Writing Prompt: Everest

The problem with pretending to be superhuman is that eventually you have to admit that you’re not. Such was the case today. Like many people, I often suffer from a sense of inadequacy. I find myself teaching a class or photographing a subject for an assignment and rather than feeling like a consummate professional I imagine myself as a child playing dress up. Still, I grin and bear it in an attempt to keep my mask from slipping and anyone noticing how I really feel.

True, not the most authentic approach, but what’s that common expression – “fake it until you feel it” – I wholeheartedly embrace it. Yet, sometime honesty must prevail, so when my student asked to meet today and go for a walk, knowing her love of hiking and biking, I informed her at the start that as much as I would love to take a casual stroll with her and catch up, I lacked her stamina. “As long as you’re aware, we should be fine,” I said.

When I arrived at her house we spent a good hour chatting in front of the teeniest, quaintest stove in her new writing cottage, when I finally asked her if we were going to go for a walk. She said yes and the first several yards went fine – flat, smooth surface, easy chatter and then, I realized that was probably enough. Yup, just a few short yards and I realized that a winter of being indoors writing articles and blogging had left me sadly out of shape. Add to this a history of bone spurs, Achilles tendinitis and improper footwear and I was ready to head back to that nice little stove and warm my toes. No such luck, my student walked The Loop and The Loop we were set to do.

The Loop started with a climb up Mt. Everest. Lifting my head to stare at its peak, I realized I was on an expedition. We hiked in silence for a few paces and then I felt the need to chatter to try to disguise the fact that I was grossly out of breath. As you might guess, this didn’t work, but still we climbed on. Although the day was freezing, I could feel my bangs sticking to my forehead and my sweater getting damp with perspiration. We made it to the pinnacle, took a turn, and there was the Everest of Everests – another vertical climb. “The Loop’s three miles,” my student informed me. Do you know what it’s like to lose all hope? I can now answer that question in the affirmative.

I’m not sure how much of the three miles we had already done, but I could safely say that if I had tried to finish it I would not be coming back alive – I was already seeing stars. My student must have sensed something was wrong because she told me that we could turn back anytime I wanted and that’s when my inner superhuman kicked into gear. I was her teacher after all, should I really reveal my human frailty?

“Let’s make it to the top,” I said, pointing to the mirage in the distance. Fortunately, I could not tell how far away it actually was because my eyes and nose were running from the cold. Soon I could see the face of Death and feeling his warm, sweaty breath upon my cheeks, I attempted to take a deep breath – but found I had no lungs left – and squeaked out, “I think we had better turn around.”

Fortunately, we did, although my student continued to ask me questions all the way back despite my panting, high pitch responses (I was whistling like a tea pot trying to take in air.) Yet, I answered. Like a soldier on the battlefield I endeavored to show no weakness. I’m not sure where this tendency began, but it is a hard habit to break. Obviously, my student had not been oblivious to my struggle and still I pretended to be Wonder Woman.

I read a quotation attributed to Georgia O’Keefe on Facebook today. She said, “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing that I wanted to do.”  I love this sentiment, and I realized that I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life, too, but sometimes I let this lead me to do things I never wanted to do or should do in the first place, all in an effort to keep my game face on.  It may be foolish, but it’s human and as humorous as this tale may be, it has an underlying moral, well, maybe two.

One, if you’re going to play the superhero at the very least you should have a cape, a mask, and a superpower and two, I really need to get in shape. I promised my student I’d be back for a walk this summer. Some people never learn.

Writing Prompt: When have you tried to be superhuman? Write about it.

Warning: Indelicate

This is a delicate matter and perhaps not something I should be blogging about at all. It is said among my dog loving friends that you can tell a true dog person by their willingness to discuss indelicate matters such as dog vomit and feces. This is something else all together. Yet, it has gotten to the point where I just need to share. I have told you all about Waffles penchant of knocking over trashcans, what I have not revealed is her motivation. Waffles is an addict and the source of her habit is her dependency on sanitary napkins and panty liners. New or used, she doesn’t care! She came to me with this foul addiction and although I have tried everything to break her of it, she still rises each morning and diligently knocks over each can like a string of dominoes in hopes of discovering a reward. If she cannot find her prize, she makes herself content with Kleenex, cotton swabs or dental floss, but this is not what she desires.

