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I have been somewhat thrown off kilter by some recent, and some not-so-recent, but lingering situations that have significantly degraded my ability to be trusting of people. I have always had the philosophy that it's best to stay open to people and let them deal with the consequences of whatever they might do to betray that openness. However, whether it's through random dumb luck, or something I'm unconsciously doing when I make choices about who to be open with and who to let into my life, I seem to have encountered an unusual amount of unreliable people over the past few years. This is not some woe is me post, although I have had moments, days, weeks of "woe-is-me-ness" about this whole thing. I'm well aware that even under the worst of betrayals, the amount of fortune and goodness and goodwill in my life vastly outweighs the bad. But it's just inconvenient. Annoyingly so. It's inconvenient that the sketchy housemate who I took in and was lenient with took off one day owing me a decent chunk of money. It's inconvenient that my current housemate, though he is a good-hearted, good-natured sort, does not seem to understand that I asked him to fix the gate because I cannot, and because the gate is necessary for the well-being of the dog, and that taking the gate off of its hinges and NOT repairing it for over 2 months, forcing us to walk the dog in the backyard 3-4 times a day makes my life inordinately more stressful than it ought to be. And it's especially inconvenient that a person I trusted probably more than I've trusted most other people in my life decided to majorly flake on me in a financial way that is causing me to have to be extra super guarded about my finances, which makes me unable, at this time, to pay for someone ELSE to fix the gate. You see what I mean. Things add up, and snowball, and I feel buried. And irritated. All of these are small things, none of them are catastrophic. And even all together, they are not really any big deal. However, when added to my long-term trust issues...and coupled with a busy schedule, a new(ish) job, and other ongoing challenges with various challenging people in my life...sometimes it's difficult not to get buried in negativity and cynicism. That's all I'm saying really. I'm desperately trying to avoid being buried in negativity and cynicism. So I needed a day like Friday. I needed a day in which I was not responsible for any other children except my own (which is a phenomenon that I had to guiltily request from the person whose child I have watched every Friday for about the past 3 years or so, and who has been extremely helpful in watching my children during that time.) So, CHECK. I needed a day with perfect weather in which I wasn't debilitated by allergies. CHECK. I needed to get out of the house and out from under my little black cloud and into the sunshine. CHECK. And all of those ingredients added up to make a perfect day. Sure, Monk complained bitterly about having to be outside and playing and *gasp* maybe even EXERCISING. Yes, he actually FAKED AN INJURY and then TRIED TO GUILT TRIP ME when I didn't believe that he was injured (I finally gave in and said "fine...I'm sorry I didn't believe you...if you are really so injured that you can't even walk, let's go to the emergency room." Which caused him to instantly cop to his fake. sigh.) But when all was said and done, and we finally all settled into being out on the creek front, the boys took to creating an elaborate system of complex societies, and I set about meditating on the issues at hand, attempting to dissuade myself from misery. The most important factor of the day, I think, was the prework. The night before, I had been able to process the events with someone who was not judgmental or overly-needing-to-fix-things (a quality that is way underrated, as far as I'm concerned) and I came to the conclusion that all of these disconnected events were, in fact, not specific to me, but rather random things that all converged, unfortunately, within the same timespan. Given that, it was easier for me to face that, yes, I did have a reason to feel somewhat cynical. And perhaps that cynicism could be instructive and constructive rather than destructive. It's funny how so much of life is about breathing in and breathing out. Taking in, and putting out. Experiencing, and processing. The problem with getting older is that you not only end up experiencing more beauty and pleasure, just by virtue of being alive, but you also experience more ugliness and grief...all the more because the older you get, the less mobility you have to avoid such things. And it's funny, because today I am reading _How We Decide_ by Jonah Lehrer...and there's a lot in that book about how the human brain works when it comes to making decisions. There's a quote about loss aversion, and how most people need to hear 5 positive comments to outweight 1 criticism. And I'm thinking perhaps this is why I am drawn to counting blessings in fives. For me, though, it was enough to have one day of bliss. One day of perfect sunshine that wasn't too hot, and a sky the exact right shade of blue against the outline of richly green trees. One day of boys being boys without being obnoxious. When it was almost time for us to leave the park, I noticed there was an older man sitting on the creek bed near where my children were playing. Immediately my creep-meter went off...but upon looking closer at this man, I realized he was familiar to me, and in fact he was. He was an old client of mine, one of my favorites. He had come to us as a retiree who needed to return to the workforce, and he needed computer skills in order to do so, and he stuck with us through most, if not all, of our 8 weeks of basic and fundamental classes. Then he disappeared, as all of our clients do, and I hadn't seen or heard from him in a couple of years. So, we talked while the children explained their worlds to us, he told me what had happened in his world since I had last seen him. He told me I had changed his life. That he used the skills we had taught him, went to school, found a job...but then lost it when the economy crashed. Still, through it all he maintained that he would be a completely different person had he not taken our computer classes. And he meant that in a good way. I'm sure he had no idea how much I needed to hear that just that day. It was my fifth positive thing that tipped the scales on one negative. How wonderful it is that all of these tiny deposits I put into the people that I serve during my work day come back to me when I least expect them, like giant human windfalls of hope, just when I feel like I've gone broke...
