When I was 11 years old, I was at my reading peak. All I can really remember about that age was that I read everything that I could get my hands on. My hero and mentor was the school librarian, who became the recipient of many hand crafted gifts that I made for Christmas and the end (sigh) of the school year. From the school library to the public library for the summer, ah, that was heaven. Or so I thought.
The summer reading program in my day (circa 1971 at age 11), was more of a reading contest, for everyone in a specified age group was to write a book review to present to the library staff. Each week members of the program would sit and wait with great anticipation and staff would invite children up to receive awards for their written literary genius. And each week I waited for my name to be called but went home disappointed. With no support from my family in my efforts, being a stubborn Aries (something I didn't know I was at the time), mixed in with having the stalwart heritage of a Russian/Austrian/German, I forged ahead to the next week, vowing that I would read greater books and achieve literary success in the next program session.
Surely they were waiting to honor me with their greatest end of summer award and I would be held in great esteem. How could they overlook the works of my gifted talent while I devoured the series of Anne of Green Gables, Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew and others?
How indeed. I peddled home on my bike that last day wondering what I did wrong. All the book reviews sat in a pile on my desk at home, and I shuffled through them, reading the comments scrawled at the bottom of the pages, "Great job", "Very interesting", "Loved that book!". But none of them seemed to matter at all; they didn't like my writing and by virtue of coming home prize-less, they must not have liked me either. Acceptance and self esteem are partners in crime, and this was a hefty crime felt by me at this age.
At this age, I was the tallest person (male or female) in my school and due to having been a thumb-sucker in my infant/toddler years, also had the grave misfortune of having severe buck teeth. No surprise that I was given the nickname "horse" by some of the boys in school. Even though I participated in several sports teams during my school years, I was drawn to reading to escape to a private world where I didn't have to worry about what others thought of me.
And I wanted to write books too. Oh, how I wanted to write! I tried, and then stopped many times. I wrote as required in my English classes in High School. I never quite understood how, if poetry was personal, how the teacher could critique it and comment that it didn't flow, some parts didn't fit, and actually had the audacity to give it a grade. How did that make sense? Maybe I was being too analytical, but inside it was still about acceptance, or the lack thereof. In my early 20's, I went to writer's conferences and workshops, sent away for a writer's course, but never followed through with the production of any substantial work. Dragging my past behind me, dragging my loss behind me.
Even this blog! I can't believe that it's been so long since my last post. I forgot how much therapy is involved in writing and how healing it can be. Sharing this experience has been such a release, and such a relief. Even though people have told me that they enjoy my writing and that they think I am a good writer, it hasn't felt real to me until just now. Because I am leaving the past behind.
Recently, I have started to feel that I can write--complete works, and be accepted for my writing; because at my age, I really don't have anything to lose. Finding out that many writers started at an "older" age, and that Dr. Seuss (who was a Dartmouth graduate) went through 25 publishers before being accepted, has given me new hope and new vision.
I have a lot to say about what I know and how I feel, and I hope that others will enjoy my written words. I don't need to win any prizes. I know I'm not a genius. The braces came off a long time ago, and now the gloves are off too.
Sunday, 30 August 2015
Wednesday, 18 December 2013
Perspective
Perspective; definition:
"A mental view or outlook"
In discussing a current perspective, it relates to how I am viewing my age and along with my age, the physical abilities that are somewhat derailed by this so-called ageing process. However, my mental outlook with regards to my abilities is very optimistic, perhaps even overly enthusiastic, coupled with just a tiny dose of denial, with potential to lead to a danger zone. Pretty normal stuff when you're as stubborn as I am and refuse to "grow up". What IS that anyways?!
Case in point, a call for staff at the school where I work to play basketball against the Grade 8's and 9's who have just completed the Basketball segment of their gym classes piqued my interest and apparently scrambled my brains. No sooner had the email arrived and I was responding, "If you need players, I played quite a bit of B-ball in my day." And yes, I did, but that was (or felt like) just a few "days" ago. Cue the Globetrotters basketball game music, and visions of behind the back passes, magical layups and 3 point shots were dancing around my head as soon as I hit the pillow that night. Right, then...practise before the game...if there is time. When I told him, hubby raised an eyebrow, grinned and wished me well, reminding me that it might be a bit painful afterwards. And, did I really know what I was getting myself into? Of course I knew...
Game morning; all the kids from Grade 1 to 9 showed up to watch the game. On to the court I strode, scanning the gym for all of our players...which turned out to be myself, 2 other female staff members, and 3 male teachers. And on the other side of the court, about 6 or 7 each of male and female students in Grade 8 and 9, running, jumping, shooting baskets with the ball swishing easily through their hoops.
"Yay, Mrs. Visser", we're here to cheer for you! Come on, Mrs. Visser, you can beat them" ...the voices and cheers grew louder, and the game began. Not two minutes into the game, somehow, without any warning, the gym floor collided hard with my left knee, down I went, and in getting up, I felt a serious pull in my right groin! Great, but the team needed me; the game must go on, so I gritted my teeth and with fierce determination fought the end to end battle. With the crowd going wild I managed to launch some shots and get 2 or 3 baskets to aid in a victory for the staff side. Team handshakes, team photos, and it was all over, except for the pain, and I was off to the fridge to grab an ice pack for my knee; those that are generally reserved for the students bumps, sprains, and bruises.
And then the optimistic perspective started to roll around in my brain once again....hmmm.....if I work out more in the gym, practise some layups, work some shots and some defensive plays, it could go a lot better next time, especially if I DON'T get injured within the first 5 minutes of the game. I should also probably review how to play "zone" and that other technical stuff you should know in order to play properly...perhaps I should research all of that in the library before I have more visions of basketballs dancing in my head...but it sure was nice to hear a positive comment about my game from the male "gunner" on the Grade 9 team...a comment which may have gone to my head just a little bit...so maybe there still is some basketball life left here...my mind says yes, oh yes, but my legs and groin are in slight disagreement and would like to have some time off, thank you very much!
