Josie The Wonder and Margo The Dud

Josie and Margo will turn 2 on July 2nd and they've really come a long way from being obnoxious and adorable to moderately obnoxious and occasionally adorable. Josie is the sweetheart. She wants everyone to love her and she tries really hard to make everyone happy, but she still has a lot of energy and is incredibly playful. Margo is calmer but stubborn, entitled, and a bit of a jerk. Her idea of a great day would be to sit in a park and watch people and animals. She'll play with toys by herself and sometimes with Josie, but does not like to play with us. She doesn't mind water, but she definitely doesn't love it. Robert and I have recently been calling her a dud of a dog. Robert's been introducing things to her in the hopes she finds something she enjoys, but nope, she's an observer who only gets excited about something if Josie is getting attention for it. In her defense, she has the best face I've ever seen on a dog. 

Neither dog has a favorite person, but they seem to like us and enjoy our company. Wouldn't that be terrible - to choose a dog and they end up detesting you? I remember how Rose instantly latched on to Robert, but also how it took Ella and I three years to latch on to each other. I also remember growing up with cats who didn't like anybody but understood they had food and shelter so they tolerated us.

Recently we discovered two delightful things about Josie that are firsts for us. She has always loved water, but on our walks she has taken to attacking sprinklers. She will also jump up onto any wall that's along our path. She loves to jump.

can you spot the barred owls?

Since early spring it's been a bit like a search and find book here, except it's real life. We have two owls who hang out around our house for several days at a time before disappearing somewhere else for a few days. They're definitely tougher to find now that it's summer but each morning and evening I still search the trees for them. They're more tolerant of me now than they were last year. They'll let me watch them if I don't make any sudden movements like blinking. If I'm inside they still know I'm watching them. They'll make eye contact every few minutes, taking turns searching for prey and warning me not to open the door that separates us. If I open the door they don't leave immediately. They'll hunker down, pre-flight, shoot me the most scathing look, pop back up again and then hunker down again before flying away. If you've never been chewed out by a barred owl before, let me tell you it is equal parts delightful, hilarious, and shameful. 

I can't take very good shots due to my pact with them to mostly leave them alone, whether that's suddenly freezing if I see them while I'm outside or keeping the door closed if I'm inside, but here are a few pictures and videos.

a gift

After one long year of waiting and hoping...

When I injured my back last June I was pretty sure I wasn't going to play tennis again. It took about three months to feel like I had my independence back. Initially I couldn't walk to the bathroom, dress myself, or sleep more than a couple hours at a time. I was out of work for weeks, and when I finally went back I carted around an ice machine and needed help plugging it in. I couldn't bend over until the end of October, and I was in spine physical therapy for months. Learning to bend over and get myself down to the floor was the hardest part. I was terrified I wouldn't be able to get back up. 

When I was given the go to start doing yoga at home in addition to the physical therapy exercises I was given, I would carefully lower myself onto my mat and then just sit there. Eventually I asked for guidance about each of the poses and whether they would be harmful or beneficial. Until this injury I had always been so comfortable in my body and I took it for granted. Once I began healing and was able to start physical therapy, my cautiousness was the thing that incapacitated me.

It's been such a long, long journey. I was cleared to try playing tennis again right as the pandemic hit and all courts, including backboards, were locked up. Even then, I wasn't sure I wanted to take the chance. So I was relieved I could wait a bit longer, but I was also ashamed I was relieved.

Life kicked me in the gut this spring, and I had no way of dealing with it. Whenever life got tough in the past I always dealt with it through tennis. After days of all-consuming anxiety and grief, I knew I needed to get my ass back out there. Even if I discovered I couldn't play without pain, I had to try. 

The moment my hands pushed the gate to the backboard open, and it gave a long, rusty squeak, I felt like I was home. That long, rusty squeak calmed the turmoil, and the calm I felt gave me the push I needed to pick up my racquet and try. 

