Best Medicine

Over the last few weeks, our Shih Tzu, Starburst, is happy to see me every time I come home.  She runs to the door, trips around my feet, jumps back in an attack pose, leaps forward again, and then dances back.  “Oh, my gosh,” I laugh as I watch her, “you’re full of piss and vinegar today!”  And I swear she smiles at me as she wags her long, furry tail so hard that her hindquarters actually bounce off the ground several times.

After this greeting, Starburst usually runs ahead of me down the hallway.  She knows my routine.  She waits for me by my bedroom as she continues to run around in circles.  When I open the door, she runs inside the room and stays with me for the rest of the afternoon.  In fact, she doesn’t leave my side for hours.  On Monday and Tuesday afternoons, we sit together, snacking on cheese crackers, while watching American Idol on Hulu.  (She is rooting for Gabby; I’m cheering on Cade.)  She only leaves me when the show ends, the Cheese Nips are gone, and she wants to go back into the living room to her bed for a while.

Later in the evening, she scratches on my closed door and waits for me to let her into my room again.  She stretches out on the floor by my feet while I work on the computer.  Later, she will slap at my legs with her shaggy, blond paws until I finally pick her up and cuddle her close.  She stays snuggled on my lap for the rest of the evening.  “Time for bed,” I’ll whisper to her as I try to pry her up off my lap.  But Starburst will suddenly become very heavy for such a small dog.  Her resistance to leaving me is apparent as she lets her body go limp and sluggish as she tries to oppose my efforts to remove her from my lap.  I finally stand up and carry her across the room.  I sit her down in the hallway and she stands outside my bedroom staring at me while I wish her a good night and close the door.  I wonder about her behavior as I lie down in bed.  I’m not sure why Starburst has become so attached to me, but it ‘s not just the Shih Tzu.  Lately, the cat has been acting strangely, too.

Zoey, my sister-in-law’s cat, has never liked me since the day I moved in three years ago.  She did not hesitate to let me know that this was her house, and I was invading her space.  She would nip at me, scratch me, or totally ignore me.  All of my efforts to make friends had failed miserably.  But over the last several weeks, Zoey stays in the same room with me.  She sits next to me on the couch.  She lets me scratch her shiny black head.  She lets me run my fingers down her long sleek back.  I can’t help but wonder why the cat is suddenly nice to me.

At first, I thought that the animals’ behavior was cute.  Now, I am worried that it is one of those “pets know when their owners are about to die” kind of things.  I tell myself that technically these animals are not my pets (they belong to my sister-in-law), and yet I am still overwhelmed by their kindness, especially right now when I can use unconditional love the most.

My health has become my biggest concern.  Tumors and cysts are common in my family, so I haven’t been surprised that tumors have been diagnosed throughout my body lately.  I have had this problem before.  Over the years, I have had ruptured ovarian cysts, breast cysts, fibroid and benign tumors in my uterus, an enlarged right ovary, precancerous tumors and polyps in my digestive track.  And now, just a few weeks ago, my dentist discovered a bloody tumor in one of my teeth.  Over the last few weeks, I have been stressed, exhausted, and overwhelmed.  Yet, every time, I come home, there’s Starburst bouncing around happy to see me, and Zoey allowing me to be in the same room with her.  And I know, I just know, everything is going to be okay.  Pets just instinctively seem to know when there is a problem and can offer amazing unconditional love and kindness, which, of course, is always the best medicine!

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Float

I have to admit that I have a strange relationship with water.  Maybe it’s because I am not a strong swimmer.  Okay, to be honest, I’m not a swimmer at all.  However, over the last few years, I have found myself exploring various bodies of water.  There was the journey across the channel from England to Belguim and then to France, the cruise around Lake Mead, the voyage down the Colorado River, the expedition to view glaciers in Alaska, the whale watching adventure in Hawaii (which unfortunately, didn’t produce a single view of the large mammals), and even the gentle drift around the lake on a duck boat in Branson, Missouri.

So even though I have experienced a variety of watery journeys, I have to admit that I still feel a tense anxiety starting in my chest and rising up in my throat every time I board a boat.  Stress grips my heart and tightens my rib cage.  I find myself holding my breath as the boat begins to pull away from the dock. I silently begin to pray, “God, please, don’t let this boat sink.  Please, don’t let me fall overboard.  Please, I can’t swim and this lake (or ocean or sea or creek) is so deep…please, God, please, don’t let this boat go down…please…”

And then, I sigh an audible “…aaahhhh….” as the boat settles into the water and begins to roll back and forth on the waves.  At that moment, an amazing sense of peace and gratitude overwhelms me.  Like second nature, my soul just gives over to the need to be part of something larger than myself.  I look out at the water and feel amazed by the vastness of the universe.  My anxiety always gives way to the most luxurious feeling of peace once I find myself sailing along with the currents.  As the saying goes, “When I stop struggling, I float.”

So that’s why on August 30^th, 2017, I was filled with both excitement and anxiety as I stood in front of the Hotel Pacific in Cairns, Australia.  I was waiting for the tour bus that was going to take me to the port where I would be getting on a boat that would be carrying me out to the Great Barrier Reef.  Though I was already praying for a safe journey, I still couldn’t shake the exhilaration that was pounding through me.  I was about to experience one of the best attractions in Australia.  After ten minutes of prayer and stress, I was finally aboard the Western Winds bus, which was expertly driven by a friendly, older man who looked like the Skipper from Gilligan’s Island.  The heavyset, incredibly kind man had gray wispy strands of hair straining around the sides of his head.  His blue captain’s hat tilting to the left and his crooked smile leaning to the right may not have inspired a lot of confidence, but felt immensely welcomed and respected by this driver as I settled into a seat near the front of the bus.

The drive to the harbor was going to take about an hour with a few stops along the way to pick up additional passengers.  I thought that this would be a great time to catch up on my journal entries. I held my pen over a blank sheet of paper, but I couldn’t concentrate.  I just wanted to stare out the window and see as much of Australia as I possibly could through the large, slightly grimy, thick windows.  I wanted to climb every tree, smell every flower, and count every blade of grass.  I had even stared at all of the hotels and tried to count all of the doors and windows as I tried to commit everything I saw to memory.  But, of course, the bus was moving too fast to experience Australia in this way, so instead I was content for a few minutes to relax back in my seat and watch the two lovely bees buzzing around the front window on the opposite side of the bus.

Finally, we arrived at the pier and the bus driver, who would be traveling to the reef with us, pointed in the direction of the dock where our boat was waiting.  I was glad he was there to direct us; the harbor was full of a multitude of ships of various styles and colors.

Once aboard, crewmembers greeted the passengers in the cabin with coffee, tea, cookies, and an interesting presentation on coral and sea life by a marine biologist.  Twenty minutes later, as the boat revved up and started to move out into the ocean, I once more started to pray, “God, please, don’t let this boat sink…”

But within a few short minutes, the sense of awe overcame me and I started to relax as the boat rocked back and forth on the water.  Aaaaahhhh.  I couldn’t help the deep sigh of serenity that escaped my lips as the boat moved further away from the dock.  With the majority of the other tourists, I climbed the white metal stairway to the top of the boat.  My sudden sense of peace had compelled me to sit where I could observe the water, the sun, the fluffy clouds, the pure blue sky, and the other boats that sailed along beside us.

I settled down on one of the red vinyl benches that bordered the top tier of the boat.  I closed my eyes and let my body relax with the swaying of the ship as I breathed in the smooth, warm air….at first.

Within a few minutes, however, my eyes popped open and I sat up straight.  The strong currents were pushing the boat sideways and the wind was blowing so hard that the red canopy covering the boat began to snap loudly as it flapped up and down.  I put my hands down on the bench to grip the edge of my seat.  I felt my body beginning to roll as the boat rocked violently back and forth.  I glanced at all of the people sitting on the other benches around me.  Though everyone seemed to be gripping onto their seats or trying to push the widely blown hair out of their faces, I grew concerned that I was going to embarrass myself by getting sick.  I had never been on a wilder ride out on the water.  I was now mentally kicking myself for not accepting one of the seasick pills that the crewmembers had passed around before the ship left the dock.  I’m not a believer in taking any sort of pills unless absolutely necessary and I had never gotten sick on a boat before.  Anxiety and stress, yes, but never physically sick.

I decided then that my best course of action would be to go downstairs to the cabin and see if I could still get one of those little blue pills.  I pushed myself up from the bench and started to walk across the white wooden planks that made up the floor of the upper tier of the boat.  Oh, my gosh…what was happening!?  I couldn’t get my footing with the crazy rocking of the ship.  I hadn’t had any of the wine or champagne that the crew had offered earlier and yet I couldn’t walk a straight line no matter how hard I tried!  And I did try hard.