Perspective Point 2;
In this case, I was devoted to play time with my grandson, and I believe one can lose the ease and sense of play if you don't see things from the perspective of a child. In this case, one who is just under a year old, and in the crazy-fast crawling stage. So what is the "right" thing to do when a baby is crawling away from you, giggling and laughing? You chase-crawl after them, of course! And in writing this post, I was blessed with crawl time before basketball injury time, so the crawling was knee-loose (instead of footloose) and fancy free, and we chased each other back and forth up and down our hallway, once with a dog trying to barricade the way, but we quickly ran over top of him, forcing him to change his perspective of the situation and escape the serious chase-crawlers for another room. We both ended up giggling, laughing, and catching our breath, enjoying each other through simple play and fun. Only in getting down to a child's level can one experience their world most effectively; the same holds true when trying to understand things from an animal's perspective on their world and how they view their surroundings.
An open mind frees your perspective and allows broader vision and thought to guide you through many different experiences. Reality does have to prevail in order to preserve your health and well-being, but as long as you are alive, you can do SOMETHING. Having a positive perspective keeps you young, fresh, alive, and what can be better than that?
Perhaps next I will dream of my grandson and I on the basketball court together....
"A mental view or outlook"
In discussing a current perspective, it relates to how I am viewing my age and along with my age, the physical abilities that are somewhat derailed by this so-called ageing process. However, my mental outlook with regards to my abilities is very optimistic, perhaps even overly enthusiastic, coupled with just a tiny dose of denial, with potential to lead to a danger zone. Pretty normal stuff when you're as stubborn as I am and refuse to "grow up". What IS that anyways?!
Case in point, a call for staff at the school where I work to play basketball against the Grade 8's and 9's who have just completed the Basketball segment of their gym classes piqued my interest and apparently scrambled my brains. No sooner had the email arrived and I was responding, "If you need players, I played quite a bit of B-ball in my day." And yes, I did, but that was (or felt like) just a few "days" ago. Cue the Globetrotters basketball game music, and visions of behind the back passes, magical layups and 3 point shots were dancing around my head as soon as I hit the pillow that night. Right, then...practise before the game...if there is time. When I told him, hubby raised an eyebrow, grinned and wished me well, reminding me that it might be a bit painful afterwards. And, did I really know what I was getting myself into? Of course I knew...
Game morning; all the kids from Grade 1 to 9 showed up to watch the game. On to the court I strode, scanning the gym for all of our players...which turned out to be myself, 2 other female staff members, and 3 male teachers. And on the other side of the court, about 6 or 7 each of male and female students in Grade 8 and 9, running, jumping, shooting baskets with the ball swishing easily through their hoops.
"Yay, Mrs. Visser", we're here to cheer for you! Come on, Mrs. Visser, you can beat them" ...the voices and cheers grew louder, and the game began. Not two minutes into the game, somehow, without any warning, the gym floor collided hard with my left knee, down I went, and in getting up, I felt a serious pull in my right groin! Great, but the team needed me; the game must go on, so I gritted my teeth and with fierce determination fought the end to end battle. With the crowd going wild I managed to launch some shots and get 2 or 3 baskets to aid in a victory for the staff side. Team handshakes, team photos, and it was all over, except for the pain, and I was off to the fridge to grab an ice pack for my knee; those that are generally reserved for the students bumps, sprains, and bruises.
And then the optimistic perspective started to roll around in my brain once again....hmmm.....if I work out more in the gym, practise some layups, work some shots and some defensive plays, it could go a lot better next time, especially if I DON'T get injured within the first 5 minutes of the game. I should also probably review how to play "zone" and that other technical stuff you should know in order to play properly...perhaps I should research all of that in the library before I have more visions of basketballs dancing in my head...but it sure was nice to hear a positive comment about my game from the male "gunner" on the Grade 9 team...a comment which may have gone to my head just a little bit...so maybe there still is some basketball life left here...my mind says yes, oh yes, but my legs and groin are in slight disagreement and would like to have some time off, thank you very much!
Perspective Point 2;
In this case, I was devoted to play time with my grandson, and I believe one can lose the ease and sense of play if you don't see things from the perspective of a child. In this case, one who is just under a year old, and in the crazy-fast crawling stage. So what is the "right" thing to do when a baby is crawling away from you, giggling and laughing? You chase-crawl after them, of course! And in writing this post, I was blessed with crawl time before basketball injury time, so the crawling was knee-loose (instead of footloose) and fancy free, and we chased each other back and forth up and down our hallway, once with a dog trying to barricade the way, but we quickly ran over top of him, forcing him to change his perspective of the situation and escape the serious chase-crawlers for another room. We both ended up giggling, laughing, and catching our breath, enjoying each other through simple play and fun. Only in getting down to a child's level can one experience their world most effectively; the same holds true when trying to understand things from an animal's perspective on their world and how they view their surroundings.
An open mind frees your perspective and allows broader vision and thought to guide you through many different experiences. Reality does have to prevail in order to preserve your health and well-being, but as long as you are alive, you can do SOMETHING. Having a positive perspective keeps you young, fresh, alive, and what can be better than that?
Perhaps next I will dream of my grandson and I on the basketball court together....
Sunday, 12 May 2013
A Mother's Day Tribute
On Day 5, God created every living creature of the seas and
every winged bird, blessing them to multiply and fill the waters and the
sky with life. On Day 6, God created the animals to fill the earth. On day six, God also created man and woman, Adam and Eve,
in His own image to commune with him. He blessed them and gave them
every creature and the whole earth to rule over, care for, and
cultivate.
