tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75216714405800451772024-03-21T02:46:34.612-04:00that i would be goodliving and loving in the momenttjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-20236559696216712232022-12-18T20:27:00.000-05:002022-12-18T20:29:13.916-05:00Am I not a woman and a sister?<p>I received an email this morning that let me know that it was my hysterversary. "What is a hysterversary?" you say. Why, it's the anniversary of the day that I had my uterus surgically removed. As of today, it's been five years since that surgery. It's been five years since I was regularly consious of an organ in my body and the way that it was behaving. Five years since I dealt with constant pain and discomfort. Five years since I planned my day around access to a bathroom or worried about how many tampoms or pads I had in my possession. Five liberating years.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQQdnlXP5dYNWNWbtox7dLV_ps54KuxBmAOCvbBWsWHiPfNcGAcrOIdGTkrMWAxP2Yp8pOyyFv6IxG3WzEbD_iFPVR9wVK6iCXBwOqseQXa-99_kmXcR7Rl0Ys-sBedEWVP0ybPbkGCy9rSUXpw72_B7NsKAvOknVuSYYb0wnsjGuNliXz06a6WXXgQ/s1254/the-uterus-i-am-woman-copperstate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1254" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQQdnlXP5dYNWNWbtox7dLV_ps54KuxBmAOCvbBWsWHiPfNcGAcrOIdGTkrMWAxP2Yp8pOyyFv6IxG3WzEbD_iFPVR9wVK6iCXBwOqseQXa-99_kmXcR7Rl0Ys-sBedEWVP0ybPbkGCy9rSUXpw72_B7NsKAvOknVuSYYb0wnsjGuNliXz06a6WXXgQ/s320/the-uterus-i-am-woman-copperstate.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Making the decision to have a hysterectomy was difficult for me. Despite the pain, bleeding, and discomfort that I had experienced in some degree for years and fairly nonstop for about six months, I was hesitant to have surgery. Even though I had never used my uterus for its intended purpose and never intended to, I felt emotional about the decision to remove it. My uterus represented the seat of my feminity. It somehow connected me to the collective feminine. It was sacred.<p></p><p>So, let me start my saying that I'm hardly a traditionally feminine person, but I do identify with being a woman. I'm different from a lot of women, though. I've never wanted to by a mother. I didn't play with baby dolls as a child and preferred to play "grown up" by pretending that I had a job, smoked Eve cigarettes, and had a single, adult woman lifestyle. Sometimes I was a secretary or "business woman." Sometimes I was a waitress or a stewardess. I never heard my bioligical clock ticking. Depsite what others would say to me, I never changed my mind about not wanting to have children, and I never regretted it, either.</p><p>I hate dresses and skirts. I'm forced to wear a dress once a year to attend a Mardi Gras event with a gender-specific dress code. I'm extremely uncomfortable dressed that way and always have been.</p><p>I don't wear much makeup. I tried as a teen, but I had no clue what I was doing and never could master the fine art of eyeliner or the proper application of blush. I can't tell you what shade of eyeshadow goes in the crease or on the brow bone or anywhere in between. And I honestly don't understand the point of lipstick.</p><p>So why was I so hung up on removing my uterus? Why did I think that it represented something sacred? Why did I want to keep an organ that I had never used and never intended to use? Why was the whole thing so emotional to me? I couldn't answer or explain.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXD9BGyV84zmnJv_zINcFqpzolUUZq1X0vKdULOygjd4u1MONWDJfFVpYu2zvWpXxr3A5uA7xTviAarwyEcQ_kU_dYlz79NKcY4Z9OgaNAwMHdNju0vN3NTuaf9rJBshJ214PZkH0SZYToyN6c5sIvGXVGqOzWYdK5CpS00qXgIMphAtyp7J6HiGtFg/s833/IMG_20171218_072423120_TOP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="833" data-original-width="469" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXD9BGyV84zmnJv_zINcFqpzolUUZq1X0vKdULOygjd4u1MONWDJfFVpYu2zvWpXxr3A5uA7xTviAarwyEcQ_kU_dYlz79NKcY4Z9OgaNAwMHdNju0vN3NTuaf9rJBshJ214PZkH0SZYToyN6c5sIvGXVGqOzWYdK5CpS00qXgIMphAtyp7J6HiGtFg/w181-h320/IMG_20171218_072423120_TOP.jpg" width="181" /></a></div>I articulated my hesitation to the OBGYN surgeon that I was referred to. I will forever be grateful to him. He reframed the issue for me. He pointed out that my uterus was a diseased organ and asked if I would hesitate to remove disease in any other part of my body. He allowed me to be logical about the situation. My uterus was no more special than my appendix. It was basically a useless, purposeless organ that I hadn't really considered until it became problematic.<p></p><p>So, on December 18, 2017, I went to the hospital in the morning and came home around midnight without my diseased uterus. My recovery was surprisingly easy. I was up and moving around almost right away. Less than a week later, I celebrated Christmas Eve in St. James Parish enjoying the bonfires on the levee. And, I may have cheated and started practicing yoga with Adriene a few days before the surgeon officially released me. I felt great.<br /></p><p>Five years later, my thoughts about my uterus, and about uteri and women in general, have really evolved. I realize now that organs--internal or external--have nothing to do with gender. Just like the fact that being a mother doesn't make someone more or less of a woman. Or the way that someone dresses. Or whether or not she wears makeup. Or has short hair, or long hair, or no hair. Being a woman has nothing to do with your body. And nothing to do with what we consider traditional feminity.</p><p>I fully believe that our experience of gender is extremely personal and that no one has the right to tell another person that they are not "man enough" or that they should be "more feminine." Society will always treat us in the way that they perceive us, but that doesn't change who we are or how we can see ourselves. I'm no longer young and thin. Men started treating me differently when I gained weight. Did that make me less of a woman? White women have been treated differently than Women of Color for centuries, but we have more in common than not. Why should skin color separate us? Trans women face the same discrimination (<b>AND MORE</b>) that cis women do. They, too, are our sisters. </p><p>So, on my 5th hysterversary, I celebrate myself as a woman, and I celebrate all other women--cis women, trans women, people assigned female at birth, intersex individuals, demigirls, femmes, genderfluid and genderqueer folx, Two-Spirit souls, nonbinary individuals, and anyone else who wants to be my sister. Today, I declare December 18 my sisterversary! </p>tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-78335486260261424362015-05-21T00:17:00.001-04:002015-05-21T00:17:04.709-04:00raise your hand if you have ever been personally victimized by Regina George<b>"Calling somebody else fat won't make you any skinnier. Calling someone
stupid doesn't make you any smarter. And ruining Regina George's life
definitely didn't make me any happier. All you can do in life is try to
solve the problem in front of you." ~Cady Heron, "Mean Girls"</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGXAReLGC1di5bIDaXUCuzyqaKeTnvclLsWCB0175PQGs7osIeLU9mfFMSncES5e8AUDb-xndK16mX_b5CHkJ7yQvGRpfSj56JBsIT4ELGfab7GS-Ia-p0OdHCEUfJjDqUDiOMyv39Y8B/s1600/200_s.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGXAReLGC1di5bIDaXUCuzyqaKeTnvclLsWCB0175PQGs7osIeLU9mfFMSncES5e8AUDb-xndK16mX_b5CHkJ7yQvGRpfSj56JBsIT4ELGfab7GS-Ia-p0OdHCEUfJjDqUDiOMyv39Y8B/s320/200_s.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
I knew that going back to college as a 40-something wouldn't be easy, but I didn't expect it to hurt. For the past year, I have been experiencing the practical aspect of my training. I completed a part-time practicum in the fall and a full-time internship in the spring. I learned so much about counseling and about myself. And, I also learned that Mean Girls isn't just a movie. I ran head-on into my own Regina George this year. She was sometimes subtle and nuanced and sometimes blatant and direct, but one thing seemed constant: she didn't like me. <br />
<br />
It started during a lunch out with all of the interns in our first week of orientation. Regina (we'll just call her that for ease & anonymity) had not been at a previous event where the interns had come together to complete a ropes course, so it didn't seem unusual that she was asking a lot of questions of the other interns, at least not at first. Then, I noticed that she didn't ask me any questions. And she seemed to ignore me when I answered questions about the city, nearby attractions, and Louisiana cuisine. It was as if I were invisible. I ate my lunch in silence (mine) and chalked it up to a case of ageism by a younger woman, something that I had recently begun to experience since working with more and more millennials. <br />
<br />
A week or so later, I experienced her wrath for the first time. I said something that she didn't like in a process group, and she stewed on it for a week before confronting me in the group in an aggressive manner. She never spoke to me directly that week, but clearly had spoken to others. I instantly felt that the lines had been drawn and that I was now on the outs--not just with her, but with her posse of followers. The year was off to a pretty shitty start.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEireHq0ammxjQGMXIyPYwDVR41w7t_o4ASYlEK-jitMDJ2dZg_jFLfC-1EKfSbGpNmW6AHWjMSBbZq6eVk7CpIzuv6vylu8cZLiikIMWWP2LMu2QczsWn51Opmp3gThnnJp7QsFXrnwsuDP/s1600/mean-girls-amanda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEireHq0ammxjQGMXIyPYwDVR41w7t_o4ASYlEK-jitMDJ2dZg_jFLfC-1EKfSbGpNmW6AHWjMSBbZq6eVk7CpIzuv6vylu8cZLiikIMWWP2LMu2QczsWn51Opmp3gThnnJp7QsFXrnwsuDP/s320/mean-girls-amanda.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
During the fall semester, I mostly had contact with Regina on Wednesday mornings when we had meetings and group. I left nearly every Wednesday at noon near tears. My co-worker in the counselor education department office became somewhat of a therapist to me, as did my fellow counseling intern. I even found myself on "the couch" of one of our professors once crying and drinking tea. It was a horrible semester in a lot of ways, and I felt misunderstood, attacked, and ostracized.<br />
<br />
Then, at the beginning of the spring semester, something suddenly changed. We found out that a new intern would be joining us. Apparently, this threw Regina for a loop, because she actually came to me and attempted to join together against the new intern. She argued that our group had "bonded" and that a new intern would upset all of the work that we had done as a group. She said that it wasn't fair and that she already didn't like the new girl.<br />
<br />
So, it was no surprise to me when she confronted the new intern in her first process group. And, it was no surprise that no one in the group came to the new intern's defense, except for the new intern herself. She spoke honestly and eloquently about how this transition was hard on her. She talked about having to leave behind co-workers and clients at her previous site. And she explained that the site had a lot of upset in its management and that it wasn't an easy place to be an intern. She cried, but she spoke up. And, I felt both empathy and respect for her immediately. Regina wasn't going to claim this one.<br />
<br />
As the spring semester went on, I cared less and less about Regina and how she felt about me. I soon got busy with a caseload of clients and my own concern was them. My skills increased, and my confidence grew. I was connecting with my clients, who kept coming back, who were making changes in their lives, and who were telling me that meeting with me was helpful. I was doing good work, and I felt it on a deeply personal level. I was finding my identity as a counselor. I was proud, and I was happy.<br />
<br />
And, so that was how I ended the semester and the internship. I was even able to speak honestly in our final process group. I apologized to one of Regina's friends to whom I had been unnecessarily mean and ugly (in my opinion) during a previous group. I answered Regina directly when she said that I had pulled back and put up a guard. I told her that I had, that she was right, and that it had been a conscious choice made in response to her attack of me in the second group of the year. She did not respond to that statement. At least not then.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExzcAtA2-xtJFH5iylymyv8RY9wsaiSDbAfv49jeYaQEGolLTQzmzXlVmDVUlWeMN4xL5KXpayd-eLS1KyIqvVCowrvX0OokbzBWJF6OpLQafkHQL-nPU4z_la3ARrbPQc-gPhPu_vpTM/s1600/d53649791a1a5dc7858fb2a2ca4cc4fb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExzcAtA2-xtJFH5iylymyv8RY9wsaiSDbAfv49jeYaQEGolLTQzmzXlVmDVUlWeMN4xL5KXpayd-eLS1KyIqvVCowrvX0OokbzBWJF6OpLQafkHQL-nPU4z_la3ARrbPQc-gPhPu_vpTM/s320/d53649791a1a5dc7858fb2a2ca4cc4fb.jpg" width="260" /></a>A week later, the interns came back together for a final goodbye lunch with the staff. Except for my normal social awkwardness, the gathering went just fine until I met with my supervisor afterward. He hesitated when he told me that someone had gone to one of the staff with a concern about something I posted on Facebook. I was in shock. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I felt the blood drain from my face. I was sick to my stomach. I couldn't catch my breath. He went on to describe a post that I made on my final day at internship--a picture of a small piece of art that a client had made for me along with a statement about how much the experience had meant to me and about the gratitude I felt for each person who had been part of that experience. The post was visible only to my friends, and I didn't think of it as a breach of confidentiality. My supervisor couldn't even say that it was inappropriate. He said that he just wanted me to know that something had been said.<br />
<br />
My immediate reaction was one of concern for my reputation. I had worked hard all year to prove that I was a dedicated counselor and that I had the skills necessary to do a good job. It was important to me that the professionals with whom I had worked all year would be willing to provide me with referrals for job openings and positive references. I suddenly felt like all of that had been compromised. I was now irresponsible and didn't respect confidentiality. I posted inappropriate things on Facebook. I was guilty of behavior fitting a 20-year old, not a mature and seasoned professional in her 40's. I was devastated.<br />
<br />
And I was angry! Though my supervisor refused to tell me who the source was, my thoughts went right to Regina. She had sent me a friend request only about a month prior. I accepted it, knowing that it would be less awkward than not accepting it and telling myself that when the internship was over I could always unfriend her. I wanted to confront her! I wanted to get even! But, all I could manage to do was to go to a friend in the office and cry. I had plans to visit another internship site and to meet friends for drinks later. I couldn't bring myself to do either. I cried and drove home. I called a friend. I climbed into bed with my pets and cried some more. My mother-in-law called. I cried to her. I cried a lot.<br />
<br />
And I unfriended and blocked Regina. I hoped that it had not been someone else. I worried about being vulnerable, about being betrayed by someone I trusted. I posted "pissed off memes" to my page. My true friends called and texted out of concern. The passive-aggressive vagary was completely out of character for me. They reassured me and supported me. They reminded me that this was "about her" and had nothing to do with me. They said that she was jealous and insecure and threatened by me. And, I mostly believed them. But, my worries, sadness, and hurt remained.<br />
<br />
Until now. Now I know that she is just a mean girl. Now I know that she is threatened by my confidence and my abilities. Now I know that she is immature and doesn't know how to communicate directly or honestly. Now I know that she taught me a valuable lesson. <br />
<br />
She taught me that there will be obstacles in my path from time to time. They may be people or events. They may come as a surprise, or they may be seen from a distance. I may be able to avoid them, or I may be forced to face them. I may get past some with little effort or effect, and some may knock me to my knees. But, like her, they really didn't matter. They were inconsequential. What really mattered was how I dealt with them, how quickly I recovered, how I let them affect me, and who was there to support me when I needed them. She taught me that, while there were mean people in this world, I was surrounded by lots of people who loved me for all of the attributes she saw as threatening. They like my honesty. They appreciate my directness. And they admire my emotionality. I have friends and family who know me on a level that Regina could never experience, and they accept me completely.<br />
<br />
So, now I want to thank Regina for bringing my awareness to the support that I have been blind to for a while now. I want to thank her for showing me that I am strong enough to survive direct attacks with grace and dignity. I want to thank her for affirming through her jealousy that I made true connections with my clients and I made a difference in the lives of those with whom I worked this year. I want to thank her for reminding me that I am happy, confident, skilled, and capable, that I have a wonderful life with a supremely supportive partner, that I don't really care if I'm not a part of the "in crowd," and that I get to made a choice EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. to spread empathy, care, and support to others and to myself.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Regina. I sincerely hope that someday you will be happy enough to stop being a mean girl. In fact, "I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy."<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUgl4oqRvZ7biAMCD3JcsvXN9OayAwldSr_51B7WmQyNqHM7aIBpwUpA7OBP3HeFdkZFGCC36PWucoszD1qiE02Tzt-OpktVVYTU5JuFEA0-G8ad4HzUksdyC3qb2K-BUYf3-TfxDmlen/s1600/rainbow-heart-cake-inside-del0314-de-300x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUgl4oqRvZ7biAMCD3JcsvXN9OayAwldSr_51B7WmQyNqHM7aIBpwUpA7OBP3HeFdkZFGCC36PWucoszD1qiE02Tzt-OpktVVYTU5JuFEA0-G8ad4HzUksdyC3qb2K-BUYf3-TfxDmlen/s1600/rainbow-heart-cake-inside-del0314-de-300x300.jpg" /></a></div>
tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-75490667362023296212015-01-01T18:35:00.000-05:002015-01-01T18:35:35.669-05:00New Year's Resolutions<!--[if !mso]>
<style>
v\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
o\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
w\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
.shape {behavior:url(#default#VML);}
</style>
<![endif]--><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/>
<w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/>
<w:OverrideTableStyleHps/>
</w:Compatibility>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="267">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:shapedefaults v:ext="edit" spidmax="1027"/>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:shapelayout v:ext="edit">
<o:idmap v:ext="edit" data="1"/>
</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]-->
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></i></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"The new year stands before us, like
a chapter in a book, waiting to be written. We can help write that story by
setting goals. Dig within, and discover what you would like to have happen in
your life this year. This helps you do your part. It is an affirmation that
you're interested in fully living life in the year to come.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Melody Beattie</span></span></i> </b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNCmI6tB9t3l7bXVTCKUe7sOgMRgegTo85_YHwFBHhOt9J_EvgmvqgtcV5I2FH5-ZffFO1bOWki63jwAW-Qodk3AZs2564zX0B7Tq6McxNwZGr2jjeV5TmLuU3ERdpKZTq433CJeICaqV/s1600/resolution+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNCmI6tB9t3l7bXVTCKUe7sOgMRgegTo85_YHwFBHhOt9J_EvgmvqgtcV5I2FH5-ZffFO1bOWki63jwAW-Qodk3AZs2564zX0B7Tq6McxNwZGr2jjeV5TmLuU3ERdpKZTq433CJeICaqV/s1600/resolution+1.jpg" height="205" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So, I don’t usually make New Year’s
Resolutions—or at least not since I was a kid—so this should be an interesting
experiment. Because these thoughts will be written down and posted online, I
will be able to revisit them throughout the year as needed. No excuses, right?