My goal was to walk over to the steps leading down to the galley.  However, as I tried to walk towards the stairs, I moved my legs straight and yet found myself high stepping to the left!  I tried to walk to the right and got my legs all tangled up and almost tripped myself.  I straightened my legs and found myself suddenly lurching to the left again.  I was suddenly aware, even with the noise of the wind whipping through the canopy, the flags, and various clothing items, that no one was talking or laughing anymore.  Everyone had suddenly grown still as they watched me walking (?) rubber legged across the upper deck.  Oh, my gosh, was my only thought now, these people must think I’m stinkin’ drunk.  I tried to force myself to straighten my back and hips and walk forward, but I was still all wobbly legged and continued moving right in order to go left!  I swear I was walking like a drunken sailor back from a three-day leave!  I struggled to get my footing and found myself sliding backwards two steps for every one-step I moved forward.

Finally, a young man  wearing a yellow t-shirt and multi-colored, striped shorts stood up and took a few steps towards me.  He started to reach out his right hand to grab my arm, but he was too late.  I tumbled away from him just as he made a grab for me.  The man tried one more time, but we missed each other again as he stumbled in one direction and my body was thrown the opposite way.  At that point, the man basically gave up as he threw up his arms and backed away, leaving me completely to my own devices.  Trying to regain some sense of balance, we both walked wide-legged towards the stairs as the ship rolled back and forth.

And then…success!  I did it!  I got to the steps first but I don’t think the man had put up much of a fight.  I suddenly realized that he had let me win so I would go down the stairs first and avoid falling on top of him if I fell.  So, now I was anxious to prove that his assessment of my awkward movements was completely wrong.  I was determined to get down the stairs without a stumble.  I gripped the white metal railing and carefully lowered myself down one-step at a time as the man followed cautiously behind me.

I now walked across the lower deck and entered the galley.  It wasn’t until I was on the carpeted floors of the cabin that I was finally able to walk straight.  Thankfully, the crewmembers had placed numerous little blister packets of the seasick pills in a large, plastic, blue bowl on a wooden counter by the door.  I still grabbed two of the packets and placed them in the pocket of my jeans as one of the male attendants reminded me that the pills only really work if taken before leaving port.  Oh, well…I would save them for the journey back.

After leaving the galley, I decided not to even try going back to the upper deck.  Instead, I carefully edged my way across the lower level and sat down on a bench.  Now, I felt more relaxed and calm as I sat by myself watching the tall waves as they splashed up against the boat.

About 30 minutes later, I was amazed to see a tall lighthouse situated on a small island come into view and the boat slowly began to drift to a gentle stop.  Our ship didn’t dock on the island.  Instead, like all of the other boats in the area, our vessel dropped anchor and we continued to bop up and down on the waves, the island still 100 feet away from us.  To get to the island, all passengers were transferred on to large sailboats.  Now, maybe from sheer relieve that I had survived the journey to the Great Barrier Reef, I joyfully and gracefully stepped across the gap between the two boats and settled myself into a seat.  I was now on a glass bottom boat and eagerly leaned forward to view the reef as the marine biologist pointed out various varieties of coral, fish, turtles, and clams.  I was so fascinated by the view that I completely forgot for a moment that I was still on a boat that was rocking with the currents.  I felt as if I was peering into an alien world, an advanced civilization that I could only see from the outside looking in.  I really wanted to be a part of that world but decided not to go scuba diving.  Again, I am not a strong swimmer (okay, honestly, once again, I’m not a swimmer at all!) and was afraid I would hold back the group that would be following along on a guided tour led by the biologist.

Instead, I carefully exited the boat and sunk my feet into the warm deep sand of the island.  I roamed around by myself for a while as I waded in the cool Pacific water, took long deep breaths, played in the sand, and snapped a lot of pictures, filling up a single memory card.  I probably overdid it with the pictures , but the scene was far too beautiful to trust it just to my memory.  I didn’t trust my jumbled and scattered brain to take it all in or remember the amazing sights.  After a while of roaming aimlessly and purposely, I sat with one of my fellow passengers in the shade and discussed our various travels.  The elderly gentleman was from Sydney, and joyfully informed me of all of the main attractions I had to visit when I explored that area of Australia the following week.

After a tour around the island with the marine biologist, the passengers and crew explored the lighthouse and the small grave that held the remains of the first woman to be the caretaker of the lighthouse.   I stood for a few moments over the grave and imagined what life must have been like for this woman, who had lived in solitude while her husband was away on the continent for the majority of their lives.  She had lived on this island, fighting the elements, surviving alone while making sure the lighthouse would always be bright to save the many ships from harm.  So many years ago, what had life been like for this strong, courageous woman?

All too soon, the sailboat arrived to take my group back to our boat.  Once again, everyone was settled into the gallery with cups of tea or coffee and cookies.  I sat in a booth with the elderly Sydney man and his wife as we talked about our homes and travels and waited for the boat to rev up again and carry us back to port.  Not taking any chances, I covertly swallowed one of the seasick pills and prepared myself for the journey.  I was hoping that the ride back would be much smoother.  We would be going with the currents this time since we were traveling in the opposite direction now, right?  But then, the Sydney man informed me.  “The journey to and from the island is always rough because we never go with the currents.  The distance between the dock and the island is always going across the currents.”  I just smiled and nodded as if I had expected this, but in my head, I had started to pray again.  “Oh, God, please, don’t let this ship sink…”

After a few minutes, I decided to be courageous and step outside onto the lower deck.  I took a seat on one of the benches as a middle-aged couple settled into seats to the right of me.  And this time, as the ship moved across the water, I couldn’t stop laughing!  Instead of rocking back and forth on this journey, the boat was literally bouncing up off the water!  The waves were so high that our ship would sail up into the air and then flop back down onto the water with a loud smack.  I had to jump up and change my seat several times as heavy waves splashed up over the white railings of the boat and flooded the lower deck.  A few times, I clung to my seat as the boat sunk down below the surface of the waves and then shot straight up in the air again.  Many times, my hands lost their grip on the edge of the seat and my body was basically airborne, with my little skinny legs kicking helplessly in the air, as I flew up over the deck and then smacked back down on my bottom on the bench again.

I don’t know if it was the seasick pills or just the joy of being alive, but I didn’t feel afraid.  Instead the wild ride exhilarated me.  I had never experienced anything like this before and I was excited by the whole adventure.  As a gigantic wave once again chased me out of my seat, I crookedly walked across the deck and stood on the other side as one of the female crew members walked out of the galley.  The young woman stood for a moment and brushed her long, blond hair back out of her face before she suddenly said, “Look!  Look at the whales!”  She pointed excitedly out at the ocean.  I turned quickly just as two large glorious whales leaped out of the water, their white and silver bodies glistening in the sun before they flopped back down into the ocean.   Their movement caused our boat to roll violently to the right side, but I didn’t care.  Oh, my gosh…there were large whales right in front of my eyes!  I carefully crossed the deck again and gripped hold of a thick metal white pole just as the two whales shot straight up out of the water again and this time a small baby whale jumped with the them!  I laughed out loud as I suddenly realized that the boat had been rocking and flying into the air because of the whales frolicking so closely to us.  The whales had been circling around us ever since we had left the island.  Now, all of the passengers were crowded out on the deck as the whales continued to cavort around us and follow our boat back into port.

After a few more minutes, our ship pulled up to the dock and all of the passengers carefully disembarked as we tried to now walk on solid ground with our legs still rubbery and wobbly.  Everyone  settled back on the bus again as our lovely driver drove back to our various hotels.  I was exhausted but also feeling very alive as I rested my head against the cool glass of the window by my seat.  I was so pleased now to have had such an amazing adventure on the ocean today.  I thought of the fear and stress I had felt as  I get on the boat and it all seemed so silly now.  I love the water!  Once again, the excitement, the beauty, and the basic joy of being alive had overcome my stress and fear.  And that’s exactly the way life should be…

 

 

 

 

Tiny Heroes

“I’m suspicious of people who don’t like dogs, but I trust a dog when it doesn’t like a person.”—Bill Murray

Last Tuesday, I was looking forward to having the house to myself for a while. There are no problems, no arguments, no upsets at home.  I was, however, looking forward to being alone.

For the last two years, I have been renting a room in my brother’s house.  It can be a little hectic when everyone is home in the evening.  My brother, sister-in-law, nephew, one cat, and three dogs make this house an extremely loud and busy home.  Though overall I enjoy the peaceful chaos, it can sometimes overwhelm me.  I had lived completely alone for over twenty-five years before moving in with my energetic family; it has been a bit of an adjustment for me.  While it is surprising how well we all get along (well, except for the cat.  I don’t think she likes having me in her house), I still was looking forward to having my own personal quiet time.  So while my family attended a concert at the Sprint Center in Kansas City, Missouri, I was going to stay joyfully alone.  Well, I wasn’t completely by myself.  The three dogs were going to be home with me.  And the cat, well, she wasn’t going anywhere. She decided to spend her evening at home blissfully annoying me. But despite the cat’s dirty looks, I decided to just relax and veg out in front of the TV for a while.  I wasn’t going to worry tonight about whether or not the cat liked me.  Instead, I decided to luxuriate in the feeling of being happy and safe at home.