And with His creation, he instilled instincts into the mothers and fathers to love and care for their offspring.
Smudge became the first kitten for our girls when they were young. As my husband and I had raised our other cats to adults, we felt the girls should have the experience of raising a new kitten to adulthood, learning how each stage of their lives was unique, as well as developing the care and attention each animal needs as they advance through their life. What we didn't know was how much Smudge was going to teach all of us about life along the way....
Smudge was born on October 31, 1996, a fitting Halloween gift of a gorgeous calico, her face split in half; orange face and black ear on the right side, black face and orange ear on her left side. She was "smudged" with white here and there but for the most part was black and orange. As all kittens are, she was adorable and the girls were smitten with her cuddles and playful antics. She easily settled in to the rest of the animal family; 2 dogs and 2 other cats.
Before too long she was maturing and just when we thought a surgery should be booked, she became another statistic; the teenage pregnancy! Most animals have a strong maternal, nurturing instinct so we were not concerned, however, we hadn't had babies in our household for quite some time. Needless to say, the girls were thrilled, so we prepared for the exciting event. August 6 was an extremely warm day and Smudge was restless, agitated and unsure of what was happening to her when her contractions started. The girls and I gathered towels, some cool water and some washcloths to help Smudge through the birthing process. I held her on my lap, stroked and soothed her and she started to relax a bit through the heat of the afternoon. After a quick tutorial on what we needed to do to help her and her babies, the girls watched as she panted and pushed and started to deliver the first of her 6 kittens. She delivered all 6 on my lap and immediately went to work cleaning and caring for her new family. I was able to determine that she had 3 females; 2 white/beige and 1 orange/white tabby, as well as 3 males; 1 black/white, 1 long haired orange tabby and 1 very white and smaller male.
As we felt the heat on the main floor of the house was too stifling, we moved the family and their "house"/box to the basement floor where it was cooler and quieter. With us checking on them several times that day, we made sure that the blanketed box was secure, warm and clean and that Smudge had fresh water and food close by. She was attentive and a bit nervous, not wanting to leave the babies alone to venture out of the box too often. I examined the babies later that day and noticed that she was paying very close attention to the small white male. She looked up at me with what would become her signature "squinting"; something that we came to know as her communication tool for care and concern whenever she displayed this look. The small white male, (I hesitate to use the word "runt" as I always cringe at the negative connotation that this imparts on my emotions) had some greenish stool, and I feared that he may be sickly, hence Smudge's instinct to pay close attention to him. With my veterinary background, I also knew that some white cats carry genes for deafness, so I hoped that this baby would not have that genetic predisposition. Smudge was already displaying a very strong maternal attachment, and I was grateful that at her young age that this was the case.
I slept fitfully that night worrying (as only a mother does) about Smudge and her little white baby. Rising early the next morning, I immediately rushed to the darkened basement to find the baby box empty! I turned on some lights and found Smudge with her babies curled up on the laundry table, thankful that some unwashed laundry was cushioning her family there. I concluded that she either thought the floor area became too cold or that she was concerned about the other cats getting too close for her comfort. When she saw me, she stood up and stretched, but squinted her eyes at me and meowed. I did a count of the babies on the table and then realized the white one was missing. She continued to meow as she jumped off the table, while I was searched around the baby box and the laundry table for the white male. My discovery was devastating, and I could not imagine Smudge's state when, somehow in transporting her family to the top of the table, her little boy slipped out of her mouth and was wedged into the bracing of the table leg. I could picture the desperate attempt she made to remove him from the brace while unintentionally pulling and wedging him farther down into a stuck position. This was evident by the skin on his little back that was torn open by her attempts to retrieve him. I removed him from the brace and placed him on the floor. She licked him, trying to revive him, looked up and squinted at me. My tears washed my face amid my cries to her, "I'm sorry, Smudge, so very sorry; I wish I was here to help you and save your baby!" And Smudge replied; [Squint}, "Meow, Meow". When the family awoke, I gave them the sad news and we buried our little boy in our animal sanctuary in the yard.
Smudge was very devoted to her other babies, and after much discussion and meditation, we decided when the babies were old enough, that we would keep 2 of them; one for each of the girls. We kept the female orange tabby, Sammy, and the black and white male, Max. The two beige females, as they matured, took on a very Siamese look (their father must have been quite the looker!) and they were adopted out. That left the long-haired orange tabby male; he was hubby's favorite, and when no-one showed interest in adopting him, we kept "Spike" in the family as well.
Smudge loved to snuggle, sleep and clean her offspring even as they matured into adults. I have always appreciated that about animals; how natural it is to display this ongoing affection no matter how old they become; we as humans should keep this in mind with our loved ones. Smudge shared this affection with us humans as well; reading our emotions and always knowing when to be there to console us. Whether it was in our times of sadness, heated emotions, or however animals sense they are needed for some pet therapy, we always knew that we could count on Smudge to be there to make us feel better. She was our calico rock through the storms of our lives.
I cannot say I remember when it started, but I don't think it was very long after she lost her boy that Smudge started doing something I have never experienced or heard of before. She found a stuffed dice toy in the house and started carrying it around the house, meowing mournfully the entire time she carried it from room to room. At first we didn't think too much of it, but she did this almost every day (and much more during the nights). I believed that she thought of this toy as the baby she lost and that she was trying to somehow get her baby back while remembering how she tried so desperately to save him. She was just not able to get over this loss. This behavior continued throughout her life, with a replacement stuffed mouse replacing the dice toy after it wore out. Some nights she carried on so long and with such great sadness in her meows that I felt myself crying with her in the loss of her baby. It wasn't until I read the book, "Heaven is for Real" that I also started to really grieve the loss of my first pregnancy baby from a miscarriage, thinking and knowing in my heart that there is a little boy in heaven waiting there for me. How intricately the lives of God's creation are intertwined; how could we not believe that animals were created for us to care for, and why could we not also believe that the animals,in turn, were created to care for us, and to show us how "easy" it can be to care for one another?
