Every morning, we follow the same routine at my house. I wake up first, let Gonzo out, let Gonzo in, and feed all the animals. I eat my breakfast at the computer, make the girls theirs, and drive them to school on the days I work later. Right now, Cathy is simultaneously having pancakes and getting ready for school. Gonzo is behind me, full of food and empty of...yesterday's food.
So, when I was feeding Gonzo today, I was petting him as he ate and thinking what a special dog that he lets me do this. Some dogs don't like anyone near the food bowl when they are eating. I have even reached into Gonzo's mouth on occasion and retrieved something he should not have picked up. He lets me, because he trusts me. Even when he was hit by the car and his hips were broken, he let Wayne and I pick him up in a blanket and never barked or bit anyone, just seemed to know we were trying to help. Because he trusts people. And he's never had reason not to. He has been loved and spoiled from day one, needing only to look at us to communicate his needs. Abused dogs learn to fight back, to nip and growl, and attack figures who remind them of past abusers.
People also do this. We all learn from past experiences and relationships; these can change our behavior forever. We may not bite, but we pull back, withdraw, and find it hard to trust. We follow, worried our owners will abandon us, if we've been abandoned in the past. Sometimes, people behavior can seem crazy, to others and sometimes to ourselves, but it's never really crazy if we just put ourselves in the other person's shoes. There is always a story that makes sense of what we are doing and why. And if we can reach out and touch with love a poor dog who didn't deserve his bad life, we can do the same for each other, and maybe help bring about change. Even shelter dogs can change, if they are loved. People can, too.
That gives me hope, for myself and for the people I know who deserve to be loved, but don't think they do. My own personal issue is having difficulty talking when I am upset, about what has upset me, to the people with whom I am upset. It got better this weekend, though I have a long way to go before I am as trusting and loving as Gonzo. Can I just say again, what a wonderful dog he is? : )
Monday, March 28, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Nuggets of Funny
Okay, only two things to share tonight.
The first is my favorite quote this week, which could have ended up in a "White Noise" redux blog, but was hands down the best thing heard all week, and so stands alone: "Stop running! My pants are falling down! I repeat, my pants are falling down! This is not a drill!"
And, the funniest suggestion all week was made by my baby brother Loren tonight, after another riotous night with family. He is planning to make a facebook page for my childhood imaginary friend. So, if I am suddenly in an open relationship with a Prince Jellygonda, of King Chapel, Mount Vernon, (occupation: Prince, contact info: wish into a well and he can hear you), I hope all friends understand, even my grown up man friends. I am a teensy bit embarrassed at the prospect of sharing my imaginary friend with the world, but am touched that my family remembers my obsession with a longago love I insisted was REAL. I still remember wishing others could see him the way I could. And now, on facebook, they will. : )
The first is my favorite quote this week, which could have ended up in a "White Noise" redux blog, but was hands down the best thing heard all week, and so stands alone: "Stop running! My pants are falling down! I repeat, my pants are falling down! This is not a drill!"
And, the funniest suggestion all week was made by my baby brother Loren tonight, after another riotous night with family. He is planning to make a facebook page for my childhood imaginary friend. So, if I am suddenly in an open relationship with a Prince Jellygonda, of King Chapel, Mount Vernon, (occupation: Prince, contact info: wish into a well and he can hear you), I hope all friends understand, even my grown up man friends. I am a teensy bit embarrassed at the prospect of sharing my imaginary friend with the world, but am touched that my family remembers my obsession with a longago love I insisted was REAL. I still remember wishing others could see him the way I could. And now, on facebook, they will. : )
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Peas in a Pod
When I was a teenager, my Aunt Gerdi once looked at me and then at my brother. "You two look so much alike, it isn't even funny," she told me. I wasn't laughing. It isn't funny, to grow up as the less pretty version of my brother Karl. And yet, I wouldn't choose to look like anyone else.
In a family of six kids, I am the shortest and least photogenic. My brothers are so good looking that when my friend Jeff D first met them, he kept looking from them to me, and saying, "But, they are model gorgeous." I could tell he was trying to figure out where I came from. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out if my handsome brothers had turned him, and Jeff's upcoming drag show debut is for more than fun. But, I do look like them, especially Karl. My eyes are blue, his eyes are unnaturally blue, like those aliens in "Dune."