OK, well here goes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This year, I intend to take inspiration
from others to improve my life, myself, and the way that I impact others.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b>
</b><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“If you asked me for my New Year
Resolution, it would be to find out who I am.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Cyril Cusack</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’d like to believe that I know who
I am, and in many ways, I do. But, I learned last year that there are parts of
myself that I have not always acknowledged and dealt with well. This year, I
will be more open to examining these shadow aspects of myself. I will
appreciate them for the gifts that they bring to me, and I will challenge them
when they interfere with my progress.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Take a leap of faith and begin this
wondrous new year by believing. Believe in yourself. And believe that there is
a loving Source - a Sower of Dreams - just waiting to be asked to help you make
your dreams come true.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Sarah Ban Breathnach</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Doubt has kept me from achieving my
goals and dreams in the past. I didn’t stop dreaming, but for too long I could
only wish for my dreams to come true. Now, I realize that dreams can be
achieved if I work hard enough and believe in myself enough to make them
happen. This year, I will believe in myself first. I will remember my dreams,
and I will believe that I can realize my dreams.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b>
</b><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Ring out the false, ring in the
true.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Alfred Lord Tennyson</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My gift to myself for my 30<sup>th</sup>
birthday was my first planned tattoo. (The first was quite unplanned.) It was
the year 2000 and Japanese kanji was still popular in tattoos—as were lower
back tattoos, later to be known as “tramp stamps.” So, I designed a tattoo that
would go on my lower back. It was a starburst design with a kanji in the
center. I had designed it with the symbol for love in the center. I had just
gone through a divorce, and I was more sure than ever that love existed, especially
love for yourself. Fast forward to a tattoo studio in East Ridge, TN, where I
am presenting a tattoo artist with my design and just before he creates the
stencil, I decide to switch out the kanji symbol for love for the symbol for
truth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TprmaZ40g-HdDsP0pWFhoXTht3GP2segbmVDrytiRvd2ptfK569e0Q9m-IUqUewGI4gEeYVbJYc_WBfC_kU3mRokA72iSaWe8B2synMAmgcXurwB6EXspdnMzhdpGM1p5G5mRiHPWsNw/s1600/resolution+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TprmaZ40g-HdDsP0pWFhoXTht3GP2segbmVDrytiRvd2ptfK569e0Q9m-IUqUewGI4gEeYVbJYc_WBfC_kU3mRokA72iSaWe8B2synMAmgcXurwB6EXspdnMzhdpGM1p5G5mRiHPWsNw/s1600/resolution+2.jpg" height="179" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Love will come and go, but truth is
the one constant,” I said with the kind of arrogance that every 30-year old
has. I was sure that I had all the answers, of course. Ha! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So, while my tattoo is no longer in
fashion, its message still holds valuable meaning for me. Truth is important to
me and always has been. It was truth that led me to leave my first marriage
after only months. I could no longer be untrue to who I was, and I believed
that love should always be based in truth. I knew then that I deserved to be
loved by someone for who I really was rather than on some version of myself
that someone else wanted me to be.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This year, I will continue to strive
to be truthful always. I will look for the truth in all matters, and I will be
true to myself above all else.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I hope that in this year to come,
you make mistakes. Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new
things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing
yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before,
and more importantly, you're doing something.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Neil Gaiman</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have a strong tendency towards
perfectionism and a huge fear of failure. I’m sure that both have kept me from
trying a lot of things. They’ve also probably limited me from expressing my
full potential for creativity and imagination. I know that it would be
ridiculous for me to resolve to eliminate my perfectionistic thinking. It will
always be a part of me, and I appreciate that it pushes me to do my best. What
I will do instead is to strive to see my mistakes as opportunities. I will
think less about the outcome or the evaluation, and I will focus more on the
experience of learning, feeling, and enjoying the moments. I will open myself
up to my own imagination and creativity without concern for the finished
product.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“My New Year's resolution is to
stick to a good workout plan that will keep me healthy and happy.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">James Lafferty</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQ63whyphenhyphenXdkO11ulpht93bXJPDpf0aGqiON-oDpa7ZUPECx5zcq00VvfvT9o_xFtFpuhhj32OtgBIl-dkYA3P7QMNvEzbmc7kXQrPiYS9iLDA9R1ucPMsdkZoO2_MVwm5RBpGIabmwS0_t/s1600/resolution+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQ63whyphenhyphenXdkO11ulpht93bXJPDpf0aGqiON-oDpa7ZUPECx5zcq00VvfvT9o_xFtFpuhhj32OtgBIl-dkYA3P7QMNvEzbmc7kXQrPiYS9iLDA9R1ucPMsdkZoO2_MVwm5RBpGIabmwS0_t/s1600/resolution+3.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I grew up as a skinny kid, but I’ve
struggled with my weight for almost 15 years since it was discovered that I had
a tiny tumor on my pituitary gland that really screws with my hormones. I’ve
been up and down, but mostly up, and I’m currently heavier than I’ve ever been.
I refuse to set a weight loss goal, because those don’t tend to work for me—or
rather, I’m not good at those. Instead, I resolve to make regular exercise a
part of my routine once again. I know that I feel better when I exercise and
eat well. I want to be healthier. I want to be able to walk and climb and dance
without losing my breath. I want to feel better inside my own skin.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“We humans have lost the wisdom of
genuinely resting and relaxing. We worry too much. We don't allow our bodies to
heal, and we don't allow our minds and hearts to heal.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Thich Nhat Hanh</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I used to struggle with falling
asleep. I would lie in bed, my mind racing, worrying about what I needed to do
the next day, obsessing over things I could not control, and stressing out over
anything and everything. I was a textbook insomniac. I struggled with waking in
the morning, and I would sometimes stay in bed for hours. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I don’t have these problems with
sleeping on a regular basis anymore. Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s necessity. In
any case, I sleep ok, but I don’t experience true restful relaxation each
night. I still worry too much. I still don’t always dream. I still don’t often
reach that state of healing peace and tranquility. I still don’t wake refreshed
each morning. This year, I’m going to work on this. What an amazing goal!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><i>“Celebrate what you want to see more
of.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Tom Peters</span></i></b> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I should know well enough from
training dogs that in order to eliminate the negative, you must accentuate the
positive. I’ve got an advanced degree in complaining. This year, it’s time for
me to work on improving my skills in the areas of complimenting, appreciating,
praising, and celebrating. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Look at situations from all angles,
and you will become more open.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Dalai Lama</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> </span></span></i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9lUWQQgqY2MZ_uvsfW7EwGCOsSDaGdGpGAa47GySQST8uwwJs9QiWH3KjMMKKqnnP58tpIq4gkyBiYbEYKGy3fH8T8qbt72T2GsT2zyFKQPcRzwZ_t82X_PmDEDMmEaJuzGOJwnbzGGh/s1600/resolution+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9lUWQQgqY2MZ_uvsfW7EwGCOsSDaGdGpGAa47GySQST8uwwJs9QiWH3KjMMKKqnnP58tpIq4gkyBiYbEYKGy3fH8T8qbt72T2GsT2zyFKQPcRzwZ_t82X_PmDEDMmEaJuzGOJwnbzGGh/s1600/resolution+4.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
I often have a hard time connecting with others who seem so very different from
me. I know that I could learn to appreciate them more if I could somehow understand
their motives, what makes them tick, and what they care most about. I know
this. But doing these this is hard—really hard sometimes. This year, I’m going
to try harder to understand the perspectives of others. I’m going to try harder
to open my eyes, my ears, and my heart.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Accept what people offer. Drink
their milkshakes. Take their love.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Wally Lamb</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I say “no” a lot. I turn down
invitations, gifts, gestures, and relationships. Maybe my life would be
improved if I said “yes” more. Maybe it wouldn’t. This year, I hope to find out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Always do what you are afraid to
do.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Ralph Waldo Emerson</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeh96NE_rsYfEvH-9ExSpXBdg9XiDPalgWZAcKR3vOqXPAAennV96oQfPCCtXl5qb2fqEfO_gJRH5nToxjcrOCRRElWaSFqJ5G7yfJmHldcnug_sgN30jKEXsGo0sPDfgW92jd1mJSAr_y/s1600/Picture+068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeh96NE_rsYfEvH-9ExSpXBdg9XiDPalgWZAcKR3vOqXPAAennV96oQfPCCtXl5qb2fqEfO_gJRH5nToxjcrOCRRElWaSFqJ5G7yfJmHldcnug_sgN30jKEXsGo0sPDfgW92jd1mJSAr_y/s1600/Picture+068.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My third skydive (2008) & the first one I truly enjoyed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m afraid of heights. That’s why I
jumped out of an airplane in 2005, and that’s why I’ve done it four more times
since. I’m still scared of heights, but I can always say that I’ve faced my
fears. Even if I couldn’t conquer my fears, I have faced them. How many people
can say that?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The good news is that I have many,
many more fears, so I have lots of opportunities in this new year to keep
facing them. When given a choice, I will choose to take risks. I will do what I
fear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Your success and happiness lies in
you. Resolve to keep happy, and your joy and you shall form an invincible host
against difficulties.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Helen Keller</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ve learned through my education
and my practicum that one of the best ways to treat depression is to increase a
person’s pleasant events. Don’t wait for your mood to change to take action;
take action and your mood will change. This doesn’t mean that it’s easy to just
“choose” to be happy, but it does mean that it’s often possible to choose a
better mood. This year, I will choose happiness more often.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Write it on your heart that every
day is the best day in the year.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Ralph Waldo Emerson</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We often live our lives waiting for
“someday.” Someday, I’ll be thinner. Someday, I’ll be older. Someday, I’ll be
happy. Every single day can be someday—or at least a bit of it. This year, I’d
like to be more present, more awareness, in every moment. I will make the most
of each day, not in a stressed out, frenetic way, but with the appreciation
that it will only come once and that once it passes, I will never again
experience it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“<span style="text-decoration: none;">Calm mind brings inner strength and self-confidence, so
that's very important for good health.</span>” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Dalai Lama</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutGqfBJ_Sl4nml7aY5OEIFk7aiYU6uW97RFPj1W9OvRFG4VtUXiTOUX_RZR4Afxyx69VuHg6CrXO0EU4MKBaipM0ghLQg5YmnJndKhCT2N0d04lh1rpsqm4iWYJG6p8X-P1SX0fEBiydL/s1600/resolution+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutGqfBJ_Sl4nml7aY5OEIFk7aiYU6uW97RFPj1W9OvRFG4VtUXiTOUX_RZR4Afxyx69VuHg6CrXO0EU4MKBaipM0ghLQg5YmnJndKhCT2N0d04lh1rpsqm4iWYJG6p8X-P1SX0fEBiydL/s1600/resolution+5.jpg" height="171" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
Meditation has brought me inner calm and sense of balance. It grounds me and
empowers me. It allows me to simultaneously feel fully whole within myself and
connected to all of the universe. This year, I resolve to meditate more often.
I will do my best to create a daily practice by which I connect, center, and
focus.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Let our New Year's resolution be
this: we will be there for one another as fellow members of humanity, in the
finest sense of the word.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Goran Persson</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In my fantasy world, I’d be the
hermit—alone in my cave, high in the clouds, away from the troublesome world
below. Alas, I live amongst the mortals, and thus, I must learn to deal with
them. Actually, if this past year has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t do
this alone. I depended so much on my fellow students and my professors during
my practicum semester. I may have literally gone nuts without them. And, my
happiest moments have come when I’m with those whom I consider family or
friends. Whether I’d like to admit it or not, I need people, and I do my best
to be a friend to those who need one. This year, I will spend more time with
friends. I will call those who are far away. I will help more often. I will
volunteer more. I will donate what I can. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“To have the kind of year you want
to have, something has to happen that you can't explain why it happened.
Something has to happen that you can't coach.” ~<span style="text-decoration: none;">Bobby Bowden</span></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And, in the end, no matter how much
we plan, no matter how many goals we set, the magic of life is that we are
never truly in control. This year, I will make more space for that magic by
relinquishing more control. I will leave room for miracles. I will allow time for wonder. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7aL87CL-PZWpudoV9pNWXkWMoXBPeiL6yu94LhdY-5-WbgstXXWSxAQPUh5jeLG6QHfmRMElCv_MHKclc56-zp1B14lGqHGlhxzwuc8MRJq4wTP5WjSXxsKnU6VNYsmmjFz6h956fE9S/s1600/resolution+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7aL87CL-PZWpudoV9pNWXkWMoXBPeiL6yu94LhdY-5-WbgstXXWSxAQPUh5jeLG6QHfmRMElCv_MHKclc56-zp1B14lGqHGlhxzwuc8MRJq4wTP5WjSXxsKnU6VNYsmmjFz6h956fE9S/s1600/resolution+6.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sunrise outside my front door on the morning of January 1, 2015.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-9431699589321052202014-07-11T21:03:00.002-04:002014-07-11T21:06:39.308-04:00Rescuing Roscoe<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><b><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">"In order to
really enjoy a dog, one doesn't merely try to train him to be semi human. The
point of it is to open oneself to the possibility of becoming partly a dog."
~Edward Hoagland</span></i></b>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">It was a normal
Tuesday, so I was home until mid-afternoon when I went to class. The dogs had
already alerted to a dog running loose past the house. In the last two years
living on this somewhat busy road in an unincorporated section of a large and
mostly rural Louisiana parish, I had become used to seeing dogs running loose
past the house on a regular basis, but it still bothered me greatly and I
always tried calling the dog to see if it was wearing tags. The first dog was
traveling by quickly and had no interest in coming to me, yet when the dogs
informed me of another wayward pooch, I went outside again. This time, I was
surprised to see two dogs—a scruffy black terrier and a tiny white poodle. They
were both dirty and wet and moving at a clip down the road. I whistled anyway,
and the terrier came running to me. The poodle, however, turned up his nose
indignantly and ran off back in the direction from which they had come.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I had no idea
what trials would be brought upon me for calling that little terrier to me.
There was a blood-drawing fight over a ball with Iko, the found owner who told
me to “just let her go” and wouldn’t return my calls to claim her dog, the
threats followed by thanks, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a mysterious
and jarring incident in which someone entered our home and released all of the
dogs from their crates and left the front door open, a police report, an almost
adoption, and then Roscoe. That terrier was Toto and just when she had learned to
live with my dogs in peace and harmony, I was asked to take in a different
foster dog, one who “needed me more.” Roscoe, it seemed, had already been in a
couple of different homes, and he was having behavioral issues. The theory was
that he needed to be somewhere where he could run and play and expend the
energy that a young Lab mix naturally has while also learning structure and
manners. No problem. As an experienced fosterer of Labs, that was what I did.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6hjSEz6vFFpLa5Yuncfv7vqCQXSVdOabBZYDbRvygh63KoO__tErVSyUGI6TvLKxfduD99p8lcGmSB4Avg3nSUByO6yq1XldeFeS4PtTll32Qn6lMYN_FvS-whhp0-Va4W1v6iIRpvc1/s1600/DSC02982-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6hjSEz6vFFpLa5Yuncfv7vqCQXSVdOabBZYDbRvygh63KoO__tErVSyUGI6TvLKxfduD99p8lcGmSB4Avg3nSUByO6yq1XldeFeS4PtTll32Qn6lMYN_FvS-whhp0-Va4W1v6iIRpvc1/s1600/DSC02982-1.jpg" height="255" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">He came home and
destroyed dog toys, jumped on the beds, and chased the cats. All totally
normal, so far. But, soon, we started to notice things that weren’t normal.
There were behaviors we’d never encountered. He was extremely protective of his
neck and would grab your hand with his mouth if you attempted to grab his
collar. He was rough with his mouth and paws and quick to use both. I spent the
first month nursing my scratched and bruised wrists and forearms. He frequently
had an “absent” and distant look and didn’t connect with us or the other dogs. He
didn’t know how to play and would growl and snap at the other dogs when they
did. After a particularly vicious fight that resulted in a deep wound on Iko’s
thigh, my dogs started avoiding him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">He seldom seemed
to be living in the present moment like most dogs, overly concerned with what
he could hear but not see, or with what he could see but not reach. He noticed
everything—the moon, the trails of planes in the sky, a siren miles away, the
closing of car doors at the neighboring houses, children laughing somewhere in
the distance—and much of it upset him. He was highly sensitive to sounds
especially. The 4<sup>th</sup> of July fireworks turned him into an
unresponsive, erratic mess, running from corner to corner of the yard, angrily
barking at the sky. He wouldn’t come when called, and, one night, after
reacting to something that only he could see, hear or smell, he jumped our
fence right in front of me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We did what we
normally do. We soon realized that his collar sensitivity was most likely the
result of tenderness of his neck. He had been wearing a tight prong collar when
he came to us, and, based on the look of his neck, it had been used on him more
than it should have been. Using treats and repetition, I soon got him to accept
having his collar touched. We used caution in the yard and put him on a long
lead whenever he got that “lost” look in his eyes. We walked him regularly and
used treats to reinforce good behaviors. We maintained a calm and confident
energy around him and minimized his stress as much as possible.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-bP4zFR_g44icjo1sMIUHQEr9PrQYLl5T6fGIiUXZuTHBo1dehX27iisD745BOVIiHLUd6w3vuUhU4wvXBdqm4WG0H4-XSVNpZ0jv3T8kkomA_DCmrVUGupo5v1Bn8J5uzfKMJtP2Ilcc/s1600/DSC02974-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-bP4zFR_g44icjo1sMIUHQEr9PrQYLl5T6fGIiUXZuTHBo1dehX27iisD745BOVIiHLUd6w3vuUhU4wvXBdqm4WG0H4-XSVNpZ0jv3T8kkomA_DCmrVUGupo5v1Bn8J5uzfKMJtP2Ilcc/s1600/DSC02974-1.jpg" height="299" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We saw
improvement, but we didn’t see internalized change. As Mitchell put it, he had
simply adapted to living with us. He no longer chased the cats, and he had
learned that beds were off limits (mostly), but he still seemed distant and
disconnected. And, while those at Petsmart, where he attended adoption events
weekly, said that they noticed good changes, he never had a full day without some
sort of freak out event. For every two steps forward, there was at least one
step back. And, then we had a huge leap backward! In just one day at Petsmart,
he lunged and snapped at two different dogs—one while coming in and one while
leaving. Later that night, he turned quickly and snapped at me, catching the
side of my hand with a tooth. It was scary, painful, and very, very sad. I
struggled with trusting him again. I was afraid of what I knew he was
physically capable of. I didn’t know if I could come back from it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">But then Mitchell,
who is notoriously both more relaxed and optimistic than I am, said the
simplest thing. “He just had a bad day.” I started viewing each day as a new
opportunity. I was no longer obsessed with the overall picture, but instead I
focused on making each day the best that that day could be. I realized that if
Roscoe wasn’t able to live in the moment, I needed to do it for him. Maybe he
could learn from me. Maybe not. But, at least he would no longer be judged by
what he had done in the past. I would model for him the freedom that comes with
being present in the here and now, worrying only about what is in front of you
at any moment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVrzuIjCG71ISUa2IHLiDi31yAfymE2j6EER4Fzepf7_GrmmZ3RW6rWPHtcQbnuc7A_93bhK1wDS7EVQXLBNradyO22y30dvJaXz3cClxvqEMNWW-bV5R87nI4KiRAkNKu7Zzsh8pHmKJI/s1600/DSC02994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVrzuIjCG71ISUa2IHLiDi31yAfymE2j6EER4Fzepf7_GrmmZ3RW6rWPHtcQbnuc7A_93bhK1wDS7EVQXLBNradyO22y30dvJaXz3cClxvqEMNWW-bV5R87nI4KiRAkNKu7Zzsh8pHmKJI/s1600/DSC02994.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">We did our best
to address each issue he had with as much understanding as possible. Every
intervention was deliberate and directional. When we noticed that he was
sucking on his tail at night, we allowed him to sleep outside of the crate and
saw improvement. Then he started chewing raw spots on his tail when we left the
house. It wasn’t the typical separation anxiety. We tried bitter agents on his
tail, an Elizabethan collar (you know, the cone!), a dog pheromone diffuser, a
calming collar, and ultimately Xanax. We gave him his favorite toys and a Kong
filled with peanut butter and frozen. Still he got to his tail and chewed it
up. We even found him putting himself into his crate just to chew on his tail.
It was so frustrating, but finally, on a whim, I left music playing one day and
came home to find his tail dry. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">So, next, we set
about creating a new, positive association for the crate. He was doing better
at home, but we hoped to have him do well in a crate at adoption events. After
a week off, we decided to bring him back to Petsmart and to leave him while we
went to lunch, then to return for him. We brought treats along (as always) and
asked that the volunteers there approach him every 10 minutes or so, ask him to
sit, and give him a treat. We wanted him not only to see the crate as a place
where good things happen, but also to see that other people were a source for
positive rewards and that Petsmart, while loud and scary, could also be good. Unfortunately,
our training attempt didn’t go as planned, and we got a call just minutes after
ordering an appetizer and drinks. Roscoe had “bitten” a child, and he needed to
be picked up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzKutO1YF6PC0vT0ImMjaaTHFPdX3XjH15oO-3YIhpht5fufk5t9CLUSOO17Hkid8o66Nxypwjl0WjzewqqJEadYpwNT_n1D2wm9KhMtD_RQWM_6lZ6TajH6wpI2PoLl-Ho8tuVy43qD-/s1600/DSC02983.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfzKutO1YF6PC0vT0ImMjaaTHFPdX3XjH15oO-3YIhpht5fufk5t9CLUSOO17Hkid8o66Nxypwjl0WjzewqqJEadYpwNT_n1D2wm9KhMtD_RQWM_6lZ6TajH6wpI2PoLl-Ho8tuVy43qD-/s1600/DSC02983.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">It turns out
that he didn’t actually bite the child and that the child had been beating on
the crate before sticking his hand inside, but it was still a devastating blow.
Roscoe could no longer return to adoption events at Petsmart. His association
with the crate had been made even worse. He had been stressed past a point for
which he had coping skills. He probably felt scared, confused, and desperate.
