cream blooming flowers.  After all that work, I made the foolish decision to save mulching for another day.  Naturally the weeds popped up in only a few days, and I found myself crawling in between prickly rose bushes to pluck out the unwanted bits of grass and unidentified leafy bits.  Not only was I covered in dirt and scratches, but I just couldn’t seem to pluck out every little blade of grass.

I’ve used mulch in the past and spent an equal amount of time crawling around to pick out stubborn weeds.  So this year, I vowed to try landscaping fabric to prevent unwanted greens from penetrating my perfectly mulched beds.  This supposedly magical product is laid over the dirt and under the mulch, with only the desired plants popping out, and kills the weeds by blocking the sunshine to the remainder of the bed. However, I wasn’t ready to drop any more cash, since I already spent too much on cedar, top soil, compost, annuals, and perennials. So I brainstormed a more economical solution.

I browsed the internet for ideas, and the most common substitute for landscaping fabric is newspaper. A few layers of leftover newspaper achieve similar sun-blocking action, while also biodegrading to “feed” plants the following year.  Other suggested substitutes included using paper bags, cardboard, or even plastic bags to create a bedding barrier.  So I looked in my recycling closet, and found zero newspaper, an insufficient stack of paper bags, and a boatload of magazines.  Most of the articles I read insisted that the glossy, colored pages wouldn’t be best for this application; however, it seems to me that it ought to be better than a plastic bag.  So I went to work.

In the process of layering magazine pages and mulch through the flower beds.

In my magazine inventory, I found several issues of organic gardening magazines and catalogues.  How appropriate!  I started to think that if I surrounded my plants with bight colorful pictures of perfectly blooming plants, they might be inspired to follow suit.  I also grabbed a copy of my new favorite magazine in hopes of making my task more simple. In my opinion, the magazine pages were just the right size to get in between all the plants and edges, although I did find the wind to be problematic.  But with a few spare rocks and random gardening tools, I was able to weigh down the sheets of paper long enough to pour on the mulch.

I checked the finished product this morning, and the glossy pages were still moist from the overnight watering. Just what I had wanted!  Thus far I am happy with the texture and weight, which seems to absorb water sufficiently to water the soil but is heavy enough to block the light.  I’ll let you know if my plants pick up on the subliminal messages left by the articles.

House on the Prairie

Our home on the prairie.

When my husband and I moved to a small town in northern Texas, we decided to embrace it.  For us, that meant moving out on some land in a rural farming area outside of town.  My husband, who was raised on 30 acres, assured me that the small 3 acre lot we purchased was perfectly manageable.  I however, having mostly lived in an apartment environment, thought 3 acres was a little intimidating.

To the front of us is a wheat field, to the back is cotton, and to the side is the neighbor's horse & donkey.  There are few trees out here, so the winds truly come sweepin' down the plain.  Little did I know how problematic this would be... nothing like the musical led me to believe.

In this part of the world, we have lots of red dirt, very little rain, and enough wind to power a city. This creates a lovely dirt-wind cocktail that resembles something from the surface of Mars. My pack porch has a constant layer of red mud that no amount of daily cleaning can cure.  The grill has to be positioned just-so to avoid red dirt seasoning carried in the wind.  Some days, the view from my window looks identical to that in a 1930's dust bowl.

The dust & debris doesn't just affect outdoor living; it has seeped into my house as well.  All of my white window sills are covered in red dust, even with the windows shut.  The hardwood floors and tables are coated in a layer of red dirt, no matter how frequently I clean. I can't imagine how the women who pioneered this area coped...  I'm not sure how I'd do it without my  Dyson vacuum and Swiffer WetJet.

This is a classic "Be Careful What You Wish For" scenario.  I can assure you that our next home will be tucked away amongst large trees, green lawns, and lots of obstacles to stop the wind.