Smudge told us that she was sick in January of 2011. I know this, as I knew after the fact when another of our cats, Kermie, years ago, sat in front of the fridge telling me that, while she continued to lose weight, there was something wrong with her stomach. Indeed, the cancer that invaded her intestines took her life. Smudge told us that there was something wrong with her kidneys when she continued to sit on the toilet until we took notice and took her in for tests. She was diagnosed as being in end-stage renal failure with very high urea and creatinin levels. We switched her foods, and started some nutritional additives that she decided were not palatable or necessary. She was not our first renal failure cat; Shadow lived to be 21 1/2 with his condition. Along with her excellent qualities of motherhood Smudge also had a natural stubbornness that fit our family perfectly. So we proceeded to give her extra attention and the best quality of life we could. She continued to be our rock and thought about our needs instead of her own...the truest quality of a mother's love. She slept with us, sat in front of the computer monitor to "remind" us that she was still there, and curled up on our table, and our laps (whenever we sat down!) to be as close to us as she could.
And then she started to sleep more, alone or with our other cat, Molly, who she "adopted" when she came to us as a young stray and who had a teenage pregnancy of her own. She slept more than usual, and her vomiting and diarrhea became progressively worse. She rarely ate, and when she did, it was very little. She started to experience unusual behavior; going from being sound asleep to dashing through the house with an energy that I can only consider as response to pain in her kidneys that shocked her awake.
We have been through end of life decisions many times, but never without questioning the "when" of it all. Sometimes we had left the decision too long which we also knew was selfish. Quality of life had to exist; when that quality was no longer there, it was time to say goodbye. And our animals have told us that too...told us when it was time. We knew that it was time to say goodbye to this wonderful mother figure in our lives, time for her to go on to be with her heavenly father and her little boy. The night before we said goodbye, Smudge came to sleep with us for the first time in 3 weeks; she knew, and she was once again consoling us in our time of despair.. as always.
To you, Smudge, our wonderful little mother, Happy Mother's Day. We love you and miss you. We were so very blessed to have you in our lives. Rest in peace.
And with His creation, he instilled instincts into the mothers and fathers to love and care for their offspring.
Smudge became the first kitten for our girls when they were young. As my husband and I had raised our other cats to adults, we felt the girls should have the experience of raising a new kitten to adulthood, learning how each stage of their lives was unique, as well as developing the care and attention each animal needs as they advance through their life. What we didn't know was how much Smudge was going to teach all of us about life along the way....
Smudge was born on October 31, 1996, a fitting Halloween gift of a gorgeous calico, her face split in half; orange face and black ear on the right side, black face and orange ear on her left side. She was "smudged" with white here and there but for the most part was black and orange. As all kittens are, she was adorable and the girls were smitten with her cuddles and playful antics. She easily settled in to the rest of the animal family; 2 dogs and 2 other cats.
Before too long she was maturing and just when we thought a surgery should be booked, she became another statistic; the teenage pregnancy! Most animals have a strong maternal, nurturing instinct so we were not concerned, however, we hadn't had babies in our household for quite some time. Needless to say, the girls were thrilled, so we prepared for the exciting event. August 6 was an extremely warm day and Smudge was restless, agitated and unsure of what was happening to her when her contractions started. The girls and I gathered towels, some cool water and some washcloths to help Smudge through the birthing process. I held her on my lap, stroked and soothed her and she started to relax a bit through the heat of the afternoon. After a quick tutorial on what we needed to do to help her and her babies, the girls watched as she panted and pushed and started to deliver the first of her 6 kittens. She delivered all 6 on my lap and immediately went to work cleaning and caring for her new family. I was able to determine that she had 3 females; 2 white/beige and 1 orange/white tabby, as well as 3 males; 1 black/white, 1 long haired orange tabby and 1 very white and smaller male.
As we felt the heat on the main floor of the house was too stifling, we moved the family and their "house"/box to the basement floor where it was cooler and quieter. With us checking on them several times that day, we made sure that the blanketed box was secure, warm and clean and that Smudge had fresh water and food close by. She was attentive and a bit nervous, not wanting to leave the babies alone to venture out of the box too often. I examined the babies later that day and noticed that she was paying very close attention to the small white male. She looked up at me with what would become her signature "squinting"; something that we came to know as her communication tool for care and concern whenever she displayed this look. The small white male, (I hesitate to use the word "runt" as I always cringe at the negative connotation that this imparts on my emotions) had some greenish stool, and I feared that he may be sickly, hence Smudge's instinct to pay close attention to him. With my veterinary background, I also knew that some white cats carry genes for deafness, so I hoped that this baby would not have that genetic predisposition. Smudge was already displaying a very strong maternal attachment, and I was grateful that at her young age that this was the case.