Or maybe that was just how I was feeling. At this point, it had become
difficult to separate my own emotions from Roscoe’s. I had tried so hard for so
long to get inside his head to understand him that I could no longer tell if my
thoughts were my own, and I definitely felt that he could read my thoughts. I
was worried that if we couldn’t “fix” Roscoe that there would be no options
left for him. I was angry that people had failed him. I was sad that he was
broken. I was devastated that I couldn’t help.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2AcqJTlj8B1hrObIqQPGB3Wyd4q0ERN93rz81f_19tO0rSdHfQjKObhX8CeycjTCotWp8-ceAOyIwvTlFvE2k8ef6Vd9oRHz3P42ylto76y54XbRPGa0x1FBubv0-K0TYGP8Pxj-TbMY/s1600/10365852_10100303232676652_8475785822591905269_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2AcqJTlj8B1hrObIqQPGB3Wyd4q0ERN93rz81f_19tO0rSdHfQjKObhX8CeycjTCotWp8-ceAOyIwvTlFvE2k8ef6Vd9oRHz3P42ylto76y54XbRPGa0x1FBubv0-K0TYGP8Pxj-TbMY/s1600/10365852_10100303232676652_8475785822591905269_n.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I struggled for
a solution. I don’t like not having answers. In fact, I don’t like not being
right. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have</i> to be right. I’m not
used to failure, and I don’t tolerate it well. Yet, here I was, failing this
dog. My heart and my mind were committed to him, but I lacked any hope of being
successful on his behalf, and it crushed me. That’s when I did something crazy.
I contacted an animal communicator.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The jury is
still out on the reading that I got from the communicator, but I have felt
better since contacting her. She advised me to trust my intuition, which gave
me the freedom and the confidence to stop taking Roscoe to a group training
class that I felt was causing more anxiety than helping. She affirmed my gut
feeling that Roscoe was afraid of being abandoned and that he needed to feel
love. Mostly, I think that it felt good to talk about how I had been feeling, to
feel less alone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I don’t know
where things will go with Roscoe and I, and I still have huge concerns about
how he will deal with the change of me returning to a full-time (plus) schedule
at the end of August when the fall semester and my practicum begin. I don’t
know if he will be ok being crated for so long every day. I don’t know if he
will behave for my petsitter. I don’t know if he will ever learn to play with
the other dogs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">But what I do
know is this…growth and healing are not linear; patience is difficult to
practice, but results in great rewards; finding understanding may be more
important than finding answers; and love is, well, you know, love is all you
need.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><a href="https://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/25594443" target="_blank"><b>Roscoe is available for adoption through the Animal Protection and Welfare Society (APAWS) in Baton Rouge, LA. See his Petfinder profile here.</b></a> </span></div>
tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-22727729759471556302013-12-04T00:29:00.000-05:002013-12-04T00:29:36.864-05:00a dog's dash<br />
<pre style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><i>"...but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years."</i></pre>
<pre style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><i> (from <a href="http://www.linda-ellis.com/the-dash-the-dash-poem-by-linda-ellis-.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>The Dash</span></span></a>, by Linda Ellis copyright 1996)</i></pre>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhM9jF5JWl_WZgC-y870kZCR4nlhAmhz_XWq8jrYQWl-TcnjhvAp2JzWI_KYX782muf7HRe558rjRFNwE2uvWRoB_w57Cp-Wyo2LUis6-Mr0Q7s8PL-4SdWUMkT8pH3_DRAphufuBMvfoB/s1600/Picture+1492+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhM9jF5JWl_WZgC-y870kZCR4nlhAmhz_XWq8jrYQWl-TcnjhvAp2JzWI_KYX782muf7HRe558rjRFNwE2uvWRoB_w57Cp-Wyo2LUis6-Mr0Q7s8PL-4SdWUMkT8pH3_DRAphufuBMvfoB/s200/Picture+1492+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a>I've been missing Bennie a lot this past week. Maybe it's the holidays. Maybe it was my birthday, which is when I usually reflect on the previous year rather than on New Year's Day. Or maybe it's just that my heart has healed enough to allow my brain to start thinking about her again.<br />
<br />
I still can't believe that she's gone. That little dog was a fighter from the moment she wandered into my life right up until the moment she took her last breath. I knew she would fight the ending. I told Mitchell that she would. I worried so much about it that I considered putting off the appointment for another day. I wanted her to give up, but she wouldn't. Her body had given up; it was her spirit that hadn't. Her final days consisted of a cycle of her lying down on the bed, sleeping, and going out to the bathroom. She had stopped eating altogether three days prior. Her seizures had increased in frequency and in severity. I witnessed two that I thought would take her life. Yet, still she fought.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYGaH7fZozZ4hgsAdYEMnlcdOt4fYFm5iHD5peEgz4CiLMiYsyqLgF3Dg967pOleSdP2gjl5KUcl6BwqwpwhcroI1ToT5QHM28-0cJkp5jn3aq0TF9g-ufE8FDNRdnjY9gjUxdpduBEijH/s1600/DSC01231+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYGaH7fZozZ4hgsAdYEMnlcdOt4fYFm5iHD5peEgz4CiLMiYsyqLgF3Dg967pOleSdP2gjl5KUcl6BwqwpwhcroI1ToT5QHM28-0cJkp5jn3aq0TF9g-ufE8FDNRdnjY9gjUxdpduBEijH/s200/DSC01231+-+Copy.JPG" width="200" /></a>She fought the injection by the vet. She had to be catheterized. She jerked her leg back again. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "STOP!!! JUST STOP! I'm taking her home!" But, I didn't. I knew that it was time to let her go. I knew that her life had lost all pleasure. I mean, really. This dog had lived to eat, and now she couldn't be enticed by any of her favorite treats. I knew that she must be in pain. Her liver was not working properly. She was toxic. It had affected her brain. I knew that it was time. I knew that my duty now was not to take her home and keep trying to keep her alive. I knew that it was my job, my duty, my responsibility, to help her die. I knew that I loved her enough to face that task.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-8JYH0tfZ-E8mhBQL1j7yzpS5ett0NMWL4g2KtwdI70FzRNof5x3Bu3NjR6cVZgv3iNZmE0ARbcE1xfe0pT8EypcKRhi9OSsDti0Ia61d3ozbDt8eKsihgbDCndP5ElVly-PhFVpsQGe6/s1600/Picture+349+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-8JYH0tfZ-E8mhBQL1j7yzpS5ett0NMWL4g2KtwdI70FzRNof5x3Bu3NjR6cVZgv3iNZmE0ARbcE1xfe0pT8EypcKRhi9OSsDti0Ia61d3ozbDt8eKsihgbDCndP5ElVly-PhFVpsQGe6/s200/Picture+349+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I left her side and went to the end of the table--to her head. I cradled her little face in my hands, and I buried my face into her cheek. "You can go now," I whispered. "It's OK to let go. You don't have to fight anymore." I felt her relax--not from the sedative, but from the comfort of having me close. She stopped fighting. She trusted me, and she let go. She let one last sigh pass through that perfect, little, black, wet nose, and she left her no-longer-useful body behind. She left me behind.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I debated about sharing her last moments. I felt guilty for telling her to go when I so desperately wanted her to stay. I felt like a fraud for putting her to sleep when I should have been doing more to keep her alive. I felt like a failure for not being able to fix her. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9j_xcJ7oRpQ9vts3L0J0ya-xrKl_cm56YSdM6qFspjQLk03-i0iZUNzlswvk-Ae5fq6Gm0_gncGKND8HDdGi9bVjRv733Pydl2mYpnr8I-tUeyF_PjiVXPaV98imFYLBhqvlYY9i-JmOG/s1600/cute+bennie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9j_xcJ7oRpQ9vts3L0J0ya-xrKl_cm56YSdM6qFspjQLk03-i0iZUNzlswvk-Ae5fq6Gm0_gncGKND8HDdGi9bVjRv733Pydl2mYpnr8I-tUeyF_PjiVXPaV98imFYLBhqvlYY9i-JmOG/s200/cute+bennie.JPG" width="200" /></a>But, the truth is that I had already fixed her--at least a couple of times. I had already saved her life. She probably wouldn't have lived more than a few years longer if I hadn't found her. She was so heavily infested with heartworms that her heart would have become unable to beat. She was nearly bald and would have likely lived in constant pain and discomfort from her irritated skin. She was not yet spayed and would have probably become pregnant again and again, bringing litters of unwanted puppies into the world and becoming more and more depleted and malnourished with each pregnancy and nursing cycle. She would continue to wander loose, perhaps being hit by a car, maybe being picked up by someone with less than noble motives, certainly never knowing as much love as I would eventually feel for her. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu0xuF0jQyBY0COA-SbBAbiACz0YF44T5JRvoLPjQFCgfrmQMnQxFuURU1JbRoyeurYAMVMPhdBd9P2Wsy7hzoeFHeWQRagPCWGttNmnsONfjghjo7QFSZvTpCmjZF5Bp1yhDMIILFE0A7/s1600/DSC00233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu0xuF0jQyBY0COA-SbBAbiACz0YF44T5JRvoLPjQFCgfrmQMnQxFuURU1JbRoyeurYAMVMPhdBd9P2Wsy7hzoeFHeWQRagPCWGttNmnsONfjghjo7QFSZvTpCmjZF5Bp1yhDMIILFE0A7/s200/DSC00233.JPG" width="200" /></a>She wouldn't have received treatment for her heartworms, or if she had, she may not have survived. She nearly died on me following her second injection. She wouldn't have had the x-rays that revealed the pain that she lived with daily, her ribs splayed outward on one side, her left rear femur bone had been out of the hip socket for so long that it had created a pseudo socket from wearing down the pelvic bone, and her left rear kneecap refused to stay in place due to the angle of her hip. She wouldn't have received the care she needed when one of her molars became infected. It was during the pre-anesthetic bloodwork for that tooth extraction when her liver issues were first hinted at. She wouldn't have been on a daily supplement to support her liver from that first early warning. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJSWyzvS5dPtFQV3gUdWhQSvQhfrzCeoUCuyZ-o_mbLhd5kJiZITZOJ9PIULwf4S5vnjstExQswboN2j4WW8CShivx3eV204-o8LPZXUGCqgU36MxgyKXMTXzb7ecJ-O-VQZVKhp_oMiy/s1600/DSC00277+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJSWyzvS5dPtFQV3gUdWhQSvQhfrzCeoUCuyZ-o_mbLhd5kJiZITZOJ9PIULwf4S5vnjstExQswboN2j4WW8CShivx3eV204-o8LPZXUGCqgU36MxgyKXMTXzb7ecJ-O-VQZVKhp_oMiy/s200/DSC00277+-+Copy.JPG" width="200" /></a>She wouldn't have survived the gall bladder issue that emerged in May 2012. She had only missed one meal. Most owners wouldn't rush their dogs to the vet over that. I did. I knew better. The stars aligned and she received an ultrasound that day that diagnosed the severity of the problem. Her vet had just been to a workshop on the same topic. She knew that surgery was the best solution, but didn't feel that Bennie would survive it. She prescribed a medication that was compounded especially for Bennie. I believed that she would heal, and she did, surprising every vet who had seen her. She wouldn't have been put back on the gall bladder medication when things seemed "off" again later that year. She wouldn't have had the last sixteen months.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmdjjp77YaBczkVzHOR8uGH-amP2ohD5enMpAEa5SAz7fESi78U_aMGlGNWiRMQ3Te_kHlo1CS5Y52Yr0Woeep5TSKrIAI_9Epatmt1ykszLdXv-B-vfw9r5DGJz5rgyLzT2PJyYp8vi3C/s1600/Picture+1043+(2)+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmdjjp77YaBczkVzHOR8uGH-amP2ohD5enMpAEa5SAz7fESi78U_aMGlGNWiRMQ3Te_kHlo1CS5Y52Yr0Woeep5TSKrIAI_9Epatmt1ykszLdXv-B-vfw9r5DGJz5rgyLzT2PJyYp8vi3C/s200/Picture+1043+(2)+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a>And when she had the first seizure, she might not have gone to the vet immediately. She may not have been diagnosed as being in the end stages of liver failure. She may not have gotten the medication that helped her body shed the toxins that were building up within it. She may not have gotten a choice of chicken salad (from Leblanc's, not Albertson's) or hot dogs or cat food or cooked chicken or whatever-she'll-eat. She may not have been able to stretch a two-week prognosis into a two-month process of living each day to the fullest--a prolonged kiss goodbye.<br />
<br />
She would not have had any of these experiences. She would have lived and died in Indiana. She would have never seen the inside of a U-Haul truck on its way to Chattanooga. She would have never lived on or near a mountain. She would have never spent a week without power after an early Nor'easter. She would have never been to the city that housed the famous coffee shop where her namesake "donuts" were made and sold by the millions every year. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVvqG_ma7j6frkwMijSZ400oJr8khkXS4noaixIASTuMB5G8XJzHyN6hQIE1IvIWMbCusFt1lBbdfBD2eWo1j8Gh_bF49-8U1Qtxm7W3gJR8hOBP8fGqcCQ3-BaT98zMRezhUYHPhIb5h/s1600/DSC02494+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVvqG_ma7j6frkwMijSZ400oJr8khkXS4noaixIASTuMB5G8XJzHyN6hQIE1IvIWMbCusFt1lBbdfBD2eWo1j8Gh_bF49-8U1Qtxm7W3gJR8hOBP8fGqcCQ3-BaT98zMRezhUYHPhIb5h/s320/DSC02494+-+Copy.JPG" width="240" /></a>She would have never, ever, ever have been as loved as deeply, madly, truly as she was by me. And, I never would have known what an amazing little soul she was. I wouldn't have been saved by her. I wouldn't have known her constant and faithful companionship. I wouldn't have experienced her soft moments. My life would have been much emptier.<br />
<br />
I miss you, Bennie. More than words can ever say...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
In memory</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Beignet</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~4/1/97-9/16/13 </div>
<br />
<br />tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-24776319052420663662013-07-28T18:29:00.001-04:002013-07-28T18:37:35.823-04:00the accidental cat<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXIWH6sXgZhjNpIGtHtVPV64mCKhiFmK4kF0TN-zCMutzSThVLkNTFso0JGJzmXBBjWEjdHry2e-ILVZgGxH9btOgU1DsVxX5NP-95muB9A6kaijlDEcq5UML19_OU9OXA7yca6XWLxbG5/s1600/DSC01203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXIWH6sXgZhjNpIGtHtVPV64mCKhiFmK4kF0TN-zCMutzSThVLkNTFso0JGJzmXBBjWEjdHry2e-ILVZgGxH9btOgU1DsVxX5NP-95muB9A6kaijlDEcq5UML19_OU9OXA7yca6XWLxbG5/s200/DSC01203.JPG" width="200" /></a>Crossing the road and walking past just one house from my neighbor's house to mine, my sister, Laura, and I encountered a little, furry, grey kitten. "If that kitty follows us to your house, you need to keep it."<br />
<br />
I already had two cats. I wasn't looking for another. I responded with one of our usual responses--"whatever" or "I'm sure" and kept walking. The kitten kept walking, too, following us across the yard and up to my front door.<br />
<br />
"If this kitty comes into your house, you have to keep it," she said while she literally nudged the little fuzzball with her shoe towards the open door. He walked in. My fate had been sealed.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCbpB2jGr5lx6JL9waL5P80fcVFh3e_mZbpHtjl-OrXlNT_SujWJ94XbyxyUL2WF1YfZx5khgzN0g1TGaGEAS2GqU1xDzejc7H6dYMPBnN-8aYJQn8246TiNZqjN5RFGDPu5ghpet9VH8K/s1600/DSC01376+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCbpB2jGr5lx6JL9waL5P80fcVFh3e_mZbpHtjl-OrXlNT_SujWJ94XbyxyUL2WF1YfZx5khgzN0g1TGaGEAS2GqU1xDzejc7H6dYMPBnN-8aYJQn8246TiNZqjN5RFGDPu5ghpet9VH8K/s200/DSC01376+(2).JPG" width="200" /></a>That was over 17 years ago, and that little kitten never left, even though he was the only cat I really ever let outside for any length of time. He loved to roll around on the concrete, covering his back and sides with dirt and dried leaves. He would literally go out with the dogs and come back in when they were done. It seemed that for whatever reason this cat had made a conscious decision to live with me. Maybe he heard and understood Laura's imperative. We had made a contract with each other, a commitment formed without words. We were in this together.<br />
<br />
From the beginning, Eli was different than any cat I'd ever met. He seemed somehow mature and knowing. I spoke to him like he was human. On some level, he was. When there were no words, we communicated telepathically. I believe that it was our connection that saved his life during that first year.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwHDpjVk7MR66PnSZhqEE8iigVcQ1M-sKbl7rLg1egBlZ-zqJkl3LSMtkbVkh_lqoaaThT2Mxjur270ntJj_2j0AN-NKFUfv6YetUEoAUfVkSu8Wd0oofF4u95UcGoToUsasAwaz_YrWO/s1600/Eli-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwHDpjVk7MR66PnSZhqEE8iigVcQ1M-sKbl7rLg1egBlZ-zqJkl3LSMtkbVkh_lqoaaThT2Mxjur270ntJj_2j0AN-NKFUfv6YetUEoAUfVkSu8Wd0oofF4u95UcGoToUsasAwaz_YrWO/s200/Eli-5.jpg" width="150" /></a>I was doing laundry, transferring a load of items from the washer to the dryer when he somehow got into the dryer. I didn't see him in there when I started it. I walked away and started the shower. I had just climbed in when I heard something and felt my stomach drop to the ground. I ran to the dryer, opened the door and called for him. I felt around with my hand. I didn't see or hear anything right away. Maybe he wasn't in there. But, I somehow knew that he was. My greatest fear had been realized! Eli had been killed in the dryer!<br />
<br />
Then, I heard a faint meow. I frantically started pulling things out of the dryer until, finally, a visibly shaken Eli wobbled into my hands. It was late on a weekend night, so I called my vet and requested a call back through the answering service. When Dr. Dircksen called, he asked me to describe Eli's condition and told me what to look out for. He agreed to call me every 15 minutes for a status update. We spoke throughout the night until we were both satisfied that Eli would be ok. Before we hung up the last time, he pointed out to me that in my initial description I had said that Eli was "extra fluffy" and we had a laugh over that and joked that he was now "April fresh." He was no worse for the wear from his ride around the inside of the dryer, but years later, Mitchell joked that maybe we should run all of our cats through the dryer to make them come out as cool as Eli.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0m8OD6KsWp_6Uf6ch9mnEwzVAscukCaFvTR0PYKAbKFRhbYqL4oLpDbwSnVKglvTS9FwbeAp2BdTCxEKA7TLguajMbKMlRfa5u0nX2bqN54hnhVFDfxV2hRDkvlLT2MddyasVvm8kLr3C/s1600/DSC00372+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0m8OD6KsWp_6Uf6ch9mnEwzVAscukCaFvTR0PYKAbKFRhbYqL4oLpDbwSnVKglvTS9FwbeAp2BdTCxEKA7TLguajMbKMlRfa5u0nX2bqN54hnhVFDfxV2hRDkvlLT2MddyasVvm8kLr3C/s200/DSC00372+(2).JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