So I've been hitting on the backboard several times a week but only about 30 minutes at a time. I'm not sure I want the stress of playing competitively again. The idea of someday leisurely hitting balls with someone rather than the backboard sounds nice but that's as far as I'm willing to take it at this point. I've spent a year coming straight home after work most days and spending time on my art, writing, and with my family, and I've grown fond of this kind of lifestyle. I've decided to give most of the 10-15 hours I played tennis each week for the last fifteen years to other areas of my life. Thirty minutes of smacking the crap out of a ball a few days a week is currently the perfect amount of tennis.

I feel like I've been given a piece of myself back, and it's a gift I'm not going to take for granted. But I'm also not going to take everything that gave me this gift for granted either.

out and about

Even though the humidity has set in, we've continued to take lots of walks. In May we walked 130 miles, and though we won't reach that this month, we've already beaten our June goal of 60 miles. We've been taking short 1-3 mile walks once or twice a day during the week days and 5-10 mile walks on our days off. It's been a great way to reconnect with Robert, figure out how to tackle all the things happening in our lives together, and gather a few moments of much-needed peace. 

Here are a few moments I'd like to share with you:

Social distancing and wearing masks has been tough for humans in my neighborhood, but these guys are rising to the challenge.

This year the peonies were buds for a day, blossoms for a couple more, and then, poof, gone.

I'm looking for a good spot in our backyard for a tulip tree. This tree blossomed for a couple days and  just like the peonies, poof, gone.

Naked allium?

Now that Robert and I are walking 8-10 miles on most days off we've been able to go to some distant neighborhoods, which means new creatures.

Moonshine yarrow.

This tree frog did not mind Josie, but Josie snuck a lick and recoiled in complete disgust.

A charming Little Free Library complete with hand sanitizer and a rotating art project.

virtual folklore storytime

A couple weeks ago I gave my first virtual storytime and it was incredibly different than an in-person storytime and definitely tougher. My library has been using Facebook live as its online platform for storytimes, and each storytime has a facilitator and moderator. I've been moderating a coworker's bilingual storytime for several weeks now so I understood how tough it was going to be to facilitate it. Moderators offer tech support but primarily encourage patron interactions through the chat feature. Helping my coworker figure out lighting and video sticky wickets for her bilingual storytime was an eye-opener for me.

While we were figuring out summer reading I offered to help in whatever way I could for our summer reading folklore storytimes. And because of how much I love plays (I would rank seeing a play somewhere near getting a cavity filled) I thought, why not make a cardboard theater? So I spent hours and hours writing a script, memorizing it, talking to myself, gluing things together, and playing with paper dolls. I also read an actual book in addition to retelling a folktale so there was much practice learning how to hold a book for a virtual storytime.

The hardest part of the whole experience wasn't making a theater or practicing though, it was giving a storytime to an empty room and pretending it was filled with kids. I thought I had quite a bit of imagination prior to this experience, but I definitely don't have enough to pretend an empty room is full of children.

Here's my super brief first virtual folklore storytime plan:

Hello song: 

We clap hello like this X3
We clap hello for all our friends
We clap hello like this

Smile
Wave

Humpty Dumpty rhyme and Dan Santat's After the Fall (one of my most favorite books)

Silly song about body parts. I asked everyone to find something silly to sing with. I chose a dog toy (a broccoli squeaky thing). Basically you sing this:

The broccoli's on my head X
Hi-ho the derry-o the broccoli's on my head

and you put the silly thing on whatever body part you're singing about.

I asked everyone to tell their grown-up what their favorite body part was and send it in the chat. It's a hoot.

Retelling of The Talking Eggs, which was the theater bit.

Another silly song courtesy of Jbrary:

You put your hands up high
you put your hands down low
you put your hands in the middle and shake them just so
you put your elbows out front
you put your elbows in the back
you put your elbows to the side and you quack quack quack

Goodbye song that's the same as the hello song but with the word, 'goodbye' instead.

Here are a few pictures from my experience, which I think will help explain the experience better:

I took over Robert's office, and he did all the tech things for me (lighting, homemade teleprompter, filming). Robert has a couch in his office, which I use for napping. We flipped up the couch to make more room, and I forfeited my lunch naps for a couple weeks. I also auditioned Margo, who is calmer, to be my cohost, but she was cut immediately due to her insatiable love of army crawling across a room (surprisingly not a good fit with a rickety, homemade theater). Josie, surprisingly, rose to the challenge, and made an excellent cohost.