I slept fitfully that night worrying (as only a mother does) about Smudge and her little white baby. Rising early the next morning, I immediately rushed to the darkened basement to find the baby box empty! I turned on some lights and found Smudge with her babies curled up on the laundry table, thankful that some unwashed laundry was cushioning her family there. I concluded that she either thought the floor area became too cold or that she was concerned about the other cats getting too close for her comfort. When she saw me, she stood up and stretched, but squinted her eyes at me and meowed. I did a count of the babies on the table and then realized the white one was missing. She continued to meow as she jumped off the table, while I was searched around the baby box and the laundry table for the white male. My discovery was devastating, and I could not imagine Smudge's state when, somehow in transporting her family to the top of the table, her little boy slipped out of her mouth and was wedged into the bracing of the table leg. I could picture the desperate attempt she made to remove him from the brace while unintentionally pulling and wedging him farther down into a stuck position. This was evident by the skin on his little back that was torn open by her attempts to retrieve him. I removed him from the brace and placed him on the floor. She licked him, trying to revive him, looked up and squinted at me. My tears washed my face amid my cries to her, "I'm sorry, Smudge, so very sorry; I wish I was here to help you and save your baby!" And Smudge replied; [Squint}, "Meow, Meow". When the family awoke, I gave them the sad news and we buried our little boy in our animal sanctuary in the yard.
Smudge was very devoted to her other babies, and after much discussion and meditation, we decided when the babies were old enough, that we would keep 2 of them; one for each of the girls. We kept the female orange tabby, Sammy, and the black and white male, Max. The two beige females, as they matured, took on a very Siamese look (their father must have been quite the looker!) and they were adopted out. That left the long-haired orange tabby male; he was hubby's favorite, and when no-one showed interest in adopting him, we kept "Spike" in the family as well.
Smudge loved to snuggle, sleep and clean her offspring even as they matured into adults. I have always appreciated that about animals; how natural it is to display this ongoing affection no matter how old they become; we as humans should keep this in mind with our loved ones. Smudge shared this affection with us humans as well; reading our emotions and always knowing when to be there to console us. Whether it was in our times of sadness, heated emotions, or however animals sense they are needed for some pet therapy, we always knew that we could count on Smudge to be there to make us feel better. She was our calico rock through the storms of our lives.
I cannot say I remember when it started, but I don't think it was very long after she lost her boy that Smudge started doing something I have never experienced or heard of before. She found a stuffed dice toy in the house and started carrying it around the house, meowing mournfully the entire time she carried it from room to room. At first we didn't think too much of it, but she did this almost every day (and much more during the nights). I believed that she thought of this toy as the baby she lost and that she was trying to somehow get her baby back while remembering how she tried so desperately to save him. She was just not able to get over this loss. This behavior continued throughout her life, with a replacement stuffed mouse replacing the dice toy after it wore out. Some nights she carried on so long and with such great sadness in her meows that I felt myself crying with her in the loss of her baby. It wasn't until I read the book, "Heaven is for Real" that I also started to really grieve the loss of my first pregnancy baby from a miscarriage, thinking and knowing in my heart that there is a little boy in heaven waiting there for me. How intricately the lives of God's creation are intertwined; how could we not believe that animals were created for us to care for, and why could we not also believe that the animals,in turn, were created to care for us, and to show us how "easy" it can be to care for one another?
Smudge told us that she was sick in January of 2011. I know this, as I knew after the fact when another of our cats, Kermie, years ago, sat in front of the fridge telling me that, while she continued to lose weight, there was something wrong with her stomach. Indeed, the cancer that invaded her intestines took her life. Smudge told us that there was something wrong with her kidneys when she continued to sit on the toilet until we took notice and took her in for tests. She was diagnosed as being in end-stage renal failure with very high urea and creatinin levels. We switched her foods, and started some nutritional additives that she decided were not palatable or necessary. She was not our first renal failure cat; Shadow lived to be 21 1/2 with his condition. Along with her excellent qualities of motherhood Smudge also had a natural stubbornness that fit our family perfectly. So we proceeded to give her extra attention and the best quality of life we could. She continued to be our rock and thought about our needs instead of her own...the truest quality of a mother's love. She slept with us, sat in front of the computer monitor to "remind" us that she was still there, and curled up on our table, and our laps (whenever we sat down!) to be as close to us as she could.
And then she started to sleep more, alone or with our other cat, Molly, who she "adopted" when she came to us as a young stray and who had a teenage pregnancy of her own. She slept more than usual, and her vomiting and diarrhea became progressively worse. She rarely ate, and when she did, it was very little. She started to experience unusual behavior; going from being sound asleep to dashing through the house with an energy that I can only consider as response to pain in her kidneys that shocked her awake.
We have been through end of life decisions many times, but never without questioning the "when" of it all. Sometimes we had left the decision too long which we also knew was selfish. Quality of life had to exist; when that quality was no longer there, it was time to say goodbye. And our animals have told us that too...told us when it was time. We knew that it was time to say goodbye to this wonderful mother figure in our lives, time for her to go on to be with her heavenly father and her little boy. The night before we said goodbye, Smudge came to sleep with us for the first time in 3 weeks; she knew, and she was once again consoling us in our time of despair.. as always.
To you, Smudge, our wonderful little mother, Happy Mother's Day. We love you and miss you. We were so very blessed to have you in our lives. Rest in peace.
Monday, 24 October 2011
Words, words, and more words
It's funny how words roll around in my head; differently than others may think of them.
For me, lately I have considered how I have been applying famous quotes to my life. The interpretation of these quotes, although I don't remember exactly how they were used, are used and are heard revised and re-applied from time to time.
For me, lately I have considered how I have been applying famous quotes to my life. The interpretation of these quotes, although I don't remember exactly how they were used, are used and are heard revised and re-applied from time to time.
I had forgotten that both of the first two are from the same movie, "Jerry Maguire"; most people relate to these words because they have seen or heard of the movie. Or, they have heard someone else use the term and have asked for the origin and the meaning. I like they way they sound, and think that they can be interpreted and applied different ways, for different people, in different situations.
They are part of a scene with the lines;
"Jerry Maguire: I love you. You... you complete me. And I just...
Dorothy: Shut up, just shut up. You had me at "hello".
Dorothy: Shut up, just shut up. You had me at "hello".