I made a bowl of popcorn and cuddled up on the couch with the dogs to watch America’s Got Talent.  (The cat didn’t want to join us.  She thinks that show is gauche.  She only wants to watch PBS.)  However, the dogs and I had no sooner settled down on the couch when I heard a loud knock on the front door.  The noise surprised me and I jumped up from my seat.  My family had just left for the concert about 20 minutes ago.  Had they forgotten their tickets…and their keys?  Why would they knock on the door of their own home?  As I approached the door, the dogs were barking frantically.  That didn’t upset or surprise me.  Our three small dogs are incredibly hyperactive.  A simple knock on the door can send them into a frenzy of barks, growls, and endless running around the living room.  Now, all three dogs tripped all over themselves, and almost knocked me over, as we all quickly walked over to the front door.  I carefully pulled back the curtain and looked out the long window at the top of the door.

No, it wasn’t my family suddenly returning home.  Looking through the glass, I saw a young man with dark hair and a scruffy beard.  He was dressed in a gray shirt and dark pants with a blue baseball cap pulled down over his long, dark hair.  The man was standing at the bottom of the two steps that led up to our front porch.  Before I could drop the curtain back into place and move away from the door, the man looked up at me and smiled.

Dang! It was too late now to pretend that no one was home.

“Shush, dogs,” I now shouted as I added my own shrill voice on top of the dogs’ shrieks and yelps as they ran around in circles.  I stepped forward carefully as the dogs raced between and around my feet.  “Okay, okay, cool it, dogs,” I stated as I pulled open the door.  The dogs weren’t listening to me, though, as they once again surged forward like tiny tornadoes.

Even though we usually just let the dogs outside in our fenced-in back yard, I had no concern opening the front door with the dogs so closely around me.  In the two years I have lived with the dogs, they have never tried to escape through the front door.  I felt confident that they were safe and that they wouldn’t attempt to run off.

“Shhh, dogs,” I hissed at them again as I pulled open the front door.  The man who had been waiting patiently outside began to talk even before he had my full attention.  I was still trying to get the dogs under control.  Over loud, sharp barks, I could hear the man’s deep voice saying, “Uh, yeah, we are right down the street right now at one of your neighbor’s homes.  We’re spraying for roaches, tics, fleas, ya know.  Since we are already in the neighborhood, let me come in and spray your house, too.”

“STOP, DOGS!” I shouted and then turned back to look at the man.  “What?”  I said at first.  “Oh, no, no, thank you.  SHUT UP, DOGS! Thank you really, but no.  DOGS, GET BACK!”

And even though, I had already said no and I was obviously still struggling with our crazy dogs,  the man refused to give up.  “No, really,” he was saying, “we usually work on several homes when we are in the neighborhood.  We can spray your home, too.  No problem. Let me come in and take a look around.”

“DOGS, STOP!” I stressed again as I felt the animals moving around my legs, and then I suddenly looked back at the man.  “Huh?  What?  No…no.. we’re good, thanks.”

“No, come on,” the man was saying, “no problem. Let me do the job for a good price.”

“I’m not the owner of the house,” I said as I turned my attention towards the man now.  And then, “DOGS, C’MON ON!  GET BACK!  No, I’m not the owner of the house.  Thanks but I can’t make that decision.”

But the man wouldn’t go away.  How could he be so oblivious to the barking dogs?  Sure the dogs were small but how could he possibly be deaf and blind to the chaos going on around us.  “It’ll be fine,” he was saying,  “Let me in.  Come on….”

“No, I really don’t think…”

And then suddenly several things happened all at once…

The man now began to move.  He placed one foot on the bottom step and started to walk forward towards the door.  And just at that moment, I saw a streak of brown and white flying across the porch.

“Cowboy,” I called out to our tiny dachshund.  Oh, my gosh, my head spun in terror.  Oh, my God, Cowboy got out of the house!  What if he ran away? What if I had lost my sister-in-law’s dog?  I could just picture myself running up and down the neighborhood screaming, “Cowboy!  Cowboy, come home!”

But that’s not what happened.  As the man walked up the steps towards me, Cowboy, our brown and white speckled, 2 foot high, 20 inch long dachshund, had suddenly darted out the open front door and ran across the porch as I stood helplessly in the doorway.  I was screaming, “Cowboy, Cowboy, come back” as the little dog charged at the man trying to enter our home!  I was horrified.  What if Cowboy bit the man?  I certainly didn’t want the guy to get hurt.

“Okay, okay, okay,” the man now said as he backed down off the porch and quickly ran across the lawn.  Cowboy continued to stand on the top step, barking and growling, until the man had started walking away from our house and down the street.  Now, Cowboy turned and jumped back on the porch and entered the house again without my coaxing or begging him to come back home.

Once Cowboy was safely inside the house, I shut the door and made sure it was doubly locked.  Except for the noise from the TV, it was now quiet inside our home.  The dogs had finally calmed down and settled back into their favorite sleeping areas.  They were curled up behind the large pillows of the couch.  As I sat down slowly on the sofa, Cowboy now crawled over to me and laid his head on my lap.  His deep brown eyes stared up into mine.  Looking at the dog now, I suddenly understood.

“Oh, my gosh, Cowboy,” I sighed.  “You saved us.  You’re a hero.  You took good care of all of us.”

Now I don’t know what the man’s true intentions were.  Maybe he really did just want to spray our home.  But the shirt he wore had no company insignia.  He carried no equipment at all.  Maybe this was a complete misunderstanding.  I don’t know.

But I do know this: I had never before seeing Cowboy go out the front door when it was open…and, in the two years I have lived with my family, I have never ever seen Cowboy charge at any person before.  “There was something wrong, wasn’t there, Cowboy?” I whispered to the dog.  “You really didn’t like that man.  And you protected us.”  The man could have easily kicked this tiny dog and punted him like a football down the driveway without any great effort at all.  And yet, Cowboy had been unafraid.  He had been fearless in this strange situation.  I was in awe of this tiny creature’s great courage.

Now I would never encourage or want our dogs to hurt anyone.  But I couldn’t shake the strange feeling that Cowboy had prevented what could have potential been a bad situation.  I trusted this usually sweet dog’s instincts over anything else.

I gathered Cowboy up on my lap now and cuddled him close.  “Thank you, Cowboy, for protecting us,” I whispered to him.

I smiled then as all three dogs now settled down all around me as if they were my own personal bodyguards.  And once again, I felt safe and happy at home.

 

 

 

Hangry

The noise was driving me crazy!  I tried to concentrate on my essay but the dog just wouldn’t stop barking!  Every single one of his yelps just seemed to pierce right through my aching head.  I couldn’t imagine what had set him off.  I had filled the food bowl just a few minutes earlier.  I didn’t hear anyone come to the door.  Maybe the dog just wanted to go outside and chase around the stray kitties and squirrels that roamed into the yard from time to time.  After a few more minutes of listening to the endless barking that dissolved into loud screeching howls that seared into my brain and shattered my equilibrium, I finally pushed myself away from my desk and stomped through the living room into the dining room.

“What is going on?”  I shouted out in general to our three small, hyper dogs.  Cowboy, our brown-and-white, spotted dachshund, was standing underneath the large, wooden dining room table.  He was staring into the kitchen as he continued to bark and howl.

“Cowboy,” I shouted to him, “stop it.  What’s wrong with you?”  I glanced into the kitchen and then started to laugh.  “Ah, Dog,” I sighed, “it’s okay.”  But I don’t think he was listening to me as he glared at Starburst and Friskie and continued to growl.

Yes, as usual, around 6 pm, I had filled the dogs’ double-sided, plastic bowl with their usual hard, dry, crunchy dog food.  Typically, Cowboy, the lone male dog, always had one side of the bowl to himself.  Our two female dogs, Friskie and Starburst, either shared the other side or took turns eating.  This night, however, the females decided to stage a mini, non-violent rebellion.  Friskie and Starburst each took a side of the bowl and refused to let Cowboy in between them.  I’m sure Cowboy was thinking “the little bitches” as he grew more upset and continued to howl and whimper.  “Cowboy, it’s okay,” I tried to soothe him.  “You can eat in just a minute.  Let the girls finish.”

