Writing Prompt: Dreaming

If yesterday’s photo showed my confidence – me in control of my life, then tonight’s shows my vulnerability. It’s about admitting that even though my life is full of work, friends, and wonderful activity, I am lonely, still waiting for someone to share my life with on a daily basis, someone, that is, besides my two curly-tailed sidekicks. It’s not easy to admit that. I prefer the gal who looks the camera and the world in the eye, control in hand, and directs her destiny. But, truth be told, there are some things that have not yet yielded to my will (note the optimism there), some things that have yet to turn out the way I dreamed.

That’s me at five or six in my cornflower blue nightgown and mother’s wedding veil. I remember when this photos was taken. I felt so special wearing her headpiece. Funny, for some reason, this was readily available to me as a child while my grandmother had taken the accompanying bridal gown and stored it away – probably waiting until my own wedding -- until we discovered it a year ago. I would wear the headpiece and like many a little girl, dream that someday my prince would come. This photograph sits on my mom’s dresser where I see it often. Sometimes, it makes me smile. I remember that little girl as being happy. At that age, you don’t even know the whole world stretches before you. You live in the timeless age of childhood, where life exists in the moment and is played out in imagination. Sometimes I feel wistful, longing to have all those years between the two of us back, contemplating what I could do with them now. Sometimes I feel that’s what I need most – more time to find the life she expected.

I wonder if that little girl could see me if she would blame me for things not turning out as she had dreamed. I wonder if a part of me blames her for not stepping out in the right direction.

I look at the photo of me now and know that it is about more than waiting for a prince. It is about all the unfulfilled hopes we keep inside. It is about the part of ourselves that remains veiled and hidden, because as happy as we are, as strong, there is always a little girl inside. So I move forward for the both of us, making the best of each moment and filling it with all the life I can, not to keep loneliness at bay, but as an act of faith.

In truth, I’m still dreaming.

Writing Prompt: Write about a childhood dream? Did it come true? Do you know why or why not? Do you wish it had?

Me: Then and Now

Of all the pictures of me as a child this one is my favorite. I can’t really verbalize why. When my father saw it tonight he said, “This is just you.” And, he’s right. If I needed a picture that captured me as a child this would have been it. This is what I envision when I picture myself as a little girl. I was probably seven in this picture. It was taken in Richmond, Vt. in my grandmother’s backyard, which adjoined our own. This is the pasture and mountains I would look out on from my swing set. It captures not only the view of my childhood, but also how I spent much of my time – alone in my imagination, overlooking this lawn. I appear happy and slightly puzzled in this photo, but I know I was also comfortable up on my perch.

I love it when you juxtapose this shot with the adult one. Of all the ones I’ve taken for this project, I think these two show the greatest similarities. I still look the same 38 years later, right down to the haircut. How can that be? How can I have the exact same haircut as my seven-year-old self? Even my body shape is relatively the same and I still find myself curling up in this same position. I’m a little less confused looking in the second shot. Here, I stare at the camera more directly. I took several similar shots, but loved that this one shows the camera remote. To me it illustrates that I am the one controlling this shot, controlling my future. It is the same girl with a little bit more experience. Sometimes, you look back at pictures of yourself when you were younger and you wonder who was that girl? Sometimes you look back with embarrassment or longing. When I look at these two pictures, it is easy for me to say I know that girl and she is me!

Turkey Basting

I spent a long and discouraging day seeing a series of ear and sinus specialists. It seems I have an unusual knack for encountering oddballs and asses in the medical profession. Today, it was the later.

If you think I am prone to exaggeration let me take you back to one of those stories that falls into the categories – it could only happen to me and too strange to be  true. It happened a few years during an allergy appointment. At that time, I had been seeing a woman allergist for a number of years, who shared a practice with her husband. I was not fond of the woman, deeming her one of the oddballs, but since I only had to see her once a year to report on the progress of my allergy shots, I let it slide. One of the things I found annoying was the woman’s reluctance to allow anyone to accompany me into her office. I like to have someone there with me to hear what the doctor says and to remind me should I forget anything.  Yet, on the occasion that I tried to have my mother join me, I was warned first by the receptionist and then the nurse that the doctor liked to see patients alone. When I spoke up and said that I would prefer that my mother be there, the Doctor adamantly ordered her out of the room.

