It's Nice to Have Friends

Photo By Amy Chan

I found myself in a bit of a predicament the other night. I needed a picture of myself teaching my class and I wasn't sure how to get one. Yes, I could have set up my tripod and camera on self-timer, but I wasn't sure I could ensure a good shot and didn't want to interrupt the class too much. I could have asked someone at the school to snap something, but there are not a lot of people on hand the evenings I teach and again there was no way to be certain they would get a good picture. I thought of asking my sister-in-law who is a great photographer that has helped me out before, but she lives two hours away from the school and has a young baby. I decided instead to ask two friends who I have taken photography classes with through Jim Block ( http://www.jimblockphoto.com ) if they might be willing to stop by and snap something for me. Both friends, Renee Brown ( https://www.facebook.com/ReneeBrownPhotography ) and Amy Chan ( www.amychanphotography.com ) are excellent photographers and I knew I would be happy to have either of them take the picture. Both got right back to me. Renee was busy taking a class, but Amy was able. She even arrived at class before I did.
Unfortunately, I felt ill that evening and was worried I wouldn't photograph well, but Amy pulled it off and sent me several pics to choose from including the one above. Amy is a mother and L&D, RN and specializes in birth photography among other things. I realize how fortunate I am to have these wonderful and talented friends who are willing to help out at a moments notice.
I am also happy that Amy's picture of me will be featured on my new web site, which draws closer to completion each day. I'm told I'll be able to see the first design layout for it next week. Again, I wouldn't have found these great web site designers if it wasn't for my friend Jon Katz (www.bedlamfarm.com).
We often say "it's who you know" as almost a derogatory thing, attributing success to connections and networking, but there's truth in the statement and nothing derogatory about it. Often success does come from who we know, the friends we make, the bonds we forge and the kindness of those willing to put their talents to work to help us. This has certainly been the case with me and I am lucky to have such friends.

Not Beyond Here

It's been a long time coming but I finally finished my Mermaid collage. I'm calling it "Not Beyond Here." I was under the weather today, but being at home in bed gave me some time to do the sewing on the collage. So now it is complete.

As I said before, this one was a difficult one to pull off because of the black background and the light layers of the images, but I like how it turned out looking like water. The not beyond here signs were actually signs used after Irene to keep people from certain flooded areas. The mermaid tails were from a restaurant sign I passed one day. The moon in the corner was an actual reflection of the supermoon on my parent's pool cover. The pug belongs to my friend and the little girl is my niece Tori. but here, she has already taken on another identity for me. She is the mermaid. She looks older than my niece. Her eyes are different. She and the mer-pugs here are creatures of another world. One that simultaneously dares us to enter and warns us to stay away.

And, sometimes it's hell

It's not all bliss. Take the other day for instance. Sure, I described the Shelburne Museum Goes to the Dogs event as heavenly, but life with dogs isn't always peaceful even in Paradise.

After strolling the grounds and browsing vendors, I was eager to make my way back to the Round Barn to hear Luis Carlos Montalvan talk about his book Until Tuesday: A Wounded Warrior and the Golden Retriever Who Saved Him. Amidst talking to other dog owners and taking in the sights and sounds, I lost track of time and was already 20 minutes late for the discussion. As I approached the building, I realized the event was still going strong. I could hear the author talking in a low, steady voice. I reached the doorway and started to lead my pugs inside what seemed like an intense and serious environment.

The basement of the Round Barn was exactly that -- a basement. I don't know about most dogs, but mine have never liked going into basements. I always wondered if they feared being trapped or if it was something else, but on this occasion, Alfie slammed on the brakes and wouldn't proceed. I can't say I exactly blamed her. As much as i wanted to hear Montalvan talk, the atmosphere didn't seem entirely welcoming. I don't mean to give the impression that it was unfriendly, but the subject matter did not seem to be eliciting a bunch of laughs. I managed to get Alfie through the doorway, but she would not move beyond a certain point to let me sit down in a chair. I stretched as far as I could, trying to move a chair so it would be closer to Alfie, but it was a long reach.