Friendly Banana Bread

I am, and have always been, a picky eater.  And although I've come a long way from my days as a tween vegetarian, there are other new quirks that define my diet.  Quirk 1: Organics.  I won’t lecture you on the benefits of organics… it’s a personal choice.  But I will tell you that the only time I cried due to our move to rural Texas was in the grocery store when I couldn’t find the organic section. Quirk 2: Certified Humane.  I try to buy happy meat whenever possible, despite the teasing from my husband.  This label is the only thing that keeps me from going vegetarian.

Everything I cook at home has been engineered to be healthier, to the best of my ability. Skim, organic, wheat, low-sodium… you name it.  I’ve tried to do it.  So I’m happy to share with you the first of a series of “friendly” recipes.  All of these recipes will work with traditional ingredients, but I do prefer organic when possible.  Enjoy these recipes… guilt free!

Friendly Banana Bread with Granola Topping

Friendly Banana Bread

Ingredients

2              eggs, beaten

⅓ c           low-fat vanilla or plain yogurt

½ c         applesauce

3              bananas, just starting to brown

¾ c         sugar

1 ¾ c      wheat flour

1 tsp        baking soda

½ tsp      salt

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 325F.
2. In one large bowl, blend together eggs, yogurt, applesauce, & bananas.  To banana mix, add sugar, flour, baking soda, and salt.  Blend until well mixed.
3. Pour into greased 9 x 5 loaf pan, and bake 1 hr 20 min.

Notes:

• Check the sugar content of the applesauce and yogurt, especially if non-organic.  You may be able to use less sugar if these contain lots of added sugar.
• This also makes great muffins, just bake for about 20-30 min less!

4 Little Tips to Get Healthier

1. Replace your peanut butter with almond butter.  Almonds are one of those “superfoods” that nutritionists always recommend.  Personally, I don’t crave a handful of almonds very often.  My snacks are usually a peanut butter & banana sandwich, peanut butter cookies, peanut butter on a toasted bagel… you get the idea.  This little switch makes me feel good every time I snack!
2. Buy an organic dark chocolate bar.  Dark chocolate is significantly healthier than milk chocolate, and even provides some health benefits such as lowering cholesterol and blood pressure.  My chocolate addiction is so severe that I need it almost daily.  I buy myself one large organic chocolate bar each week, and break off one piece each night when the craving strikes.  Amazingly, the small amount of organic dark chocolate is more satisfying than a king size waxy milk chocolate bar. Try it- you’ll see!
3. Be an active TV viewer.  No, I don’t mean watch more TV; I mean get up off the couch! Make an effort to get on your feet during commercials.  Do a few dishes, put away some laundry, or just pace around the living room.  Just try to get up and move.  You’ll be amazed how fun this can be and how productive you will feel after your favorite shows.  Plus it feels like you are getting a reward for doing mundane chores!
4. Make muffins.  Take 30 minutes on Sunday to bake home-made muffins, and your life will be better! Pre-packed or drive-through breakfasts contain high amounts of sodium and calories.  But what’s easier than grabbing it on the go? Nothing… that’s why you make muffins on Sunday and have them ready to go all week.  Try healthy replacement ingredients, like using applesauce & yogurt instead of oil & butter.  For a real health kick, use flax seed instead of egg.

These little tips are easy to do and easy to stick to.  Of course, these alone won’t change your life, but I believe that every little change adds up.  Good luck!

Karma & Tacos

I’m a strong believer in the What-Goes-Around-Comes-Around lifestyle. That means when I think or do something negative, I expect some equivalent adversity to occur in my life.  So I try very hard to keep an open heart and practice compassion, although I still struggle to live this way daily.  I have to admit that it doesn’t come naturally to me yet.

Occasionally, I’m put in a position to make a clear choice about which path I want to take.  This is a lot easier than changing your everyday inner thoughts, which tend to just pop up.  Deciding on an action, however, requires a conscience process, a chance to weigh the options, followed by a decision.

Last night, my husband and I went out to our regular Taco Tuesday for dinner.  When we left it was dark in the parking lot, but I noticed something on the ground outside the door.