We all laugh the same. We kick each other to shut each other up. We grab our stomachs and laugh silently, what my nephew Peter calls our "bullet dodge" laughter. We laugh until we cry, at jokes no one else really understands or finds amusing. "What do you get when you cross a dog eating baby with a 90 year old with leprosy?" "Seven fingers." See? Makes no sense whatsoever. Neither does "Aunt Erni basement rot" or the song we sing when Mark comes home for Christmas, "Carmelkorn, Carmelkorn, Mark, Mark, Mark." My sister in law Katie fits right in, with her "It's all right to be angwy, Ewik."
So, looking alike is only part of what draws us together as a family; what really are the ties that bind are all those inside jokes and stories, and shared sucky memories. If I could change my appearance or fight off age with Botox and cheek implants and all the rest, I still wouldn't. Because then, I wouldn't look like the people I love most. I can settle for being the ugly duckling in a beautiful flock, because I love my flock more than anyone.
In a family of six kids, I am the shortest and least photogenic. My brothers are so good looking that when my friend Jeff D first met them, he kept looking from them to me, and saying, "But, they are model gorgeous." I could tell he was trying to figure out where I came from. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out if my handsome brothers had turned him, and Jeff's upcoming drag show debut is for more than fun. But, I do look like them, especially Karl. My eyes are blue, his eyes are unnaturally blue, like those aliens in "Dune."
We all laugh the same. We kick each other to shut each other up. We grab our stomachs and laugh silently, what my nephew Peter calls our "bullet dodge" laughter. We laugh until we cry, at jokes no one else really understands or finds amusing. "What do you get when you cross a dog eating baby with a 90 year old with leprosy?" "Seven fingers." See? Makes no sense whatsoever. Neither does "Aunt Erni basement rot" or the song we sing when Mark comes home for Christmas, "Carmelkorn, Carmelkorn, Mark, Mark, Mark." My sister in law Katie fits right in, with her "It's all right to be angwy, Ewik."
So, looking alike is only part of what draws us together as a family; what really are the ties that bind are all those inside jokes and stories, and shared sucky memories. If I could change my appearance or fight off age with Botox and cheek implants and all the rest, I still wouldn't. Because then, I wouldn't look like the people I love most. I can settle for being the ugly duckling in a beautiful flock, because I love my flock more than anyone.
Monday, February 28, 2011
My Moment
This was perhaps the worst Oscars in recent years. The jokes were awful, Anne Hathaway changed her dress during each cutaway, James Franco called the technical awards winners "nerds" and even if that joke was written for him by a fourth grader, he shouldn't have said it. I saw the fewest nominated films in years, but still, the girls wanted to go to the Bijou in Iowa City and watch the telecast on the big screen, so we went.
Surrounded by college student film buffs shouting out answers to the Oscar trivia contests which went on during each commercial break, the girls wanted a poster. Last year, my kids cleaned up, winning free movie tickets and posters. They correctly guessed many of the categories, having seen the shorts, all the animated, and some of the films nominated for acting. This year, we were empty handed until...
"Which film won for makeup in 1981? It won the first Oscar for makeup? Anyone? Bueller?"
Crickets chirped. The college kids were stumped. My own kids slid down in their chairs as I tentatively called out, "An American Werewolf in London?" and won a poster for Lindsay. I wanted to make a speech, about how I owed this poster to my ex-husband, who was the real horror movie buff, and I wanted to thank the Academy, and the student board who runs the Bijou, and wanted to thank my parents, but I looked at my teenagers, embarrassed that their mom had even spoken (my role now is to chauffeur and only to chauffeur) and sat back down. Still, it feels good to win on Oscar night. : )
Surrounded by college student film buffs shouting out answers to the Oscar trivia contests which went on during each commercial break, the girls wanted a poster. Last year, my kids cleaned up, winning free movie tickets and posters. They correctly guessed many of the categories, having seen the shorts, all the animated, and some of the films nominated for acting. This year, we were empty handed until...
"Which film won for makeup in 1981? It won the first Oscar for makeup? Anyone? Bueller?"
Crickets chirped. The college kids were stumped. My own kids slid down in their chairs as I tentatively called out, "An American Werewolf in London?" and won a poster for Lindsay. I wanted to make a speech, about how I owed this poster to my ex-husband, who was the real horror movie buff, and I wanted to thank the Academy, and the student board who runs the Bijou, and wanted to thank my parents, but I looked at my teenagers, embarrassed that their mom had even spoken (my role now is to chauffeur and only to chauffeur) and sat back down. Still, it feels good to win on Oscar night. : )
Thursday, February 24, 2011
White Noise: This Week's Heard and Observed
"So, I'm trying to suggest the most white trash names possible for my friend's baby. I thought Sherry Shasta. Or Booyah." "What about Whiskey Bliss? Allthatandabagofchips?"