The doctor was an older woman, stern with a commanding air. I was intimidated, but I held my ground and my mother stayed, but this scene was repeated each time I visited her office. I mentioned the behavior to my primary care physician at the time, who became very quite and seemed uncomfortable, but said nothing. I continued to see the allergist because it was necessary to continue my course of allergy shots.

As I said, this continued for a number of years. The visits came to an end, however, one November when I went to her for yet another progress report. We were told once again that the Doctor did not want anyone coming into the office, so my mother remained in the hall between the Doctor’s office and that of her husband, also an allergist. I went in and after the usual formalities, the doctor said she needed to give me a shot. This was highly unusual and as I started to question her she breezed out of the room. A moment later she returned, shot in hand. At that moment, her husband appeared in the hallway and called in a question. She turned and said, “Honey, dinner will be ready soon. I’m basting the turkey!”

That was it. I was out of there. I returned to my primary care physician a few days later, reported what had happened and learned on the q.t. that the Doctor was retiring and may have been experiencing some dementia. It seems a number of people in the medical profession were recently in the know, but were letting her serve out her final weeks out of respect for her stellar career. Given her behavior over the last few years, I wanted to tell them this career had been a little less than stellar and maybe the onset of dementia went back a little further than they thought. I know this story is scary as well as humorous and could even have had legal ramifications, but it’s so typical of my medical experiences that I have become immune. It also set the bar. To me a good medical experience is to escape the appointment without being basted. If someone has to be a turkey, let it be the doctors and not me!

Pugsutawney

Who needs a groundhog, anyway?

Seriously, my pugs play weatherman everyday, letting me know if its raining or snowing or freezing cold by their reluctance or willingness to venture outside. I'm thinking of initiating a formal ceremony here in Bethel. It would be good for the economy, drawing tourists to town and I'd happily don my top hat, step out on the porch with Alfie and announce if she saw her shadow. Of course, I'd have to keep it quiet that Alfie has a habit of seeing a lot of things that aren't there like her invisible fly...shhh, don't say anything. Besides, I can always use Waffles as a back up, although she is happy to venture out on the back step as long as there is a sliver of sunshine in which to bask. Okay, maybe they aren't as reliable as Phil, but for those of you with money on the outcome, it might be nice to know that my two can be bribed for the right puppy snack.

What's in a Name (of a Blog that is)?

I received a great comment from a reader today who wondered about the name Pugs and Pics. When first introduced, this reader was an uncertain about the site, worried that it would be devoted to a bunch of silly dog photos, but stuck around and has become a fan. The same reader wondered if the site might be better served by another name, asking if it had grown beyond its original intent.

I say this is a great comment because this reader is engaged and had some valid points. It’s tough to choose a name for a site, and once you do, you’re kind of stuck – you’ve likely paid for a URL and built up a following, so experts warn choose carefully. A lot of writers decide to go by their name when they can. I couldn’t get the URL to my full name, so I originally was going to have a web site foe my work called www.kjgifford.com. You can still reach the writing portion of my blog from this URL.

I tried for years to get that web site off the ground and in the meantime I developed a love of photography, initially sparked by taking pictures of my own as well as my friend Joan’s pugs. When it comes to any form of art whether it is writing, photography or painting, it’s best to pursue subjects you feel passionate about. There is a different type of energy surrounding things you love. My photography teacher noticed this in my work early on and encouraged me to continue taking pictures of my pugs and other dogs. I started a Facebook site devoted to my photography www.facebook.com/kjgiffordphotography and subsequently a blog on Posterous and Blogger. When it came time to start these blogs, I wanted to attract people who would be interested in my photography, which in this case would be other pug people, hence the name Pugs and Pics.