“Honey, look!  It’s money.”

I pointed down at a $5 and a $20 bill, because I wasn’t sure if I had the nerve to pick it up.  My husband scooped it up immediately, and as I looked away in shame, I noticed a $100 bill.  Well… we had already picked up the other money… no sense in letting $100 just fly away.  So I picked it up, with much less reserve than I had initially felt with a measly $25.

There was no one else around.  We could see people in the restaurant, but no one came running out to search for their lost money.  I suggested taking it inside, but my husband advised that one of the several college students inside was sure to lie and take the cash.

“What should we do?  I can’t make this decision.  You have to decide.”  I wasn’t about to steal $125. I really was trying to be better at managing my Karmic energy, and that would surely result in some catastrophe later in the week. Plus it was just wrong.

We stood outside, waiting for someone to come relieve us of this moral burden.  When no one came, we sat in the car and watch each person in the checkout counter.  Surely one of them would dig into their wallet, throw their hand up in the air, and come running out to the parking lot.  But no one did.

On the way home, we reviewed our recent good deeds, trying to justify the cash stuffed in my purse.  Ultimately, I decided that the safest thing to do was donate it to charity… at least most of it.

Sewing for Snails

Last fall, I decided to recover a pair of white chairs in our living room.  I wanted something a little warmer for the colder months, plus the white fabric was a magnet for dirt, ink, coffee, and fur.  Although it’s now February, I have finally finished my project.

Luckily my chair cushions are very simple, which suits my very beginner skill level.  So I measured each of the rectangular sides, noting how many of each would be required.  Then I sketched a length of fabric, so that I could puzzle-piece together my rectangles within the confines of a 54” corridor.  So far, so good!

I planned to make these covers removable, so I needed to find a way to handle the opening.  Zippers are a little intimidating, but not so much as buttons.  I settled on Velcro… the peel & stick kind.  What could be easier than that?  So I left an extra inch on one flap of fabric per cushion to affix my Velcro strips.

New Chair Cover in the Sunshine!

Then my favorite part of any sewing adventure- a trip to the fabric store!  Browsing through all the patterns and textures always makes me want to re-do my entire house.  I also usually over-estimate my talent when wrapped up in the excitement of shopping… l could totally recover my leather sofa, right?

I settled on a red hounds tooth fabric that is actually meant for outdoor use.  This works for me because (1) it is quite durable, which is important with a young puppy’s teeth at chair-level, (2) the chairs sit in front of a window with quite a lot of sun, so the UV fade resistant fabric is smart.

Then procrastination settled in, as it normally does after the “fun part” of a project is over. When company came over, I would explain, “This is what those chairs are really going to look like.”  As if saying that would somehow excuse the stains on the existing covers.  Three months later, I cut up my fabric into 24 little rectangles, ready for assembly.

And nearly two months after that, I pieced them together.  So now that it’s nearly spring, my autumn chair covers are finally complete.  I’m starting on a cozy blanket next, so hopefully it will be ready by next winter.

Just a Walk in the Park, Officer

Duck Pond at the Local Park

Recently, I discovered a lovely little park not too far from our new house.  The park offers a tangle of paved pathways running throughout a wooded area, all bordered by a peaceful river.  There are picnic areas and a duck pond, and the locals stop by to have lunch and a quick walk.  This, I decided, was the perfect place to take my new puppy on his daily walk. Our outings were a huge success, and each day I looked forward to spending time at my little oasis.

Today I decided to be a little adventurous, taking a longer path than normal through the park.  About halfway through the route, I saw a little black and white, pointy eared dog standing on a foot bridge.  At this point in the path, there were no parking lots or picnic areas nearby, and I couldn’t see anyone through the dense patch of trees surrounding the path. The dog had a collar and a tag, so I tried my best to coax him over to us. My intention was to check the tag, call the phone number, and hopefully get this little guy back home. My own puppy, always eager to make a friend, scared the little dog over to the river bank.  So I crept just a few feet off the path, talking out loud to both dogs all the while.