But Cowboy wasn’t used to waiting.  He was hungry now and wanted the females out of his way.  But no matter how fierce Cowboy barked, the females refused to be intimidated.  They just continued to scoop the morsels into their mouths and chew happily, totally ignoring the demands of the only male currently in the house.  In an effort to defuse the situation, I walked over to the large, plastic, red bag in the corner of the kitchen and scooped out a handful of dog food.  I sat down on the floor and called Cowboy over to me as I held the food out to him.  Cowboy suddenly choked back a hearty bark and raced over to me.  He leaped up into my lap and started nibbling the food that I held in the palm of my right hand.  As he chewed, I gently scolded him, “Now, don’t you feel silly causing such a fuss?  I’m not going to let you starve.”  Cowboy continued to eat from my hand until the females had finished their meal.  Then he ran over to the bowl and feasted on the scraps that the female dogs had left for him.  He bobbed his head back and forth between both sides of the bowl as he quickly gobbled up the rest of the food as if he was afraid someone would suddenly take it away from him.

I sat on the floor and sighed as I watched Cowboy begin to lick at the bottom of the bowl.  I never knew before that dogs could get low blood sugar.  Cowboy has a big problem with hypoglycemia.  He gets “HANGRY”!  If the dog isn’t fed by 7 pm, he has a complete meltdown.  Cowboy will bark and cry.  He will run around the living room in circles.  He will jump at me and claw at my legs as I innocently walk by him.  His obnoxious behavior doesn’t stop until he finally gets food into his belly.  Once he has been fed, Cowboy will finally calm down, relax, and return to his normally affectionate self as he lovingly cuddles up on the couch with me or protectively sits under my chair in my room as I work on the computer.  Though Cowboy is the most outrageous, he is not the only one of our dogs that gets “hangry!”

Starburst also gets agitated if she isn’t fed by a certain time.  She doesn’t whine or cry, however.  She has a completely different approach.  Most evenings, I’ll suddenly hear a soft scratch-scratch-scratch on the closed door of my room.  It will stop for a temporary moment and then it will begin again.  Scratch-scratch-scratch.  When I finally have had enough, I will get up from my computer and open the door.  Starburst will be out in the hallway, jumping up and then spinning dizzily around in tiny circles on the hardwood floor.  She will suddenly come to a stop and woozily wobble for a moment before heaving a deep sigh and then running down the hallway.  She knows that this display gets my attention every time and I will follow her as she runs through the living room into the dining room and finally into the kitchen.  When I finally catch up to her, she will pick up the empty plastic food bowl in her mouth and fling it at me striking me on the  lower legs.  Seriously…this tiny, fluffy dog will continue to throw her bowl at my feet and legs until I finally take it away from her, fill it with dog food, and place it back down on the floor for her.

Thankfully, Friskie is much more patient.  She doesn’t get upset or irritated as she waits to be fed.  However, she is not completely drama free when it comes to food.  I made a horribly mistake with the dogs one night.  Just because I was feeling a little lonely, I decided to keep the dogs company while they were having dinner.  I watched all three dogs huddled around the food bowl and when Friskie was suddenly pushed out of the way by the two hangry dogs, I did the same thing for her that I did for Cowboy previously.  I scooped up a handful of food out of the bag and began to feed Friskie directly out of my hand.  It made me laugh to feel her small, sharp teeth nipping at my hand as she pulled the small tidbits of food from my palm.  Suddenly, I realized that the other two dogs had stopped eating.  They had raised their heads up out of the bowl and noticed that Friskie was getting special treatment.  Now, Cowboy and Starburst ran over and jumped onto my lap as I sat in the middle of the floor.  The bowl had been temporarily forgotten and all three dogs were now feeding out of my hand.  I was completely caught up in the moment.  It was funny and sweet and I couldn’t stop laughing as the dogs climbed all over me to get to the food.  It was a fun, bonding moment for all four of us.

Only there was just one small problem.  Friskie, especially, really enjoyed cuddling up to me and eating out of my hand.  When I put the food out for the dogs the following evening, Friskie refused to eat.  She stood a few feet away from the bowl and cried as she watched Starburst and Cowboy feast.

“Friskie, it’s okay,” I told her.  “Go on, eat.”  I reached over and nudged Starburst and Cowboy off to one side as I made room for Friskie at the bowl.  But the dog still refused to eat.  “Friskie, what’s wrong?”  I whispered to her.  “Aren’t you hungry?”  I reached out my hand to stroke back her long brown-and-white fur.  To my surprise, she suddenly turned her head and gave the palm of my hand a long, sticky lick.  I suddenly realized that Friskie refused to eat out of her bowl because she wanted to be handfed again!  I was a little surprised that the other dogs didn’t nip at my hand as I reached right into their bowl as they continued to feed.  I grabbed a handful of kibbles for Friskie and held it out to her.  Now, the dog danced around the kitchen on her four tiny paws in excitement before eating the food right out of my hand.  Like any nervous, first-time mother, I was relieved that she was at least eating.  I tried several times to discuss the situation with Friskie.  I told her that she was a big doggie now and needed to eat out of the big doggie bowl.  But she continued to refuse any food unless it was first resting in the palm of my hand.  I know that I was giving in to the dog’s demands but I wasn’t sure now how to break her of this dependency.  Okay, and yes, I’ll admit it, maybe I was a little co-dependent.  Now, I had to find a way of breaking us both of this addictive behavior.

Then one night, as Starburst and Cowboy were having dinner and Friskie was once more cuddled up to me, I reached over to the large food bag and pulled out some kibbles for her.  As the dog began to nibble from my hand, I began to think that the food was a little different this time.  The pieces felt smaller and of lighter weight.  I looked down at the morsels in my hand and found that the pieces were all shaped like little, brown fish…and that’s when I suddenly realized that I had accidently reached into the kitty food bag!

I stared at the small dog in my arms for a moment before I started to laugh.  “Friskie,” I screeched to her, “you just ate kitty food.  Oh my gosh, you ate kitty food!”  Friskie looked up at me for a moment with a horrified expression on her little face before she raised her furry paws up and started to rub her mouth and nose.  I stared at her for a moment as she now jumped away from me and began to roll around on the floor.  I leaned forward and began to rub her down as I said, “Oh, Friskie, you ate kitty food!  You are going to have kitty cooties.  You got kitty cooties!”  Friskie actually howled as she rolled around on her back for a little while longer.

Finally, Friskie sat up in front of me with her little tail wagging and her tongue hanging off to the side as she panted.  She looked closely at me as if she was asking “Why?” and then she ran to the round plastic water bowl and buried her face in the cool fluid.  She quickly lapped up the water until the bowl was empty.  Even though she eventually forgave me for “kittygate,”  Friskie never begged to eat out of my hand again.  She now, once more, fights for her place at the food bowl with the other two dogs.

The dogs don’t have perfect manners.  One day, I came home from work and was a little hangry myself.  I decided to snack on a bag of Marshmallow Mateys.  I love eating dry cereal right out of the bag.  I settled down onto the couch in the living room, turned on the TV to watch Judge Judy, and ripped open my bag of cereal.  But as I put the first sugary piece into my mouth, I suddenly felt as if I was being watched.  I looked down and noticed that all three dogs were lined up directly in front of me.  All three dogs stared menacingly up at me as if I was cheating them at a card game.  What was going on?  Why would all three dogs be staring suspiciously at me?  I followed their sight line and realized that the dogs were staring at the red plastic bag that was sitting on my lap.  Oh, my gosh, it looked just like their dog food bag!  Did the dogs honestly think I was stealing their dog food?

“No, no, it’s okay,” I tried to tell them.  “This is not yours.  This is people food.”

But I know that they weren’t listening to me as all three of the dogs started to whine and beg.  This was really unusual.  Our dogs usually let the family eat in peace.  My sister-in-law, Mary, who actually owns the dogs, had trained them not to beg at the table.  But it didn’t help when the dogs assumed I was holding their dog food bag.  Did the dogs honestly think I was helping myself to their food?

“No, dogs,” I tried to tell them, “people food.  It may be in a package that looks like dog food, but it really is people food.  It’s for me, okay?”

But the dogs didn’t trusting me.  They now began to sit up and then jumped up and down.  “No,” I told them as I shook my head at their annoying behavior.  “I’m not going to feed you.  I can’t feed you cereal.”

Now, the dogs started barking loudly as they demanded to be fed, but I didn’t want to share.  I decided just to ignore them and that worked for a little while…

…Until I unexpectedly dropped a golden, round, chunky piece of cereal on the carpet.  I quickly leaned down to pick it up but before I could reach it, Cowboy suddenly sprung forward and grabbed the piece up into his mouth.  He quickly chewed it up and swallowed it down.

Dang!  But there was nothing I could do about it now.  But then the situation became worse.  I suddenly noticed that Friskie and Starburst had grown very quiet as they turned to look at each other.  Then, as they turned to stare back up at me, I knew then exactly what they were thinking.  “Well,” the thought seemed to pass between all of us, “you feed him.”

“It was an accident,” I tried to tell Friskie and Starburst.  “I didn’t mean to feed Cowboy.  I just dropped a piece.”

