It was that magical time in the morning when our bodies and souls are half awake and half asleep – where wonderful dreams can still happen. It was a cold, Ohio morning and I did not want to get out of my warm, cozy bed. I was dreaming I was camping in Alaska and had an encounter with a lone white wolf. In my dream it was raining and the wolf had me pinned to the ground. When I finally opened my eyes, I was staring into a white muzzle with a coal black nose. Deep black eyes were boring into mine. He was kissing me all over my face, trying to wake me. Charlie, the great white Westie-Wolf, was ready to go outside.
We’ve had Charlie for a little over 2 years now, having adopted him when he was one. He is a special needs dog, and nobody really had the patience for him. His over-exuberance could be annoying to some, and the fact that he seemed to be channeling Tigger, the tiger from Winnie the Pooh, sealed his fate. He was a lap dog that wasn’t supposed to be a lap dog, and somehow he ended up adopting us.
There are two theories that I always take into account when I start getting frustrated with Charlie. The first one is: dogs and their owners are very much alike. The second one is: when someone really annoys you, take a good look at yourself. Those two thoughts always humble me when I get frustrated with Charles. This is a dog that can dance like no one is watching, laugh until he cries and eat with utter abandon. He takes his job of ridding the world of squirrels one by one very seriously, and loves to cuddle on our big chair by the fire – stretching out and snoozing with not a care in the world.
Some of Charlie’s traits I look at with envy. Others I can so relate to. Like forgetting his obedience commands. How can I get angry with him when he forgets to “stay”, when I can’t even remember where I put my reading glasses? How can I push him off my lap when he wants to be held - when truly, sometimes that’s all I want too? How can I get mad and push him down when he dances with joy when I get home from work; wanting to touch me and tell me how much he has missed me?
The main difference between the two of us is that Charlie doesn’t stop to think. He just does. Charlie doesn’t care what other people think. He just is. Charlie lives his life with total abandon and love. He lives in the now, and doesn’t worry about what lies ahead. He doesn’t regret about the past. I never see Charlie pouting because he still hasn’t caught one of the squirrels that taunt him from the yard. He just keeps trying, certain one of these days, one of those squirrels is going down.
As much of an energizer bunny he can be, he is so sweet and gentle with our granddaughters. He will patiently sit in the princess castle/tent, and gladly wear crowns and play with Barbie. He is very much a gentleman when fed a piece of hotdog or cheese. When the princesses finally wind down, Charlie is right there beside them, head on their knee, watching Sponge Bob. He carefully cleans peanut butter and jelly off tiny hands and licks up tears when someone scrapes a knee. He is a true friend and protector.
So now, when Charlie gets on my nerves, I just remind myself that whatever he is doing, he is doing it with love. What more could anyone want? Another true lesson I’ve learned from my great, white Westie-Wolf.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
My Imaginary Friend
So, I have this friend I’d like you to meet. She’s an imaginary friend, actually. But before you go judging, let me first introduce you to her – then I will explain.
Her name is Makena…which in Africa means “the happy one”. Makena is from a very small African Village. I don’t know a whole lot about her tribe, except what she wants to share. She and I are the same age, and we are also both grandmothers. That is pretty much where the similarities end.
Makena, besides being my imaginary friend, is also often my voice of reason. She and I have some marvelous conversations. Thankfully they are normally carried on inside my head, where nobody else can hear them.
I tend to vent to Makena. It’s like having coffee with her. So the other day, I was complaining to Makena about our ice storm.
“It was freezing”, I was telling her. “The ice was heavy on the wires and that caused us to lose electricity. We didn’t have lights, hot water or cable TV. It was horrendous.”
“Oh, I totally understand”, said Makena. “The other day the large and heavy bucket that I use to haul our water 3 miles one way had a very large hole in it, so we were without clean water for two days. Not to mention our firewood source is low and I could not warm the water for the rock soup I intended to make for dinner.”
“Oh, that is bad. I can’t imagine. Life sure is tough! I mean I couldn’t watch American Idol or warm up my tea in the microwave. The roads were so bad that the pizza delivery people weren’t working. I even had to pile on an extra blanket to stay warm. What a pain!”