I look at my friends in the Hubbard Hall Writer’s Project and note the name of their sites. John Greenwood chose Raining Iguanas, an unique and interesting name that has to do with awakening, a subject to which most of his writing is devoted. Rachel Barlow chose Picking My Battles and she often writes about challenges in being a mother, a wife, a writer. She picks her subjects and battles with care. Jon Katz, the leader of our group, has a very successful blog entitled Bedlam Farm and you guessed it, he writes about life on his farm with his wife and animals. And, yes, on my site I write about pugs and pics. But, as the aforementioned reader noted, it has become about so much more. Jon calls his blog a living memoir and mine has certain become one. I am only beginning to understand all that this site is about. I learn through the writing.

I have been a freelance writer for 20 years now, writing magazine articles for a variety of regional publications, and a memoir-writing instructor for 11. When I joined the Hubbard Hall Writer’s Project, I decided it was time to get serious about my own writing, which initially had a lot to do with pugs. It still does. It is my hope to turn some of the ideas found in these pages into a book one day. I’d really like to write more about my experiences at Pugdom, my friend Joan’s house and yes, these involve a lot of talk about pugs. The things I have learned there, however, go beyond that and are themes that are universal as well as personal. What do we do when we find ourselves alone in life? When things get tough? I met Joan after my family had been through a really challenging ordeal (a story for another time). I was single when most of my friends were married and starting families and I was lonely, looking for a dog of my own. I came from a small town, hadn’t traveled much and then I met this woman, who had a houseful of pugs and amazing stories to tell and had traveled the world a couple of times over. Except for her dogs and a handful of friends, she was alone, too. Her husband had died the year before I met her. An older woman with a childlike spirit, Joan chooses to live with all these pugs a top a lonely mountain in Warren, Vt. Her life can be chaotic and challenging at times, but it is never dull and she lives it her way. I admire that about her. Since I met her, I too have traveled to places I never thought I would have gone. I’m not sure I ever thought I would have traveled much at all before meeting her and I have learned a lot about what it means to be strong and I have learned my own limitations. I hope I will not find myself alone when I am her age, but for now in spite of the circle of friends and family, I am essentially on my own and sometimes that can be lonely. The pugs, both mine and the pack at her house help fill the void. I look at Joan and at other women in my life and I learn from them.

These are things I’ve tried to share in these pages. Each of us has his or her own unique way of looking at the universe and I’ve tried to share mine as well. It is often easy to judge what is best for a person – a woman of Joan’s age shouldn’t be living alone or she shouldn’t have so many pugs, a person my age should be on their own by now. She should have a home, a family. I think it is important not to judge to let people carry what they must, to help them when you can and to try to understand their point of view, even if you disagree. I think this is how we learn and grow. I also think this is a responsibility we have when we befriend someone – the responsibility to let them be who they are. I think we have responsibilities to animals, too, especially when you breed them or rescue them and claim them as your own. There is an issue of stewardship I wish to explore and how in living and loving these creatures we learn about ourselves. This is the book I would like to write someday and it all starts with pugs. But it is not limited to them. They are just the lens through which I began to see what I wanted to explore, they are my companions on this path to growth.

Pugs and Pics thus, seemed to serve this site well. When I decided to start blogging about theses subjects it made sense to use it, to attract those who might be interested in a woman with two pugs and her friendship with a breeder with dozens. Besides, I already had this name for my Posterous and Blogger sites, so my fans there carried over. My web site designer asked me if I thought I might still be blogging about pugs 12 years from now and the answer is who knows? But they will always be a part of my life. As I have written, I have a pug tattooed on my shoulder, another on my back, my license plate reads Puggies. I’ve been branding myself literally for a long time now and I don’t think I’ll ever completely leave the subject behind.

And, it’s not just pugs. I think there is something special about the dog/human bond, the animal/human bond for that matter. I think that animals and particularly dogs, which have infiltrated our hearts and lives so thoroughly, enrich us in unique ways. I think that anyone who starts to explore their life with dogs in pictures and in writing soon find that they are exploring these subjects; even if it begins with a bunch of funny dog photos. I know this is certainly the case for most of the dog blogs I love best.