We have recently started our autumn quarter around here, and I thought it would be an interesting little historical tidbit for me to list the resources we are using for school this quarter. Monk, if he was in public school, would be in 6th or 7th grade, and cole would be in 2nd or 3rd grade. On a typical day, we read together as a family for about an hour or two. Cole has gymnastics once a week, and goes to an after school arts program on some days of the week. Monk, for now, does not have any outside activities, except for the mother's helper work he does for a couple of people. I'm hoping to get him back into fencing in the near future, and he's going to be participating in a multimedia class in about a month or so. The rest of their time is spent playing (mostly video games, although they have wild bursts of playing with legos or blocks, and sometimes coley invents elaborate games using yu-gi-oh and pokemon cards), reading, and doing chores and "homework" assignments that I plan on a quarterly, monthly, and weekly basis. Most of our morning reading sessions include a non-fiction book, usually from our history focus, and a fiction book that we alternate choosing. Right now, we're reading Monk's choice, which is the last book in the Pendragon series (which I HATE! But I have dutifully read them all!) I get to choose the next book, and I'm thinking it might be Watership Down, but it might be fun to read the Odyssey or the Iliad, since we are reading about Ancient Greece for social studies. I don't think those will be as fun for me to read, though...unless I REALLY get into it and research pronunciation and whatnot in advance, but wth? It's not like I get paid for this crap! hahaha. I don't think the appreciation they would have would be a good return on investment for the time I would spend preparing, is all I'm saying. At any rate, both boys do math exercises every day. Monk is studying some algebraic concepts and cole is working on multiplication, division, and just general 3rd grade type math. Both of them use Singapore Math curriculum, and I just let them do exercises and figure things out on their own until they get stuck and need my help. At which point, Monk usually throws his arms up every five seconds and tells me I'm EXPLAINING IT ALL WRONG. And that he DOESN'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING I AM SAYING AT ALL! Which is pretty much what *I* always wished I could say out loud to my math teachers, but instead I just internalized it and struggled for hours with it by myself, occasionally resorting to book throwingness, but never getting any grades lower than A's or B's, because I was a perfectionist, just like Monk. Cole's a little easier to coach, but it's tougher to get him to do the work. And, while I do embrace the concepts of unschooling, in practice it's just not feasible for me. I have an elder son who insists upon rules and structure, and a younger son who is too erratic to make these kinds of decisions for the entire household... ...on a side note, I often think about a lot of child-led families I know...and my aspirations to be fully child-led in my household. I, for myself, found that it didn't work. First of all, when I got divorced, it cut way down on the leisure of choice and the choice of leisure, you know? I'm a busy person working a full-time job and trying to maintain and juggle the schedule and needs of 3 people and a dog while maintaining a modicum of sanity. It became apparent to me very early on in this phase of my life that I just don't have the time and constitution to acquiesce to the demanded desires of both of my children any time they are delivered to me, in addition to the more subtle but still equally demanding demands of the various other people who have or think they have or in any way exert or attempt to exert control over my life. So, no. This is a socialist household, to some extent, in that we each are required to give to the level of our ability, and we each are in return given to the level of our need, but it is also a dictatorship because, hey, you know what I've figured out? Being the oldest person living here means I have the most experience, and GENERALLY SPEAKING (although not always) I am better equipped to make decisions that will lend to the general well-being to all of us in a fairly predictable manner. End of sidenote. Both boys also do grammar and vocabulary every day...on alternating days, generally. With Cole, I am much more explicit with what he's expected to do on any given day, so I assign lessons from each book on alternating