“Oh, my poor friend. I can’t imagine how you handled it. I can relate though. We had a theft in the village the other day. They took our animal skins we use at night for warmth and the torches we use to light our hut. Why would anyone do such a thing? And I know that weather can be our friend, but I also know the weather gods will punish us and test us. Such is your ice storm. You were without your necessities; just like the flood we endured last month. It swept away our belongings and drowned our goats. I am so sorry about your ice storm. It must have been so very hard for you to endure.”
“It was terrible, Makena. You don’t know the half of it. But thanks for listening. I feel better when I can complain to you.”
“You can talk to me anytime you wish, Karen. I am glad I can help. Although I cannot relate to your world, I can truly understand how tough you must have it. Such suffering you must endure. I will listen and try to understand. You have it so much tougher than I…but I will always try to empathize, even if I can’t relate.”
“Thanks Makena. I’m glad somebody will listen to me. Thanks for being there.”
Authors note: Makena will be a recurring character as this writer shares all the hardships she must endure living in Middle America in 2011. She is my reality check…and I’m glad I could share her with you.
Her name is Makena…which in Africa means “the happy one”. Makena is from a very small African Village. I don’t know a whole lot about her tribe, except what she wants to share. She and I are the same age, and we are also both grandmothers. That is pretty much where the similarities end.
Makena, besides being my imaginary friend, is also often my voice of reason. She and I have some marvelous conversations. Thankfully they are normally carried on inside my head, where nobody else can hear them.
I tend to vent to Makena. It’s like having coffee with her. So the other day, I was complaining to Makena about our ice storm.
“It was freezing”, I was telling her. “The ice was heavy on the wires and that caused us to lose electricity. We didn’t have lights, hot water or cable TV. It was horrendous.”
“Oh, I totally understand”, said Makena. “The other day the large and heavy bucket that I use to haul our water 3 miles one way had a very large hole in it, so we were without clean water for two days. Not to mention our firewood source is low and I could not warm the water for the rock soup I intended to make for dinner.”
“Oh, that is bad. I can’t imagine. Life sure is tough! I mean I couldn’t watch American Idol or warm up my tea in the microwave. The roads were so bad that the pizza delivery people weren’t working. I even had to pile on an extra blanket to stay warm. What a pain!”
“Oh, my poor friend. I can’t imagine how you handled it. I can relate though. We had a theft in the village the other day. They took our animal skins we use at night for warmth and the torches we use to light our hut. Why would anyone do such a thing? And I know that weather can be our friend, but I also know the weather gods will punish us and test us. Such is your ice storm. You were without your necessities; just like the flood we endured last month. It swept away our belongings and drowned our goats. I am so sorry about your ice storm. It must have been so very hard for you to endure.”
“It was terrible, Makena. You don’t know the half of it. But thanks for listening. I feel better when I can complain to you.”
“You can talk to me anytime you wish, Karen. I am glad I can help. Although I cannot relate to your world, I can truly understand how tough you must have it. Such suffering you must endure. I will listen and try to understand. You have it so much tougher than I…but I will always try to empathize, even if I can’t relate.”
“Thanks Makena. I’m glad somebody will listen to me. Thanks for being there.”
Authors note: Makena will be a recurring character as this writer shares all the hardships she must endure living in Middle America in 2011. She is my reality check…and I’m glad I could share her with you.
W.I.N.O.S
I admit it. I am a wino. Oh, not that kind. Actually, W.I.N.O.S. is an acronym. Now there are those that know me that would attest that I fit the other description for wino, but that is another story.
The W.I.N.O.S. I am referring to stands for Women In Need Of Shopping. I guess both types of winos would be considered an addiction, but at least with shopping the residual effects are not quite as bad....meaning no hangover involved. Oh maybe a possible headache that accompanies potential buyers remorse. Or getting home and finding out that the fantastic outfit you bought doesn’t look nearly as good as it did under the shocking florescent lights of the dressing room. But that headache has a much easier remedy that involves saving your receipt and returning the merchandise. No Advil needed.
Shopping, in its' true state, is quite similar to a sport. Depending on the circumstances it's a combo of horse racing, hockey and football. Of course there aren’t any referees, and unfortunately no safety gear is used. It can be a contact sport at times, and is definitely one that can be an “at your own risk” type of game. Especially when there is a huge sale involved.