But that didn’t seem to matter.  It just didn’t seem fair to Friskie and Starburst.  Cowboy got a piece and they didn’t.  I groaned as I listened to them whimper and noticed that they stared at Cowboy with hostility.  Now, to help calm the situation, I took a deep breath and reached into the cereal bag.  “Alright,” I sighed as I held a sugary morsel out to each of them, “just don’t tell your momma.”  Momma, of course, referred to my sister-in-law, who would probably be very unhappy with our self-indulgent behavior this afternoon.  Friskie and Starburst jumped excitedly forward and gobbled up the cereal.  Then they began to swirl excitedly around the room.  They don’t usually get sugar and now it seemed to make them extremely happy.  I started to laugh and all of us were so happy, I couldn’t resist.  I snuck another piece of cereal to each of the dogs.  The dogs went a little crazy as they danced around the living room in excitement.  Oh, great, I thought.  I just sent all of three dogs on a sugar high!  “Okay, okay, dogs,” I sighed now.  “Calm down.  It’s okay.”  They were “sugar giddy” for a few minutes before they finally crashed down on the brown and gold carpeting and drifted off to sleep.

Ever since that moment, I have vowed to never again interfere with the dogs’ eating habits.  Life has returned to normal.  Cowboy still is grouchy when he is hangry; Starburst continued to throw her bowl at my legs; Friskie still wants to be “puppied” but is learning to eat like a grown up dog.

I will admit, though, from time to time, I will still walk into the kitchen while they are eating.  I will grab small pieces of food from their bowl.  They don’t nip at me, I think, because  they know what I have planned.  I hold the food out to them, and the dogs nip the morsels out of my fingertips.  The dogs chew the food, swallow it down, and smile (yes, I swear, they smile) up at me and wag their tails.  It makes me feel needed.  It makes me feel loved.

Gosh, I needed to stop being so co-dependent….

Alaska

Yugen

1. Important concept in traditional Japanese aesthetics. “Dim,” “Deep,” or “Mysterious”
2. Awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses too deep and mysterious for words.

In 1996, Jon Krakauer, the author of Into Thin Air, published an amazing, thoughtful book entitled Into the Wild.  This book tells the true story of Christopher Johnson McCandless who, after graduating from college, spurned his former affluent life and the bright, comfortable future ahead of him.  Motivated by books he read by Jack London and John Muir, McCandless dedicated himself to a personal vision quest that began in the western and southwestern regions of America.  Changing his name to Alexander Supertramp, McCandless gave his savings of  $25,000 to charity, abandoned all his possessions, left his car in the Mojave Desert, and burned all of his cash to ensure that nothing would hold him back from his journey.  Looking for his own personal paradise on this earth, McCandless even threw away all of his maps and traveled only by his intuition.  In April 1992, McCandless hitchhiked into Alaska and walked into the vast cold wilderness north of Mount McKinley.  For a while, McCandless found shelter in an abandoned old school bus.  Four months later, however, his body was found by a moose hunter.

No one knows what ultimately motivated McCandless’s careless journey.  Questions still remain about a young man’s need to walk away from a rich and promising future to live homeless and starving  in the barren wildness of Alaska.  Some people claim that McCandless had a death wish and a need for self-destruction.    Others just dismiss McCandless’s actions as foolish and innocently reckless.

Well, I guess I am foolish and reckless too….

I don’t claim to know what was in McCandless’s head or why he choose his particular lifestyle, but there is a core element inside of me that feels so connected to his story.  In response to Krakauer’s consistent questions in the book about McCandless’s journey, I think I understand.

There are so many of us on this earth who don’t always feel that we belong in a world that overwhelms us with violent, materialistic, opportunistic situations.  Some of us who struggle to cope, do not medicate ourselves from the stress with alcohol, food, cigarettes, sex, gambling, or prescription drugs, but we do experience a deep and compelling lust all the same.  Wanderlust and the need to move, to travel, to create a universe of our own existence is a hunger that is rarely satisfied.

Restless, never able to settle down, I constantly look for opportunities to escape my existence.  I have no intention of doing this through self-harm.  I just have a relentless need to be lost.  When I travel, I rarely call or text anyone.  I love driving alone down deserted highways  without a single person knowing where I am in that exact moment.  I enjoy the solitude, the drifting away from my reality.  This has been my lifestyle for the last thirty years.

In July, 2016, I finally had the opportunity to realize a lifelong dream.  I spent time this summer exploring Alaska.  This was an amazing turning point for me.  I had made a vow to myself that I would drive through every state in America.  Alaska was the last state I needed to visit in order to satisfy this goal.  However, I refused to celebrate this accomplishment.  I didn’t post notices about it on Facebook.  I didn’t write blogs about my experience.  I just didn’t feel the need.

While I was in Alaska, I felt inspired to go completely off the grid.  I wanted desperately to be lost.  I wanted to cut off all communication to my former life.  I didn’t call or text anyone.  I only posted a few pictures on Facebook when I felt overwhelmed by the incredible scenery of glaciers, waterfalls, mountains, and animals.  But I only posted about 20 of the 350 photos I took.  I haven’t posted any more pictures or information about Alaska since I returned to Kansas.  There is a deep part of me that just needs to keep it quiet and hidden.  To experience so much of God’s amazing wilderness was so profound and awe-inspiring there was no way of putting it into words.  Even the beautiful pictures I have seem bleak when compared to the Alaskan landscape itself.  To this day, two months later, I have no desire to tell people about all of the amazing things that happened to me in Alaska.

However…

I think constantly of running away again to the “last frontier.”  I want to hide in her vast beauty and get lost in her majestic environment.  I want to run with her wilderness and dissolve into her endless splendor.

My life’s purpose was  redefined in Alaska.  I came into contact with who God intended me to be.  I was never meant to have the things of an ordinary life.  I was not meant to have a great job, or a wonderful marriage, or an incredible home.  My only life’s purpose is to grow closer to God.  To know him by his world, by the beauty that surrounds me.  I don’t have to be anything…in Alaska, I can just be…

I don’t care about success, or a home, or money.  Just knowing in my heart and soul that I can move and explore and witness God’s glory is enough for me in this lifetime.

I don’t know Christopher McCandless’s motivation for his journey.

I didn’t travel from this life as far as Christopher did.

But there are times I really wish I had followed him.

 

 

My Personal Independence

Why do these things keep happening to me?

That’s not a complaint.  I’m not whining or asking for sympathy.  I know that I have been blessed.  I know that I have had a good life.  The question is of the straight-forward, searching-for-answers variety that would bring understanding to my chronically crazy life.  I am just looking for some perspective, some meaning for the series of strange events that have occurred in my life lately.  Does everything really happen for a reason?  If it does, than what has been the purpose of incidents happening in the last couple of years?

In particular…

I can’t seem to stop living out of my car!  For the past ten years, I have rented a variety of apartments throughout Southern California.  Yes, it is true…I have moved about seven times since I arrived in Palm Springs, California, in October of 2004.  I have moved so many times that one of my friends told me that she always dedicates a full page of her address book just to me because she knows she will have to make constant updates.  She made the comment, “You move more than someone on the lam.”  She’s right, I suppose.  I do move around a lot.  Is the change due to my constant restlessness and wanderlust?  Actually, no….

There is a deep part of me that dreams of settling down somewhere.  I dream of setting down roots, having a family, becoming a familiar face in the community.  But circumstances have continually caused me to move, not into a house but into the bucket seats of my 2010 Toyota Scion.

Before the Scion was home, my main residence was a 2002 Toyota Tacoma.  Every time I think of that pick-up truck, I get a horrible case of homesickness.  I have more feelings of “Home” for that truck than any place I’ve ever lived in California.  I have never stayed anywhere else long enough, I guess, to get attached to a particular structure.

I moved into my first California apartment in 2004.  I was there for eight months until the owners decided to sell the property.  I was told to either by the rundown, ‘70s decorated one-bedroom place or get out.  I got out…and moved into my truck.  My next apartment was a small studio where I stayed for almost two years until new management refused to repair leaky air conditioners, fix broken windows, and control the roach problem…and then doubled the rent! Back into the truck I moved.  I stayed in the truck until I rented my next apartment in Oceanside, California.  I had been offered a new position with higher pay.  Within six months, however, the Oceanside company folded.  Thankfully, my old job in Palm Springs took me back.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t commute four hours a day nor pay for two separate apartments, so I stayed in my truck until the lease on the Oceanside apartment had ended.

The next apartment I had in Palm Springs was my favorite.  I stayed there for almost two years until my mother moved to California and into the apartment with me.  Suddenly, the studio apartment seemed much smaller.  Mom and I didn’t move into my truck.  Instead, we moved into a two-bedroom apartment that featured a multitude of lizards running around the courtyard.  Little lizards were always waiting on the porch to greet us every time we opened the front door.  Mom and I lived in that apartment for eight months until I lost my mother to colon cancer in March 2010.  I couldn’t maintain a two-bedroom apartment by myself.  I didn’t move back into the pickup this time.  Instead, I was living in a 2010 Toyota Scion which had replaced the truck the year before.  Man, I miss that truck!