Whatever lesson he might have learned from this experience, though, certainly wasn't generalized to the dangers of climbing into other large, metal objects. About 10 years passed without incident, but early one morning, Eli decided to climb into the open trunk of Mitchell's car while he packed for a business trip. He went unnoticed and seemed unconcerned until Mitchell was over 30 minutes into his voyage. Somewhere just outside of Andrews, NC, Mitchell heard the panicked and harried meows emanating from his trunk and pulled over. I was surprised to see him return home, but I wasn't surprised to hear the reason. Once again, I was just grateful that Eli's curiosity hadn't gotten the best of him and that he had found an effective way to communicate.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5m8loK7siwm9SYQdJd0Mk-uYryNmCDm3ZP1Q1Dsb7Z09UyIuDmr1PqJ0WErSxNLjWsFf7N1j-tHygsH1cg13zKUq6oMJn7ctqtE7pgYIR462kSX5blRE-O-vKCKiD8uytSlARvTKQ8Bd6/s1600/otie+on+the+bed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5m8loK7siwm9SYQdJd0Mk-uYryNmCDm3ZP1Q1Dsb7Z09UyIuDmr1PqJ0WErSxNLjWsFf7N1j-tHygsH1cg13zKUq6oMJn7ctqtE7pgYIR462kSX5blRE-O-vKCKiD8uytSlARvTKQ8Bd6/s200/otie+on+the+bed.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Otis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7a4daMOmMBwUQ5T6y0wm4cYQ21upaevY3BDic_nu3tYl2a6Xb276UQ8nj6jG-rsR9Jl9hBep-5XJROwzWU6Si2fc_T7DLq2tFtn_9660EYM9DGTSQlx4fq7NHmmCUsNnKBD-Go-KXb16n/s1600/bobochair-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7a4daMOmMBwUQ5T6y0wm4cYQ21upaevY3BDic_nu3tYl2a6Xb276UQ8nj6jG-rsR9Jl9hBep-5XJROwzWU6Si2fc_T7DLq2tFtn_9660EYM9DGTSQlx4fq7NHmmCUsNnKBD-Go-KXb16n/s200/bobochair-2.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BoBo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was in that year that Eli's life really changed. He had already moved with me from Indiana to Tennessee and then to North Carolina, but he had always had his brothers, BoBo and Otis, to keep him company. Unfortunately, though, BoBo lost his fight to chronic kidney failure that year at the age of 16. The younger duo missed their older brother, but then welcomed a new brother into their lives a few months later when Manny came to live with us. Towards the end of the year, Otis got sick for the first time ever in his 12 years. In January, he was very sick as we made our next move to Connecticut, and by March he had lost his life to intestinal cancer.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJLKuAgjBV6TS1waBNx9pH-Bs0pdj1cfvzZiUa_K0g6UPkk-VvdGdmZSncixTINKWm8K5GlBoDDOM0c76l3OX3ugN15ETuDURkjhilm81BiOAeX-j7epagFXlQ85fkf1YvYrJv4bRBugs/s1600/Picture+016+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJLKuAgjBV6TS1waBNx9pH-Bs0pdj1cfvzZiUa_K0g6UPkk-VvdGdmZSncixTINKWm8K5GlBoDDOM0c76l3OX3ugN15ETuDURkjhilm81BiOAeX-j7epagFXlQ85fkf1YvYrJv4bRBugs/s200/Picture+016+(2).jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manny</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Eli suddenly went from the "baby" of the feline branch of our family to the patriarch. And, he took his new role seriously. When Manny pestered me to go outside on the deck with Eli, Eli gave me a knowing look and assured me that he would take his brother under his wing and would keep him safe. I watched cautiously from the back door as Manny jumped down from the deck into the yard and headed toward the corner of the house. Eli immediately fell in line, following him and then circling around in front of him and corralling him back into the backyard once that invisible line at the edge of the house had been breached. I watched him do this time and time again until Manny had been trained to stay inside the area defined as safe by Eli. Manny was allowed to hunt and play in the backyard, but he knew not to ever leave and he learned from Eli to come in when called. Eli and Manny became good buddies, and they spend a lot of time together enjoying the sun from our deck.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepEPdRlAw61JcELKXo-P9VPQKRYBrDPsjhpYzwhyphenhyphenihFGHU3bC779uxcAC1f1xdegZVgsj9mbbbq3aY5e2Thn49Lw7pQZPP9Z9-caNPvFd1vPwFTvrqsiIBA42vv2dsi7vHrIwy-Xa5Znh/s1600/Alla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepEPdRlAw61JcELKXo-P9VPQKRYBrDPsjhpYzwhyphenhyphenihFGHU3bC779uxcAC1f1xdegZVgsj9mbbbq3aY5e2Thn49Lw7pQZPP9Z9-caNPvFd1vPwFTvrqsiIBA42vv2dsi7vHrIwy-Xa5Znh/s200/Alla.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alla</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sadly, only a couple of years later, Manny succumbed to intestinal cancer, just as Otis had. Eli was the only cat in the house for six months until we adopted Alla, a breathtakingly beautiful Birman cat. She was just seven months old and brought a new energy and youthfulness into the home, and Eli loved playing with her. Just seven months later, she withdrew from the family and lost weight. A simple trip to the vet ended in a terminal sentence of FIP (feline infectious peritonitis). Alla was gone within two weeks, and Eli was alone again.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGBb6s8GVVvhH-EgL5aXytHoJcy-Y8dPRppqjmg3IGXHmFdTJpXKi1h7zbaSz3Rq1AH-WZRTJdr2jFmbo1T9SDnh1bTsY4JUtrNVk-eMVKH98nJNua7RAoY_tXv2jI8JFMDjPNGWp5pmc/s1600/Hazel+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGBb6s8GVVvhH-EgL5aXytHoJcy-Y8dPRppqjmg3IGXHmFdTJpXKi1h7zbaSz3Rq1AH-WZRTJdr2jFmbo1T9SDnh1bTsY4JUtrNVk-eMVKH98nJNua7RAoY_tXv2jI8JFMDjPNGWp5pmc/s200/Hazel+(2).jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hazel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was devastated by Alla's loss and didn't want another cat, but Eli made it clear that he wanted company. I was so afraid of losing another pet, but I knew that I would have to take that risk to make Eli happy. Only one month later, I found myself agreeing to adopt a cat from the Savannah, GA shelter after receiving her picture from a local rescuer. I met the transport van the next weekend, and Hazel joined our family in a seamless transition. Eli was happy once again.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7w8M9_sZXqxaTzt9BCWiyl9DLSvzCQfCm-s73PLT4yw6Pv0_sJhpH65Z7Y2iZi4NMauY3Cd-MVDzQZgvqK-UJ4-MFovf2jEFi0_Khnb4nOt9EPLmA-uRD1NmvUqxCH4GYZ682dlQ1Iiof/s1600/Eli-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7w8M9_sZXqxaTzt9BCWiyl9DLSvzCQfCm-s73PLT4yw6Pv0_sJhpH65Z7Y2iZi4NMauY3Cd-MVDzQZgvqK-UJ4-MFovf2jEFi0_Khnb4nOt9EPLmA-uRD1NmvUqxCH4GYZ682dlQ1Iiof/s200/Eli-2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Maybe it was his own rescue that inspired him, but I always felt that Eli was my silent partner in fostering and adopting new animals. He welcomed every cat that came to stay, whether for a short time or for good. I never heard him hiss at a cat who was scared or confused and who hissed or swatted at him. He also allowed every dog to paw him, mouth him, and nudge him with its muzzle. He never showed fear, and he never reacted. He showed the most spastic, cat-chasing pup that there was more reward in being calm than in running after a cat. He showed the paranoid, possessive, and territorial dogs that there was no difference between the cat in your yard and the one walking by your yard and, therefore, no need to freak out. He was brilliantly effective in a completely unassuming way. He was steady, confident, and constant. He was literally the coolest cat I'd ever known.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBDNRSkHbaSkK9Y7Apy0T39w5m9XrAh2dPrwZoUoiwj360iLsVmMIHYRa9CWVKk21XXQHMkMiE-sBdynIZVUTR7deoxLElCnD-ucxMKdxv5sKZySWD_XA_0iir43zwTYR1Vrpk7PEgLqY/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBDNRSkHbaSkK9Y7Apy0T39w5m9XrAh2dPrwZoUoiwj360iLsVmMIHYRa9CWVKk21XXQHMkMiE-sBdynIZVUTR7deoxLElCnD-ucxMKdxv5sKZySWD_XA_0iir43zwTYR1Vrpk7PEgLqY/s200/010.JPG" width="200" /></a>It's now been seven weeks since Eli let me know that after over 17 years he was ready to leave his little body behind. He had lived for several years with an intense allergy that caused his intestines to thicken and lose their ability to absorb nutrients from his food. He had been diagnosed through bloodwork after I took him to the vet saying that there was something wrong with his belly. "He's meowing weird," I said. "I think his stomach hurts." The vet looked at me strangely, but then apologized when his values came back. "How the hell did you know what was wrong?" he asked, and I explained that I just understood Eli. <br />
<br />
I understood Eli, and he understood me. He was more than a cat. He was my friend. He had been my friend since he walked through my front door that night. I miss my friend. I miss him so incredibly much. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BrByjk-Ss-PdOrHbx8kFv1W7DlwAUQwkT3CDXH8myX0h5l2ZkdxBtI1vi6wz-aLTdnirT0S4CPn6aJUMequsunNAyi3iUidGJFOPle-awBVbn3QsT9FnYT94Fm-NEoaQ62vW6yGV-1r7/s1600/Picture+178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2BrByjk-Ss-PdOrHbx8kFv1W7DlwAUQwkT3CDXH8myX0h5l2ZkdxBtI1vi6wz-aLTdnirT0S4CPn6aJUMequsunNAyi3iUidGJFOPle-awBVbn3QsT9FnYT94Fm-NEoaQ62vW6yGV-1r7/s320/Picture+178.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alla & Eli</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-12930952186521140472013-04-29T23:15:00.001-04:002013-07-28T15:44:26.206-04:00a perfect gentleman<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1rVSh3FyhCeEAUTLsh2mSfJBiKkQ38RN2gn-hXLjMRS77QNtGc4roza9hxLDnhioFMI3MjIPkh6DYt4yrIaTt4UbgSnOnb5VrEx5lbakjAbEs5olp66h_MyYsHYGjKHQUdp9-dfE3DUnd/s1600/DSC02419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1rVSh3FyhCeEAUTLsh2mSfJBiKkQ38RN2gn-hXLjMRS77QNtGc4roza9hxLDnhioFMI3MjIPkh6DYt4yrIaTt4UbgSnOnb5VrEx5lbakjAbEs5olp66h_MyYsHYGjKHQUdp9-dfE3DUnd/s200/DSC02419.JPG" width="200" /></a><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="font-size: small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588">re: </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">need a foster for an 8 year old PERFECT lab in Baton Rouge</span></span> </i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="font-size: small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588">This fellow came from the
Baton Rouge shelter<span style="font-size: small;">.</span> He is housetrained and
gets along with all dogs.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>He is incredibly sweet and has perfect house
manners.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>He is<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>½ thru his heartworm treatment.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>He is easy to keep calm.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>His foster
mom is pregnant and getting close to her due date. Can any one foster him for 3 weeks????</span></span></span></i><br />
<br />
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"></span></span></span><br />
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;">That was <span style="font-size: small;">the email I responded to when I agreed to foster Bach. It was <span style="font-size: small;">March 7, and he came to me on March 12. My 3 week, e<span style="font-size: small;">asy fostering assignment has turned into <span style="font-size: small;">a 7-weeks-and-counting mission to save a dog's life.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWeNvhfNPMJQjCqxIpKvPDMvCmTGoT4ZXi3NE3IeGUcnFZ3A4jMQAXRTRVxmY2_S9lv0yikkiQK7E9FGhdbLGaZwm4tUkwlrQHOH9hpkXmZPSLE68kSt9O78DOCS6DEBKfD78w138M8JI/s1600/DSC02603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWeNvhfNPMJQjCqxIpKvPDMvCmTGoT4ZXi3NE3IeGUcnFZ3A4jMQAXRTRVxmY2_S9lv0yikkiQK7E9FGhdbLGaZwm4tUkwlrQHOH9hpkXmZPSLE68kSt9O78DOCS6DEBKfD78w138M8JI/s200/DSC02603.JPG" width="200" /></a><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bach </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;">is the sweet, good-mannered boy described in the email. He's <span style="font-size: small;">cl<span style="font-size: small;">early lived a rough life. His elbows and heels are heavily calloused, and his teeth are worn down to nubs, probably from chewing on rocks out of sheer boredom. He hates to be outside without a human, and <span style="font-size: small;">he loves tennis balls with an obsessive joy. He climbs on the couch to snuggle, and he flops over on his back to wriggle and scr<span style="font-size: small;">atch at least four times a day. He really is a wonderful dog.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">There's <span style="font-size: small;">no telling how he ended up in a shelter at his age, but it's clear that he wasn't valued by the people tasked with caring for him. He had not been neutered, and he tested pos<span style="font-size: small;">itive for heartwo<span style="font-size: small;">rms, a preventable and potentially fatal <span style="font-size: small;">parasit<span style="font-size: small;">ic infection. He was saved by the rescue organization<span style="font-size: small;"> and neutered. He was then treated for the heartworms, a risky and potentially fatal procedure on its own. And then, I realized that he was occasionally <span style="font-size: small;">dripping urine. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV17mBwie1LxTecI2FeOAf0aawWBOsWCSqTMDYcGlIBI81ElbQp6weHCJWvE9LOMjBO4vNNYlfcbbY3AOI9CkHNrgnVm7Nji435id09wf88eq8hcqq6o0aMCp214HtNexdq4oEY9dz1c3c/s1600/534792_967718447882_293951288_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV17mBwie1LxTecI2FeOAf0aawWBOsWCSqTMDYcGlIBI81ElbQp6weHCJWvE9LOMjBO4vNNYlfcbbY3AOI9CkHNrgnVm7Nji435id09wf88eq8hcqq6o0aMCp214HtNexdq4oEY9dz1c3c/s200/534792_967718447882_293951288_n.jpg" width="111" /></a><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Combined with the fact that he had some we<span style="font-size: small;">a<span style="font-size: small;">k<span style="font-size: small;">ness in his hind end, we guessed that <span style="font-size: small;">he ha<span style="font-size: small;">d some sort of nerve damage. The rescue coordinator was advised by one <span style="font-size: small;">veterinarian to e<span style="font-size: small;">uthanize <span style="font-size: small;">Bach, because he was "unadoptable" <span style="font-size: small;">as he was. I urged her to at least have him <span style="font-size: small;">examined by another vet to determine what the cause might be and whether the<span style="font-size: small;">re might be any medical options available. I let <span style="font-size: small;">her know that I was committed to his care<span style="font-size: small;"> and wanted to give him every <span style="font-size: small;">chance possible. I bought him custom<span style="font-size: small;"> made belly bands, and I cu<span style="font-size: small;">t up blue pads to use as <span style="font-size: small;">"panty liners<span style="font-size: small;">." I made special <span style="font-size: small;">beds for him in his favorite spots (right next to me) that could be washed easily and kept the floors protected. I started giving him <span style="font-size: small;">homeopathic drops.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbODcvwxawyqot8gRwvPb7M4jnnAbvBfNa4ZRnzR3rIwTecb9aEzkzxhcxsmR4eD45pP1wDMCzY0MRi-r5Mse-y9cwRFw2rAhvTHB3HHYZWuFvnfW7go75BAWgXp7tS4MZg7AJPzBmQIG/s1600/DSC02525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbODcvwxawyqot8gRwvPb7M4jnnAbvBfNa4ZRnzR3rIwTecb9aEzkzxhcxsmR4eD45pP1wDMCzY0MRi-r5Mse-y9cwRFw2rAhvTHB3HHYZWuFvnfW7go75BAWgXp7tS4MZg7AJPzBmQIG/s200/DSC02525.JPG" width="200" /></a><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">As suspected, an X-ray showed that two of the sacral vertebrae are closer together than they should be, indicating that the disc between them is likely bulging or ruptured<span style="font-size: small;"> and pressing on the spinal column<span style="font-size: small;">. This explained both the urinary incontinence and the difficulty getting up in his hind end. We <span style="font-size: small;">added steroids to <span style="font-size: small;">his daily regimen<span style="font-size: small;"> of an<span style="font-size: small;"> NSAID<span style="font-size: small;">, glucosamine, and chondroitin<span style="font-size: small;">. I ordered t<span style="font-size: small;">wo more belly bands<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">. Bach continues to be a happy guy, unaware of any problems. He sometimes goes for days without dripping, and then he sometimes drips all day. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8usHtDyLN65BhNYvDdyeETQxwMpg9Mfp0Ds5AZ6TS2PMMZKP5V1kis9ToH3yOf5SE0TQtEYm3Eewn80H4Lfcnr3S2ykYkXKuHBtFUXAttjIaVuQl-jktSH2JbPn4MvinR8awj1933TI8/s1600/DSC02614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY8usHtDyLN65BhNYvDdyeETQxwMpg9Mfp0Ds5AZ6TS2PMMZKP5V1kis9ToH3yOf5SE0TQtEYm3Eewn80H4Lfcnr3S2ykYkXKuHBtFUXAttjIaVuQl-jktSH2JbPn4MvinR8awj1933TI8/s200/DSC02614.JPG" width="200" /></a><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I urge<span style="font-size: small;">d the rescue coordinator to put ou<span style="font-size: small;">t an emotional plea for Bach, and we both shared it far and wide. I hope<span style="font-size: small;">d for an immediate response <span style="font-size: small;">from someone with a big heart and a patient soul<span style="font-size: small;"> who wanted to give him the retirement hom<span style="font-size: small;">e that he deserves. No such <span style="font-size: small;">offer has yet come in, but we have <span style="font-size: small;">been contacted by a chiropractor who would like to help. She has offered to treat <span style="font-size: small;">Bach without charge. Again, I become hopeful.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgocYXhBPHd99f8dioXArCsFAlO0CuzEgtygRhu3uEYqcfPDaXilxEDvLWxBDdqtwxJi8g7_HtyRtiBPSIxjl-09uATQy7w_urdZBiOjV-xmVDj4tfZyx_3evsOO81bKfzHunCsoENCmdx4/s1600/DSC02465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgocYXhBPHd99f8dioXArCsFAlO0CuzEgtygRhu3uEYqcfPDaXilxEDvLWxBDdqtwxJi8g7_HtyRtiBPSIxjl-09uATQy7w_urdZBiOjV-xmVDj4tfZyx_3evsOO81bKfzHunCsoENCmdx4/s200/DSC02465.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zVNI_O-3Hglmdw4Xru8y9NQ8vZSvSDNNmT-4M9A58e4G0nD9C-SzU1UAnGgHaQWbL5K4gcMPBF2S_Uomu_VIRLmQ_SPzdNF1Y6qMK4taoLZyLLqOvNC8e2Fvqcdk0CEAgrvZGlY0bAEa/s1600/2013-03-12_17-48-27_321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I believe in a forever home for<span style="font-size: small;"> Bach. I know that he didn't survive <span style="font-size: small;">his rough life, his time in the shelter, and his heart<span style="font-size: small;">worm disease and tr<span style="font-size: small;">eatment only to be "put to sleep" over some dripping pee. I'm sure that there<span style="font-size: small;">'s someone out there for him. I imagine him leaving <span style="font-size: small;">my house to have his happily ever after<span style="font-size: small;">, and I'<span style="font-size: small;">m doing everything I can to get him ready. He<span style="font-size: small;">'s learned to take treats nicely and gently. He knows how <span style="font-size: small;">to sit now, and he sits for his <span style="font-size: small;">food and treats. He has become acquainted with cats, and <span style="font-size: small;">he's learned that they exist on level <span style="font-size: small;">somewhere above even the humans in the home. He walks well on a leash, rides well in a car, and (sort of) understands what "go potty" means. He's an old man with some medical needs and some routine mai<span style="font-size: small;">ntenance requirements, but, other than that, he's absolutely perfect.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"></span></span><br />
<br />
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bach's <span style="font-size: small;">Petfinder profile can be <span style="font-size: small;">viewed at: http://search.petfinder.com/petdetail/25746894.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Update! </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bach was adopted and is a much loved family member living in the Bronx, NY. The day after meeting him, his new parents wrote:</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;"><span style="color: black;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yesterday morning we went up to Exit 14 in Spring Valley arriving at
8:30. A large van was in the parking lot giving a family a dog. The
driver said that he was going off to Danbury, Connecticut and that
another van would soon arrive. About 10 other cars arrived with
children and adults At 9:00 a.m. the second van arrived. Each family
stood in a row holding a leash. The driver asked, "What's the name of
your dog?" Then the driver went into the van returning with their dog.