I must have stood there talking to these dogs like a crazy lady for a solid five minutes.  Finally the little black and white dog began heading our direction, but then darted off to hide under the footbridge.  As I started to walk over the wooden bridge, hoping to meet the dog on the other side, I looked between the cracks under my feet in search of him. That’s when I caught a glimpse of something odd.

Under my feet I saw a pair of white sneakers, on a pair of feet, sticking out from a pair of blue jeans that were clearly occupied.  I was straddling what appeared to be a man laying flat in the ditch below.

My first reaction, for some reason, was not to alarm the dog. I myself was terrified… instantly assuming this was a dead body and the killer must be nearby, watching me talk to the dogs, waiting for me to discover his secret.  But in some effort to “throw him off” I continued talking aloud to my puppy as though I hadn’t seen a thing.  Maybe if the killer thinks I didn’t see the body, he’ll just let me go.  So I kept walking, saying aloud “That doggie doesn’t want to play. Oh do you want to run? Yes that’s a good dog… let’s go for a run!”  And we ran the remaining half mile back to the car in record time.

Now I realize that this was probably just some homeless guy, who was being very polite considering I had interrupted his nap.  But the fact that he hadn’t spoken or even shuffled an inch really had me worried.  So I called the non-emergency police explaining, “There was this dog, and these feet, and homeless but not moving but I don’t really know for sure.”  I left park immediately after making the call.

The dispatcher called for a little more information, saying that the officers hadn’t found anything.  So I’ll never know for sure. Did the killer move the evidence? Or did the homeless guy finally wake up?

All I know is… I need to find a new place to walk.

My Great Migrations

I have always felt the need to travel.  Coming from a family that could never afford to “take a vacation” in the traditional sense, I had little exposure to the world outside my home and immediate family.  Even so, I always knew I loved other places.  I developed a plan, as many teenagers do, to get as far away as possible as soon as I was old enough.

When I was 16, I left my parents’ home for boarding school.  Although it was only an hour’s drive, the experience was rich in cultural exposure.  I grew up in a small town in the Bible Belt of America, completely un-aware that Christianity wasn’t “the norm” in other places, or that people might have customs different than my own.  I was quickly thrown into a new world that was eye-opening in the best way.

My roommate was of the Mormon faith, and she so gracefully answered all of my questions about her religion by starting with “Well, we believe….” instead of “It’s like this.”  That’s when I first started to change my own way of expression and thinking.  From “This is how it is, because that’s what I believe” to “I feel this way, but I don’t mean to say that you are wrong.”  Our dorm-room neighbors were Muslim.  I didn’t even know what Muslim was, but by the end of the semester I had learned and observed many of its customs.  I grew to really respect religious diversity and to this day enjoy learning about the intricacies that make each one unique.  I loved listening to a girl on my floor talk about her early life in Pakistan, where she was born.  I learned why Bengali is not Indian. I was amazed to discover that my friend went to “Chinese” school conducted in Mandarin, while I was playing Nintendo.  To this day, I love listening to my friends tell stories about their respective cultures.

Still, I could not afford to travel to any of these exotic places that my peers were so familiar with.  That is, I couldn’t go on vacation.  But the time to move on to college was approaching, and I could live wherever I wanted.  I landed in New Orleans, LA, which I absolutely adored.  I loved the culture- garden district streetcars, open air markets, sunbathing at the levee, and drive-through daiquiris.  Then Hurricane Katrina forced an unexpected relocation.  Again I wanted to go somewhere new, so I applied to the University of Southern California- sight unseen.  I packed my belongings (what was left) into my tiny car and drove to a place that I had never been to before, to live with people who I had never met.  I navigated the highways of Los Angeles and found my downtown apartment, which I had selected from over 1800 miles away.  I wonder if I still have the courage to do something like that.