Later, I moved into a one bedroom apartment determined that I would make it a home…which I did for two and a half years until mice moved into the walls.  The owners of the building just laughed at me when I complained.  “You’re living in the desert,” they said.  “You’re going to have snakes, mice, lizards, and roaches in every apartment no matter how clean you keep it!”  Oh, the apartment was also haunted.  The manager couldn’t seem to explain away the spirits, which actually didn’t seem to bother me.  My friend, Olga, always laughs at this incident.  She says, “You stayed with the ghosts, but moved with the mice.”  Well, yeah, mice are scary!  Thank goodness, my car doesn’t have mice…or ghost.

My last California apartment was in Palm Desert where I lived for 18 months until more little critters chased me back into my Scion.  Maybe I should have stood my ground and not little the creatures push me around.  Maybe I should have demanded that the critters leave, especially since they weren’t paying rent.  Being nervous about confrontations though, I ended up being the one to move out.  I threw all of my things into storage and sadly moved back into my Toyota Scion, feeling like a complete failure.

My friend, Terry, helped me move the last of my possessions into the storage space on July 4^th, Independence Day.   I was really not happy about the situation when Terry placed the very last item into the bin and I shut and locked the door.  My whole life awkwardly fit into a tiny 5 X 5 space.

Suddenly, Terry looked at me and said excitedly, “Oh my gosh!  Happy Independence Day!  You’re free!” I turned to look at her in surprise.  “This is so great for you,” Terry continued to say.  “I wish I was like you.  Without the apartment and lots of possessions, you have no obligations.  You’re so free.  You don’t get held down by anything.  You just travel and go whenever you want.  What an amazing way to live!”

I stared at her for a moment.  It was an interesting perspective she just presented to me.  I could whine that I didn’t have a home or I could celebrate my freedom.  It suddenly dawned on me that every time I switched apartments, I actually did celebrate.  After I left the first apartment, I drove through Southwestern America.  When I left the second apartment, I drove cross country to the Northeast.  After the third, I think I ended up in Pacific Northwest.  I suddenly began to think about all the great places I’ve been when I was in between homes.  With freedom and my home life contained in my car, I usually just drove everywhere my wanderlust encouraged me.  Now, my sudden new liberty was filling my head with dreams of the very last American state I had to visit—Alaska!

“Yeah,” I smiled back at Terry then, “you’re right.  I do have a lot of freedom.”

“Independence!  Happy 4^th of July!” Terry cried as we hugged each other for a moment.  “I want to be not only free but brave like you!  I’m proud of you.”

And that’s maybe why I don’t have a home.  Maybe that’s why these things keep happening to me.  Maybe there is a reason, a purpose, a plan.  Maybe I am supposed to be on the road discovering God’s beautiful land.

I’m not totally free.  Alaska will have to wait a few more weeks because of my job.  But as I lie down every night in the back seat of my Toyota Scion to sleep, I continue to dream of Alaska and my incredibly bright, unknown, unpredictable future and I know I am home.

How a Little Critter Taught Me About Life

“I just moved into my new house last month and I’ve already found one mouse, three rattlesnakes and two scorpions,” my friend Debra told me as she casually took another sip of her raspberry iced tea.  Her voice was calm and smooth as if she was just discussing her last meal or her usual sleep patterns.

I stared at her in silent shock for a moment before finally asking, “You found snakes…in your house?”

Debra gave me more specific details then.  “Two rattlesnakes were in the yard about a foot away from my front door.  The third one was in the garage.  The mouse was just inside the back door and the two scorpions were in the fire place.”  Debra sat back with a sigh and then laughed at the look of utter horror that must have been gracing my face at that moment.

I’m not a prissy person.  My hair is usually unkempt and flying out in all directions even when I’m standing still.  My make-up is minimal and though I buy fingernail polish I have yet to turn my natural pink and white nails into shimmering shades of green, blue, or gold.  As far as my shoes and clothes are concerned….well, I’d rather buy books.  I haven’t even bought a new pair of jeans in three years.  But there is one thing that makes me a complete and total girly-girl: I have a complete aversion to anything that crawls, slithers, creeps, scratches, or scuttles.

Now, I do love animals, and I certainly would not hurt another living creature, but bugs and I just don’t mesh. I also have an extremely low tolerance for snakes and mice. I think my repugnance is because I don’t like surprises.  I don’t like anything sneaking up on me.  Bugs, mice, and snakes can be sneaky.  I mean I’m going to know if there is an elephant in the room.  But I don’t always see bugs until they suddenly come scuttling right up beside me.  Bugs and mice have that surprise factor that completely unnerves and terrifies me.  For this reason, I always try to keep my home clean and organized.  There will never be dirty clothes on the floor or last night’s dishes left in the sink.  I’m not a clean freak; I am bug scared.

I didn’t explain this to Debra.  I think I was too embarrassed to tell her that critters frighten me while she appeared cool and confident about the creatures invading her home.  I tried to keep myself from shivering as Debra went on to tell me about all of the miniscule beasts that have wandered into her various homes in the high desert of Southern California over the years.  Debra took a momentary break in her horrific tales of leading the reptiles away from her home like St. Patrick leading the snakes out of Ireland.  She had to have noticed my complete shutdown.  Debra laughed and now confronted me directly, “Well, Jamie, you do know that since we live in the desert we have to expect these things.  My goodness, it’s only June and we already have had 110 degree temperatures.  When was the last time we had rain?”  Her question was actually rhetoric. Southern California is experiencing one of the worst droughts in over 5 years.  Not a single raindrop has fallen in a good six months.

Debra laughed and said, “That’s what I mean.  Because of this horrible drought and extremely high temperatures, everything is dying.  There’s no food or water for the animals anywhere.  They all are coming down from the mountains and up from the sand to try to find nourishment.  It’s the price we pay for living in paradise.”  Debra laughed again while I fought off another shudder.

That night, I went home to my apartment in Palm Desert, California, and saw a notice on my front gate.  An exterminator was coming in to all of the apartments in my building to do a screening.  Oh, good, I thought, I began to relax a little.  I was pleased that the apartment management was being proactive.  I was even more relieved when I found another notice on my gate the following day.  This notice informed me that the exterminator was coming back tomorrow to patch up any holes in the walls.  Again, I sighed deeply.  I was again pleased that the management team was thinking ahead.

The following week, I began to relax a little more in my apartment.  I felt safe and secure since the exterminator had come to my home.  I thought I was safe.  I thought wrong.

The next Saturday afternoon, I was seated at my computer putting in some extra work on my novel.  I was getting a little stuck here and there but was determined that I was going to complete at least 5 pages before I stopped.  Maybe I needed to get rid of distractions.  Turn off the television and the phone…

What was that?!

I stopped typing for a moment and glanced around my apartment.  I didn’t see anything unusual and everything was silent for a moment.  I turned back to my keyboard and started typing again.

Wait a minute….What was that noise?

I stopped working and pushed back away from my computer.  I sat silently for a minute or two…

Oh.  My.  Gosh…I stood up slowly and walked over the wall that separated the kitchen from the bathroom.  I jumped back as soon as I heard a loud scratching noise coming from within the wall!  Oh, my gosh, some critter was in my wall!  In a panic, I ran to my cell phone and punched the numbers for the management office phone line.  It took me a while to get connected.  I couldn’t get my hand to stop shaking.  I listened to the office phone ring over the sounds of the scratching that was coming from inside my wall.  Dang!  I just got the answering machine.  I pulled the phone away from my ear and glanced at the time.  5:15 pm.  The office closed at 5 on Saturday afternoons.  I hung up the phone and quickly dialed the emergency phone number.  The phone rang once, twice, three times…and finally someone answered with a gruff, “Hello.”

“Um, yes,” I said, “is this the emergency number for the apartment complex in Palm Desert?”

“Yeah,” the deep voice replied.

“Um,” I hesitated, not sure what to say, “um, there is a scratching sound coming from inside my wall.  I think there is something crawling around…”

“Oh, yeah,” the man said. “That’s the rat.”

The phone suddenly began to slide out of my hand and for a moment I had to juggle my cell phone quickly from hand to hand to keep from dropping it to the floor.   All I could stammer when I brought the phone back up to my ear was…”Wh…wh…what?!”

“Yeah, the rat,” the man said. “That’s why we had the exterminator do the screening and patching.”

I didn’t know there was a rat in the building!  Nobody told me!  I thought the management team was just being very proactive! I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, but the r-r-rat,” I swallowed deeply, “is in my walls and someone needs to get it…”

“Nope, sorry, nobody’s here who can help ya,” the man said casually.  “Everyone’s already gone home.”

“But this is the emergency number, right?” I countered.