Rachel painted three of the seven scenes and constructed the cardboard dolls. She also made the chicken boxes for the chicken coop and painted twine for the hay.

I was originally going to sew clothing for the clothes, but I ended up sewing this thick paper I had instead. I had original plans of moving the people around a lot more, but we had some space/theater limitations.

Here are a few videos I combined showing a bit of the process. I really enjoyed making the flaps and pieces that moved. I had seven backdrops and six of them had magical elements. So much fun! Rachel came up with the idea for how the trees could move. I didn't paste them but sewed them to the paper instead, and just at the bottoms. You can also see my office, and my many stations I have set up. It's been mostly a disaster zone since working from home. Currently I have two collage stations, a journal station, writing station, work station, making things for work station, making tiny things for my collage station, and my Sizzix machine station. I learned pretty quickly that I can make the storytime pieces while doing other things like training, meetings, and telephone reference when it gets slow. Yes, I've also been doing telephone reference for the library at home. Mostly awesome, but occasionally slow so cutting out pieces for storytimes is a nice thing to do when no one is calling and I'm tethered to the laptop.

I have two more folklore storytimes but will be using a magnetic board to retell the stories. I'll still get to make all the fun little pieces, and Josie will still be the star of the storytime, but there will be no  more theater. It was a lot of fun, but I learned my lesson!

Favorite May Reads

I am still finding a little time to read and haven't forgotten about my May books post. I read two great books in May, one I've been reading for a few months and will continue reading - How to Tell Fate From Destiny, and another that was a nice escape.

How to Tell Fate From Destiny by Charles Harrington Elster (Adult Nonfiction)

Though there were a handful of word distinctions I was already familiar with, I was surprised by how many I didn't know and how many words I mess up. I made a list of words I struggle with in the hopes I will use the list when I'm writing something important. Occasionally Elster gets frustrated with common errors, and because he's a logophile, this can be pretty entertaining. For instance, while writing about "the rampant misuse of can for may," Elster states,  "'Everybody does it' is the poorest, lamest excuse for an infraction. It's the last refuge of the speeder, the spitter, the litterer, and the liar. Do you want scoundrels like these to run your language?" Though Elster's scolding tone may rub some the wrong way, I applaud his passion (even though I shrugged off some of the scolding). How to Tell Fate From Destiny has a little bit of everything - humor, passion, history, an opportunity for personal growth, and the feeling of a deeper connection with fellow scoundrels.

Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes (Adult Nonfiction)

Before reading this I couldn't help peeking at the first review on Goodreads. It's hard to miss because it's in all caps, practically shouting to skip the book because it's basically the ramblings of a middle-aged woman. Whether you've read the book or not, it's bound to make you chuckle. After reading Under the Tuscan Sun I have to agree that the reviewer isn't wrong - there is a lot of rambling. Though the path was linear, I felt like the story zig-zagged the entire way. But I thoroughly enjoyed it. If I ever do anything half as interesting as purchasing a neglected villa in Italy, I would love to ramble on and on about it. Under the Tuscan Sun picked me up out of a rather crazy time in my life and transported me to a different kind of chaos, a chaos sprinkled with incredible moments of serenity and beauty. 

Here are a few of my favorite moments: 

"The house must be in some good alignment... Something is giving us an extraordinary feeling of well being." I, too, understand this feeling. I had it a few times while my husband and I traveled in an RV a few years ago. The RV felt like home in a way no other place has. One night we stayed in a gas station parking lot, and I remember looking out the tiny window into a cornfield and having that same feeling of well being, like everything was ok in the world. 

I also enjoyed Mayes' ruminations on olive trees - "The olive tree does impart a sense of peace. It must be, simply, the way they participate in time." What an idea!! I have been doing a lot of thinking about how I "participate in time." I can't stop thinking about this line. 

I enjoyed the brief discussion Mayes had with her husband concerning bees, and what her husband says about the workers: "The workers...have the best life. they have fields of flowers to roll in. Imagine turning over and over and inside a rose." It's another line I can't stop thinking about. 