So now sitting in my own little house on the prairie, I’ve started to feel that familiar craving.  After reviewing the not-so-encouraging vacation budget, I can’t help but wonder if just moving to a new city would be easier.  To hell with counting vacation days… maybe I’ll just learn Italian, move to the Almalfi Coast, and open a little café.

My husband does love pasta.

Emotion Vs. Reason (Or as I like to call it, What to Expect When Expecting a Puppy)

Lab-Weimaraner mix at 10 weeks old.

I recently experienced a huge disruption in my otherwise peaceful life.  After years of anticipation, my husband and I decided to adopt a puppy from the local shelter.

For the longest time I had two voices on the issue.  The first voice, my inner animal lover, said, “You’ll be saving a life and getting years of fulfilling companionship.”  The second and more practical voice countered with, “Only when you buy a house with a reasonable yard.  No, that’s not big enough, wait until the next house and try again.”  So when we moved into our second home, the animal-lover said, “Okay, now we can get a puppy.  I’ve met your criteria.”  To which the voice of reason said, “That yard is sufficient, but now you are working very long hours. This isn’t the time to get a puppy.”  It was true, I was commuting nearly four hours on top of managing a heavy workload. And then everything changed.

My husband’s job relocation allowed me to quit my demanding job and move into a home on a 3 acre lot.  The voice of reason had run out of excuses, and the more passive animal-lover said, “It’s time!” When the local animal shelter posted newborn Labrador-Weimaraner puppies, I knew the stars had truly aligned.

Adopting a new puppy is somewhat similar to expecting a child.  While I was waiting for the puppy to be weaned from his dog-mommy, I started purchasing all the necessities and preparing the house.  I also had an unexpected experience- sheer panic.  I would wake in the middle of the night and think, “I’m not ready for this!  There is a reason we don’t have kids yet! This is too much commitment!”  The voice of reason seemed to be pulling out all the stops.  I decided to keep these doubts to myself, sure that the feelings would pass and that my maternal instincts would kick in when the sweet little furball came home. 

The sweet little furball cried and howled throughout the entire first night.  I took him outside five times in the freezing midnight darkness, thinking that making him “hold it” was too torturous for both of us.  I had no intention of letting him sleep anywhere but his crate, but I was at his beck and call when it came to potty time.  I must have taken him out 50 times a day in the beginning, just in case.  I quickly wised-up and developed a strict schedule based on quantitative analysis.

(time in between potties) = (puppies age in weeks) x (15 minutes)

During the first weeks, I continued having bouts of panic about my decision to get a new family member.  I stopped showering, the cat started to avoid me, and my life revolved around the potty schedule of this furry little thing. I didn’t have time for afternoon tea, or crafts, or blogging/email/communication with anyone but the dog.  My conversation consisted of nothing but “Good potty” or “No!!”

The puppy is now 10 weeks old, and I am still struggling with my inner voices.  The animal-lover says, “Stick it out, this time will pass.  You committed to this, and you are responsible for this little life.  Your temporary misery is irrelevant.”  The practical, voice of reason says, “You don’t enjoy playing with him, and you feel little affection towards him. He is causing stress on your marriage and creating a lifestyle that you don’t want. Take him back to find a more suitable home.” As a shelter volunteer for years, I am shocked that these ideas even present themselves as options.  I feel terribly hypocritical. I’ve been known to curse people who adopt a pet, only to return it later.  I never understood how anyone could do that, and yet here I am experiencing such feelings.

I try my best to give him lots of exercise, both physical and mental, to show that I care for him.  But one chomp at the cat and I feel as though I could march him straight back to the shelter. When he performs well at obedience, I feel a deep sense of pride and start to think I can deal with puppy-hood.  Then later, when his obedience becomes selective, I feel a rage of frustration.

As of now, the problem is unresolved.  I wonder how normal or abnormal these feelings are.  Which inner voice should ultimately win this battle?