days. With Monk, I am trying to get him to do his own planning, so I give him the lump sum of what he needs to get done throughout the week, and I kind of let him plan when/how he's going to do it. At this point, I still need to stay on him and make him verbalize his plan throughout the week, which I HATE doing. I hate riding peoples' asses. It's my least favorite part of parenting or job-having...but Monk, especially, seems to really DEMAND that almost. He tests me a lot to make sure I am paying attention to what he thinks he is getting away with. Hahaha. Cole's Vocab and Grammar books are kind of just generic workbooks for his level I bought on Amazon.com. They aren't anything special. Monk's doing SAT vocabulary, and I'm having him read and work on the activities from Painless Grammar . It seems like it's not only a great grammar resource, but also a great book about writing and communicating clearly and concisely. About once a month or so, I have each of them read a "book report book," and do some sort of report on it. This is always hit or miss with them, and to be honest, at least with Coley, he usually tells me all about the books he is reading. So if the learning objective of a book report is for the teacher to know that a kid is comprehending what he's reading...I already feel very confident of that with Cole. And pretty much anyone who knows Monk knows he comprehends things VERY well, so I'm not terribly worried about him (but don't tell him I said that, because I still think it's important for him to work and stretch on occasion to communicate his understanding in written words. I'm sure the same will be true of Cole as he gets older and more able to understand beyond the story itself. Speaking of which, I did try something with Monk this quarter that failed. I have this really great resource called Rethinking Mathematics. There's this great organization called Rethinking Schools that puts out all sorts of books and curriculum to help teachers bring issues of social justice into the classroom. I think Monk likes to think he's very well-evolved, but he has a ways to go, you know? So there are activities like teaching the concept of percentages and rations by doing an analysis of "driving while brown" and researching the percentage of black and brown people who are pulled over vs. the percentage of whites. I tried to assign this to Monk and he just got pissed off at me...and that was the second activity from that book that I tried to assign to him with similar results, so I'm thinking it's either he's not ready for that kind of analytical learning, or it's just not interesting for him to learn that way. He's never really been fond of roundabout methods of instruction. He's not an "activity" or "crafty" kid, and he never was one. I remember I had to quit trying to use Waldorf methods on him because he was unable to disconnect his brain, and he HATED modeling wax, crayons, and pretty much all of the crafts I tried to do. So, it's at least consistent, if disheartening that I can't forward my liberal agenda by forcing him to use my hippie curriculum. Don't judge! I'm just trying to counterbalance the pervasive right wing religious homeschoolers that are so prevalent! I'll probably try an activity from that curriculum again every quarter until we find something that speaks to him. We *were* doing Living Math for awhile, but I found it a bit disjointed for me. I'd love to just get a compiled book list from that curriculum and work it into our daily reading. I started to do that awhile ago, but never followed through. Living Math is basically a curriculum (I think it was even designed by a homeschooler) that emphasizes the history and philosophy of mathematics. It's a pretty neat curriculum, and I think I might have to go back and get resources from it to incorporate into our reading. For Science, Cole has started the "Diversity" unit of a Singapore Science curriculum called My Pals Are Here. Monk is reading the first book in the Story of Science series by Joy Hakim, and we're using a workbook developed by Johns Hopkins University. I love this science series, especially since we live in Texas, where they are still freaking arguing whether evolution belongs in the public school curriculum. At the beginning of the second lesson "Birthing a Universe" and "telling it like they though it was: Myths of creation" the author has chosen to juxtapose two quotes: "In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth." -Genesis, and "Some foolish men declare that a Creator made the world...Know that the world is