Though stressful at times, I enjoyed reading about Mayes' home restoration. I was floored when a fresco was uncovered and enraged when a worker wrote over it in sharpie. 

Her food descriptions are rich enough to put you in a food coma and her writing style is just as rich: the mixed lettuces she planted "bolted the border," and "green beans served with black olives, sliced raw fennel, spring onions, and a light vinaigrette or lemon juice must be one of the nicest things to happen to a green bean." I think about this now when I make something. For example, lemon, Parmesan, olive oil, and Dijon mustard have got to be one of the nicest things that can happen to kale. 

This is one of those rare books I continue to think about nonstop after reading. It's one of those books that has changed how I define myself and how I see the world. It was such a pleasure to join Mayes while she aimlessly and joyfully flitted from one interesting thing to another and shared her incredible journeys in Italy. I can't wait to read more!

Izzy

I don't often talk about the negative stuff, even when it's a big part of my life. I try to focus on the positive, and even when I can't, I try to involve as few people as possible. To me, negativity is malignant and so so tough to get rid of. I've been bogged down in it before, and I never want to let that happen again or be the catalyst of it happening to people I love. I recognize I've let people down though by not giving them the opportunity to be there for me or help me get through some tough stuff.

So here it is. Robert and I are currently going through some tough stuff. 

In late February Izzy had a meltdown where she became violent. I didn't say anything about it because my blog is a positive space, and though Izzy has a history of violent behavior, Robert and I were hopeful that the extra steps we took after the incident would put an end to the violent behavior. In late April, Izzy had another violent meltdown and Robert and I agreed that she needed more help than we could give. Currently Izzy is in a residential facility and it's been a really long, complicated process that is far from over.

I was locked in this soul-crushing denial that she could quickly get the help she needed, the tools to handle her anger, and come home. But it's not a quick process. And in the last week there has been a kind of acceptance of the situation that feels like someone is squeezing the life out of my heart but has also given me the ability to start living again. And part of living again is getting to where I am ok talking about the situation.

Robert and I love Izzy. We want the best for her. Living with us is not the best thing for her right now. I went into this experience completely unskilled in dealing with kids who have endured unspeakable trauma and also kids with special needs, and eleven months later I still feel the same way. Our mental health care system is deeply flawed. To put my trust in the hands of individuals who turned Izzy away for months until her behavior became too violent to ignore, is killing me. But Robert and I aren't equipped to deal with violence, and it feels a little like we're trapped in a maze with no way out and no way to help Izzy on our own. 

Surprisingly (and I say this with cautious hopefulness) Izzy is getting the help she needs. She's also finally getting testing for multiple things, which Rusty A.K.A. James (her father) and Robert and I could never get for her (too old but not an adult, wait lists galore). We talk to her almost every day, and she's certainly regressed in age and maturity level but sounds happy. She's also got a team of people a mile long, an even bigger team than the one she had prior to residential living. They also haven't changed her medication and aren't doing that thing where they medicate someone so much the person is in a complete fog. It hurts to say this but she's almost blissfully unaware of her situation and is thriving where she's at. 

Her violent behavior has continued. She's still a master manipulator. And there's the possibility that whatever makes her different will keep her stuck processing the world through the eyes of a child. But she's getting help.

Robert and I have been putting one foot in front of the other, taking it one day at a time, staying involved with everyone on her team on almost a daily basis, and as much as it feels like it's not enough, there are moments when I can tell myself that it is. 

That is all for now. I will keep everyone updated on Izzy. 

Until we meet again

Yesterday we said goodbye to one of the best and funniest friends I've ever had. Ella just simply couldn't stand up anymore, not even to go potty. The pain pills that the vet prescribed didn't make any difference and over the course of about 48 hours Ella lost the use of her back legs. Robert called the place that Rose went to at the end of her journey, and verified we could be in the room with her. It was the same room where we said goodbye to Rose just over two years ago. Robert said he wouldn't be surprised if Rose waited patiently those two and a half years so she could be there for Ella and give her crap when she passed on.

Ella would have turned 13 today. 