There were yellow and black Labs and an assortment of other dogs. They
were all wagging their tails and all the families had smiles on their
faces and were joyful. The driver came over to Val and asked her dog's
name. "Bach" she said. The driver went into the van and walked back
with Bach, the king of all the dogs who was wagging his tail.<br /><br />We
brought him home and he played catch most of the day. His tail never
stopped wagging. We love him and he loves us! We gave him his pills
and his dinner at 6:00 p.m. He is loving, beautiful and friendly--we
feel he has adopted us. Bach is a great dog.<br /><br />Thank you for all you do for Labs and for bringing Bach into our lives."</span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34589" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1367019676325_34588" style="color: navy; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: #20124d;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-12209704463098466022013-02-19T13:51:00.001-05:002013-02-19T13:52:58.619-05:00sweet & sour<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEDmpnUGYBqL3bWJ_yfNy9__7DewhiF1FKwxip3vE018IcIwu1FE7wCur4HWNYCn0MABrNay5tCVpNzBsQ-qInoRzyXkDdSeyWWsG3znqreRdURpfe31SsQYzWQyXow6Bx0e1GNcn1fel/s1600/Bennie-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEDmpnUGYBqL3bWJ_yfNy9__7DewhiF1FKwxip3vE018IcIwu1FE7wCur4HWNYCn0MABrNay5tCVpNzBsQ-qInoRzyXkDdSeyWWsG3znqreRdURpfe31SsQYzWQyXow6Bx0e1GNcn1fel/s320/Bennie-2.jpg" width="320" /></a> I haven't written much about Bennie, but she has been a constant in my life for almost 14 years. She's seen many animal faces come and go and has lived in five states. She's been around for the end of a marriage and for the evolution of another. She's gone from being the youngster to the matriarch. And, after all these years, I can still remember the first time I saw her like it was yesterday.<br />
<br />
I was on the phone when I noticed a skinny, nearly hairless, little beagle wandering around the homes of my cul-de-sac street. I grabbed a handful of dog food, filled a bowl with water and went outside to see what I could determine about this dog's condition and where it might have come from. The dog came right to me and was obviously hungry and thirsty, but her priority was to give and receive love. She was the sweetest thing, not at all scared, and she climbed into my lap as soon as I sat down on the sidewalk next to her.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDSwmbahycprPCAZvnbvM5JNa7jFtGPprZ8GXen1T9f5DtncFiwxOKE0z5WdwlhWOGdFou_i1tXyix0W79SMs5orArIDcNGIJCbMEjRWHCgc9l2X8RefwlJdFHTftRN2hzkMaxfcoRfnJ/s1600/cute+bennie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDSwmbahycprPCAZvnbvM5JNa7jFtGPprZ8GXen1T9f5DtncFiwxOKE0z5WdwlhWOGdFou_i1tXyix0W79SMs5orArIDcNGIJCbMEjRWHCgc9l2X8RefwlJdFHTftRN2hzkMaxfcoRfnJ/s320/cute+bennie.JPG" width="320" /></a>Up close, she looked even worse than she had through my front window. Her coat was extremely thin, and her feet were completely bald. I can remember noticing that I could see bare skin where the nails grew from the toes. I had never seen that before. And when I ran my hands over her body, I could feel that her ribs were deformed and turned out where they should turn in. Her back was humped upward, and she walked with a limp on her back left leg, which turned outward from her body at an awkward angle. She was absolutely beautiful!<br />
<br />
Of course, she wasn't wearing a collar or any form of identification. I suspected that she might belong to the neighbors directly across the street from me, but I didn't knock on their door. I had had experience with them and their pets before. Once, I found a young Golden Retriever with an injured and severely infected tail on their property, and I had called the animal control officer. On another occasion, I took in what I thought was a stray Basset hound. Several weeks later, those neighbors came to my door looking for the dog. When I confirmed that I had her, they asked if I wanted to keep her, so I did. I thought that they had had two beagles, but I hadn't seen the dogs in months, and their grass was over a foot tall in the backyard. If this little one "belonged" to them, I certainly wasn't going to be the one to return her to that hell.<br />
<br />
When the animal control officer showed up, she confirmed what I had been thinking. She was sure that this dog belonged to my neighbors, but she told me that she wasn't going to contact them. If they wanted the dog back, she said, they would have to answer to her, explaining the dog's condition and probably facing charges for animal cruelty. "They won't call," she said, "and in three days, she's yours if you want her." So, three days later, when I called the officer, I was informed that the gate would be unlocked and I was free to claim my "new" dog any time.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxZc4dkePQnDA2R1fqCa-BOg5hH2rZ1mIHpSwxQzbapQm6nIm5Lg68h_zeyblZB43yYbyKm8elWMkN4JKFazfz8AeBLtH_IV3PkE5p_yQK8bKhCGnmb-iAxEysKl3ujRwY6_pf0dNOMio/s1600/bennie+&+bo+bo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxZc4dkePQnDA2R1fqCa-BOg5hH2rZ1mIHpSwxQzbapQm6nIm5Lg68h_zeyblZB43yYbyKm8elWMkN4JKFazfz8AeBLtH_IV3PkE5p_yQK8bKhCGnmb-iAxEysKl3ujRwY6_pf0dNOMio/s320/bennie+&+bo+bo.jpg" width="320" /></a>A trip to the vet confirmed the degree of the neglect that she had seen. She had heartworms and she had bone deformities on her ribs which were most likely caused by malnutrition and neglect as a puppy. (It would be several more years before I discovered through an x-ray that her limp was caused by her left rear thigh bone being out of the hip socket, probably since she was a puppy.) Her hair loss was not the result of mange, but was also most likely caused by a lack of nutrition. The vet explained that her body had gone into survival mode, so any food that she did eat had gone to simply sustaining her life and other functions, like growing and maintaining her coat, had shut down. It would be a long road of recovery ahead, but since this little dog had escaped that horrible place, I was committed to doing what I had to do to help her get there.<br />
<br />
The first big decision was to pick a name for this sweet, cute, little dog. Beagles may just be the cutest dogs ever to walk the earth, and this dog was superbly cute, even by beagle standards. She had big, brown doe-like eyes, floppy hound ears, and freckles up and down her legs. She loved to be held like a baby and was as quiet as a mouse. She needed a name that matched her cute face and sweet disposition. I also wanted something that represented my Louisiana roots. I soon settled on Beignet and started calling her "Bennie" for short. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh65dKKfj3iAQ1Xs-vvEqe02QyGGZd2lIQUMGqR3vnIt3SbkxCryP0C8IQqGfU7rlw5_zVGluhPlfsXaKSWaPwNQSrDM9JSznFISYc89C5VvoCvuQoaqXSrBsvuoghpLHVDGqv7k86UADv0/s1600/Bennie+on+the+bed2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh65dKKfj3iAQ1Xs-vvEqe02QyGGZd2lIQUMGqR3vnIt3SbkxCryP0C8IQqGfU7rlw5_zVGluhPlfsXaKSWaPwNQSrDM9JSznFISYc89C5VvoCvuQoaqXSrBsvuoghpLHVDGqv7k86UADv0/s320/Bennie+on+the+bed2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
It would be several months before the vet would determine that Bennie was healthy enough for the dangerous and painful heartworm treatment. She had the first injection on a Thursday afternoon and the second injection the following day. She was released to go home on Saturday morning on a strict order of crate rest with limited activity. That was no problem since she wasn't a hyper dog anyway and seemed even more content than ever to nap her time away. I was sitting at the kitchen table, her crate at my feet, when I noticed that she didn't look quite right. I opened the crate and pulled her towards me. She was too still, almost listless, and when I pulled back her lip, I noticed that her gums were a pale gray color. I called my vet, who instructed me to take her to the vet on-call, his father, who ran a small, country vet practice.<br />
<br />
I've never driven as fast as I did to rush her there, and I was relieved that she was still breathing when we arrived. The vet told me that a large clump of dead heartworms had been released from her heart, entering her bloodstream, and becoming lodged in her lung. He would administer steroids, fluids, and oxygen and would watch her through the night, but he didn't give me much hope for her survival. When he called me the next morning, he actually sounded surprised when he said that she was ready to go home.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9Y7g8LQtrbrhTWCGrgLcHxVr1pcSIbESkR6JMsnwTJ-ubPZpkUKSsLOidCEzbhrmVTpjDynwFqZ3CzHNSp_vmm1wEAkVSGaeTyu0fK6aoCPooicevxRL7x5skALB0z31ArUE1gSnQqVD/s1600/DSC01233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9Y7g8LQtrbrhTWCGrgLcHxVr1pcSIbESkR6JMsnwTJ-ubPZpkUKSsLOidCEzbhrmVTpjDynwFqZ3CzHNSp_vmm1wEAkVSGaeTyu0fK6aoCPooicevxRL7x5skALB0z31ArUE1gSnQqVD/s320/DSC01233.JPG" width="320" /></a>Bennie is now almost sixteen-years old. She has been relatively healthy until a year ago when she needed to have an infected tooth removed. A few months later, she suddenly refused to eat, and it was discovered that she had an infection in her gall bladder and gall stones. Her age didn't make her a good surgical candidate, so she was treated with medications and a change of food and recovered. Another month later, a lump was tested and removed successfully when it indicated a cancerous growth. Now, she is experiencing new problems with her liver and is being again treated with medication and a food change.<br />
<br />
She has evolved from that sweet, quiet, little dog in need of love and attention into the queen bee of the household. She found her beagle bay after a few years of silence and now slips easily into it whenever another dog (or person) needs to be given a warning. And, her warnings sometimes aren't the end of it for the offending party. Bennie has been known to relentlessly pursue her target, requiring intervention and removal to stop the attack. At this point, she has completely and totally embodied the "grumpy old lady" moniker, though her face, now white with age, is no less cute than it was in the beginning. She still has those same puppy dog eyes that hold the power to melt the coldest, hardest heart and, of course, those freckles....those freckles!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJYELGgYnBLHfA-XLNlJauZ3NrvUvlXtDWsBY-Bfb9MtgZsRYkKyxVn4Mue-Dj8C4bk-BLEx8O8416dWZv_9NXDGt-BsUsr-JuHuywsq2ssyzy2OUGZ2gfefiZOv0X38sMbAAdSWhrdl0/s1600/Bennie+(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJYELGgYnBLHfA-XLNlJauZ3NrvUvlXtDWsBY-Bfb9MtgZsRYkKyxVn4Mue-Dj8C4bk-BLEx8O8416dWZv_9NXDGt-BsUsr-JuHuywsq2ssyzy2OUGZ2gfefiZOv0X38sMbAAdSWhrdl0/s320/Bennie+(3).jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Those freckles belie the tough spirit of the dog inside that little, less-than-perfect body. Bennie's attitude and tenacity have carried her through some hard times, and she has been at death's door more than once only to turn her tail on it and to walk away from it. She's a survivor, and she's taught me about what it means to face adversity with bravery, faith, and more than a little stubbornness. And now, as she returns to the vet tomorrow for a recheck of her bloodwork, I pray that I will have more time to learn from her, more time to make up for her rough start in life, and more time to admire those freckles.tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-51907739331329024812013-02-18T22:35:00.001-05:002013-02-18T22:35:23.069-05:00in search of identity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAafERGATdCb9YBg1l32oiJWW3npOgl_FY1Wly3ltBiOvvLFBMneHp-RGqBswm-rBzyikkoDOLx1Mf8g7otnG9gQdPCmPYsjkamYWKZxRJiWvlD5mbgzr5kP5DW9Y-z5TjV8a5QtKKc_w/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyAafERGATdCb9YBg1l32oiJWW3npOgl_FY1Wly3ltBiOvvLFBMneHp-RGqBswm-rBzyikkoDOLx1Mf8g7otnG9gQdPCmPYsjkamYWKZxRJiWvlD5mbgzr5kP5DW9Y-z5TjV8a5QtKKc_w/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
"A veterinarian."<br />
<br />
I was that kid who knew exactly what she wanted to be when she grew up. I can't remember ever wanting to be anything else. I knew that I would go to an Ivy League school. (I thought that it would be Harvard until I learned that they didn't have a vet school.) I knew that I would not have children. I didn't plan on marrying anyone, opting instead for a male neighbor who would cut my grass and let me borrow his big, woolen sweaters. I wanted to have horses, dogs, cats, chickens, ducks, goats, and a donkey. I knew exactly what I wanted and how I was going to get it all.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B_mcQ9yh6k8P_5H_6GYFHeMX3eM-QtV_o77rGmcN_DTrxuvtVSZQgIPq9hKT88hV_QWrhKzDvuao9ckgNE6FhrCjFZjezxlbLD-DwFQa2wrUhQZTMFuQVCpqA17GJAvHf9tc-hs3nAa0/s1600/depression_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B_mcQ9yh6k8P_5H_6GYFHeMX3eM-QtV_o77rGmcN_DTrxuvtVSZQgIPq9hKT88hV_QWrhKzDvuao9ckgNE6FhrCjFZjezxlbLD-DwFQa2wrUhQZTMFuQVCpqA17GJAvHf9tc-hs3nAa0/s320/depression_3.jpg" width="320" /></a>Until I failed. In my defense, it wasn't through a lack of trying that I failed, but rather through a lack of focus created by trauma and its resulting mental health disturbances. You see, I hadn't factored into my life equation things like rape, self-injury, dissociation, and clinical depression. I didn't plan for my complete and utter unraveling, for the alienation of my friends, for the judgment of my family, for the feelings of despair and hopelessness that would rule my life for so long. I hadn't prepared for the unhealthy relationships, the financial hardships, and the lack of direction or purpose.<br />
<br />
I lost years to this detour, but unexpectedly found a new path when I became involved in helping others who had experienced sexual violence. I was trained to answer the phone to speak with survivors and to provide emotional support and information about available services. After some time as a volunteer, I was offered a full-time position with the agency. I started doing public speaking and community outreach on sexual assault. I suddenly felt a sense of excitement about my work, fulfilled by the promise of doing something that might prevent another person from experiencing what I had, and happy for the first time in over ten years.<br />
<br />
That was almost 15 years ago, and now I am beginning to question whether I have followed this path as far as it can take me. I am frustrated by so many aspects of the work that never seem to improve--the police response to reports of sexual assault, the low likelihood of arrest or prosecution of the perpetrators, the judgmental reaction of the general public, including the professionals tasked with providing care and services to victims, and the constant justification for the work that I do, from the begging for funding to the meticulous documentation of client demographics and services provided. I feel powerless to truly help victims and particularly powerless to end the cycle of violence faced by women in our culture. I dream of an end to the sadness, pain, and confusion that I feel vicariously through the people that I try to help.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZFOaw4VWTMaw5BumOO8rTMxpDL_2XaXllink1zmOmHABA3Pl5pARg1TzS0M8B3E2kZinGXy92bMHBzzco16CmfZ6p1CMn-uj-DvIJ07HhxyJTM2to-0CpVfgvfLRlvHLyUNBS0gnY7dj/s1600/at_the_Crossroad_by_Hermanne_Allan_Poe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZFOaw4VWTMaw5BumOO8rTMxpDL_2XaXllink1zmOmHABA3Pl5pARg1TzS0M8B3E2kZinGXy92bMHBzzco16CmfZ6p1CMn-uj-DvIJ07HhxyJTM2to-0CpVfgvfLRlvHLyUNBS0gnY7dj/s320/at_the_Crossroad_by_Hermanne_Allan_Poe.jpg" width="320" /></a>I'm facing a crossroad...one direction leading me deeper into the work that I have been doing with more credentials and new skills and the other direction leading to a fresh start on a brand new path. I don't know how to choose. I don't know which option to follow. I don't know whose advice to heed. But, I feel a sense of obligation to that little girl, the one who knew so strongly and so deeply what she wanted to be when she grew up. She didn't get to fulfill her dreams, and life led her into a new direction. Now, I have the power to make a choice, to let that girl be who and what she wants to be, to take control of the next phase of my life. I may not have become a veterinarian, but there's still time for me to dream and to make my dreams come true....once I decide.<span id="goog_570197606"></span><span id="goog_570197607"></span>tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-3314994712062442872012-12-17T22:50:00.000-05:002012-12-17T22:56:59.259-05:00too damn full of resentment<span class="huge bqQuoteLink"></span><span class="bodybold"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/d/dale_carnegie.html" title="view author"></a>
</span>
<br />
<div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
"Our fatigue is often caused not by work, but by worry, frustration, and resentment."</div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
~Dale Carnegie</div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Bh2oa-47S-l0SUC-jl4hL3sV9ly1RYp1ZLVtkKk3BswOeGkVYpAt4yFHgjObx5WDP6WCpcp74ODjEOUAK1tv3yO3s78MP9ozaBEUjijaG3_aBiG0j7HwiuYevzjxZ-sFPdX2mzqW3P2j/s1600/tladiesbitter2(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Bh2oa-47S-l0SUC-jl4hL3sV9ly1RYp1ZLVtkKk3BswOeGkVYpAt4yFHgjObx5WDP6WCpcp74ODjEOUAK1tv3yO3s78MP9ozaBEUjijaG3_aBiG0j7HwiuYevzjxZ-sFPdX2mzqW3P2j/s1600/tladiesbitter2(3).jpg" /></a>I'm exhausted. Exhausted and frustrated. I have dealt head-on with some deep emotions and distinct grievances in my life. I've forgiven the man who raped me. I've even forgiven the man who blamed me for being raped. I've forgiven the man who cheated on me. I've forgiven the man who couldn't be the man that I wanted him to be. I've forgiven myself time and time again. Forgiveness was a difficult feat and a valuable lesson, and I've managed to truly feel it in my core, to believe in it in the fibers of my soul, to move into it fairly easily when desired. I can do forgiveness. I thought that it was the ultimate goal. So, where the hell did resentment come from?<br />
<br />
I have recently experienced feelings of resentment that were vast, consuming, and utterly maddening. They came out of the blue and rose up like the waves at high tide, unrelenting and with increasing size and intensity. Resentment made it difficult to see others in the way in which I had always viewed them. Resentment changed the way I looked. I didn't laugh. I didn't smile. I wore a permanent grimace and a shitty expression. I couldn't be happy, and I couldn't hide my unhappiness. What a joy I must have been to be around!<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiElDhwdkZFGTm7_Fpp_nUhBUemThEbr3Ia0p5nNXl6uOOwPMrBzWXKccWeAMjKR16CCMkGAuYbch3NnIb85ehyphenhyphenF0XYjjtN1hcf6NUeZ6cU9xPCod11oisEoNO6m43_n1UmRx-PuoDvdvhK/s1600/magnets-the-secret-ingredient-is-resentment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiElDhwdkZFGTm7_Fpp_nUhBUemThEbr3Ia0p5nNXl6uOOwPMrBzWXKccWeAMjKR16CCMkGAuYbch3NnIb85ehyphenhyphenF0XYjjtN1hcf6NUeZ6cU9xPCod11oisEoNO6m43_n1UmRx-PuoDvdvhK/s320/magnets-the-secret-ingredient-is-resentment.jpg" width="320" /></a>I don't remember the last time that I felt resentment like this. I had forgotten how it creeps into the fibers of your being and changes your genetic make-up. It colors all that you see, hear, touch, smell, and taste with bitterness and leaves an acidic aftertaste. It's so encompasses you that it feels like you'll never see the other side of it. Much like depression, it feels like a helpless and hopeless situation. Caught in its grasp, I worried that I would never shake the feelings. I wallowed in it for as long as I could stand it, but fought hard to find a handhold in reality and perspective from which I could pull myself out of the quicksand before it could swallow me whole.<br />
<br />
A weekend spent licking my wounds and getting some time and distance between myself and the situation gave me a little perspective on this latest emotional sucker punch. I can now see how resentment triggers my old, deep-seated core beliefs about being a victim--my victim mentality, as it was introduced to me. It stirred up those repetitive sentiments from my past...the "why do they do this to me?" and the "how can they take advantage of me like this?" I suddenly felt shame for allowing myself to give in to those feelings, for climbing right back onto the <a href="http://www.lynneforrest.com/articles/2008/06/the-faces-of-victim/" target="_blank">victim triangle</a> that I worked so hard to extricate myself from years ago. And, I felt like an idiot for not recognizing it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxfl9FanhYwC4KJZl9k4F37RZ1dqa2VdbsAcQ-BjpT-JLJ22DVznp_3hmOZPK_1JzvVxSpdXK1Zr1ysx46oe1L4bABRMJwOtwlM_GyizLxr_ps41d-hTRKYgiVIdGQ7eDgRYwzxS0EZ0-/s1600/ME_157_Resentment.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxfl9FanhYwC4KJZl9k4F37RZ1dqa2VdbsAcQ-BjpT-JLJ22DVznp_3hmOZPK_1JzvVxSpdXK1Zr1ysx46oe1L4bABRMJwOtwlM_GyizLxr_ps41d-hTRKYgiVIdGQ7eDgRYwzxS0EZ0-/s400/ME_157_Resentment.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
So, now I'm working on restoring my views of others to their pre-resentment status, including my view of myself. I'm practicing compassion towards myself and others in an effort to forgive myself and to forgive them, even if their wrongs only existed in my eyes. I'm staying conscious around what I can control and what is out of my control. And, I am examining what my expectations of others says about me and my beliefs.<br />
<br />
All I can say is that this growth and development stuff sucks. Why can't I just be clueless and happy? Hmmmm.....now that would be a topic worth exploring.</div>
tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-36232282876399090482012-08-22T23:13:00.000-04:002013-01-06T20:21:06.303-05:00stumbling towards the inevitable<br />
It's been a hard week in many ways. On Saturday, I drove home from a hair appointment through flooded roads, heavy rain, and booming thunder. Minutes after I got home, a huge crack of lightning lit of the sky just outside my kitchen window. I later figured out that many of our circuit breakers had been tripped, the air conditioning was off, and several appliances weren't working. After visits by the cable company, the electric company, and the gas company (did I mention the strong smell of gas in the house?), it was determined that we most likely had a near lightning strike that had traveled into the house through either the phone lines or the plumbing. Just about every piece of electronic equipment that was plugged in was fried. The TV's, the cordless phones, an Xbox, phone chargers, the digital display on the refrigerator, the treadmill, every fluorescent light, and the circuit board that runs the air conditioner were all casualties. I've suffered through the heat of August in south Louisiana, watched water pour out of a light fixture in the ceiling, and probably swallowed countless lovebugs in my sleep. But, none of that compares to the pain I've felt since 6:00 this morning.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXNElQ1cCDCTY3n77CtCU2JyGWXSXbgwweizuW4kWBeV9jUNFivVKkHZxO0WVs24z86IvGPgUfxqbr2jVaNI4UwOf4xGkThOyHWxbeqKbl6C6pNdIwxAPOs-eFrdncnepcrLgMiWZKfwu/s1600/001+%283%29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXNElQ1cCDCTY3n77CtCU2JyGWXSXbgwweizuW4kWBeV9jUNFivVKkHZxO0WVs24z86IvGPgUfxqbr2jVaNI4UwOf4xGkThOyHWxbeqKbl6C6pNdIwxAPOs-eFrdncnepcrLgMiWZKfwu/s200/001+%283%29.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brandi with her new red boots.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That's when I found Brandi lying crumpled in a heap on the kitchen floor. Her neck was pulled hard to the left, and her legs were rigid. She was clearly attempting to get to the backdoor to go to the bathroom, because she had also lost control of her bowels. I picked her up, and the stiffness of her body was jarring. I put her outside on the concrete, where she would normally take a minute to get her legs under her and walk off to the grass. Instead, she collapsed onto the cement in the same posture in which I had found her. I left her for a minute while I cleaned up the floor, and I went outside to find that she had urinated on herself, leaving a large puddle that was slowly spreading. I washed her up and brought her back inside, laid her on her bed, and started crying.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13cJoKWWvZm7fb7dKoeX3V1tPYrzWvHYWzIqmNVnQuhlKPVuQRWHxfP61IZeGTysyhvYGTpxaR8DLA2EjUri0ne6r0dHHsuYzdPPbNnnNa8gs9mleWtHPqerCkGtCi86wOIhF0vjASraF/s1600/Brandi-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13cJoKWWvZm7fb7dKoeX3V1tPYrzWvHYWzIqmNVnQuhlKPVuQRWHxfP61IZeGTysyhvYGTpxaR8DLA2EjUri0ne6r0dHHsuYzdPPbNnnNa8gs9mleWtHPqerCkGtCi86wOIhF0vjASraF/s200/Brandi-3.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caught red-handed after digging a hole under the deck.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's not like I haven't been thinking about this moment for a while now. It's just that no amount of thinking about it can ever really prepare you for the reality of the situation. Rational thought has no place in a decision of the heart, and at the very moment I felt my heart break. Yes, I could point to all of the deficits that Brandi has experienced over the last year, I could recall all of the times she has struggled with bowel control, I could remember when she needed to sleep with diapers on, and I could list the measures that I had gone through to get her to eat. But, none of those things could make me forget the years that I've known her to be a strong, muscular, vibrant dog. She may not look the same on the outside, but on the inside, she is as strong-willed and stubborn as ever.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijR5W_nHHjiFAlN8AX7hLQEdnkpR3gYj7Wiy4x9r_uQXwUbHX0lbuoHozBDbYdphkY2Gtj5J9Cq3xQd6rhN_IbqLjDmMok3nIfzlWXIo3aE9C0L0fueeBB_UfI1-UqUaQ7qeIKsX1oyfVw/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijR5W_nHHjiFAlN8AX7hLQEdnkpR3gYj7Wiy4x9r_uQXwUbHX0lbuoHozBDbYdphkY2Gtj5J9Cq3xQd6rhN_IbqLjDmMok3nIfzlWXIo3aE9C0L0fueeBB_UfI1-UqUaQ7qeIKsX1oyfVw/s200/030.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sleeping beauty.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I won't go through the ups and downs of the emotional roller coaster ride that I've been on today. Suffice to say, the universe has granted me a little more time with Brandi. Though she is still weak and uncoordinated, she did manage to hold it all day and (with assistance to remain upright) went to the bathroom in the grass when I got home. She has allowed me the rarest pleasure of holding her without a struggle. She slept through a toenail trim and helped me finish my dinner. She even walked on her own during her final trip outside for the night. She's back on her bed and tucked in for the night.<br />
<br />
I've come to terms with the decision, though--as much as you can ever
come to terms with something like that. I don't know exactly when it
will happen, but I trust that it will happen when it's supposed to.