uncreated, as time itself is, without beginning and end." - The Mahabharata. So, yeah...it's a cool series. We're on the first book, now. I'm actually also looking forward to reading her A History of US books, which are sort of like kid's versions of A People's History from what I gather. Although I think Zinn has also released a version of A People's History geared towards younger folks. I think Monk might be ready to read the regular version himself, but I don't want to foist it on him and make him hate it. Hmmmm...what else what else? Oh! I keep trying to get us started on the Monart method of teaching art, as I'm reading Drawing With Children...but it's difficult for me to plan for an hour of absolutely peaceful time like the method demands. I think it is something I am just going to have to work towards. I'm also wanting the three of us to learn Spanish together, probably using a combination of Rosetta Stone and some conversational Spanish classes with a co-worker of mine. I also have Monk making menu plans and grocery lists, and am intending to make him create a food cost spreadsheet so he can budget for our meals. This is slow going, because I don't have the patience to wait for him to find the meals, and he's uninspired to do this...AND it's one of my favorite chores, so I'm all too happy to take the menu planning off of his hands. :) I want to put up a badminton net in the backyard so we can all play badminton together as a PE unit. Other than that, we go on walks together. Cole and I, particularly, enjoy going on long walks while Monk is babysitting. Cole likes sketching and taking photos of things. I like hearing him babble on and on. Both boys are learning how to use technology tools. They both have email accounts, and Cole is just now learning how to chat. He exercised his new knowledge by hitting me up on gtalk the other day while I was working. This was our conversation:
I can't believe I actually just made that pun, but Oh Well. It's Out There. I Did It.
This week was a pisser. I am at a crossroads in my life, the likes of which have inspired many a random, sappy coming of age movie and, much as a beloved wise young man has reminded me, all stories are but one main plotline with varying settings and themes or characters, and all of them are merely archetypes of the truth, which we can always approximate, yet never fully articulate in words.
I'm getting away from myself. Running away with myself. Suffice to say C R O S S R O A D S. We'll leave it at that.
And at this crossroads, to over-explain my metaphor, I am prone to looking back at the lay of the land that led me here, and evaluate the vectors and trajectories of the misty outlines of the mountainous terrain of my future. And I am pausing. And I am hoping.
I am hoping I have done ok. And that I will continue to do OK. I am hoping I have laid a good foundation for my children to build on. I am hoping that I work hard promoting a cause I can really believe in, and actually be blessed to earn money doing it. I am hoping I can make wise choices and cultivate warm and trusting relationships with my friends, family, and co-workers. I am hoping I can show respect and kindness to people I don't know, regardless of their circumstances or approach. And I am hoping that at the end of the week, whether I have actually achieved these things or not, I will remind myself that I have done my best, and I will get out my bubbles...
...and let it all go.
(Thank you to Cecily...for reminding me. Thank you to Carmen, Angela, their beautiful children and my beautiful children...for being there.)
Camper Van Beethoven - Key Lime Pie
Instructions:
Put fresh sheets on bed and
sprinkle them with lavender; open the windows of your bedroom; if it's
night time, light a candle; pour yourself a glass of wine or whatever
beverage you deem appropriate; hit play; lay down; relax; enjoy the
first day of spring...visualize yourself "stretching out on the tracks
for all of the possible places that [you] might arrive..."
♥
As a follow-up to all of the election madness we have been observing, I asked Monk to create a zombie government, and then write a zombie campaign speech. I thought the zombie government paper was pretty funny, but this campaign speech is a freaking riot! I am so proud of him. First, it's totally obvious that we are unabashed news junkies...but also, he's just so damn creative and really seems to understand what's going on in the world.
Keep in mind that his zombie government is called a "shamble" "food" is humans...I think you can figure the rest out by context...