The man answered, “A rat ain’t an emergency.  Well, see, with the drought, the animals are coming inside.  We’ll probably get a few more before the summer is over.  Nothing we can do about it until the exterminator can be contacted again.  Thanks for calling, huh,” the man said politely before hanging up the phone.  I was left in dead silence…except for the scratching in the wall.

Oh, Nooooooo!  I quickly ran around the apartment scooping up my backpack filled with novels and notebooks.  I turned off my computer and the air conditioner.  No way was I staying here for the night.  I opened the door and stepped quickly outside shutting the door firmly behind me.  I ran to my car and climbed inside.  I stared the engine and then began to drift listlessly down the street.  I had no idea where I was going but I was not staying in that apartment.  I ended up at the local McDonald’s, sipping on an iced tea and furiously writing in my journals.  I was there until the restaurant closed and I was forced out into the warm night air.   I slowly drove back to the apartment.  Was I brave enough to go back inside?  No, I slept in my car.

The next day, I went to the office to talk to the apartment manager.  “Gee,” she answered after listening to my rant, “I’m sorry that happened.  But we are in the desert during a drought so it is very common for animals to come…”

“I know, I know,” I cut her off.  I understood that animals were coming inside now but I really didn’t want my apartment to become Wild Kingdom.  “I can’t go back in that apartment,” I told her.  “Is there anything you can do for me?”

The office manager handed me the key to the model apartment and said, “I can let you stay in the model for tonight, but that’s all.”

I was grateful for that much.  I thanked her and walked over to the apartment that was set up to entice potential renters into the complex.  That space should certainly be rodent free!

I went into the model apartment, sat down on the couch, and flicked the remote to turn on the TV.  The television wouldn’t come on.  I don’t know what was wrong with it.  The screen would just light up gray for a moment and then turn off.  There was no stereo either.  With nothing to distract me, I got out my notebook and began to write.  Before I knew it, I had written 15 pages non-stop.  Oh, my gosh…it was exhilarating!  I was able to finish a short story I had started a few weeks ago but couldn’t figure out the ending.  Now, I had it completed and my heart and spirit were completely renewed.  I laid down on the couch in the living room of the model apartment and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

And then something strange began to happen…because of the critter living in my wall, I didn’t want to go home.  I was completely thrown off of my usual routine of work, gym, writing, and home.  Now, I looked for excuses to stay out for most of the night.  I accepted invitations from friends I hadn’t seen in a while because I was “too busy.”  I would stay up late hours at a café or diner, drinking iced tea, as I hand wrote my novel and short stories.  On evenings when I was bored, I would wander into casinos and just people watch.  One night at the Spotlight 29 casino in Indio, California, I saw a notice that Charlie Daniels was performing in concert.  Oh….The Devil Went Down to Georgia…that guy… I didn’t want to go home.  I bought a ticket.  Charlie Daniels was amazing and I spent the evening laughing, dancing, and enjoying myself.  I hadn’t been that incredibly happy in a long time.  That was fun…I wanted to go again.

The following weekend, I drove up to Laughlin, Nevada, to see Lorrie Morgan in concert.  The trip was fun and it got me away from my problem at the apartment and……

Wait a minute…

Oh, my gosh….

Why wasn’t I living like this every weekend?!  Why wasn’t I out seeing people and dancing and laughing and traveling?  Why wasn’t I sipping tea in cafés and writing good short stories every night?

My life had become incredibly routine and it took a rat to show me what I had been missing!  The rat actually drove me out of my apartment and into a happier, more exciting life!  I kind of wish God had found a different way to pull me out of my routine…but I couldn’t miss the significance of the moment…

Then I had even better news.  My apartment complex was graciously letting me out of my lease four months early!  I had been planning to take a road trip and then move back to Kansas as soon as my lease was over was up in November.  Now I was able to move on with my life 16 weeks earlier thanks to a little creature living inside of my walls.

Last week, I went into the apartment management office to turn in my required 30 day notice which was really just a formality due to the situation.  “We’re really sorry this happened,” the apartment manager stated.  “But in the desert during a drought, the animals come inside.  We even had a possum in the laundry room last night.”

I laughed with the manager over this situation.  Though I don’t want to live with critters, I could certainly respect them.  It took one of God’s tiny creatures to show me the beauty of life and help me move along my path.  I will be forever grateful to the California desert critters…

I just really don’t want them moving in with me….

Hummingbird

One night, I was leaving work around 10 pm.  Though I was exhausted, I didn’t want to go right home.  There was one place I wanted to go before I drove back to my apartment complex.  Though in my head, I knew that my plan wasn’t a great idea, my heart kept telling me that I needed to go.

I had been living in Antioch, Tennessee, a suburb of Nashville, for about two years.  I loved to listen to the radio every morning as I drove to work.  It was rather strange though to hear beautiful music mixed in with the horrible crimes that  were described in the morning news reports.  I was surprised by all the violent stories that were reported on the radio as I drove to work every morning.  Throughout the day, I would contemplate the stories I had heard.  Sometimes, I would have to fight back tears.  I just couldn’t understand how people could be so vicious to each other.  I cried when I heard about the young pregnant woman who was walking down the street and was almost run over by a truck.  The driver was afraid the young woman would report the incident so he shot her to death.  Another story focused on a young man who had moved to Nashville to pursue a music career.  While showing his visiting family around the city one day, he was shot to death in front of his mother and aunt when he had stopped to ask for directions.  Every morning, while driving to work, I would hear stories of more brutality and deaths.  I continually felt overwhelmed and distressed by the violence in an otherwise amazing city like Nashville, Tennessee.

One morning,  as I drove to work, I listened to the news reporter tell the story of a young 18-year-old girl who was raped and strangled to death in the bathroom of a local Laundromat.  The story sent chills through me for several different reasons.  It was so sad that the woman was so incredibly young and died so terribly.  However, I was also disturbed that the Laundromat was located just a block away from where I lived.  The Laundromat was just on the corner of my street.  I thought about the situation throughout the day.  Finally, I decided that on my way home from work that night I would stop by the Laundromat.  I didn’t mean to be morbid.  I didn’t want to go inside.  I didn’t want to see the actual setting of the young woman’s death.  I just wanted to sit for a moment in my car in the Laundromat parking lot and offer up a prayer, a blessing, to the young woman who had lost her life so tragically and so close to home.  I just didn’t want the young woman to feel so alone in her tragedy.

I left work that night and drove to the Laundromat in quiet contemplation.  I had been to this Laundromat before.  I knew it well.  The bathroom where the crime occurred was directly across from the entrance.  A wall of dryers lined both sides of the bathroom door.  Three rows of washers sat in the center of the large room.  Folding tables were along the front by the big plate glass windows.  Though the Laundromat was opened 24-hours, I didn’t expect anyone else to be around that night.

I turned off the highway and drove down the street to the Laundromat.  I took a deep breath and pulled into the parking lot.  I parked in a space up front…and caught my breath.

Oh, my gosh…I was surprised to see that there were a lot of people in the Laundromat.  They weren’t there to investigate or to morbidly view the crime scene.  The people were actually doing their laundry.  I sat in my car and watched through the large front window as three women chatted and laughed as they busily folded their underwear and linens at the front tables.  Two young men were in the back pulling clothes out of the dryers.  Several other people were leaning up against washing machines quietly sipping out of Starbuck’s cups.  The only evidence of the young girl’s passing was yellow crime scene tape that was plastered over the bathroom door in the back of the room.  I stared at the people and felt the urge to scream out at them.  “Don’t you know a young woman just lost her life here?”  I had to consider that maybe they didn’t know.  Maybe they didn’t listen to the news or pay attention to current events.  Maybe these people, who were busily folding their sheets and sipping their coffee, just didn’t care.  Maybe having clean underwear was more important than the death of a beautiful young girl.  Maybe…but I just didn’t understand how clean clothes could be so incredibly important at that moment.  Yeah, a young woman died…but life goes on…and we all need clean underwear.

I said my prayer for the safe passage of the young woman and then started my car.  I drove home in awkward silence even though I was the only one in the car.  My exhausted mind was twisting with confusion as I pulled into the lot, parked my vehicle, and went inside my apartment.  I walked into my living room and turned on the news.  A picture of a young woman suddenly appeared on the screen.  She has spiky red hair.  Green inky tattoos graced her bare arms.  I stared at her face as the reporter announced that the young woman who had died at the Laundromat had been identified.  I don’t remember her name.  I just remember her beautiful wide green eyes staring up at me from the television screen.  I went to bed that night and cried myself to sleep.

That incident happened about 10 years ago, and yet I have been thinking a lot about it over the last few weeks for some reason.  I think, as I age another year, I become more aware of the preciousness of life and how fragile all of us are.  Life is too short…It goes too fast…and I don’t think I want to spend my final years worrying about doing laundry or chores or anything that doesn’t provide me with bliss and joy.  I’ve become selfish with my time.