Apparently, <a href="http://tjwesson.blogspot.com/2011/01/faith-hope-and-brandi.html">I still have some lessons to learn from Brandi</a>.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicE3vIy7J6ZMCkkQZ8zFS0re2sq9jj6EgfCa_DgiFyarRvo50t9xS4uCdxGRirReoFho7lKAPugYUE90GLg_VGn4RDATk2mY_p46-RY7kaM4xXcTV18RI3CuseEnmDxwaV_ikW7Y_GH3LU/s1600/Brandi-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicE3vIy7J6ZMCkkQZ8zFS0re2sq9jj6EgfCa_DgiFyarRvo50t9xS4uCdxGRirReoFho7lKAPugYUE90GLg_VGn4RDATk2mY_p46-RY7kaM4xXcTV18RI3CuseEnmDxwaV_ikW7Y_GH3LU/s200/Brandi-4.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brandi loves going to the park.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkeB7R3TsmwZPoLr0ZE3lJ6QzOcxYpmw9S0YMUOu8MT-oAI7aLirKU9IdMsJwYPV3hrOEsSutcSedetfRbhCQ7m2OHJeEZeQLDXuUA6ZyNA5I6QIMmUWuxfOQDqiM91s24os4K8i1G4wJp/s1600/DSC01281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkeB7R3TsmwZPoLr0ZE3lJ6QzOcxYpmw9S0YMUOu8MT-oAI7aLirKU9IdMsJwYPV3hrOEsSutcSedetfRbhCQ7m2OHJeEZeQLDXuUA6ZyNA5I6QIMmUWuxfOQDqiM91s24os4K8i1G4wJp/s200/DSC01281.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmm....spaghetti.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Update: Brandi made it clear to me the day after posting this entry that she could no longer fight against the ravages of time and the weakness of her body. At around 4:00pm on Thursday, August 23, 2012, I was at her side when she left her physical vessel. As a testament to the kind of dog she was and the effect that she had on people, the veterinarian was crying as she administered the injection and hugged me tightly afterward. I will forever be grateful that Brandi came into my life and was with me for her final years. I miss her strong personality and her sweet face. I miss her gentle, sideways kisses and her less-than-subtle begging. I miss Brandi and everything about her, and I will never forget her.<br />
<br />tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-63481066453617493582012-08-06T22:36:00.000-04:002012-08-06T22:37:27.919-04:00no going back nowI recently made my fourth long distance move in just over 11 years. You would think that I would have a whole lot more confidence about starting over personally and professionally than I do. Maybe I've become more realistic as I've aged, but the truth is that I have become more worried and more insecure with each move. This move may be the toughest for that reason, and being here alone for most of the first five months didn't made it any easier. Let's just say that I have decided that I'm getting too old for this stuff. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjblJscs08tglPcKaFen0H-InmqudXmvfI3Sf1o4ubHprZEuyhrS6FrX9AYDU-0L0lnMn8Dkri40goRVt82R52ukfmPAEDcca9vq2OwL9a3QluaZDcPaClNTFUFxwu2VTXPUy2vuHfCR3jE/s1600/moving-snoopy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjblJscs08tglPcKaFen0H-InmqudXmvfI3Sf1o4ubHprZEuyhrS6FrX9AYDU-0L0lnMn8Dkri40goRVt82R52ukfmPAEDcca9vq2OwL9a3QluaZDcPaClNTFUFxwu2VTXPUy2vuHfCR3jE/s320/moving-snoopy2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xG1oqdozLNvWdmCYlB1JHHA3aR4Xrno-M42_ahadPwr_dUbqBUZSLZoXERveRmSZRpzVlqnyWEq8PaEmnpsDLt1cn7ai5sjfJIrhPv0SnqlYw3zTSVrYKBuZKOibr4Xu4q_h79RACxlX/s1600/we-have-moved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>It still amazes me to think back about my first big move. It really was the biggest one, and it stands out as one of the most important decisions that I have ever made--even if it was made rather impulsively. I was 29-years old and recently divorced (a divorce that lasted longer than the oh-so-wrong marriage), on the verge of bankruptcy, experiencing medical problems, and wanting to literally run away from a magnetically toxic ex-boyfriend. When my friend in NC mentioned wanting to move to Knoxville or Chattanooga, I impulsively said, "If you go to Chattanooga, I'll move with you." Before I could come up with an excuse for my verbal diarrhea, she was finding us a place to live and I had contacted a realtor to sell my house. <br />
<br />
Besides my sister and my two precious nephews, the only real reason I could find to stay in Ft. Wayne was my job. After years spent drifting from job to job, being unhappy, depressed, and restless, I had found something that I was not only good at but that I loved doing. I was doing outreach and education for the local rape awareness program. I had some amazing co-workers, and I felt like I was making a real difference in the lives of young people. It was so illogical for me to leave the job, but I knew that I had to follow my heart, even if I didn't know exactly where it would lead me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDWdeJhZ7srXzuCyNLrlgjyUWx9Msjfl1L7oIYeh2_SVQIE9NRgJsOwbzD2AvScHqQiL9vN7NB_lBrtAGJl0PD8WEEe9gIm0GNnveyN6LSCGvqmxHfO4EGsdKCoS2C8I8_IjuA9cqb45j/s1600/follow-your-heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDWdeJhZ7srXzuCyNLrlgjyUWx9Msjfl1L7oIYeh2_SVQIE9NRgJsOwbzD2AvScHqQiL9vN7NB_lBrtAGJl0PD8WEEe9gIm0GNnveyN6LSCGvqmxHfO4EGsdKCoS2C8I8_IjuA9cqb45j/s1600/follow-your-heart.jpg" /></a></div>
So, I gave 5 weeks notice, sent out resumes, and moved from Indiana to Chattanooga over three weekends in October. I remember being so excited about the change of scenery. The plan was certainly not without its obstacles, and I found myself moving from the first house there into a second within weeks, starting a new job in November only to lose it in January when the business shut down, in the middle of a colossal fight with my friend/roommate by February, virtually homeless by March, and served with legal papers in April. In the midst of this chaos, though, I met Mitchell.<br />
<br />
It really is a miracle that our relationship survived all of the drama surrounding it from the start. In addition to the fact that he thought I was a lesbian when he met me, I had to be the least attractive choice for him. My roommate did everything in her power to drive him away, including calling the police to his mother's house when I didn't come home one night. I had a houseful of animals to which he was deathly allergic. I was recently divorced, had family issues, was financially strapped, and friendless. I don't know what he saw in me, but I'm glad that he did, and it all worked out in the end.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuZtRSPVPgo242Jv0en-n9xY8qKUTdND3HaZAw_idyHGEnGxzMQRwO52RZI6CAEK9QOn_ysln3hDMrph0d7fxRzdvOsC0G3itMXx1mAyr_dsnl08ayfoDKvcLbn1sqZtMowlgzgYc0lL9/s1600/6609871615_c2fc047405_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuZtRSPVPgo242Jv0en-n9xY8qKUTdND3HaZAw_idyHGEnGxzMQRwO52RZI6CAEK9QOn_ysln3hDMrph0d7fxRzdvOsC0G3itMXx1mAyr_dsnl08ayfoDKvcLbn1sqZtMowlgzgYc0lL9/s320/6609871615_c2fc047405_z.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
So, here I am back in Louisiana, but now as an adult, trying to re-establish myself yet again. When I started this entry, I was still looking for a job, living on my own and not knowing when Mitchell would be joining me, and feeling lonely and depressed. I've been at my job at the local rape crisis center for over three months now, and I feel amazingly more optimistic and confident. I've become actively involved in the very busy and never-ending work of animal rescue in and around my community. I've reunited with childhood friends, and I've been able to see my sister fairly regularly.<br />
<br />
It's hard not to wonder, though, where I will be in a year, in three years, or in five years. I've spent so long living my life knowing that my location was temporary that I've become accustomed to thinking of my life in terms of "what if" and "when x happens, then y is possible." I'm still thinking that way to some degree, because I would like to return to school and pursue a career in counseling in the future, but I'm much more focused on putting down roots, creating community, establishing patterns, and finding favorite spots.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEzvW_PM80vH7XvdbkwIDthtB9dVYw4ktTfHLCqJE8CpU2h2aeoh1QVtJ_iR8FuMhqk94b4WYYhauW0NsxD7CxWL6uD1NDeAM3T-LCA47iS8E2d2OPieF1DUE6iGcOuW3V1zLnKb86aOgK/s1600/welcome_home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEzvW_PM80vH7XvdbkwIDthtB9dVYw4ktTfHLCqJE8CpU2h2aeoh1QVtJ_iR8FuMhqk94b4WYYhauW0NsxD7CxWL6uD1NDeAM3T-LCA47iS8E2d2OPieF1DUE6iGcOuW3V1zLnKb86aOgK/s320/welcome_home.jpg" width="320" /></a>I'm ready to settle in, to make this place my home, to get comfortable. And, I'm more than ready to do so with my partner, who has only been "officially" living in Louisiana for about a month. We survived my roommate from Hell. We overcame his allergies. We have rebuilt credit and bank accounts. We have bought and sold houses, moved from state to state (to state to state), and packed and unpacked many times over. We're best friends, and we made our relationship legal after 10 years together. We have worked hard to get where we are and will work hard to get where we want to be always.<br />
<br />
<br />
I live in Louisiana now, and I'm here to stay...or, at least that's the plan.<br />
<br />tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-16644160637057696292012-01-28T17:12:00.002-05:002012-01-28T19:51:02.114-05:00the image of the beloved<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
"We become what we love and who we love shapes what we become. If we love things, we become a thing. If we love nothing, we become nothing. Imitation is not a literal mimicking of Christ, rather it means becoming the image of the beloved, an image disclosed through transformation. This means we are to become vessels of<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><span class="text_exposed_show"> God´s compassionate love for others. " ~ St. Clare of Assisi<span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">I saved this quotation several months ago...maybe even a year or more ago. I figured at the time that I would use it as inspiration to write about my chosen career, which I view as a true calling, something that comes from a personal passion, and something that somewhat defined me. Now, for the first time in almost 5 years, I am not working, and this quotation means something completely different to me.</span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBNA8MZu2RUOzLBDXNQ6cW5s29Iv4KK0q4liWK_dI48QW6pjS9r7S0X1GAVhM3Ef6Xn_BKgs-RKlYeGD-c5T3dbPDOuMLnMgpfFw9fYSe0IR25Hurz-EvPW82NVAFRsPddc3bFb_s09Xo/s1600/Pet+library+-+cat+moving+house.img_assist_custom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBNA8MZu2RUOzLBDXNQ6cW5s29Iv4KK0q4liWK_dI48QW6pjS9r7S0X1GAVhM3Ef6Xn_BKgs-RKlYeGD-c5T3dbPDOuMLnMgpfFw9fYSe0IR25Hurz-EvPW82NVAFRsPddc3bFb_s09Xo/s1600/Pet+library+-+cat+moving+house.img_assist_custom.jpg" /></a></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Earlier this week, I watched as a blur of humanity packed and loaded nearly all of my Earthly belongings into a moving truck. I watched as Mitchell signed the papers which somehow were meant to assure us that we would be getting everything back one week and 1,500 miles later. Had this been my first such experience, I might have been more worried, but I actually felt lighter. I care very much about the things that I have collected through my lifetime, and many have a story and a heart of their own, yet they were no longer on my mind after that moving truck pulled away from the house. Two hours down the road, the only things on my mind were the beings inside my car and those inside Mitchell's car.</span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">I have fretted for more than a year over the sale of our house and the financial loss that would accompany it. I have spent time, energy, and money to do anything humanly possible to sell the house, all the while not really sure what I would encounter on the next steps of my journey. I have cleaned, planned, dreamed, hoped, and (yes) even prayed. I now realize that I was preoccupied with details, minutiae, items of little import. None of it really matters in the end, does it? As it's been said, "You can't take it with you."</span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYghSItGFZf8dR_n4pFU-r4SqnKei_lGPmd5aL3DOfdUl3hlwtigIT4Fk8HTlQdMI0lnr3WCiXBC-YtgNDUt7TW3RLBLZWMGmL3NbvMFtqcRsB6Wr6qyjxSgsoC_8icbpSl0lzNZwHdTLP/s1600/2112wd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYghSItGFZf8dR_n4pFU-r4SqnKei_lGPmd5aL3DOfdUl3hlwtigIT4Fk8HTlQdMI0lnr3WCiXBC-YtgNDUt7TW3RLBLZWMGmL3NbvMFtqcRsB6Wr6qyjxSgsoC_8icbpSl0lzNZwHdTLP/s400/2112wd.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Our house was officially purchased yesterday, leaving us technically homeless. Again, I felt lighter and less burdened. Yes, I will be closing on another house in two days, and I am excited about that, but this time between houses helps me to appreciate what really matters to me. When all else goes away....the money, the things, the houses, the cars, the job, the professional identity....what really matters is that you still have those that you love. They are truly the only things that cannot be replaced. And, love is the only priceless possession you will ever own.</span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">The next several weeks (and probably months) will be consumed with the unpacking and arranging of things. I will be focused on creating a new life in a new place--finding a job, applying to schools, figuring out where and how to get the busywork of life accomplished, with a new bank, grocery store, post office, pet store, veterinarian, gas station, etc. It will become easy to lose myself in all that needs to be done, easy to forget what really matters, easy to once again succumb to worry. I hope that in my quite moments I will take the time to remember what matters, to be grateful for the love that surrounds me, and to enjoy the too-little time we are allotted to travel through this existence.</span></span><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9fmcdx5Ju8XycJNEuzjj6gqbri2RSB8yN_3QwBFtHwJSGfDx_M6NLGMuJ0V_OyKTk-GyJjftsw-ghuQsvgOL2uXsUkB83nFzGI2WApHhGNW70D6yQwk02JtZx5_pJ95XgfY2WtAtQ19S9/s1600/721994_f520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9fmcdx5Ju8XycJNEuzjj6gqbri2RSB8yN_3QwBFtHwJSGfDx_M6NLGMuJ0V_OyKTk-GyJjftsw-ghuQsvgOL2uXsUkB83nFzGI2WApHhGNW70D6yQwk02JtZx5_pJ95XgfY2WtAtQ19S9/s320/721994_f520.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h3>
<h3 class="GenericStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}">
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">I hope that I will not lose sight of who I am, of what shapes me, and of what feeds my soul.</span></span></h3>tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-68231564186101121312011-11-25T16:01:00.001-05:002011-11-25T16:52:30.128-05:00in no particular order<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRHPqDreUH8MsucbS351dP_vCUUdJX4BQ0vRnKdwMOiOVNqOtYs2NSbvh9fVcgrCnuYKjZWAhBJ1gRQ7Wup4_h1qAKJTfK6nKtpylUfhdAbivAyFWdES57CdWX-aQxXCHGVD1ndoIi8dW/s1600/bilde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRHPqDreUH8MsucbS351dP_vCUUdJX4BQ0vRnKdwMOiOVNqOtYs2NSbvh9fVcgrCnuYKjZWAhBJ1gRQ7Wup4_h1qAKJTfK6nKtpylUfhdAbivAyFWdES57CdWX-aQxXCHGVD1ndoIi8dW/s320/bilde.jpg" width="320" /></a>Po-boys, crawfish, Cajuns, rivers, plantations, strawberries, catfish, Zydeco, the Saints, my sister, Bert, Lexi, Lucy, satsumas, King cake, Doberge, alligators, sugar cane, old friends, new friends, closer friends, bridges, kudzu, Mardi Gras, City Park, Camellia Grill, gumbo, magnolias, snowballs, streetcars, Mr. Bingle, the Moonwalk, St. Louis Cathedral, Jackson Square, Lee Circle, the Audubon Zoo, the neutral ground, beads tangled in tree limbs, pine needles, oyster dressing, Oktoberfest, shrimp, shrimp, and extra shrimp, levees, lagniappe, beignets, cafe au lait, Acadians, Lake Pontchartrain, the Causeway, Abita, bonfires, festivals, Zulu coconuts, Voodoo, Spanish moss, live oaks, bayous, outdoor kitchens, pecans, big copper kettles, Blue Dog, Brees, St. Charles Avenue, parading zombies, ghosts, hot air balloons, horses, returning to roots, new beginnings.<br />tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-70401703543788868432011-11-08T17:32:00.000-05:002011-11-08T17:32:32.528-05:00cyberstalker or just the natural result of 10 days without television?<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6HaRsTZhVZP82H7F2MXdqNJyGqhoYgQfllUALnH7C-y6X6bdWg9upCDWt9cmRmc96fLof6PxHTToJxX5Jho48yf_zELUmWsYb3ppEBpZYYBp5AGcTWuDIvkXN2t8s4gaLEKu_g0UyTA1/s1600/imagesCA2RIRN5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC6HaRsTZhVZP82H7F2MXdqNJyGqhoYgQfllUALnH7C-y6X6bdWg9upCDWt9cmRmc96fLof6PxHTToJxX5Jho48yf_zELUmWsYb3ppEBpZYYBp5AGcTWuDIvkXN2t8s4gaLEKu_g0UyTA1/s1600/imagesCA2RIRN5.jpg" /></a>I cyberstalked you today. OK, well, not you, but several other people. People from my past to be more exact.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
I don't know why I do it, but today definitely wasn't the first time and most decidedly will not be the last. It almost always starts out the same way....looking for a former friend. This friend, whom I will call Rachel, and I were very close once upon a time. We even lived together for a short, ill-fated period, which makes her the only roommate that I ever had outside of school, live-in boyfriends, and my sister when we were kids. Rachel and I had a very abrupt, very public, and very contentious break up. I would have to say that it rivaled my divorce and may have, in fact, been worse. We haven't spoken in over 10 years. Yet, every so often, I try to find her on the Internet.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
I'm not really sure what I want to know about her. Where does she live? Did she ever get married? Have kids? What is her career? Maybe. I think, though, what I really want to know is why. Why? And how? And have you done it to others? I want to see how someone can be so mean and evil, yet still carry on. Actually, that's not really true, either. I don't think she's evil. I do think that she treated me meanly and acted cruelly towards me. But, I don't think she's evil. I've been advised that others do and that I should, but I don't. After all, she was my best friend for many years. If she were evil, what would that say about me?</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
So, I look for her. And I've found hints of her around the Web. Something on MyLife. A maybe on Zabasearch. I think I even found a Facebook page once, but it has since been blocked or deleted. I would never contact her....but still I look.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgckljmC51h_ArrqvJ4MasAn_wdXRK5kHpIJeZh3__3jJrxvnZ3W4_L5cHQzzoqYijcBMecW6eZldhHkUDf080wzlXXROtOHRDJLsPRnkC172i6Fi97kVpba6Cl403YLL2CSc9YoG1u02dA/s1600/stalking-real-life-facebook-300x273.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgckljmC51h_ArrqvJ4MasAn_wdXRK5kHpIJeZh3__3jJrxvnZ3W4_L5cHQzzoqYijcBMecW6eZldhHkUDf080wzlXXROtOHRDJLsPRnkC172i6Fi97kVpba6Cl403YLL2CSc9YoG1u02dA/s1600/stalking-real-life-facebook-300x273.png" /></a></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
Looking for Rachel often evolves into looking for other people. Usually my ex-boyfriends are next on the list. I find them on Facebook or in the Whitepages. Facebook is best, because a lot of people don't lock down their sites like they should. I look at their walls, see who they're friends with. I look at their pictures, and I imagine the lives they've gone on to live since knowing me. I gauge whether their wives are prettier than me and if their kids look more like him or like her. The kids are the weirdest part, really. First, as a childless person, I think it's odd that people with children post so many pictures of them. The ratio of child to self represented in photograph form for these people is like 20:1. I know I post a lot of pictures of my pets, for instance, but I still post pictures of myself. My identity outside of my pets is still intact. I wonder about these parents when it comes to that. Plus, doesn't anyone think about their children's online safety??? OK, on a tangent. What really is weird about the kids is this--if this guy and I hadn't broken up, if he hadn't then gone on to meet his wife, those kids wouldn't exist. That is kind of creepy to think about. Of course, you could say that looking up your ex-boyfriends on Facebook is creepy. I know. I know.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