Zombie Campaign
Zombie that is me named Howard. Howard campaign to get base of followers to take out shamble leader Greg is this. Food not happy with this shamble. Most we do is walk around neighborhood eating stray doggy. All it do is make crying children. Last house raid was 2002. Greg not fit.
Greg support shop-raiding that causes financial crises. If that happen, food will have foreclosures, and live on street. Next generations brains not with good knowing! Zombie shamble that is us must not raid shops. Give food's wallets to lower classes so their kids can get knowing, and eat up families with bad mortgages.
Some zombie that are not me do not want help carmaker that make cars for food to escape in. Howard, Zombie that is me, want carmaker to get help so food can go to job to get its food to fatten up. If local burger joint start fail, shamble that is us will buy some hamburgers and help cut staff back. If unemployment high, shamble that is us should open up positions, and if food too fatty, shamble that is us should chase round block two, three times every week till just little plump.
If bank going to fail, shamble that is us should give bank food's wallet. Opponent Greg have arguments like "Zombie that is Howard is a friend of Mac Tionhero. Zombie that is Howard has plan to inform young food of their reproductive abilities, and what mortgage anyway?"
Zombie that is Howard has just been endorsed by Chai Nsawguy, our chief fighter battle winner. Zombie that is Howard have only one leg left, so me think shamble that is ours could be ablist. Zombie that is Howard's mate for death, Grant Stander, is more better than zombie that is Greg's mate for death Po Opoohead. That is all of it.
That's pretty much what these past few weeks have been like...a long, drawn out game of good news/bad news, with every bad news item being something that costs more money than I really should be able to afford to spend, and every good news item basically relying on my ability to have a sense of humor about it...because there really hasn't been much good news at all, other than the usual things in my life that I am grateful for and are always there: good friends, sweet children, my job and co-workers...and that overall "I'm a relatively privileged American and have a great deal more than most as my baseline" thing that keeps me from feeling terribly sorry for myself.
At any rate, it turns out at the end of it all that the worst news of all was actually good news in disguise. I went to the vet today to have more of Twyla's stitches removed, and the vet informed me that the huge bleeding tumor that "had to come out"...was merely a bad infection. However, the small, unassuming little tumor they accidentally found and removed in the process of removing the big, scary, bleeding one...was an early stage of cancer. Thus, my sweet puppy was saved by a big bleeding tumor. At least for now.
I mean, I'm trying to be realistic here...cancer doesn't always just go away when you remove the tumor. But the placement of this tumor (under her front leg at the shoulder joint) was such that I would never have detected it until it was large enough to impede movement...and the vet believes they caught it before it spread. There's still a probability that more tumors and more problems will crop up...but we have a reprieve. Twyla can recover...and I have time to weigh my options about treatment and perhaps research alternative cancer therapy for dogs.
I'm having a hard time dealing with the future right now, though. I just want to stare at that damn dog and marvel at our present state of unbelievable good luck. It was a sheep in wolf's clothing. Imagine that! hahaha.
This is Twyla:
I rescued Twyla from the pound almost exactly 8 years ago. My pit/hound dog mix (Yes, that was quite an interesting combination...all the charm of a pitbull, all the laziness and stink of a hound dog...and I loved her to death) Cash had just died of cancer while I was pregnant, and I had to fill the emptiness with another difficult damn dog.
I found Twyla on my first trip to the pound. She was curled up in a silent little ball in the corner of her pen. The sign on the door said "I'm deaf." She didn't look up when I walked by. She just went right on sleeping. On my way out, though, she was standing at the door of her pen, wagging her stump of a tail and displaying what I came to recognize as her usual sort of hyperactive, yet vaguely confused expression. I fell in love with her, of course, as I do with all difficult things.
Twyla's arrival in our household marked the demise of my marriage. My ex was none too pleased at the prospect of bringing a hyperactive, deaf dog into the household. He marveled at the fact that I always did things the most difficult way possible. It kind of amazes me that the people who are most annoyed at my flaws are the ones who most benefit from them.
She behaved herself, at first. She was a sweet, demure little lady. The dog trainer I spoke to about her had told me that she would be extra super sweet the first 10 days after I brought her home, but then her bad habits would come to light. It was for that reason she wouldn't even make an appointment with me before she had been with me for 2 weeks.