I've had some good buddies in my day, both furry and human, but Ella is at the very top of my list. After Rose picked her out - out of dozens of dogs we visited - and carried her by the scruff of her neck to the car (this is the best Ella story), I wasn't sure I trusted Rose's opinion anymore. Ella was a complete jerk from day one. For the first three years of her life I kept trying to convince Robert to find her a new home. She ate about half of my shoes, all the base boards in our last home, and once, an entire box of $50 chocolates. 

While I was trying to get rid of her, something magical was happening. I remember trying to keep an eye on her every second she was out of her kennel, in the hopes of salvaging a few of my belongings I'm sure. For example, whenever I did laundry I plopped her in the basket first, dumped the dirty clothes on her and carried her to the basement. She would run around and eat spiders while I washed and folded laundry and when I was done, I would dump her back into the basket with the clean laundry. I carried her around in that damn basket for the first year of her life, and before I knew it, I found myself liking her sometimes. I couldn't help but be amused by her antics, her kiss-my-ass personality. She did as she pleased and enjoyed life to the fullest. It was tough not to be a little jealous of that kind of attitude. Rose came into our lives about as perfect as a dog can be. We were told repeatedly (and still get told repeatedly) that golden retrievers are the best dogs. Well here was this was puppy with the death glares and the horrid behavioral problems who appeared to be proving everyone wrong.

Before I knew it Ella had a hold on me. And perhaps due to my admiration or amusement she became a fan of me as well. She loved all of her admirers. And who knows, she may have had similar opinions of me - "well, here's this loud, obnoxious human who's always yelling at me, but she's kind of funny and hateful some times. I can appreciate that."

I wanted to call her Eloise. And though Robert immediately vetoed that, she was always a bit of an Eloise to me - a proper-sounding name that can turn white trash in the blink of the eye (my apologies to those of you named Eloise). She eventually became Thug Muffin (due to her tough exterior and sometimes, soft interior). She was also Ezzy Bez, Butternut Squash, and a few other cutesy names. One of the names she earned with age and wisdom was White-Faced Ghost Killah. A couple goofy things she did encouraged the rest of her nicknames. Whenever she flopped down, she would find the most unladylike ways to do so - mostly flat on her back, sometimes with only her butt in your face. Then she would give you The Stare. The Come Pet My Belly Stare. Because of this we started calling her a ho, which led to Skanky Doodle Dandy, Hootie and the Ho Fish (90s music has robbed a significant amount of my brain cells), and other unflattering nicknames. Most of the time she wasn't Ella. She was simply Skank.

If you click on this picture you can see that it didn't matter where she was. She made herself comfortable.

I have been immensely impacted by her zest for life. She went after everything with more gusto than one would think possible for a beefy golden retriever. She wasn't graceful in most things, only in the things she was passionate about. She went from Rug of Love (another nickname) to Furry Warrior with a Helicopter Tail whenever a ball was involved. She tore through lakes, creeks, lawns, fields, and swimming pools like the wind coming to life. When she went tearing after a ball I couldn't help it. I wanted my passion for life to be exactly like that. She gave everything she loved 100% and when she was tired she took a break and plopped herself down just exactly the way she wanted to. 

She was also my protector. I could be standing on the other side of the house, spot a spider, and before I made so much as a squeak, she would be right there next to me. This became both a little more sad and a little bit funnier as she grew older. The last couple times I spotted a spider I would hear her labored steps as she slowly click-clacked her way across the house to come give that spider some old lady whoop ass. Ella would also magically appear any time I was in tears or near tears. I truly believe she could smell my pain. Though she wasn't one for snuggles, she would come find me, squeeze herself next to me, and thrust her bony old-man elbows into my thighs before settling in. It was as if she thought she could vacuum some of the pain away with her body, and that's exactly how it felt.

She was my shadow, or perhaps more accurately, I was hers. I followed her around like the sun and the moon and the earth and all the planets revolved around her. 