In the months since I’ve had the site, it is true that my writing is changing to include my photography, art, and personal stories from other areas of my life and I hope it continues to evolve even more. The name Pugs and Pics may not be as broad as it could be, but hopefully more people like this reader will discover it and stick around long enough to see that it can be. My pugs and my photography were the starting point for this journey and I am following them where they lead. They have taught me to see my life in a new way and I hope that this blog is allowing readers a glimpse through this lens and giving them a new perspective – something all good art and writing should do.

A special thank you to my reader for inspiring this post and for sticking around and please feel free to comment. One of the things I love about blogging is this dialogue, which fosters growth.

Happy Birthday Waffles

Yesterday, February 1st, was Waffles third birthday. We celebrated by buying her a new flavor of dog food -- it seems like she doesn't like white fish and sweet potato and buying her a shocking pink toy. Alfie turned three a few weeks ago on January 8, but because I was sick, I missed the actual day. She didn't seem to mind. Neither girl seems to know they've matured. They spent the afternoon chasing each other and fighting over bones.

Writing Prompt & Self-Portrait 3: Doll

I bet this doll is familiar to a lot of little girls who grew up in the seventies. This is my Chrissy doll. She had hair that could grow and be made short again and along with Mrs. Beasley, my Dawn dolls and my Malibu Barbies, she was a favorite of mine. I loved to play dolls and my grandmother would play them with me for hours. Whenever my mother played she would speak with a southern accent that would drive me crazy. I no longer play with dolls unless one of my nieces is around, but I still have several including the one in the picture below.

I had this doll specially made for me. Her name is Mira and if you look closely her eyes are in the shape of pug face's. Her eyes are designed from a picture of my pug Mira, who died when she was only a year-and-a-half old from an anaphylactic reaction to her distemper shot. She was the most joyful creature I have ever known, human or animal. She loved to watch television and listen to Clare de Lune. She would tilt her head and stare at my computer when I would play it on i-tunes. Vader would roll on his back and she would stand atop him and the two would gently tumble as Vader was already aging. She made everyone a dog lover and a pug lover, even when they were not.

This is one of my favorite pictures I have taken for the self-portrait assignment. It has a sense of vulnerability to it, that is reminiscent of childhood although it has a different feel. It is not childhood innocence that comes across in this adult shot, but vulnerability. The two are similar, but not the same.

Writing Prompt: In what ways do you show your vulnerability? Write about a time you were vulnerable.

Self-Portrait 2: Cowgirl

Here, I am on the Hoppity Horse.  I wrote about this morning. This was a common site in my childhood -- me decked out in a dress, always a dress, my cowboy hat and possibly my toy guns or Star Trek phasers, hopping along the perimeter of the lawn on my blue rubber hoppity horse. Usually I was pretending to be on a ride with the Barkley brothers of The Big Valley, the Cartwright brothers of Bonanza, or perhaps on a survey of an alien world with the crew of the Starship Enterprise. In any case, I was in my own little world and I seldom remember being as happy as that.  Not even years later when I had a real horse to ride.

The aspect of this photo that I wanted to take forward to my adult self-portrait was this aspect of fun and playfullness that I felt as a child.

The cowboy hat I'm wearing here is the same one I'm wearing in the collage for the header of this blog. In both instances, I donned the hat to show my playful side. Originally, I thought of snapping a picture of me sitting backward leaning on a chair in place of the hoppity horse, but in putting on my hat and playing with my i-phone I took this picture and liked it. I thought it said exactly what I wanted to convey -- I may be grown up now, but I still love to have fun and if I stumbled upon a hoppity horse today I might just jump on and hop along!

Self-Portrait 1: The Window

I began my self-portrait assignment yesterday with this picture of my brother Johnny and me looking out a window at our childhood home in Richmond, Vt. I chose this photo because it says a lot about us even though you can't see our faces. In those early years, before we moved to Bethel there were just the two of us. My other two brothers would not be born for years. We didn't have too many other friends as little kids and spent most of our time making up games together. We placed a blanket in our narrow hall, piled our stuffed animals on it and pretended we were on a raft floating down stream. We stared out at the blinking red airport tower at Christmas and thought it was Rudolph, on his way to deliver presents. We listened to the hum of a humidifier and spooked ourselves believing it was talking to us.