"Homework later! Ghosthunting now!"
A personalized ringtone goes off, Michael Bolton's "How Am I Supposed To Live Without You?" The woman answering her cell says, "YEAH? What do YOU want?"
"I want a pocketful of ramekins. Let's steal these."
"Do we have time for a ferret run?" "There's always time for a ferret run."
"MOM! That mouse isn't moving in its cage. Smack it around a little."
"So, I have a new game. I calm myself by lying, like this: My eyebrows grew like caterpillars and then crawled around my face. I was hungry so I ate a whale. It was good."
"I love the fact that you aren't like normal women. I just think it's cute that you don't care how you look to other people."
"Homework later! Ghosthunting now!"
A personalized ringtone goes off, Michael Bolton's "How Am I Supposed To Live Without You?" The woman answering her cell says, "YEAH? What do YOU want?"
"I want a pocketful of ramekins. Let's steal these."
"Do we have time for a ferret run?" "There's always time for a ferret run."
"MOM! That mouse isn't moving in its cage. Smack it around a little."
"So, I have a new game. I calm myself by lying, like this: My eyebrows grew like caterpillars and then crawled around my face. I was hungry so I ate a whale. It was good."
"I love the fact that you aren't like normal women. I just think it's cute that you don't care how you look to other people."
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Linz, a Blog for You
The blog for Gonzo was started earlier this week, halted when Sarah needed on the computer for schoolwork, and just finished. In the meantime, however, Lindsay also asked for a blog of her own and I had to admit, it's about time. When I wrote the S&*t My Kids Say blog, I ended part one saying only two kids in the world call me Mom. Linz pointed out that is not true; she calls me Mom, too.
In January, Linz moved into Cathy's top bunk. They went shopping for ways to organize and separate their stuff in Cath's room and happily settled into a routine. They share with Sarah all the things they all want to use, like downstairs tv and computer. Linz drives the girls to school most days, on her way to her own school. They experiment with cooking, as Cath and Sarah have done for years. It's a new experience for Cath, sharing her home full time with a friend, but she's doing really well with it. And, of all Cathy's friends, Linz has probably joined us at more family events. She's gone on our family canoe trips, gone to a family wedding reception, gone with us to stay with Uncle Kirk and go shopping in MN. She went with us to the Oscar shorts last year, and the Oscars party at the Bijou, where she wore a huge black afro wig, and we had to sit in the back so we didn't block anyone's view of the theatre screen.
Earlier this week, Linz said something I could have included on the S*&t My Kids Say blog, had I written it now instead of a month ago. After watching Inception with me, she said, "If there was an Oscar category for most confusing screenplay, Inception would be the winner and only nominee." I laughed over that for a day. If she didn't live with us, I wouldn't get those awesome moments of pure funny, and I think that's what some parents don't realize about having kids. It's work, but it's not just work. It's an opportunity, to be a part of their lives.
I'm so lucky to have Cathy and Sarah, and for a little while longer, Linz. And, to all the kids who might trek through our house in a given week: Matisse, Darrow, the Spencers, Kenny, Taylor, Cece, Kyra, Kiyaya, Lexi, and, of course, Matt, thanks for coming over and being part of our family, before you go back to your own. My house will feel very quiet and empty when you have all moved onto college and homes of your own. In the meantime, let me know who else wants a blog.
In January, Linz moved into Cathy's top bunk. They went shopping for ways to organize and separate their stuff in Cath's room and happily settled into a routine. They share with Sarah all the things they all want to use, like downstairs tv and computer. Linz drives the girls to school most days, on her way to her own school. They experiment with cooking, as Cath and Sarah have done for years. It's a new experience for Cath, sharing her home full time with a friend, but she's doing really well with it. And, of all Cathy's friends, Linz has probably joined us at more family events. She's gone on our family canoe trips, gone to a family wedding reception, gone with us to stay with Uncle Kirk and go shopping in MN. She went with us to the Oscar shorts last year, and the Oscars party at the Bijou, where she wore a huge black afro wig, and we had to sit in the back so we didn't block anyone's view of the theatre screen.
Earlier this week, Linz said something I could have included on the S*&t My Kids Say blog, had I written it now instead of a month ago. After watching Inception with me, she said, "If there was an Oscar category for most confusing screenplay, Inception would be the winner and only nominee." I laughed over that for a day. If she didn't live with us, I wouldn't get those awesome moments of pure funny, and I think that's what some parents don't realize about having kids. It's work, but it's not just work. It's an opportunity, to be a part of their lives.