At this point, Waffles too, seemed to be picking up on the nervous tension in the room. Luis Carlos Montalvan was still talking in a deep, low voice about trauma and how we are all going to experience it at some point when Waffles started in on her banshee scream. I love my new little pug. She is sweet, quiet, petite, almost cat-like in the way she studies the world, but she has created some challenges in training her -- anyone know how to stop a pug from overturning trash cans -- and she has a wild cry, not typically heard in nature.

Prior to getting Alfie I had read about the pug "whohoohoo," a gentle barking noise. None of mine had made this, but Alfie did, and I loved hearing it the first time. Waffles, on the other hand, has a screech and a scream. It isn't pretty. She started in during the talk, barking at another dog sitting quietly beside its owner's feet. It didn't seem to disturb Montalvan's drone, but just to be sure I tried to move her out of view of the other dog. This would have been easier if Alfie and she weren't coupled together on one lead. When I tried to pull Waffles left, Alfie moved right and pulled. She exercised enough energy to slip her harness over her head. She was loose.

Those of you who have well trained dogs may not understand the implications, but I live on a main road and there is little safe space available to train my dogs off lead. Add to this the fact that Alfie associates being caught with doing something she doesn't want to do. Yes, I know, there are rules you should follow in training her -- give her food, don't put her in the crate each time you catch her, etc. But Alfie knows that food comes with a price and it's not just her crate she doesn't want to go in, she doesn't want to go anywhere she's being MADE to go and she knows how to avoid this -- Don't Let Them Catch You!

So, Alfie heads for the door at a run with her harness hanging from the other end of Waffles' lead. Waffles jumps as the thing waves beside her and begins a second chorus of screams. A woman outside yells "Loose Dog."

I trip over a chair trying to get outside where I see Alfie following a little girl. "Hey, can you hlep me?" I call. She stares at me blankly.

"If you sit down I think my dog will come to you and I can put her harness back on," I said.
The girl doesn't move.

"Hey!" I tried again, trying not to let panic rise in my voice. "Could you please help me catch my dog?"

What's the matter with this kid? I thought. It wasn't until I got home late at night that I thought about the warnings we all give our kids. Don't trust a stranger even if they offer you an icecream or a chance to pet their dog. This poor kid who I was getting so angry at was probably just well trained or very smart. Heck, I probably wouldn't have trusted this frantic lady dragging a little black dog and an empty harness down the sidewalk either.

Struck down by the girl, I turned to a vendor packing up her supplies. Yes, her hands were full, but she was the closest to me and my dog was quickly moving away. "Could you please help me with my dog?" I asked, thrusting Waffles lead into her hands. I then fell to the ground, trying to attract Alfie's attention. She saw me, but remained just out of reach. "Come here," I murmured.

"Do you have a snack I could give her?" Now, I was screeching like Waffles. The woman I asked was sitting at a table full of bags of dog treats, but she didn't answer me.

"Do you have a snack I could give her?" I repeated. When she didn't answer I jumped up and approached the table, ready to grab a bag myself.

The woman holding Waffles shouted. "She's right behind you. You're dog is right behind you."
I knew this, but I also knew that if I turned around and tried to grab her she would just back up and move further away. But, to this woman I probably looked clueless. Just as I was getting ready to rip open a treat bag, the woman behind the table sprang to life and handed me a liver treat from her pocket. I tried to lure Alfie with it, but she only backed up.

"Make her come to you," the woman instructed as if I had never thought of this.

Alfie came, but not close enough. Anyone who questions an animal's intelligence should know that they understand advanced mathematics. Alfie demonstrates this over and over by being able to calculate the exact right distance she needs to maintain at all times to be just out of reach. This time, however, I was lucky and was able to spring upon her fast enough to grab her fat, round body.

Holding a pug is just about as easy as holding a slick pig. There is nothing to grab on to, no handles so to speak, and they wiggle their chubby forms right out of your hands. Fortunately, Alfie has a lot of fur so I just grabbed on.

"You better get that  harness back on your dog," the woman holding Waffles barked at me while simultaneously snapping at the barking Waffles to calm down. I barely got the first strap closed before she was handing Waffles back to me. By this time, I was a sweaty mess with a migraine. Also, I was fearful about getting Alfie back to the car now that her harness had been stretched out of shape and could even more easily slip off. And, I desperately needed to go to the bathroom.