I remember being jealous when my little brother was born, but I had forgotten how much we did together as children and how much we were each other's world. When we grew older, in our college years, we were each other's best friends. I forgot that stretched back to these early years.

It's not surprising that I am looking out the window in this picture. The thing I remember most about my childhood in Richmond is the landscape. I was always looking out into the distance, roaming the landscape. We shared two acres of land with my maternal grandparents and I had a hoppity horse, a big rubber blue ball with a horses head, that I would bounce along the perimeter of the two full acres. I sat on my swing, pumping my legs to go higher and higher and staring out at the mountains and farm land in the distance. Our neighbor was a farmer and his field would smell of fresh manure. "Be careful of the cow plops," we would warn.

In recreating this scene today, I left out my brother. Logistically, it would have been hard to find the time to include him, but also he is not in my everyday world the way he was as a child. Like all three of my siblings, he does not live far away and I see him often, but we no longer share that daily bond. Today, it is mostly me. And, the pugs, but I chose not to include them in this photo. That will come later. I chose this hall window because it is one of the few in the house uncluttered by furniture. I chose a dress that I think complemented the retro feel of my childhood photo. This picture is less contemplative than the childhood shot. Maybe it's because I spend less time staring out at the world than I did as a child and more time in it. I liked the idea of throwing the curtains open and greeting the world with a smile.

I like how in the childhood shot you see my reflection, it's as if I'm looking out on the world and seeing who I may be. In the adult shot, you see the outside world. I'm no longer spending as much time pondering who I will be, I am being her.

Writing Prompt: Self

I’m having fun with my self-portrait assignment. We are supposed to take 12 to 16 photos to print out and bring back in two weeks. We are supposed to write down our intent in taking the photographs and document the process.

I decided to use photos of me as a child as a launching point. My idea is to recreate the mood of the photos or a gesture or a look. I don’t really mean recreate, but to find something in the childhood photo and bring it forward in time, reflecting it in the adult me. I figured that for better or worse our childhood selves often reflect a very authentic and unadulterated part of ourselves. That may be an idealized view. As soon as we are born, life starts taking its toll, but I think back at my childhood pictures and remember genuine emotions whether they be anger, fear, puzzlement, joy. So, I know what those things looked like then, what do they look like now? That was my idea anyway, but I didn’t want to be too literal about it and of course, just using the same props or gestures may not produce the same emotions, but they’ll produce something else. So, I figured, I’ll use the childhood pics as a beginning and follow where they lead.

Technically, it’s not too easy to produce self-portraits in general and especially at my house. Almost every wall is full and I don’t really have any backdrops. I don’t know yet how to use my camera remote, but I do know how to use a self-timer. I find that as I have written before, I love the iPhone because it frees me up and combats my perfectionist tendencies so after trying several shots with my digital SLR, I returned to the iPhone. I’m having fun, which is the important thing, but equally important is something else I learned. Like many people, I can’t remember a time when I really felt content in my own body. Still, I didn’t mind pictures of myself or being photographed and loved looking in the mirrors. I did this because it proved that I was there, real, substantial. I didn’t always have people who reinforced this, so I learned that if I wanted a reflection I had to literally find one. Even so, I don’t remember ever really being satisfied with what I saw. I struggled with my weight all my life and even when I was so thin that my collarbone showed I can remember feeling fat and worrying about my thighs.

Looking back at these pictures, I realize the little girl in them was pretty. She deserved to be loved by me more. It makes me wonder what I will think of the pictures taken of me now when I look back on them in the future. Maybe I should appreciate this person now as I am. So, I am trying to be bold in the pictures I take and in the sharing of them. I’m going to keep posting on the process. Tomorrow I’m going to try some pics with the pugs and me.

Writing Prompt: What did you like about your childhood self? What did you hate?