I'm so lucky to have Cathy and Sarah, and for a little while longer, Linz. And, to all the kids who might trek through our house in a given week: Matisse, Darrow, the Spencers, Kenny, Taylor, Cece, Kyra, Kiyaya, Lexi, and, of course, Matt, thanks for coming over and being part of our family, before you go back to your own. My house will feel very quiet and empty when you have all moved onto college and homes of your own. In the meantime, let me know who else wants a blog.
Gonzo, the doggie lama
Okay, Darren. We've had this argument before, about whose dog is the doggie lama. Now, that I've met Bozwell, I can attest he is an amazing, beautiful dog. I might well believe he was the doggie lama, if I hadn't already known Gonzo, who is the doggie lama. I have proof.
So, we found our pup eleven years ago rolling in manure in a barn outside Wyoming, Iowa. He was of indiscriminate breed and color. What I thought was a wiry bush of brown fur revealed itself after a good bath to be silky black, curly when it's wet. The breed is some mix of perhaps yellow lab and maybe cocker spaniel, but he's been called everything from a border collie to Australian sheepdog to springer spaniel. It doesn't really matter what he is; it matters who he is, anyway.
Gonzo was twelve weeks old when we took him home, gentle and sweet, loved cats, which was a good thing. Some of our cats have loved him. Tiger used to lurk on the couch arm, waiting for him to pass below and then jump on his back and ride him. Oggy and Jazz, as abandoned kittens, thought he was their mother and he would wash them. When they tried to nurse, he looked at me in bewilderment, but even when they bit him, just got up and found another place to lay. Butterscotch hated him, but Butterscotch hated everyone. He let Cathy's parakeet hop all over his paws and back (we have pictures of this). Once, at our old house, there was a baby bunny who tried to jump through our chain link fence and got caught up in the diamond links. Baby bunnies scream when they are scared; Gonzo investigated, figured out what was wrong, and while we watched, he pushed the bunny through.
He is pure love. Anyone wanting an example of abject devotion needs only to go walk with us. If I let loose of his chain, he will take a few steps alone and then come back to me. If the girls take his leash and walk him and I get too far behind, he will lay flat on the sidewalk and try to army crawl his way back to me. He won't pull or hurt the girls to return to me, but he won't take another step further away.
He is a problem solver, thinks things through, and is full of love. For a dog to deny his instincts to give chase and hunt, and instead nurture smaller animals is almost unheard of. So, sorry, Darren and Valerie. Your dog is great, mine is better, at least to me. Maybe that's how everyone feels about their dogs, but I never did about a dog until Gonz.
So, we found our pup eleven years ago rolling in manure in a barn outside Wyoming, Iowa. He was of indiscriminate breed and color. What I thought was a wiry bush of brown fur revealed itself after a good bath to be silky black, curly when it's wet. The breed is some mix of perhaps yellow lab and maybe cocker spaniel, but he's been called everything from a border collie to Australian sheepdog to springer spaniel. It doesn't really matter what he is; it matters who he is, anyway.
Gonzo was twelve weeks old when we took him home, gentle and sweet, loved cats, which was a good thing. Some of our cats have loved him. Tiger used to lurk on the couch arm, waiting for him to pass below and then jump on his back and ride him. Oggy and Jazz, as abandoned kittens, thought he was their mother and he would wash them. When they tried to nurse, he looked at me in bewilderment, but even when they bit him, just got up and found another place to lay. Butterscotch hated him, but Butterscotch hated everyone. He let Cathy's parakeet hop all over his paws and back (we have pictures of this). Once, at our old house, there was a baby bunny who tried to jump through our chain link fence and got caught up in the diamond links. Baby bunnies scream when they are scared; Gonzo investigated, figured out what was wrong, and while we watched, he pushed the bunny through.
He is pure love. Anyone wanting an example of abject devotion needs only to go walk with us. If I let loose of his chain, he will take a few steps alone and then come back to me. If the girls take his leash and walk him and I get too far behind, he will lay flat on the sidewalk and try to army crawl his way back to me. He won't pull or hurt the girls to return to me, but he won't take another step further away.
He is a problem solver, thinks things through, and is full of love. For a dog to deny his instincts to give chase and hunt, and instead nurture smaller animals is almost unheard of. So, sorry, Darren and Valerie. Your dog is great, mine is better, at least to me. Maybe that's how everyone feels about their dogs, but I never did about a dog until Gonz.
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