There's really no rhyme or reason to the people I look up. Sometimes, someone just pops into my mind and I wonder what they're up to. The main thread that they commonly hold is that they probably don't want to hear from me. In a few cases that may not be accurate, but in those few, I have decided that it is in the best interest of all that they don't hear from me. Maybe it is the fact the these people have scorned me, have left me behind and still somehow prospered that bothers me. Maybe I do want to see them wallowing in regret and begging to have me back in their lives. Maybe I just wonder what it is that these people saw that made them decide that I was bad news. And, maybe I'm afraid that everyone else will eventually see the same thing.<br />
<br />
There have been a few searches of people with whom my bridges had not yet been burned. I have found some former friends and co-workers and reached out to them. I am Facebook friends with my first serious boyfriend, as well as with one of my last. I'm not all the bad to all that many people. Some searches turn out good, some turn up nothing, and some do not have happy endings.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
Once, I found an old jar of homemade, home canned spaghetti sauce that an ex of mine had made. I actually thought, "I should find him and ask him how long this stuff is good for." So, I started searching. He was never one to be on Facebook or to use email, so I figured I would be lucky to find an old phone number for him. I found him. And pretty quickly. Unfortunately, it was in the obituaries. My old friend, it turned out, had been murdered a few years earlier. Even though it had been many years since we spoke, I cried like a baby. I was angry, and I felt cheated. He was a good man, and he didn't deserve to die the way that he did. He had been one of the few men in my life who didn't use me and who would have done anything to help me. He was the last man I spent time with before moving away from Indiana, and he had encouraged me to spread my wings and to find myself, even though it meant him losing me.</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHRhNk7jh2Olx72i8RyBeiTYbXQz99q0JCuIFuxL1SmX_0PGQoOTx_D3oI324x7isvsTpTBcTbo8-ZrAhB7W7Jv4d9A06ysX9NZIdWnRqEaxTKt0IrdADj65i7lOuljrkBC5KuEYBDpAj/s1600/forget-me-not.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiHRhNk7jh2Olx72i8RyBeiTYbXQz99q0JCuIFuxL1SmX_0PGQoOTx_D3oI324x7isvsTpTBcTbo8-ZrAhB7W7Jv4d9A06ysX9NZIdWnRqEaxTKt0IrdADj65i7lOuljrkBC5KuEYBDpAj/s200/forget-me-not.jpg" width="195" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forget-me-not</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
I just took a break from writing this and searched for Rachel again. (I am truly sick! Send help!) This time, I found her mother's obituary. I had always contemplated contacting her mother, with whom I had a good relationship, to tell her my side of our break up. I never did, and now it's too late. Maybe, I was giving Rachel some leeway and not putting her mother in a spot where she didn't have to say anything bad about her. Her mother had actually warned against us moving in together. Rachel, she argued, doesn't get along with roommates, and if we wanted to remain friends, we should never live together. How right she was! I just always wondered what she would have said after the fact. I didn't go there. I decided that that was the better thing to do. </div>
<br />
But, now I'm sad that I never got a chance to tell her what I wish I had. I would have said, "Thank you" for all the times she filled in as a mother to me, including me in family Christmases and Thanksgivings. I would have told her that I was sorry if what had happened between me and Rachel hurt her in any way. I would have said that she was right, that I should have heeded her advice, and that I did all that I could to keep our friendship in tact, but that I couldn't take the way that Rachel treated me towards the end. I would tell her that I'm happy today. That I married the man that Rachel got jealous over, said mean things about, and never liked, simply because he liked me. That she was a good mom. That she wasn't to blame for Rachel's behaviors as an adult. That it had nothing to do with her divorce from Rachel's father, or the fact that Rachel was adopted. These were all beliefs that I knew Rachel harbored and held over her mother's head. Her mother had been a victim of Rachel's meanness before I had. Maybe that was why she had warned me.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm done cyberstalking today. Finding an obituary usually does that to me. It feels so final, at least as far as the searching goes. It reminds me that if I ever do decide that I want to contact Rachel, my time to do so could always be cut short. I still don't think that I'm ready to open that can of worms, but I will probably keep peeking around the corner at it.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggcmb3i2xXyuNwiiUPneLzY1kuuLCP4l6LjUS7O9LEyOu01wba-LsNZcyz521H3QPi07CeoySnN697F5YHG9qdf1aGQjerNDyeixpENY3D0sYVS3Dt1twz4mUO4tvMRvjljMjMU09AJ_V-/s1600/cyberstalker1-9945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggcmb3i2xXyuNwiiUPneLzY1kuuLCP4l6LjUS7O9LEyOu01wba-LsNZcyz521H3QPi07CeoySnN697F5YHG9qdf1aGQjerNDyeixpENY3D0sYVS3Dt1twz4mUO4tvMRvjljMjMU09AJ_V-/s320/cyberstalker1-9945.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
So, there it is. My deep, dark secret. My big confession. I'm a cyberstalker. I know I'm not the only one who does it, though. I may be the only one here admitting to it, but that's OK. I'll wear the badge of shame for the rest of you. I will come out of the shadowy corner of the Internet to say that I peep into the online windows of my former friends and lovers. I do. And, I would imagine that someone has done the same thing to me...maybe even one of my own subjects. It's human nature to wonder. It's only natural to want to repair broken connections, especially when they, at one time, were the most important ones in your life. There are far worse things I could do and far worse attributes I could have. My motivation, at its core, is really just a desire to be liked, to be accepted, and to be a part of someone else's life. What doesn't feel normal is the sting of rejection, the pain of reproof, and the loneliness of isolation. That's what's weird, not me.</div>tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-26663033546027359392011-11-07T19:20:00.000-05:002011-11-07T20:32:12.065-05:00my birthday wish<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tqcFPP_BTfbn0jn8POs43HYwWsjG7gCgi81l4LUypu9XWDgqLJfq3xlfWhiDvwZTTBfpiLo02M8br2SONMYlKPz_1xlcj_TsCE15T35_ht1QpNdHJHuZCjshXuUTSPE1R2xaBI6RlLPS/s1600/40th-Birthday-Cakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5tqcFPP_BTfbn0jn8POs43HYwWsjG7gCgi81l4LUypu9XWDgqLJfq3xlfWhiDvwZTTBfpiLo02M8br2SONMYlKPz_1xlcj_TsCE15T35_ht1QpNdHJHuZCjshXuUTSPE1R2xaBI6RlLPS/s320/40th-Birthday-Cakes.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NOT my birthday cake!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
I turned 40 almost 365 days ago. It was 358 days ago, in fact. And, while in some ways much has happened this year, most of the past year was dedicated to one thing...one still unaccomplished, unresolved, ever-stressful, increasingly painful thing....selling my house. It was just a week before that 40th birthday when we were given the news that we would be transferred. And it was on that 40th birthday that, with paint-flecked hands, I ate takeout Chinese and allowed myself to dream about the new life we would soon be embarking upon....the new house, the new job, the graduate school possibilities, the new friends and renewed friendships, the new adventures, and the new me.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
So, now, as 41 quickly approaches, I can't help but lament the last year lost. I am nowhere near as hopeful as I was a year ago. Already facing a loss of around $50,000 on our house, I can't see how we can afford to sell it in this market. I'm worried about finding a new job. I don't know how we will afford the graduate school program. I'm no longer confident about finding our dream home and being approved for a mortgage now that we likely will be coming without the down payment we had counted on. I even begin to question my ability to settle into a new place again and to make new friendships. I've actually been in Connecticut now for slightly longer than I was in Chattanooga, yet I don't feel like I've developed friendships here that come anywhere close to the friendships I have from my time in Tennessee.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
Like New Year's resolutions, though, we get a new birthday wish every year. I'm making mine early. I think I'll make it every day until it comes true. (I'm nothing if not persistent!) I'll wish, and I'll hope. I'll even once again start dreaming of all of the new things to come....both internally and externally. And, they will come. I am sure of this. I must be. There is no other option. </div>
<br />
They may not come packaged in the way that I once expected, but they will still be the gifts that I most need. Even if I don't find the job of my dreams right away, I will find something that teaches me and helps me to develop new skills. Or I will have the opportunity to work for myself. Even if I can't afford school right away, I will research grants and loans and take advantage of the extra time to put money away in savings. Even if we can't afford the dream home, we can still find a great home where we can make our dreams manifest through our own hard work and at our own pace. And, even if I don't make new friends right away, I will still be within driving distance of my sister and many of my dearest friends for the first time. I can't wait to be able to see these friends more regularly.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
The most exciting prospect still remains the chance to reinvent myself in a way, to become the next incarnation of myself. No delay in time will prevent that from taking place. There is no expiration date on that opportunity. With every move I have made, I have gained new perspective, new insights, and new inspiration on the world outside my front door and on the world under my own skin. Within my changed environment, I am able to experience a metamorphosis of my psyche. This is the event I look forward to most. Having to wait for this, my gratification delayed, is the probably what bothers me most about this past year. </div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
Perhaps I wasn't ready yet? Maybe there was something I needed from this year that will benefit me in the next? Of course, identifying it may be difficult, but who says that I have to? I'm sure that I'm learning patience. I know that I've learned to appreciate abundance. I've also experienced gratitude for the support that I do have in friends here. I've also realized how important it is to listen to my gut and to stand up for myself. I've gone out of my comfort zone in many ways, and I've actually been impressed with my ability to adapt and to persevere. I didn't always have the skills that I've seen myself using. I will be better prepared for my next step because of them.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXvjh0gSDSROotw0C7rxExNNzQmetKTuCmBdR3iqSaQrwJZhaeawByVl015KO9iYac3hNhY6An4mLzd2hfWWci2fz6y7vIBEq3YovLQR2D_lJjh_D-s-zTup1bBwdt93gfEBKsCvq0PKnu/s1600/18368_556208841432_57107887_32694515_5633798_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXvjh0gSDSROotw0C7rxExNNzQmetKTuCmBdR3iqSaQrwJZhaeawByVl015KO9iYac3hNhY6An4mLzd2hfWWci2fz6y7vIBEq3YovLQR2D_lJjh_D-s-zTup1bBwdt93gfEBKsCvq0PKnu/s320/18368_556208841432_57107887_32694515_5633798_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helping Nanny blow out her birthday candles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
So, here I go. From now until it comes true, I will be closing my eyes, making my wish, and blowing out the candles. </div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-63692802575621559202011-07-03T07:26:00.012-04:002011-07-03T12:37:42.496-04:00sparklers & squeaky toysAnother Patriotic holiday has come, which, naturally, means that every proud citizen is required to buy explosives and set them off in their yards. I don't know why or how this tradition began, but I do know that for many years it created stress and worry in my household. D.J., my otherwise well-adjusted, confident hound/shepherd mix, was terrified of fireworks. She would shake, quiver, try to burrow under furniture, and couldn't be left alone. She had to be close to me, preferably touching me. If I happened to be in bed, this meant that I had to hang my hand over the side of the bed so that she would could nuzzle it from her hiding place under the bed. The comical aspect of this disturbing and upsetting scene is that D.J. was not a small dog, so she pretty much had to cram herself into the space under the bed, so when she shook, she actually made the entire bed shake like one of those old vibrating beds. That was often my first warning that a thunderstorm might be coming on in the middle of the night. It cou<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhS8jJdTRt2GzkmUm96ZISTCajYfLBCxSFEkOw_bU449tpWDZzIQXr_D8pZvypGwVm4wSVbzev2KPlJnPUUVn8JfIqwnq6J_lk6QGph9IGXItwahvRDwO-MmAvhBVlX2Bi-WlaJjbFPN-/s1600/29924_570866317732_57107887_33115568_7163380_n.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhS8jJdTRt2GzkmUm96ZISTCajYfLBCxSFEkOw_bU449tpWDZzIQXr_D8pZvypGwVm4wSVbzev2KPlJnPUUVn8JfIqwnq6J_lk6QGph9IGXItwahvRDwO-MmAvhBVlX2Bi-WlaJjbFPN-/s320/29924_570866317732_57107887_33115568_7163380_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625149377720228658" border="0" /></a>ld be annoying, because no amount of comforting, conversation, or coercion could convince D.J. that the fireworks (or thunder) were not going to come into our house and harm her. But, really, how can you be mad when your bed is shimmying?<br /><br />I lived with D.J.'s phobias for so long that they became my own. I adjusted my life in expectation of her reactions. I changed my behaviors to minimize her trauma. I would never dream of leaving her alone during any 4th of July celebrations, Labor Day weekend, Memorial Day weekend, or Halloween, when the possibility of a repeatedly ringing doorbell would send her into fits of barking, panting, and pacing. In fact, it became my regular practice to leave work early on any Halloween that fell on a workday, just in case the neighborhood kids started celebrating early. I did my best to turn every situation that frightened her into something positive. I had no luck with the fireworks or thunderstorms, but was so successful with Halloween that before I knew it, it had become my favorite holiday and one that all of the dogs looked forward to.<br /><br />I lived with D.J.'s idiosyncrasies for so long that it wasn't until last night, well into the evening's pyrotechnics, that I realized how quiet the dogs were. None of them, it seems, are afraid of fireworks. Though my insides were twisted in stress and worry, Iko, Bennie, Gator, and Brandi slept or laid quietly around the living room, oblivious to the dangerous projectiles soaring through the skies over our house. They had no idea of the impending doom just outside our windows, but I expected them to be in duress. D.J. has been gone since December 26, 2004, and I still anticipate how every bang and boom will affect her. It was clearly she who trained me, and not the other way around. And, with my luck, by the time I unlearn this behavior, I will probably once again be living with a scaredy dog.<br /><br />Now, lest I leave you with the idea that knowing and loving D.J. left me traumatized and scarred, let me point out that I wrote about her lasting positive influence on my life in <a href="http://tjwesson.blogspot.com/2010/06/rescuing-me.html">another entry</a> a year ago. D.J. truly did save my life in many ways--giving me hope when I was hopeless, teaching me about the power of unconditional love, leading me into a life of service and volunteerism, and proving to me that no matter how dark and scary the storm might be, the sun always rises the next morning. She had a can-do spirit and never let her physical limitations slow her down. Despite her spinal problems that the vets told me had to cause great pain and constant discomfort, she always had a smile on her face and she often managed to span great distances while my head was turned. She left me way too early, but she left me with a lifetime of positive memories.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3je9Z-wCBrMLfKv5qfpUlO6-ZMXpl1akfXec_WvW5FDg0087Yuh6jCL_B1XynDWU3uLDod5-f_ixTVYqVjHRoDnN1PcDJ9FMqQOUe_bAElAXKte6vkNYKVumj1O3KZy-BRPva-b4jiYn/s1600/272205_10150247581393672_719133671_7300637_4391823_o.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3je9Z-wCBrMLfKv5qfpUlO6-ZMXpl1akfXec_WvW5FDg0087Yuh6jCL_B1XynDWU3uLDod5-f_ixTVYqVjHRoDnN1PcDJ9FMqQOUe_bAElAXKte6vkNYKVumj1O3KZy-BRPva-b4jiYn/s320/272205_10150247581393672_719133671_7300637_4391823_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625149548393512402" border="0" /></a><br />It's funny how dogs change us. My sister and my mother-in-law both recently decided to welcome a puppy into their households. They are both people who haven't owned a dog for a few years and have said that they didn't really want another dog. In fact, they are two of the last people I would have ever dreamed would be adopting dogs right now, especially puppies! My sister has a full plate with a full-time job and four kids in the house. She's got 2 older cats who she adores, but who are very low maintenance creatures. My mother-in-law is at that point in life where she enjoys her quiet time in the garden and the ability to travel when she wants. She also has a resident cat who makes the rules and does as he pleases. I can only imagine how their lives will be turned upside down by these little furry additions!<br /><br />I can't wait to hear about the frustrations of housebreaking, the wonders of weird behaviors, and the discoveries of destroyed shoes, paperbacks, pillows, and other seemingly uninteresting household items that somehow prove irresistible to a teething canine. I can't wait to see the pictures that document the changes from puppy-faced cuteness, through their awkward adolescence, into adulthood and the senior years. I can't wait for the way that living with a dog will change them. I hope that they will experience the joy, the fun, and the laughter that accompany life with a dog in it. I hope that they will wonder if their hearts are going to burst from sheer love for this four-legged baby. I know that someday they will feel the pain of loss, but I hope that that day is long and far into the future, and that their happy memories will make it all worthwhile.<br /><br />So, tonight, as the stillness of the summer evening is disturbed by bottle rockets, M<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT700xAxobzwkA9YPQbcwxye6JjM_PHpyWfB7AHQgCEpnN6krAUQ63mU0WW2VC1YVrgdtkWot6GSliGYUfYKyxvIRsw6LdbiG4cQDDN2JJQY_d9H50XfSuShpuptH-fHPw4lNNdjQttevC/s1600/jin1_0.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 260px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT700xAxobzwkA9YPQbcwxye6JjM_PHpyWfB7AHQgCEpnN6krAUQ63mU0WW2VC1YVrgdtkWot6GSliGYUfYKyxvIRsw6LdbiG4cQDDN2JJQY_d9H50XfSuShpuptH-fHPw4lNNdjQttevC/s320/jin1_0.