In a personal context, maybe I have never said the words "you complete me" to anyone else because they seem a tad formal and again, for those "who know" it would seem like I was trying to emulate a movie star and use a movie quote. But have you ever felt that words such as these could be the only ones to describe the deep emotion you are feeling? Completion is all encompassing; "to make whole or perfect"; it doesn't get much better than that. So, this quote really should be used when you want to make your special someone; friend, spouse, family member, dog? :0) feel that they are the best thing that has come into your life and that you feel truly overwhelmed and grateful for their existence.
I'd been thinking about the second quote, "you had me at hello" and my interpretation and application seemed to come as an "aha" moment one day. We all have busy lives and some have large circles of family and friends, and some have smaller groups of these. With our digital age becoming more prolific every day, phones are not used for communication as commonly as they used to be. Skype is another funky invention that the Star Trek days of old had us hoping for the day when we, too, could talk [almost] face-to-face with others. Simply put, I love to receive and make phone calls these days more so than I ever have before. I get excited, giddy even, when talking on the phone because it's a realization that you on one end and I on this end, can fully appreciate the relationship we have; joke, vent, and share our lives in trust and acceptance. If I were to say, "you had me at hello" i would interpret this as, "I'm so happy that you called....you've got my attention....you are so very important to me....; by saying hello, and being available to communicate with me. As I am reminded of another quote just now, "you don't know what you've got til it's gone"; how true, how true... the appreciation of hearing a loved one's voice takes on new meaning after they are gone from this world.
Rounding off the movie quotes, from one of my fave movies, cause I'm a huge football fan, and I love comedy! If you haven't seen "The Replacements" with Gene Hackman and Keanu Reeves, rent it or request it from your library system; I think you'll appreciate the music and the comedy. The quote (those underlined below) comes in the following scene;
"Woman Reporter: (Running to catch up with McGinty (Hackman) heading to the locker room for halftime) Coach, what will Washington need to get back into this game?
Jimmy McGinty: (pause) You've got to have heart.
Woman Reporter: Can you elaborate?
Jimmy McGinty: (striking his chest with his roll of papers) Miles and miles of heart.
Jimmy McGinty: (pause) You've got to have heart.
Woman Reporter: Can you elaborate?
Jimmy McGinty: (striking his chest with his roll of papers) Miles and miles of heart.
Woman Reporter: (comes to a halt) So with a word, Coach McGinty says Washington will need to have heart to get back into this ball game."
Now I just have to write some illustrious words of my own, a book that will become a movie... and then become famous so others can quote me!
To me, it is so simple, yet eloquent; when you really put your heart in to something, it shows, and is ultimately what is needed to get the job done right. Coupled with heart is passion and others will know when you have true passion for something. I find this so true of my own life; living with heart and passion at the forefront always makes me feel true to myself.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
Kindred Spirits
A Kindred Spirit, by definition, is someone who shares beliefs, attitudes, and feelings with another [person]. For some people, Kindred Spirits can also be animals, such as is revealed in the book, Kindred Spirits: how the remarkable bond between humans and animals can change the way we live, by Dr. Allen M. Schoen, DVM. In this book, the word kindred is used to describe the similarities between humans and animals, their shared kinship, spiritual and emotional connections. ( I personally feel great kindred connections to all of the animals in my life).
I know that reading Anne of Green Gables inspired me to find Kindred Spirits in my own life. Anne Shirley made it sound so appealing and comforting to have one;
"A bosom friend--an intimate friend, you know--a really kindred spirit to whom I can confide my inmost soul. I've dreamed of meeting her all my life. I never really supposed
I would, but so many of my loveliest dreams have come true all at once that perhaps this one will, too. Do you think it's possible?"
I would, but so many of my loveliest dreams have come true all at once that perhaps this one will, too. Do you think it's possible?"
I am privileged to have (and had) Kindred Spirits in my life. I believe the most powerful of these "spirits" was my grandmother, who was affectionately known as Nana. We had a deep and meaningful connection, and at a very young age, I knew we shared a mutual respect and understanding that did not exist between anyone else I knew. With her, I experienced compassion, kindness, love, caring and an easy sharing of the good, the bad, and the ugly, without the fear of judgment or expectation.
As an Aries in the astrological world, some of my closest friends are also fellow Ariens, and we share the closeness of Kindred Spirits in our relationships. I feel comfortable around them, connect on several levels, share core values, and know I can count on them when I need help, a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on. We can joke freely and snort when we laugh, be seriously serious, share our thoughts and knowledge about exciting or boring topics, give opinions and advice, and be undying superheroes for each other when required.
Kindred Spirits may also be of the opposite sex, in romantic or non-romantic relationships; many people have claimed their spouses to be Kindred Spirits. A couple may meet that have both come from very bad previous relationship situations; a bond is then reached because they share an understanding of what the other has been through where they feel no one else truly understands. Through this they become Kindred Spirits.
I am fortunate and very blessed to know Kindred Spirits that "get me" with my idiosyncrasies, quirks, and faults, and accept me just as I am. We are in sync with each other, trust each other implicitly, and are intensely committed to sharing our lives and the kindred spirit of love that we feel for each other.
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
Act your age!?
I recently celebrated a birthday; and no; the number of years will not be divulged; I believe it is irrelevant anyways.
I had a very blessed day. Several family and friends wished me well on my day. The sun shone brilliantly, the temperature reached a glorious +10 and I laughed my way through most of the day. Typically, on any given day, and this one was no exception, I end up laughing at myself, because, truth be told, I refuse to "act my age" when around friends and family, because I have a youthful spark that reignites on a regular basis.