I like to think am a very courteous shopper. I don't push, shove, pull or grab. I don't yell. But others do. Trust me. Take for instance around Valentine’s Day. Usually in mid-February, Christmas is but a memory and people are shopping for cruise clothing, Valentine’s Day surprises and even an outfit or two to get them through spring fever. Mid-February also means that the Christmas decorations have been marked down so low the store will pay you to take them home. Normally, this means the decorations are ones that you would never consider purchasing. But when marked down to 90% off the original price, all of a sudden beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and bargain shoppers get a little bit nasty. Last week I had an encounter with one such shopper. I was glancing at an ornament that looked like it involved two dogs of an unknown or as of yet undiscovered breed juggling candy canes. It was dated 2008. As I was looking it over, pondering what kind of person would care to buy such a thing - even at the marked down price of 80 cents – a woman snatched it right out of my hands. That’s all it took. My adrenaline kicked in and the game was on. Oh, it didn’t matter if the candy cane had been chipped and the dogs looked like they had rabies. I needed that ornament. In hindsight, I suppose I didn’t handle myself in the ladylike manner I should have, because the store manager escorted the two of us out to our cars. The other woman gleefully smiled as she climbed into her car, believing she “won” because she had acquired the larger half of the dog ornament. Seems I got the last laugh, however. As she leaned in her car to put her packages away, the other half of the ornament, the black dog with a scary face, smiled at me from the back folds of her winter coat. As far as I know, no medical help was needed to remove it.
Yes, shopping is a sport. I can get just as high (finding the perfect dress) or low (in two sizes too small) as someone carrying a football over the goal line. Just like the other type of winos, I know there is a 12-step program for shop-a-holics. However, since admitting the problem is the first step, I won’t be joining either one in the near future. As with everything, there is a fine line between “want” and “need”. For now, I choose to go with the mantra of my heroes, Wilma Flintstone and Betty Rubble: “Charge It!”
The W.I.N.O.S. I am referring to stands for Women In Need Of Shopping. I guess both types of winos would be considered an addiction, but at least with shopping the residual effects are not quite as bad....meaning no hangover involved. Oh maybe a possible headache that accompanies potential buyers remorse. Or getting home and finding out that the fantastic outfit you bought doesn’t look nearly as good as it did under the shocking florescent lights of the dressing room. But that headache has a much easier remedy that involves saving your receipt and returning the merchandise. No Advil needed.
Shopping, in its' true state, is quite similar to a sport. Depending on the circumstances it's a combo of horse racing, hockey and football. Of course there aren’t any referees, and unfortunately no safety gear is used. It can be a contact sport at times, and is definitely one that can be an “at your own risk” type of game. Especially when there is a huge sale involved.
I like to think am a very courteous shopper. I don't push, shove, pull or grab. I don't yell. But others do. Trust me. Take for instance around Valentine’s Day. Usually in mid-February, Christmas is but a memory and people are shopping for cruise clothing, Valentine’s Day surprises and even an outfit or two to get them through spring fever. Mid-February also means that the Christmas decorations have been marked down so low the store will pay you to take them home. Normally, this means the decorations are ones that you would never consider purchasing. But when marked down to 90% off the original price, all of a sudden beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and bargain shoppers get a little bit nasty. Last week I had an encounter with one such shopper. I was glancing at an ornament that looked like it involved two dogs of an unknown or as of yet undiscovered breed juggling candy canes. It was dated 2008. As I was looking it over, pondering what kind of person would care to buy such a thing - even at the marked down price of 80 cents – a woman snatched it right out of my hands. That’s all it took. My adrenaline kicked in and the game was on. Oh, it didn’t matter if the candy cane had been chipped and the dogs looked like they had rabies. I needed that ornament. In hindsight, I suppose I didn’t handle myself in the ladylike manner I should have, because the store manager escorted the two of us out to our cars. The other woman gleefully smiled as she climbed into her car, believing she “won” because she had acquired the larger half of the dog ornament. Seems I got the last laugh, however. As she leaned in her car to put her packages away, the other half of the ornament, the black dog with a scary face, smiled at me from the back folds of her winter coat. As far as I know, no medical help was needed to remove it.
Yes, shopping is a sport. I can get just as high (finding the perfect dress) or low (in two sizes too small) as someone carrying a football over the goal line. Just like the other type of winos, I know there is a 12-step program for shop-a-holics. However, since admitting the problem is the first step, I won’t be joining either one in the near future. As with everything, there is a fine line between “want” and “need”. For now, I choose to go with the mantra of my heroes, Wilma Flintstone and Betty Rubble: “Charge It!”
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