Several months ago, I asked a friend if he wanted to go out to lunch with me.  He responded, “I can’t.  I have a lot of laundry to do.”  I told him the laundry would still be there when he got home.  He still, however, refused.  I took myself out to lunch.

I know that on my deathbed I will have lots of regrets.  But I guarantee, I will not be lying there thinking, “Damn, I should have done more laundry.”

Life does go on…we just need to determine how we are going to spend the precious time we are given.  We just have to determine when life itself becomes more important than our mundane existence.

I don’t have all the answers.  I struggle, too, with procrastination, indecision, anxiety…

But I do know this…as I am writing now about the death of this beautiful young woman I noticed something fluttering to the right side of my face.  I turned and glanced out my window…and looking right into my eyes was a tiny sweet humming bird.  It is the first one I have seen this season and I’m surprised that it came right up to my window.  The small bird stared at me for a while through the thick glass before doing a quick spin and then flying away….

Oh, yes, sweetheart, I got your message….you can rest in peace.

Finding Meaning in Las Vegas

Even though I’ve enjoyed traveling around the world, I have been thinking lately that it is time for me to settle down. I need to get married, have a family, own a home and, perhaps, a dog. I’ve never been married and, honestly, I don’t have a lot of faith that it’s a possibility for me. I’m not good at flirting. I am awkward and shy. I’ve always been an outsider. I don’t do well with social games. I always tend to lose.

But last weekend, I was determined to change all of that. I was taking a few days off to go to Las Vegas. I just knew that this was going to be a great weekend for me. I had fantasies that I was going to meet someone very special. I tend to attract more people when I go out of town than when I’m at home. That’s easy to understand though. When I’m in my home city, I run around in sweats, with no make-up and my hair is unkempt. It’s different when I go out of town. I tend to make an effort to make myself more attractive.

So last Saturday, while I was in Vegas, I woke up early and took my time fixing my hair and make-up. I put on a long skirt that makes me look taller. My 5’5” frame looked slimmed and stretched to at least 5’7. I felt great and attractive as I walked down the Vegas strip. I’ll admit I did a few tosses of my long curled copper red hair as I smiled beguilingly at the people walking around me. I even caught myself glancing every now and then at my reflection in the windows of the shops and restaurants as I passed by. I laughed and took pictures and just felt happy and attractive… until I reached one of the overhead pedestrian walkways that crossed over South Las Vegas Boulevard.

I decided not to take the escalator or elevator. I felt strong and healthy so I went bounding up the twelve concrete steps. I was near the top of the stairs when suddenly the front tip of the sandal on my right foot caught on the edge of the top step and I felt myself pitching forward.

I put out my hands but wasn’t able to stop myself. I fell forward onto my face but that wasn’t the end of this escapade. By the time it registered in my brain that I was always falling, I was already rolling down the steps. Within seconds, I found myself sprawled in a tangle of limbs and long full skirt on the corner of Aria and South Las Vegas Boulevard. I laid there for a moment burning with embarrassment in front of all of the people. Yet, I felt strangely alone. No one helped me up. No one asked me if I was okay. Then I opened my eyes to find a group of men standing on the corner pointing at me and laughing hysterically.

I looked down at the palms of my hands that were scrapped raw. My left foot felt twisted and bruised. My biggest concern though was my camera. The little bottom door of the camera laid open and the batteries were falling out. Amid the sounds of loud laughter and chattering voices, I pulled myself up from the ground and snapped my camera back together. Then, with as much dignity as I could muster, I began to walk back up the steps, moving slowly but with my head held high. I reached the top and continued my journey down the strip still feeling my body tingling with embarrassment. I should have known better. I shouldn’t have been strutting. I shouldn’t have been feeling so proud and pleased with myself. I should have known I was going to crash for being so…

“Hey, hey, Red,” I suddenly heard a voice call. “Hey, Red!” I looked away from my thoughts now and noticed a homeless man standing directly in front of me. He was wearing torn denim shorts and a stained brown plaid button door shirt that was hanging open to display his thin bony chest. His long hair was clumped together with dirt and his long goatee was braided to a point at his chin. “Oh, God,” I groaned inwardly as my body still ached from the fall, “what now?”
“This is for you, Red,” the man said as he suddenly turned and jumped onto a short concrete pillar. He sat on the pillar as the fountains of the Bellagio Hotel suddenly burst into action. Large streams of water suddenly sprayed up and danced in time to the music from Phantom of the Opera.

The homeless man didn’t miss a single movement or beat as he waved his hands around in time to the music. I was suddenly captivated by this man, drawn helplessly into his fantasy. As I watched his movements, I truly believed he was conducting a massive water orchestra. Every few seconds, the man turned around and smiled at me as I stood on the sidewalk. At the end of the performance, he jumped down off the pillar and bowed elegantly to me before taking his place again on the sidewalk with the rest of the people who were begging for handouts. I smiled then as I walked down the strip to the Mirage Hotel.

Once inside the Secret Garden, I stood before the cage of the white tigers. Two of the tigers were perched up on a low tree branch as they lazily passed away the sunny afternoon. One of the tigers was staring directly at me. I was so mesmerized by this creature, I couldn’t turn away. I felt so connected to this amazing animal as we continued to make direct contact. The whole universe existed within his round dark eyes. “It’s the hair,” I suddenly heard a voice say. I turned around to look at the trainer who was standing next to me. The young man smiled at me and said, “The tiger is fascinated with your red hair.” I smiled then and felt a light blush tinge my cheeks as I slowly pulled myself away from the front of the cage.

I walked over to the dolphin habitat then. While most people were crowded around the large tank where several trainers were working with three dolphins, I stood next to the second smaller tank, playing with two young dolphins. I watched in awe as the animals jumped out of the water and spun in the air. Several times, the dolphins pushed their gray shiny bodies up on the dock directly in front of me. “See,” a trainer whispered from behind me, “they like you. They’re showing off for you.”

I was actually deeply happy then. I smiled with my heart because now I truly understood the purpose of this day. Maybe I was never meant to get married and settle down. Maybe I was never meant to have a husband and family. Maybe the dog and the house were out of my reach. My life consists instead of jumping dolphins, mesmerizing white tigers, and a homeless man who conducts water symphonies for me. My life is pure and joyful. I am truly blessed.

The Frog Prince

I usually got off work around 10:30 pm. Most nights, as I walked through the courtyard to my apartment, I would see a big bullfrog sitting out by the pool, soaking up the moonlight. I usually am squeamish around any kind of slimy, hopping, crawling thing. I think the bullfrog was a little wary of me, too. Every time I would approach, he would frantically hop away trying to avoid me. He would take long leaps back into the garden and hide within the foliage. This little game between the two of us went on for a few weeks. It was always the same until March of 2010. In that month, I lost my mother to complications of colon cancer.

The death of my mother left a big void in my life. She had been my confidant, traveling companion, and best friend. I really missed her. The loneliness was intense after she passed. I spent the next couple of days just listlessly going to work and returning home to the lonely apartment my mother and I had shared.

In August of 2009, my mother had moved from Kansas to California to live with me. We spent the time we had together traveling throughout California and the southwest. We were together for just nine months before I lost her. After her death, I didn’t feel like traveling or going anywhere. I spent long days just going to work and coming back home.

A few days after losing my mother, I returned home from another long work day. I got out of my car, walked up the sidewalk from the parking lot, and turned the corner into the courtyard. There again, sitting by the pool, was the bullfrog. I just ignored it at first and started walking towards my apartment. I was positive the frog would move as I approached. But something strange happened this night. Instead of hopping away, the frog actually turned and looked right at me. I stopped for a moment and just stared back. I decided to just keep walking forward. The frog was sure to get nervous and jump away from me. But he didn’t. instead the frog just sat patiently by the pool and waited for me to come nearer. When I walked by the frog, he suddenly turned and started moving in the direction I was walking towards my apartment. He hopped along with every step I took. He stayed right by my side and I had to laugh that he stopped when I stopped and moved when I moved. He stayed with me right to the steps of my second floor apartment. I stepped up the first step and the little frog hopped up beside me. This is as far as he would go, however. He stayed on the first step as I continued on up to the second level. His large black eyes followed me all the way up the stairs. Once I made it to the top, I glanced back down over the balcony railing and watched as the frog turned in my direction. He stared up at me and gently chirped, serenading me with a beautiful natural song.

After a few minutes, I went inside my apartment. However, every time I glanced outside, my frog was still there, still sitting on the first step and staring up at my apartment. And suddenly, I realized I had laughed for the first time since my mother had passed. I went to bed that night feeling hopeful and safe with my frog prince sitting down at the bottom of the steps. I never saw the frog again after that night, but I continued to wonder about the experience. Was this frog a sign from Mom or the angels? Could this frog have been my prince, my knight in shining armor? Should I have kissed him and found out? I don’t know. I didn’t try. I just had the enjoyment of knowing, even after the loss of my mom, that I was safe and protected and loved in God’s great universe.