Don't get me wrong, in a professional capacity, I act my age and deal appropriately as the situation demands. But even in the workplace, I have adopted the "Fish" Philosophy made famous at Pike's Fish Marketplace in Seattle. Their employees follow 4 basic customer service philosophies that have been adopted by libraries and other workplace environments, service groups, etc.;
1. Have Fun; with your co-workers/staff and the customers; lighten up!
2. Be There; place your full attention on your customer and give them the service and respect they deserve
3. Make Their Day; make others appreciate their experience so much that they will want to return and will tell others about their great experience.
4. Choose Your Attitude; choose to be objective, be happy, to be present, to be friendly and gracious.
You can follow these guiding principles no matter how old you are, and not just in the workplace either; the more I practice them, the younger I feel, and the more I want to share them with others to make any experience better.
So what do I do to act younger? I practice random acts of kindness whenever and wherever I can; people rarely expect these anymore (sadly). I turn up the music and sing along (when no one else is around of course; my voice isn't that great), I dance in my living room for exercise and to reduce stress....and on my birthday, well let's just say I decided I didn't like the large piles of snow laying around since it is, after all, supposed to be spring. To break up the piles into meltable (I know that's not a word, but it works here for me) portions, I merrily stomped and jumped on the snow, and klutz that I am, lost my balance and ended up doing a classic full frontal plant, face first, in the snow; sorry, the pictures also will remain unseen! I could have suffocated I was laughing so hard, and after laughing themselves silly at my crazy antics, I was hauled up and out by two family members. Hence, the laughing at my expense; but it helped to burn off some of the supper calories before digging into the birthday cheesecake. It's always good to take an objective look at any situation.
I have told my family that I will never act my age, and to expect that from me. This year, I am living 13 all over again, since I will be seeing my favorite band from that time period in my life, the Doobie Brothers, in May. As well, watching the movie, "Secretariat" after experiencing the Triple Crown in my family living room, I may have the opportunity to get an autographed picture of jockey, Ron Turcotte on Secretariat, through an acquaintance. I am also wild about flowers, and long to have fresh flowers around all the time; not only to see and appreciate their life and their color, but to pass by the arrangement several times during the day and breathe in their intoxicating aroma. All these things bring such excitement and exuberance that I can hardly contain myself; what is that? Craziness? No, methinks it is youthfulness, and appreciation for life and its blessings and gifts. I hope and pray that I continue to feel that way about many things in my lifetime.
And for when spring really comes--I'll be hauling out my purple bike, my birthday gift from last year, so I can go shopping and deck it out with reflectors, a bell, basket, and whatever else might catch my [young] eyes.
Saturday, 19 March 2011
Saying goodbye to a pet
I have been an animal owner most of my life.
Death is as basic as life; if you have life, you have to expect death at some point. I have lost count of all of the cats and dogs our family has said goodbye to over the years. Various ailments and circumstances have caused the death of animals that we embraced as family members. Each and every animal had its own unique God-given personality that we would appreciate. As we had been given the responsibility for their lives, we had to be responsible, also, for the care and decisions that needed to be made on their behalf at any time in their lives.
Our recent loss in January of our dog of almost 8 years has become one of the most difficult losses I have had to experience. Since we have been "empty nesters" for a few years, he and our cats have been our primary focus on the home front. Our boy was an Alaskan Malamute/Australian Kelpie cross (as near as we could ascertain with my knowledge of dog breeds) and stole our hearts the moment we met him. He was giving, loyal, and very adaptable to our lives at any given point. His diagnoses in the end was lymphosarcoma; the cancer spread through his blood to every system in his body. He was healthy and quite able bodied until about the last 3 or 4 weeks of his life, and then we knew we couldn't let him suffer not knowing the extent of his pain or discomfort; we could only observe the diminished capacity of his regular activities.
Each person experiences grief in their own way. For the first month, I thought I would never stop crying, and so many things would set me off without warning. After watching it a couple of weeks ago, I could relate to Diane Keaton in her very well acted role in "Something's Got to Give" where she has episodes of wailing while writing; mourning the loss of a new love in the character that Jack Nicholson plays. Of course, watching her, I had to hit "pause" on the remote and grab the box of Kleenex to let my eyes leak for a few minutes before continuing... It was at that time that I knew that recording my thoughts would help to heal my heart and record special memories of our dog that I wanted to treasure in the years to come. Journaling and writing has helped many people deal with their grief and loss. C.S. Lewis, in "A Grief Observed" writes about the loss of his wife to cancer, and questions life, God, and many other things in his book.
Veterinary clinics are better equipped than they used to be in Grief Counseling, and staff members now take courses to help clients through the process. Cremation is available in most locations, as well as choices of urns or memorials to preserve the ashes and memory of a beloved pet. It is always helpful to talk about your loss to friends and family who will empathize with your situation. Many books are available dealing with pet loss and grief. The Pet Therapy Society of Northern Alberta also has a special program available for those dealing with the loss of a pet. Visit http://www.pettherapysociety.com/programs/paws-to-remember/ to read their information about the group and the Pet Loss Support Line phone number to talk to someone about your loss. And even though some thought I was a little "off", I decided to rent "Marley and Me" knowing full well that it had a sad ending. I own the book but didn't finish it last fall when I purchased it, so didn't know the details of the sadness. However, knowing it was a true story, I applauded the director for the absolute realism of the euthanasia (sorry to give it away) of Marley at the end of the movie, knowing as an Animal Health Technologist and an animal owner that has experienced this process several times, you can't change the facts of how it works. But the process of how it works for the animal is that it is quick and painless, and we as owners can know that we have had to make the hardest decision (for us) to end the life of such a wondrous member of our family. But as they cannot talk, they can feel, and many have said, that animals know our hearts and know, in kindness, that we are acting on their behalf in the decisions that we make. Again, at this point in the movie, my own loss still very fresh, the tears flowed while the movie was paused for several moments. Not being a huge Owen Wilson fan over the years, I truly appreciated his dramatic acting in this movie and the depth of emotion that he showed for this crazy, destructive, but loyal family member in their dog Marley. I was also happy to see the memorial scene where the children and the adults paid tribute to Marley each in their own way.