Yes, spending time amidst dogs can be a taste of heaven, but sometimes spending time with them can be a bit of hell, too.

Sketches from North Hampton

I took my ipad to the beach with me last Friday. I love the ease with which I can use it to sketch. It takes the need for perfection away and allows me to capture an impression of the moment. Obviously both of these are not finished drawings, but they will help remember the seagull who kept shuffling by and the old man, head down, strolling the beach and the two old ladies who waded into the water with the glee of children -- one stood with her hands tucked behind her grasping her buttocks as if to plant herself against the gentle waves, the other trying to avoid stepping on pebbles even as she gathered treasured ones up in her hands.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Heaven of a Different Sort

If my trip to the ocean and the concert this weekend were spiritual experiences for me, Sunday brought heaven of a different sort. As a dog lover, the Shelburne Museum Goes to the Dog event may have been the canine equivalent of Paradise. Instead of loved ones strolling on streets of gold, dogs of all different breeds, sizes and colors greeted us beside owners just as diverse. Swimming pools to cool dogs off, water bowls to refresh them and a maze of doggie games, activities, and vendors dotted the pristine and picturesque lawns of the Shelburne Museum. Baggies to dispose of waste were in easy reach and no one restricted the dogs from sniffing each other and going where they pleased. Yes, they were all on leash, which might make it a little less heavenly for the dogs, but my pugs Alfie and Waffles bounded up to mammoth Irish Wolfhounds and petite Chihuahuas alike, gleeful to get to know their brethren.

We walked the grounds, browsing vendors that included therapy dogs, rescued pugs and greyhounds, retired veterinarians turned authors, dog fencing and more and literally stopped to smell the flowers along the way. As the dogs sniffed each other becoming a tangle of tails and leashes, owners chatted about names and breeds. The sun engulfed the venue in a golden glow all day, the grass blazed green. The sky could not have been a more vivid shade of blue. Everyone smiled including the dogs.

I was happy to bask in the peaceful chatter, happy barks, unceasing tail wags. Everywhere I looked there was something new to see, another dog to pet. It was a cozy end to a perfect weekend.
Unlike the exultation elicited in me by the ocean and the concert the days before, this day conjured feelings of comfort and quiet joy. Here, old and young, big and small, working dogs and toys, herders and terriers all played as one. We, humans strolled beside them, their faithful companions. It was another piece of heaven, but of a different sort. Here, I felt content, a part of the pack. It seemed for a day we all had come home.

Heaven

Friday I stood in the ocean's infinite waters, watching the dance between sky and sea -- one reaching down for a kiss, one stretching upward to grant it. Awed, I acknowledged the profound; this is what heaven is like, I thought. And, like God in the Bible, I too, thought it was good.

Saturday, I felt this way again. I stood in front of another waterfront: Lake Champlain, watching silhouetted canoes glide past a tremendous sunset. I was there with my best friend, Sheila, and her family for a concert -- The Avett Brothers and Grace Potter. As color cascaded over the sky, music cascaded over the crowds, filling the park. Banjo, guitar, upright base created sound that surged through the heart of me. The chilled air nibbled through my sweatshirt, caressed my cheeks and that of those around me. But few noticed. This crowd knew the heat of pleasure. We soared to our feet -- clapping, dancing, singing until our throats ran dry. We became a part of the concert, indistinguishable in our hearts from the people on the stage. We knew these songs, they were ours. We embraced them.

I looked to my left to my best friend mouthing the words to our song. I looked to my right at a clutch of college-aged students swinging their bodies in heat. The melody tore through my soul. I was part of something bigger than myself. Thrilled, I acknowledged the profound; this is what heaven is like, I thought and it was good.

Moments like this always take me back to a time when concerts meant getting out of Vermont, leaving my rural roots behind and traveling to Boston with my brother and the boy I loved. It was thrilling to be traveling to the city, to someplace new. We would browse comic shops and record stores. Eat at bistros and coffeehouses, sampling Thai and Indian and experiences far flung from Bethel, Vermont. As the day faded, we would make our way to the concert venue. We would revel in the music, under crisp night skies in stadiums and concert fields, returning in the twilight hours in my brother's mustang. We would leave the top down, but turn the heat up, so our feet would toast as the wind whipped our hair and U2's Where the Streets Have No Name cut through the night. We were young and whenever music floods over me like this, I remain that way.