Even as she got older, she stayed true to who she was. Once a jerk face, always a jerk face. In the mornings she would wait until I was settled in and eating breakfast before making her way out of the bedroom, ready for her morning routine. She would even give me a look like, "are you comfy yet?" Because I often had breakfast on our couch I figured out how she knew I was just getting settled in and decided to be sneaky. Before I sat down for breakfast I would hit the button for the foot rest, which makes a creaking sound. She would come stumbling out of the bedroom thinking I had settled in with my breakfast and shoot me the dirtiest look like, "You butthead. You tricked me." We had constant wars like this with each other and I doubt I'll meet another creature or person who delights in it as much as she did. 

While she was passing on I wanted to tell her that where she was going was better, that she would get everything her ornery little heart desired, and that she wouldn't be in pain anymore. But I struggled to tell her all this because I'm selfish - once a jerk face, always a jerk face. I still have years of things I want to say to her, years of romping through the woods, and throwing balls caked with slime into swamps filled with slime, years of long walks and ice-cream runs. So I decided to give her an impossible task, one I'm sure she will give 100%. I told her I wanted her to live in doggy paradise. I told her I wanted her to come back and live many more happy lives and bring happiness to as many people and creatures as possible. And most selfishly, I asked her to wait for me.  

Here are a few of my favorite Ella pictures:

Rose teaching Ella how to swim:



The Ella approach to frisbee (and life):



The best kind of nap:





Ordering ice cream at her favorite drive-thru:



Lounging with Rose:



Always hopeful:









The day we picked out her wagon:

turkey-flavored toothpaste cloud of love

Ella seems to be perking up a bit, eating a little more but only with an ungodly amount of encouragement. When she walks she's not struggling as much as she has been. We're picking up a pain pill at the vet's office today. Depending on how she responds to the pain pill we might be making a tough decision soon. But she keeps giving me a few wags and still enjoys the cuddles.

In other news I was so exhausted last night I asked Robert to take care of the dogs so I could go to bed early. I think I was asleep before 8. As I was falling asleep I felt like I was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of turkey-flavored toothpaste (one of the worst smells on the planet) and I also felt a quick flash of drool on my hand that  must have been hanging over the side of the bed. When I woke up this morning I told Robert about it. He said that after the pups went out and had their teeth brushed they came racing into the bedroom. Robert quickly blocked my side of the bed with his body and tried to get the girls to go into their kennels. Like a flash of lightning Margo slipped through his legs and came over to give a stern and exasperated sigh into my face before forgiving me (nudging my hand) and going to bed.

We've talked about how similar Margo is to Rose, but also how Margo doesn't have one mothering bone in her body (which would be appalling to Rose). Even though Margo was upset I messed up our nighttime routine, I think it's possible she also wanted to say goodnight and make sure I was in the room before she went to bed. 

Ella

It's been a bit rocky around here. For several months Ella has been battling a persistent ear infection. We've tried just about everything to clear it up, and finally two weeks ago I was delighted to flip her ear open and discover a clean ear.

But last week she started refusing her pills, which she normally looks forward to with unmitigated exuberance. For most of her life she would greet her loved ones, new friends, and food with a lusty woo-woo-woo. A couple years ago her singing morphed into a few old-lady croaks here and there, and they were mostly for her morning pills.

She's been refusing her pills and stopped eating for a few days, before we landed on a way to get her to eat a bit. Robert has been dumping clumps of canned food into his palm, which goes against everything she's learned about not licking humans ever, and probably why she's enjoying it so much. But she's also struggling even more than usual to stand up and walk. We've consulted our vet , and because Ella is not in any apparent pain and still gives us a wag here and there, we've been told to continue our wait.

She will be 13 in less than two weeks and is slipping away. We've been spending more time than usual burying our faces in her thick coat, coaxing her to eat, helping her get outside, and waiting. When Rose passed away it was quick, we were horribly ill with the flu, and it felt like a suffocating fog that eventually lifted. This is radically different. I find myself waking in the middle of the night so I can place my hand over her heart. I lift her gums, check for pink, and tell her I've got her back no matter what. If she needs to go, I'll miss her but can find a way to stand up to the spiders on my own.

I don't think she believes me, and perhaps she's waiting too. Waiting for me to prove I can make it without her. 

I'll keep everyone posted.