Hardest for me at first was going for walks alone, especially venturing out on the familiar routes and paths we took together. Exercise can, however, be a welcome healer, and it allowed me to become very instrospective, and develop the spiritual, physical, and mental healing I needed. Now my walks have become a way to remember his uniqueness and moments such as reprimanding the deer and the moose that frequent the area where we live. There is the great realization of what a blessing he was in my life and in the life of my family and many, many people that he met in his very full life. He experienced city life, country treks and play dates with doggy friends, and so much more. He loved snow and would lay in it for hours. He loved to eat, and could have been a marketing agent for Dairy Queen ice cream cones...
It's good to know we are not alone in our experiences, and that animals have such a profound effect on humans in the vastness of this world. What wonderful companions they are! How they have changed, improved, saved, sustained our health and our lives. I am truly thankful for the life of our dog and the impact he has had on my life. He will not be forgotten.
"The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears" John Vance Cheney, US Poet
Death is as basic as life; if you have life, you have to expect death at some point. I have lost count of all of the cats and dogs our family has said goodbye to over the years. Various ailments and circumstances have caused the death of animals that we embraced as family members. Each and every animal had its own unique God-given personality that we would appreciate. As we had been given the responsibility for their lives, we had to be responsible, also, for the care and decisions that needed to be made on their behalf at any time in their lives.
Our recent loss in January of our dog of almost 8 years has become one of the most difficult losses I have had to experience. Since we have been "empty nesters" for a few years, he and our cats have been our primary focus on the home front. Our boy was an Alaskan Malamute/Australian Kelpie cross (as near as we could ascertain with my knowledge of dog breeds) and stole our hearts the moment we met him. He was giving, loyal, and very adaptable to our lives at any given point. His diagnoses in the end was lymphosarcoma; the cancer spread through his blood to every system in his body. He was healthy and quite able bodied until about the last 3 or 4 weeks of his life, and then we knew we couldn't let him suffer not knowing the extent of his pain or discomfort; we could only observe the diminished capacity of his regular activities.
Each person experiences grief in their own way. For the first month, I thought I would never stop crying, and so many things would set me off without warning. After watching it a couple of weeks ago, I could relate to Diane Keaton in her very well acted role in "Something's Got to Give" where she has episodes of wailing while writing; mourning the loss of a new love in the character that Jack Nicholson plays. Of course, watching her, I had to hit "pause" on the remote and grab the box of Kleenex to let my eyes leak for a few minutes before continuing... It was at that time that I knew that recording my thoughts would help to heal my heart and record special memories of our dog that I wanted to treasure in the years to come. Journaling and writing has helped many people deal with their grief and loss. C.S. Lewis, in "A Grief Observed" writes about the loss of his wife to cancer, and questions life, God, and many other things in his book.
Veterinary clinics are better equipped than they used to be in Grief Counseling, and staff members now take courses to help clients through the process. Cremation is available in most locations, as well as choices of urns or memorials to preserve the ashes and memory of a beloved pet. It is always helpful to talk about your loss to friends and family who will empathize with your situation. Many books are available dealing with pet loss and grief. The Pet Therapy Society of Northern Alberta also has a special program available for those dealing with the loss of a pet. Visit http://www.pettherapysociety.com/programs/paws-to-remember/ to read their information about the group and the Pet Loss Support Line phone number to talk to someone about your loss. And even though some thought I was a little "off", I decided to rent "Marley and Me" knowing full well that it had a sad ending. I own the book but didn't finish it last fall when I purchased it, so didn't know the details of the sadness. However, knowing it was a true story, I applauded the director for the absolute realism of the euthanasia (sorry to give it away) of Marley at the end of the movie, knowing as an Animal Health Technologist and an animal owner that has experienced this process several times, you can't change the facts of how it works. But the process of how it works for the animal is that it is quick and painless, and we as owners can know that we have had to make the hardest decision (for us) to end the life of such a wondrous member of our family. But as they cannot talk, they can feel, and many have said, that animals know our hearts and know, in kindness, that we are acting on their behalf in the decisions that we make. Again, at this point in the movie, my own loss still very fresh, the tears flowed while the movie was paused for several moments. Not being a huge Owen Wilson fan over the years, I truly appreciated his dramatic acting in this movie and the depth of emotion that he showed for this crazy, destructive, but loyal family member in their dog Marley. I was also happy to see the memorial scene where the children and the adults paid tribute to Marley each in their own way.
Hardest for me at first was going for walks alone, especially venturing out on the familiar routes and paths we took together. Exercise can, however, be a welcome healer, and it allowed me to become very instrospective, and develop the spiritual, physical, and mental healing I needed. Now my walks have become a way to remember his uniqueness and moments such as reprimanding the deer and the moose that frequent the area where we live. There is the great realization of what a blessing he was in my life and in the life of my family and many, many people that he met in his very full life. He experienced city life, country treks and play dates with doggy friends, and so much more. He loved snow and would lay in it for hours. He loved to eat, and could have been a marketing agent for Dairy Queen ice cream cones...
It's good to know we are not alone in our experiences, and that animals have such a profound effect on humans in the vastness of this world. What wonderful companions they are! How they have changed, improved, saved, sustained our health and our lives. I am truly thankful for the life of our dog and the impact he has had on my life. He will not be forgotten.
"The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears" John Vance Cheney, US Poet
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