Granted, some dogs eat their own waste and roll in whatever disgusting thing they can find, so in the scheme of things, Waffles’ addiction may not be the worst there is, but it is still pretty bad. And, there is no Al-Anon or its equivalent to help family members cope, so I’ve been bearing this burden in silence. But now, with Alfie in season, our family secret has gotten to be too much. In order to keep from soiling the bedcovers, sofa and chairs, Alfie sports a colorful pair of panties, complete with neck strap, so it won’t slide off. You slip a panty liner inside and swap it as needed, just as any woman must during this time.

You can see the problem already can’t you? This is just too much temptation for Waffles – there it is, the object of her desire right inside Alfie’s pants. And, of course, the trashcans are filling up as well. It’s a virtual smorgasbord and my little addict is going crazy. We have already bungee corded the trash can in the kitchen to keep it from toppling, but that doesn’t prevent Waffles from standing on her tip toes and scratching away until she reaches something on top. The bathroom? Forget about it. I’m not sure when she does it, but every time I visit, there is already a trail of trash spread to the door and if you’re not quick, you’ll find her munching and licking away at her most coveted possession. I’m sorry if this tale disgusts you, it is not for the feint of heart, but my family unit may be in dire need of an intervention and at the very least this pug mama could use some support.

Night Off

The pugs and I are taking a night off from blogging -- kind of. I couldn't resist posting this sketch. We'll be back tomorrow with a written post, but right now we're off to catch some Zs.

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Alfie was originally given to me as a pet. When I saw her pedigree and realized that she was related to Tugboat Willy, a famous show dog, and attended a dog show where a number of handlers stopped me and suggested I show her, I decided to ask her breeder if I could give it a try. It required a new contract and some decisions on my part.

Conformation dogs are not spayed in order to pass on their outstanding qualities, but I was worried that by not spaying Alfie I could jeopardize her health. I had read that spaying a female before the age of two cuts down on her chances of mammary cancer. I also realized that if I was not going to spay her it would probably be good to have a litter. It turns out, however, that rather than coming into season twice a year, Alfie only comes into season once a year, so her opportunities are narrowed. Today, she began showing signs.

It also happened to be sunny this afternoon and much of the ice that had been coating the sidewalk had melted, making it easier to walk Alfie and Waffles, whose paws have not been tolerating the winter cold and road salts well. Both pugs were excited to be out and about, but I hadn’t given thought to the fact that Alfie might have other motivations in mind. We paused at every tree, fire hydrant and blade of grass for her to squat and pee and essentially leave her calling card for any handsome stud in the neighborhood – “I’m willing, ready and able,” she seemed to be saying and although there were no able-bodied males about, I have visions of a huge line standing outside the door in the morning.

I can’t breed Alfie this time around. Life is too hectic with my mother scheduled to have knee replacement surgery in May and having our first litter of puppies running about does not seem like the smartest idea, so unfortunately all Alfie’s advertising today will be in vain. She, however, seems quite happy. She and Waffles are curled up together on the sofa snoring away – deep, heavy snores that do not sound the least bit sexy or romantic.

Come next year she may have some courting to do, but for now my little lady will have to be content with daydreams and fantasies. She might be ready to find her soul mate or at the very least a one-night stand, but I know for certain that at this stage of the game, we’re sure not!

Writing Prompt & Self-Portrait #13: This is Me

Of all the self-portraits I took for my self-portrait project, this adult photo of me is perhaps the most natural, the most like me on an average day – there are better photographs, sexier images, versions of me to which I aspire, but this is how most people are likely to find me – bright coat, silly hat, on the go with a smile.

The childhood me looks equally happy. She has the same wide brown eyes and a hint of the same smile. I am happy I’ve grown more hair. She appears as comfortable on the hood of this car, as the adult me is behind the wheel. I don’t recall this picture, but my parents are attached to it. They look at it nostalgic for the cute little car and the cute little baby.

Sometimes we look at photographs and don’t recognize ourselves at all. I see me clearly here. I am on my way to work, off to do an interview or write at Books-a-Million. I’ll return home when it’s dark and I am tired to be greeted by my pugs, sitting in a basket of hats, scarves and mittens by the door. Tomorrow I might do the same. Like everyone, I have regrets and longings, hopes and dreams; many of which are coming to light in the posts on this blog, but I look at these pictures of me – both child and adult – and can say, that although there is still so much I want, so much I am looking for – on most days, I’m honestly happy.