Concerts are a metaphor for life, I think. We hear the music as one -- all on the same journey. We stand together, rocking to the rhythm. But, we experience it alone.

Yet, at water's edge, in music's midst, we are swallowed by the sacred. Frozen in feeling, we stretch upward for a kiss, humbled as the holy reaches down to grant it. We know heaven when we see it. And, it is good.

Beguiling

My niece Tori at Shelburne Orchards last week

Could Eve have been any more beguiling?

Foraging

My friend Joan and I went foraging on Friday, not for nuts and berries, but for intangibles to ease the burdens of winter. Sunshine for when the icy temps cut through our layers of flannel and wool; waves lapping a beach to balance December's fierce whistling wind; hot sand on bare feet for numb toes wrapped in two pair of socks and heavy boots; an unlimited horizon to remember when faced with mountains of imprisoning snow. These are things we went looking for when we piled the puppies into her Caravan and drove two-and-a-half hours to North Hampton Beach on Friday. We found them and like squirrels gathered all we could, burying them deep in memory's storehouse for the bleak times. We hit the jackpot.

The day blazed with the heat of July offset by a gentle ocean's breeze. The melancholy of a changing season hung in the air as pungent as the salty sea. We held our breath absorbing through our pores the last embers of summer. The crowd was sparse -- too old ladies wobbled on unsteady legs to the water's edge, bending over to pick up sea-smoothed rocks, tossing most back in. A man and his daughter brought father and child-sized fishing rods, casting them into the ocean. A toddling sister-and-brother darted into the surf, squealing from delight and cold.

Joan set up camp overlooking the water, watching the seagulls totter across the sand, observing a retriever frolicking among the rocks. She set her face toward the sun, shut her eyes, absorbed it all. I waded in the water until my toes were January numb. Sun, sand, surf road veins to my heart. I love the ocean. My mother grew up on the water. It is in my blood.

"We better remember this come winter," Joan admonished. We sat, I sketched, until the sun drained away and Joan reached for a jacket. I let my bare, sun-kissed skin greet the cold, unwilling to call it a day. When Joan could no longer take it, we packed the chairs up and I went back to the Caravan for Griffles and her puppies. Leashing her neck, I crated her puppies, toting them to the sand. There, I set them free. They jumped out of the crate like bunnies, hopping through the sand like snow. Some buried their faces in it.

We drew a crowd. A woman stopped with her 12-year-old Shepherd mix. He lowered his head and one of the puppies stood upright to sniff his nose before collapsing and resting his own head on the big dog's paws. Another woman gushed that she had a pug at home and two Doberman. She was a photographer, there to take pictures of a wedding rehearsal with the wedding scheduled for the next evening. She worried that she would lose the light and it would become too dark for picture taking. Two skirt-clad members of the wedding party approached and the puppies wouldn't leave them alone, bounding along after them as they tried to leave.

"Is there anything cuter than puppies on a beach?" one woman asked, just as a young mother tottered toward us; a baby girl in pink beach hat, magenta onesie and tutu, strapped to her chest. Puppy and baby stared at each other in a cuteness smackdown. Not sure who should win, I called a tie. An elderly woman held one of the puppies to her chest not wanting to relinquish it. Griffles shivered. Perhaps from chill, perhaps from nerves as so many people grabbed her puppies. We gathered them to us and returned to the van. We held treasures from the day. At the heart of winter, I will take them out and count them like precious heirlooms in a hope chest: the heat of sun, the roar of the ocean, a puppy's kiss. These are enough to keep me warm.

For more photos of the day, check my facebook page at www.facebook.com/kjgiffordphotography

Burlington Waterfront.

I attended an Avett Brothers and Grace Potter and the Nocturnals concert on the Burlington waterfront tonight with my best friend Sheila Trask and her family. This was a picture of the sun setting over the water. The day before I traveled to North Hampton beach with my friend Joan and her pug puppies.  Tomorrow I am hoping to take my pugs to a doggie fun day day at the Shelburne museum. Lots happening, lots to talk about, but for now enjoy sit back, relax and enjoy the sunset.

Poetry

I could listen to this sound forever.