When I did bring her to the dog trainer, she was still on her best behavior. The trainer was impressed with her elegance and grace, but told me that she didn't know how to posture or communicate with other dogs...most likely due to the fact that she was deaf. The dog trainer taught me a few hand signals to work on, and sent me on my way to enjoy life with my new deaf dog.
Shortly after that, the demure sweetness broke down. Twyla became anxious. She had separation anxiety, and would crap and pee all over my bed if left alone in the house. I had to buy a crate to put her in while I was away. This cured the problem, but the whole ordeal and being pregnant, separated from my husband, and working two jobs made it difficult for me to bond with Twyla. I was resentful of the fact that I had to deal with this other animal's needs. Maybe it was a mistake for me to have gotten a new dog so quickly. I wasn't really feeling the love for this dog that I had felt for my dear departed Cashy.
When the baby arrived, I went to Chicago to stay with relatives for 3 months, and Twyla went to live with a kind and generous co-worker who fostered greyhounds. I never even checked in on her, and I'm sure my co-worker thought I would never return to claim her...but I did. Life resumed upon my return, but I still did not bond with the dog. There was new motherhood and new singlehood, and new jobhood to deal with, and I just didn't have time to connect with another demanding, needy creature. I thought I might never bond with her. I'm not really sure I cared.
I won't describe the ensuing years. There were other dogs who came and went. Strays and castoffs, housemates' dogs. It seemed the days of me even caring about an animal in my home were long gone. Pets served a function. A dog was there to take on walks, and to provide a degree of protection from home invasion. Twyla was a challenge to walk, because she was so strong and so unwilling to leave other dogs alone. And, although she looked intimidating, it's difficult to say whether or not she would provide much protection against home invasion, because in addition to being deaf, she's about the sweetest animal you would ever meet. I find it hard to imagine she would defend the house against someone who might scratch her itchy spot.
Still, she stuck with us. And, I guess, I stuck with her. Over the years, she started to grow on me. In spite of all of the stolen sticks of butter and loaves of bread that she would swipe off of the high counter and eat off of the floor, I kind of developed an appreciation for her sweet, simple personality. And even though it annoyed me that she always "followed me in front of me" throughout the house, and would lay on my bed and pull down my windowshade to watch for me if I left the door open in my room...I appreciated that she did seem to be attached to me, ever so subtly more than any other ass scratcher.
But I never realized how much I loved that damn dog until we discovered a bleeding lump of something in her chest. Some mysterious thing. Something yucky that, as the vet said "had to come out." One day, she was running around joyfully in the back yard...the next she was doing her best to act like she wasn't wincing in pain. But she *was* wincing in pain. So it had to come out.
The vet had to make "relief incisions" because the tumor was so large and Twyla's skin is so taught that he couldn't sew her up properly. He told me not to worry about them. He also told me that when he opened her up to remove the larger-than-a-fist-sized tumor...he found another one, which he also removed...but which might mean the problem was not an infection, as we had hoped. That, he told me, we might have to worry about.
When I first got Twyla, I had read a lot about boxers. How they stay puppified throughout their entire lives, but how their lives are usually short (9-11 years). Twyla is now 9, and even though she acts like a puppy, she is not a puppy. She's an old girl.
But she's a tough old girl. She made it through the surgery and we had to FORCE her to lay down in the little bed we made for her when she came home. Within a day she was romping around like her old self, frankenstein stitches and all. Within 2 days, she was swiping butter off the counter like old times.
On the 4th day, she slipped out of an open gate and took herself for a romp around the neighborhood, which is something she hasn't done in quite awhile. I spent that entire day scouring the neighborhood, crying, anxietying, FREAKING OUT...until I found her listed on the web page of the animal shelter. FOUND. Fifteen minutes after the animal shelter had closed.