Writing Prompt: A student in my memoir writing class once asked another to write a story that really showed who she was, that said "BAM, this is me." Try it, share a memory that shouts "BAM, this is me!

Book Review and Book Tour: Dog-Ma, The Zen of Slobber

Dog-Ma, The Zen of Slobber. As a dog lover you probably identify with that title and if you don’t, you’re at least likely to identify with one of the canine cast of characters in this super-packed book. Author Barbara Boswell Brunner’s book definitely targets dog owners by weaving amusing anecdotes of the life she and her husband, Ray, shared with numerous canine companions over the course of their courtship and marriage. Nine dogs of their own and many canine friends grace the pages of this book, each portrayed as a person in his or her own right. The book is full of laughter and tears as Boswell Brunner shares her dogs’ antics and sadly the heartaches of some. To me it is in these tender moments that Boswell Brunner’s writing is not only at its most poignant, but also at its best. Yes, she knows how to weave an amusing tale – who will forget her dobie's tampon ear supports, Cooper’s toy Horton emitting its endless chatter, her Turbo strolling an upscale neighborhood with a goat? These are wonderful, funny stories, but when Boswell Brunner turns to the sensitive her writing truly moves me.  I love her homage to Madison – “She saw the silver lining in every bad situation. Madison was an optimist. Madison was loved.” Beautiful.

No doubt readers will have their favorite characters – mine was Cooper and I would recommend this book just to hear about his antics with his stuffed toy, Horton, which called to mind my own dog, Vader. Other readers will certainly find their pets amidst these pages. My primary disappointment with the book is that Boswell Brunner didn’t take us deeper into her own life. Yes, we are privy to the couple's moves and career evolution and she offers us glimpses into deeper fare such as her cancer and a mother-in-law with Alzheimer’s, but she doesn’t dwell there long and I think the story would have been richer if she had. I have a feeling Boswell Brunner is a good enough writer to go there if she wants to, to fill out the details of her own life with as much heart, humor and soul as she brought to the dogs. I think in a second book, she should try doing just that. Still, there is much here and enough plain old good dog stories to make any dog lover smile.

For dog lovers everywhere.......Barbara's vivid and dramatic stories, told with a wicked sense of humor, will make you laugh out loud. She definitely gets what living with rescued dogs (nine of them!) is all about. This book will inspire you with the couple's unstinting love, devotion, and respect for dogs as family members. You'll be glad to include it in your treasured collection of great dog books.

When Barbara meets her future husband, Ray, it is love-and dog-at first sight. Over the course of thirty-two years, seventeen relocations and nine dogs, their mutual love of dogs guides them on their unconventional path. The love that Barbara and Ray get in return is literally lifesaving, with one dog attacking a lethal intruder and another discovering Barbara’s cancer. Her own survival story underscores the story of how her dogs become survivors themselves. 

Each new dog adds its own dynamic to the family, sometimes upending it. From Turbo (whose Spock-like ears may have provided super powers), Barbara learns about the will to live; Lexington demonstrates incredible patience and an inexplicable love of golf; Madison teaches that laughter is truly the best medicine and that the whole “nine lives thing” is not reserved just for cats; Morgan should be sainted for tolerating Izzy, who is as cute as she is bad. Barbara is certain that somewhere in doggie heaven there is a poster that says “If you are sick, injured or in need of really expensive medical care, FIND THESE HUMANS!”

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About Barbara Boswell Brunner Barbara grew up in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania with her parents, sister and always a dog, or two or three. She graduated Summa Cum Laude from a small women's college in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. Meeting her husband in Washington, DC, they continued together on a journey as self-proclaimed dog addicts. In the ensuing years, she founded three successful businesses in the Pacific Northwest and is a prolific fundraiser for breast cancer research. She and her husband are retired and now reside in Southwest Florida with two dogs and copious amounts of dog fur. She is currently working on indulging her well known flip flop addiction.  

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I received this book to review through Beck Valley Books Book Tours, all the opinions above are 100% my own.

Feeding the Pets

 

Today I took care of my best friend, Sheila's, dog and two cats, feeding them and letting Muck, the hound, out while she and her family were away at her son's wresting tournament. The animals were perplexed to have me in the house. Muck likes me; to be fair she probably likes everyone, but I think she knows me a bit and was happy, I think, just to have someone share the house with her for a couple of hours. Of course, once I let her out she stood on a snow bank in front of the house for awhile, pointing and sniffing the air for her family. Roxy, the more active of the cats, kept playing peek-a-boo around corners in an effort to simultaneously remain unseen while keeping me in her view. Pug, the old, fat, gray Persian, hissed and hid. All three at least seem pleased by the food.

When I returned home this evening my own two enthusiastically greeted me, wagging their tail and hoping for snacks. Today I felt a bit like a food dispenser, my worth measured by a jury of hungry animals. Their verdict however seemed positive -- I did well and might just be okay to have around.

Now

 

Now I stumbled upon you

Sitting there stone faced, waiting

Not for me,

Not really

But now

We smile

Well, I do

And, you stare

Two very different creatures

Connecting

Now

Writing Prompt: Faith

Driving the streets of Barre last Sunday with my mother, en route to visit my grandmother and uncle, I spied a scene outside the passenger window that struck my funny bone. To my right sat a rectangular building with a brick façade adorned with a huge cross and a sign reading “Faith Community Church.”

The humorous part was the “H” in the word “Faith,” that dangled precariously, but in good faith that it would not fall.  Three cars were parked in front of the building and since it was late in the afternoon this was well after church ended. It seemed a busy place, not rundown or dilapidated, but their hung the “H” and it seemed both ironic and funny to me.

I turned around and pulled into the driveway to snap a picture. The more I looked at the building, the less funny and the more appropriate that hanging “H” seemed. So often people equate faith with hope – the hope that something will happen. Faith is stronger than hope. Hope is optimistic, faith is expectant – both can be tarnished by life. It’s easy to lose faith, we are warned to keep the faith, and yet, true faith, however tried, hold’s on.

Earlier that day I had spoken to a friend of mine. During the course of the conversation she said she was going through a period where she felt like a child continually asking why. She was not depressed, she assured me, just questioning – why?

“Why’s the point,” I told her. And, I think it is. True faith allows for why. The questions engage us, drag us forward, keep us dancing with life. When we stop asking why not only is our faith dead, we might as well be.

I like the dangling “H,” a faith that allows for imperfection while still ringing true. I like that such a faith stops me in my tracks, leads me to turn around, and in the end, makes me smile.

Writing Prompt: What do you have faith in? When has that faith been tested?

Play Bow

The sign outside the pet store read “Puppies, “ so of course I had to stop. This shop is a small rural pet store that only occasionally has puppies, relying on reputable, local breeders. It is rare to see such a sign and even more rare to actually see the puppies outside in an x-pen while it is winter. But the sun was shining, the snow melting and there sat two little beagle puppies leaping at each other and barking at passersby.

I knew I shouldn’t take the time to stop. I had been working all day at Books-A-Million’s café, writing my article on fallout from the national housing bubble burst and had only stepped out long enough to grab a bite to eat, but they don’t call puppies irresistible for nothing. So I jumped out of the car and grabbed my camera to snap a picture of the energetic balls of cuteness, when I looked up and saw another matched set. Parked alongside the road, overlooking the puppies was a pickup truck and staring out from the open window were two handsome bulldogs observing the puppies’ antics.

I pointed my lens toward the truck, peered through the glass at the driver inside and raised my camera ever so slightly to ask permission to take a picture. He nodded and smiled and I snapped away. The two remained stoic, never changing their expression while the puppies scampered beneath them.

I smiled and watched, stooping to pet the puppies. The smile was on my face, but I felt it spread throughout my body. Although snow still covered the ground, you could feel the hand of spring upon us. It was evident in the sun grazing the bulldog’s coats and skimming the heads of the frolicking beagle pups and in my own weary body that suddenly felt rejuvenated. Sitting at a small café coffee table for two days writing about sub-prime lending and foreclosures had taxed my spirits, but standing outside in the marriage of sun and snow, surrounding my canine bliss, I felt suddenly lighter. I had to return to the café and my work, but I returned refreshed. Studies show that dogs can reduce stress and lower blood pressure, they can transform the mundane into the lighthearted – a few moments spent with them and I was ready to face my reams of notes and statistics.

People question the meaning of animals in our lives and why they have risen to hold such a prominent place in our hearts. I can only speak for myself, but I know what I love so much about my pugs and dogs in general. Like children they exist in the moment, dwelling outside the past and the future. They pull us into the present and hold us there. I worry and I toil far too often. They play bow and wag their tails. When we are with them they train us to do the same.