Of course, I drove down there, with her meds in hand, to see if there was anything I could do. I was worried she would be scared. I was worried she would be in pain. In tears and panic, I implored the ladies who were just getting off work to please just let me give her her pain medication. They were nice enough to let me in to talk to the vet who had attended to her. They knew exactly which dog I was talking about. I have a feeling they would have known even if she DIDN'T have stitches all up and down her chest. Twyla is just that kind of dog. She's memorable. She's a character.
The vet was glad to see me. I guess they were worried that someone had spent a sizable amount of money to have a dog stitched up and then just abandoned her? hahaha. (and believe me when I tell you that the way my luck has been lately, I was totally worried that she had been run over by a car to add to the tragic irony.) Since it was after closing, and everything was locked up, they could not let me take her home (I think the vet would have just released her to me, but the cashier who was on his way home said it was too much trouble to open the cash box or turn on the credit card machine. I told him I didn't want to get him in trouble, I just wanted to make sure Twyla was comfortable and not in pain...but secretly I thought he was a real prick, and I think the vet did, too.) but they did take me back to see her. The vet did, anyway. She told me she wouldn't let them put her in an outdoor pen, and I thanked her for that. She flipped the light on in the exam room, and Twyla looked up at us. She had knocked over her food dish, and spilled kibble all over the inside of her pen. The vet told me they gave her an antibiotic, but she was so amped up and happy, they didn't think she needed any pain medication. We both looked at her, looking up at us amidst the spilled kibble with that "uh-oh...I'm in trouble" look on her face, then looked at each other.
"She's such a brat!" I exclaimed, lovingly, through my tears.
"Yes. She certainly is." The vet responded. She rubbed my back, assured me that she was going to be ok, and that I could come back in the morning to pick her up.
We turned out the lights, and closed the door...I drove home.
(Sorry if that was disjointed. It was a rough, rough week over here. I really hope this week is better.)
p.s. Read more about white boxers here. I totally recommend the breed, and absolutely recommend that if you are looking for a fun-loving, playful, good-natured companion animal, you should rescue a white boxer.
I had to show this video to all of my friends, and now I am sharing it with you. I can't remember the last time I have seen a politician addressing not only poverty with such absolute understanding of the issue, but also the interconnectedness of people and all of the issues we face as a nation and a world.
This quote made me cry:
"One of the greatest responsibilities of the next president is to convince americans that we are completely linked to one another, both as americans, AND we're completely linked to the people in the rest of the world. In fact, we are all ENTIRELY connected." -John Edwards
Here's the link. Watch it all. It's amazing.
Brancaccio: What is it about now...that gives you any hope?
Edwards: That we're faced with great challenges that can not be dealt with, except together.
Here's some stuff I've been reading latelyish...
Crazy Aunt Purl is so sassy! I hadn't thought of how annoying it is for veteran bus driver to be inundated with all of the noobs trying to save a gas dollar:
There are a lot of new people taking the bus and they're very needy, holding open the doors while asking the bus driver convoluted questions, "Do I get off here and transfer to get to X or do I go to there and ride another bus to get to X or will I get lost?" As if the bus driver can answer them and let them know if they'll get lost. I personally can get lost on the way to the breakroom at work, so "lost" is a relative state of being, doubtful a random bus driver can analyze it for every strange passenger. I'm impressed with the drivers, though, they're far more patient than the seasoned riders who are pushing these needy newbies out of the way in a huff and rolling their eyes and making comments.
***
Those silly bus riders! If they were REALLY concerned about the environment, they would invest in a fully electric car from Tesla Motors. Right? Or use all of the gas money they save in...like...I don't know...a gazillion years of bus riding.
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Maybe someone ought to start researching how to make a vehicle that runs on cow poop!
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Meanwhile, Treehugger.org has provided me with my New Year's Resolutions for the next 10 years. Probably I should start on them a bit sooner than that...
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After spending a weekend with a bunch of teachers and school administrators last week, this article was a good read. I'm happy to say the new principal at the high school I am involved with seems to meet these standards, in theory...let's see how she does in practice.
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I like this plan, but I think people who DON'T own cars ought to be rewarded, too.
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Stefanie Nagorka makes Andy Goldsworthy look positively classical! (here's more)