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625155896566666162" border="0" /></a>-60's, Black Cats, Roman candles, cherry bombs, repeaters, and various other exploding devices, I will practice no longer being tense or worried. Instead, I will think about how happy D.J. was on all the days of the year not punctuated by fireworks. I will think about how happy my sister's puppy will be in his new life, getting to know his kitty sisters and being loved on by a houseful of kids. I will think about how happy my mother-in-law's puppy will be in her new life, getting to know her kitty brother, chasing squirrels out of the garden, exploring the ruins of Civilian Conservation Corps' campsites, and romping among the ghosts of the Civil War who inhabit the side of Lookout Mountain. And, I will think about how happy D.J. would know that my life has gone on and that two dogs in need have found forever families. Sounds like a good enough reason for fireworks to me!tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-35661324407437575452011-06-28T22:41:00.006-04:002011-06-29T07:15:41.966-04:00all things wise and wonderful<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us." -E.M. Forster</span><br /><br />This morning, on my way to my personal growth group, I found myself driving behind a large anima<span style="font-size:100%;">l veterina</span>rian. It felt like an out-of-body experience of sorts where the present me was peeking in on the once-possible me. I imagined where the vet was heading and what kind of patient he was going to see. Was it a routine visit or an emergency call? Since I was driving through the horse country of Granby, CT, I eventually settled on the idea that the vet was going to check in on a foal who was born in the last few weeks. An inexplicable twinge of jealously came over me as I imagined the foal kicking up her heels and playing chase with another late Spring foal.<br /><br />I can't remember ever wanting to be anything other than a veterinarian whe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUcJNX9Fr-RJpqUg5sUsuz4axfxe-lb1uFOHtyjc-KDEnCy2GNZc3MnnPMll4NDF6pNtrQLuVm0dQPpoh-phganNPui6GmdoXFFwIDlpv88SaFScPo_a13e4EbUFhpmP1fNr2CmsM_zRx/s1600/RVP-truck_0045.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUcJNX9Fr-RJpqUg5sUsuz4axfxe-lb1uFOHtyjc-KDEnCy2GNZc3MnnPMll4NDF6pNtrQLuVm0dQPpoh-phganNPui6GmdoXFFwIDlpv88SaFScPo_a13e4EbUFhpmP1fNr2CmsM_zRx/s320/RVP-truck_0045.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623468445709203682" border="0" /></a>n I was a kid. I read every James Herriot book I could get my hands on and watched the BBC's "All Creatures Great and Small" whenever I could find it on PBS. I started researching vet schools and planned out my undergraduate studies before I even started high school. Every class I took from 8th grade on was a purposeful part of a bigger picture. I started working with the horses and ponies at the zoo every summer at the age of 12. I shadowed a vet on weekends during my senior year. I knew exactly what I wanted and how I was going to get it.<br /><br />I won't get into how, when or why my plan eroded (at least not now), but I can say with certainty that I not only accept the course that my life followed, but that I am grateful for its twists and turns. I am so passionate about the work that I do with and for victims that I couldn't imagine doing anything else. The friends that I've made through my own healing process and my work as a survivor are some of the dearest people in my life. They've impacted me in ways they will probably never know, and I feel a comfort and an intimacy with them that's organic. I am more confident in my abilities and my talents than I have ever been, and I look forward to the challenges of proving them to new people in yet another state.<br /><br />I was almost at the Massachusetts state line when I saw the flashing yellow lights of the intersection where I would turn off. I slowed, a little sad that the truck in front of me was continuing on straight ahead and that I would never know where the vet was going or who he was going to see. But, as quickly as the sadness had come, it left and was replaced with a deep contentment. I knew that I was where I belonged, doing what I was meant to do. I knew that I was following the right path. I knew that it didn't matter where the vet was going without me. I had adventures and challenges of my own to meet. I took a right turn and went forward in my day. My life was waiting for me.tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-82978044419608047362011-06-15T16:39:00.006-04:002011-06-15T18:08:59.222-04:00a rose by any other nameWhen I got married in March, the idea of changing my last name never really crossed my mind<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeKUx8v2oFvehAxmp5CBLVAEghaKDD7YlqfJLkgm3f3zsREw6qh3GnZ9o-Bubpem5r0hc7Jrt0acsO2p2AVba5rmZ0Z7EIqcrzOEFLPFDau14h081DWGXqkCoam4aJ0NdlglcIEBKuhf0/s1600/vintage-rose-name-place-cards.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeKUx8v2oFvehAxmp5CBLVAEghaKDD7YlqfJLkgm3f3zsREw6qh3GnZ9o-Bubpem5r0hc7Jrt0acsO2p2AVba5rmZ0Z7EIqcrzOEFLPFDau14h081DWGXqkCoam4aJ0NdlglcIEBKuhf0/s320/vintage-rose-name-place-cards.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618569537936502370" border="0" /></a>. Since then, however, I have occasionally considered it. I struggle between not wanting to be traditional by taking my husband's name and a desire to make a public declaration of allegiance and a new sense of family. I also toy with the idea of a new last name altogether.<br /><br />I remember meeting a new girl on the school bus during 4th or 5th grade whose last name was Morgan. I loved the way that name sounded, and I really liked the way it sounded with my first name. I went home and started writing my name as Shannon Morgan. I said it over and over. I practiced putting other first names with Morgan and decided that it must be the perfect name, because it sounded great with every name I could think of. I mean, listen: Shannon Morgan, Mary Morgan, Susan Morgan, Brandy Morgan, Brittany Morgan, Sonia Morgan, Stephanie Morgan, Jennifer Morgan, Yolanda Morgan.... They all sound good. Morgan is the best last name.<br /><br />But, I also think it would be cool to have a last name that matched up better with my first name in terms of its country of origin. Shannon Murphy. Shannon O'Brien. Shannon McCarthy. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_qVIPhCUeaVZQRxBv6erstKYAM3ScpaJAZ4axJYQa0zcY2tO_ou5qPcgH4R2e9Y9p6ocu2diexHjQZ1yHodYjxUPbPu7Qs0aLIwRGkTKCgwU6KMO2gD2yw7kdPxwy5y4kWaOA4-Ou2e9/s1600/rose_name_address_1_address_2_contact_1_co_business_card-p240982487583607145vnqbi_300.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_qVIPhCUeaVZQRxBv6erstKYAM3ScpaJAZ4axJYQa0zcY2tO_ou5qPcgH4R2e9Y9p6ocu2diexHjQZ1yHodYjxUPbPu7Qs0aLIwRGkTKCgwU6KMO2gD2yw7kdPxwy5y4kWaOA4-Ou2e9/s320/rose_name_address_1_address_2_contact_1_co_business_card-p240982487583607145vnqbi_300.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618569457764620450" border="0" /></a>Shannon O'Reilly. Shannon O'Connell. Shannon Kelly. Smith is the most common name in the U.S., and Murphy is the most common name in Ireland. I lived in Murphy, NC and loved it there. Murphy seems the most logical choice.<br /><br />I also considered the meanings of names and finding one with meshed well with me as a person. Shannon means "old, wise one." Of course, this resonates deeply with me. Murphy means "sea warrior" in ancient Irish and "strong, superior" in Gaelic. Nice. Morgan means "born of the sea" in Welsh. Interesting. I sense a theme here. Unfortunately, it doesn't help me in deciding between my favorites.<br /><br />I love my first name and would never dream of changing it. It's really the name that I identify with. Too bad I can't just go with it as a singular name, like Cher. And that hussy actress Shannon Elizabeth already used my first and middle names as her name. (I don't know and/or believe that Shannon Elizabeth is a hussy. I just say that, because she stole my name.)<br /><br />I'm not as attached to my last name. Maybe it's the fact that it's so common and that I am sick of hearing the smartass remarks about it being a made-up alias. Maybe it's the fact that the name isn't rooted in a long tradition. My paternal grandfather was orphaned and ad<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxjKpThknFmJMx0AmrwXD2ONaigUEk2qFSzQXVziJmq_VcD1nSkf9zHkAZe0SyEPoPTooTJ1LJ7hVJa3iKVK07JjDAV13ro7HaYtBLXMhS-QThkqbvezyDTkQqrATiIxyIkWDQ9r4IQ0Mz/s1600/colourful-rose_1280x1024_14338.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxjKpThknFmJMx0AmrwXD2ONaigUEk2qFSzQXVziJmq_VcD1nSkf9zHkAZe0SyEPoPTooTJ1LJ7hVJa3iKVK07JjDAV13ro7HaYtBLXMhS-QThkqbvezyDTkQqrATiIxyIkWDQ9r4IQ0Mz/s320/colourful-rose_1280x1024_14338.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618569451077370546" border="0" /></a>opted by an aunt whose married name was Smith, so his name was changed to Smith at that time. He was the first Smith in our line, and my brother and I are the last.<br /><br />I have a dear friend who changed her name entirely. She found a new family and made a new life as an adult. Her name fits her beautifully, and I can't imagine her with any other name. It's funny what a difference a name can really make.<br /><br />So, for now, I will make believe and try on different personae. Shannon Smith. Shannon Pearson. Shannon Morgan. Shannon Murphy. Maybe I will spend a day each week as each girl and see how it feels.tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-57824664619734455582011-05-10T11:13:00.008-04:002011-05-10T15:09:42.757-04:00a love letter"Home is a shelter from storms, all sorts of storms."<br />-William J. Bennett<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTyySRAWDhXI6Cph2TAVNPPEFKoE0dEw8exIEfU0RYnro65HEYpHLpNjLtkInSuQgh-WQWm9neaFx-k2X_ZuJXOM2jZT_LtQYAJVvWbTnUBTsCyaN2zN9DezyYnpEYm63F4Xq8HQaN9LL/s1600/heart-home.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTyySRAWDhXI6Cph2TAVNPPEFKoE0dEw8exIEfU0RYnro65HEYpHLpNjLtkInSuQgh-WQWm9neaFx-k2X_ZuJXOM2jZT_LtQYAJVvWbTnUBTsCyaN2zN9DezyYnpEYm63F4Xq8HQaN9LL/s320/heart-home.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605163973387617906" border="0" /></a><br />You were my first love here, in this new place where I didn't know anyone and where everything seemed so foreign. You held me close, yet allowed me to branch out and to find my way. You sheltered me during the storms that waged outside and always provided me with a warm place to return. When I was alone at night, you helped me to feel safe and secure, and you greeted me each morning with the shining welcome of the rising sun.<br /><br />You have protected those closest to me and have given them a place to live, play, grow, learn, and explore. You've been there as Iko navigated the difference between chew toys and Mom's slippers, as Brandi sailed down the stairs, as Bennie discovered quiet napping spots, as Alla chased balls and squeaky mice across the floor, and as Gator lounged on the deck. You were there to welcome the newcomers into what was likely their first loving home and family, and you beckoned Eli back home at the end of every day full of outdoor surveillance. And, when time and fate caught up with one of my pets, you gave me the space and the privacy to care for each as I needed to and to say good-bye when all other options were gone.<br /><br />You've supported me through my own evolution. Since we've met, I took on a job working with sex offenders, something I never would have considered before, and I've learned volumes about myself and about others. I've finished my undergraduate degree and have determined the future educational path I'd like to follow. I've forged closer relationships with several friends and family members, while watching other relationships end or suffer from great strain, and you've been there through it all. Perhaps your steadfastness even played a part in my decision to marry my life partner after 10 years together. In any case, you sent me off with your blessing and welcomed me back with your congratulations.<br /><br />And, now I prepare in my heart and mind to leave you behind. I don't love you any less today than at any point in our nearly 4 1/2 year relationship. In fact, as the deep snow and thick ice of this winter melted away and the grasses, trees, and flowers of spring came into bloom all around you, I felt myself loving you more. I love you so much that I would bring you with me if it was an option. I love you so much that I want nothing more than to find someone new to love you before I go. I dream of someone loving you so much that they give you things that will mak<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/114-Wadhams-Rd_Bloomfield_CT_06002_M41825-86848"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6mPzj9i2rwVOhvoP8MnCADgRhiYM2NBtfpnYBur9p-238ygbdTaxTIfHy_CgugI5MxxnNtQml7ab_yDs7zfSOBxGr842xEE69ANuqTturjUu-i9BUZNdUnaBNc31rFe4DY2AGWCxBsQcz/s320/217598_630700554442_57107887_34058082_7627815_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605164997083016530" border="0" /></a>e you more beautiful. I hope that they will care for you lovingly as you age and that they will appreciate your imperfections as marks of character, instead of flaws. And, I hope that they will feel as happy to love you as I have felt all this time.<br /><br />Though we do not know how much time we have left together, I will wake each morning and go to sleep each night loving you. I will reserve my good-byes until the time is imminent, but I want you to know how I feel today and what my thoughts about our future are. I want to cast away any doubts that might linger amid my frustration over forces beyond my control. Yes, I want very much to move on to another place, but this has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I'm grateful that we met and glad that I chose you as my own. And when I leave, I will remember you fondly, even as the years pass and I am unable to spend time in your presence.<br /><br />It has been said that home is where the heart is, but I believe that you are a house with a lot of heart of your own. I know that all who have stayed here with us have felt that heart, and I pray that the next place I call home will share that attribute. I thank you for all you have done for me, for all that you have represented to me, and for all that you continue to do for me during this time of uncertainty. Thanks for being my home.tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-53179164820229244642011-01-17T17:32:00.012-05:002011-01-17T21:51:52.309-05:00faith, hope, and brandi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0aHn529qOahMyhvjlcLLk59KTS4ve8fRC3dCfWzqKYAvMbaIco3kMpWVoSDDrA-r5c4OvOp792FaKCowF5wiCAtrDIimnIt596RVMeOT8IIAjNHIOka4KvQ-i1ZR80uEdZhY4h7jPBRj1/s1600/61a++staircase+-+Copy.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0aHn529qOahMyhvjlcLLk59KTS4ve8fRC3dCfWzqKYAvMbaIco3kMpWVoSDDrA-r5c4OvOp792FaKCowF5wiCAtrDIimnIt596RVMeOT8IIAjNHIOka4KvQ-i1ZR80uEdZhY4h7jPBRj1/s320/61a++staircase+-+Copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563349252040979698" border="0" /></a>"Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase." --The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.<br /><br />Brandi had a seizure last week. It was late afternoon, following a day of record snowfall for the region. I accompanied the dogs on what seemed to be a regular potty trip outside and videotaped as Iko and Brandi wrestled and played in the nearly two feet of snow. I followed Iko as she romped to the deck and then back to Brandi under the tree. It was then that I noticed Brandi on her side in the snow and struggling to get up. I ran immediately to her and found her motionless and face-down in the snow, completely limp and unresponsive. I feared the worst as I scooped her body up into my arms and ran with her to the house. Never before in the more than 12 years I have known Brandi have I ever touched her and not felt her tense her powerful muscles, even while she was sleeping. She was as soft and pliable as a rag doll and felt just as weightless. Save her deep, guttural breathing, she appeared to be lifeless. By the time we reached the deck, though, her head began to move, and she turned to look into my face. She quickly regained her footing as I gently put her down in the breezeway, then gingerly entered the house, laid down and slept deeply and soundly as I watched her like a hawk.<br /><br />In the days since, I've kept a close watch over Brandi, and I've tried to keep Iko from jumping all over her obviously older and more feeble sister. I worry about her when she goes out into the snow, and I have definitely spoiled her when it comes to treats and the usually forbidden ingestion of "people food." Brandi, meanwhile, goes on being Brandi. She isn't afra<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwP4GbeGgJ3P2J7U0K6yzrPhkUOPGaFSQ2ppzPClsfr65LYuR-YJWFhE6-I2fxO23NQUNj0Aadfk50oFNfTeAHP5mrJFmswm8jCNQGrGllv_gflLSDGvUeXGfkXSQCRwpVoW2mKbkVd9t/s1600/Picture+581.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwP4GbeGgJ3P2J7U0K6yzrPhkUOPGaFSQ2ppzPClsfr65LYuR-YJWFhE6-I2fxO23NQUNj0Aadfk50oFNfTeAHP5mrJFmswm8jCNQGrGllv_gflLSDGvUeXGfkXSQCRwpVoW2mKbkVd9t/s320/Picture+581.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563349811166187506" border="0" /></a>id of the snow, and she still greets Iko's enthusiasm with her own form of reciprocated play. She gets excited about trips in the car and equally as excited about trips that merely end at the car. Less than two days after her near-death experience, she even successfully descended the stairs from the bedroom to the living room in the pitch black darkness of the pre-dawn. To appreciate this feat, you must be familiar with her normal state of functioning. With her worsening eyesight and increasingly poor coordination, Brandi frequently falls down the staircase, sometimes even leaping from the fifth or sixth stair up over the shadows cast by the wall and landing in a heap against the front door, flat on her belly with all four limbs jumbled up under her or splayed out in each direction, much like a fawn struggling on an icy pond.<br /><br />We had left the bedroom door open a crack to allow the cats to leave during the night so that I wouldn't have to wake up at their 2:00 am meows to let them out. This change in procedure must have appeared to Brandi as the perfect opportunity to exercise her independence. I heard her toenails clicking on the wood floor, but I assumed that she would lie back down <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisuUEioEr0-kGx1ROLihSQlzCR5llEno-iXgEccPsLOpgS9XQXKgBYA5YFVEAgoIlHPJ2-0AbpQjF_-gtP4iFRzoOSnoWTVAgaJI356sOW6_YQeaqSGI28sXUiQGoDMdM1ql6048Xc5D0/s1600/Picture+767.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgisuUEioEr0-kGx1ROLihSQlzCR5llEno-iXgEccPsLOpgS9XQXKgBYA5YFVEAgoIlHPJ2-0AbpQjF_-gtP4iFRzoOSnoWTVAgaJI356sOW6_YQeaqSGI28sXUiQGoDMdM1ql6048Xc5D0/s320/Picture+767.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563349239504881602" border="0" /></a>as she always does. Instead, I then heard the clicking of her nails retreat to the hall and then down the stairs. I braced for the inevitable crash, but heard only the rhythmic and regular cadence of her steps. My surprise at her success prompted me up and out of the bed even more quickly than a fall might have. I ran down after her and found her nonchalantly walking to the basement door to retrieve the other dogs. Business as usual.<br /><br />Dogs have such an amazing ability to live life in the present. They are blessed with either a very short memory or a very forgiving attitude--or maybe a wonderful combination of the two. Brandi didn't know that she was "supposed to be" weak or unsteady. She didn't comprehend that having a seizure on Wednesday would make walking down the stairs alone and in the dark on Friday morning a risky maneuver. She doesn't realize that she's old, possibly unhealthy, or definitely compromised. All that she knows is that when she wants to go out, she wants to go out. She enjoys a good scratch on the rump any time, and her favorite treats are the marrow bone-type that we get in bulk at the pet store. She likes to be close to people, even if she doesn't like to be hugged or handled. She tolerates having her toenails clipped and insists on visible proof of the need for ear cleaning (I actually have to show her the wax on the Q-tip!). Brandi isn't afraid of anything or anyone. She doesn't carry a grudge, and she doesn't discriminate. She approaches life just as she does a flight of stairs. She simply puts one foot in front of the other and hopes for the best.<br /><br />So, it is to Brandi that I now look for inspiration as my life's path is changing direction. I stand at the top of the staircase, where I can see only the two steps in front of me, knowing tha<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CZo2DLW9f89JgDGYkZIiITSXZ-WC9EePPiyMDgGqk_6tw8awDkq-skT9DZcsYlydrD0vvDuddRhx1n98ncFaSlYkL_8bIJexdAVXgN_55sOcL9mw7xZ5O4y7_NX5kyqDT0SPXVIc8z4Y/s1600/Picture+442.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CZo2DLW9f89JgDGYkZIiITSXZ-WC9EePPiyMDgGqk_6tw8awDkq-skT9DZcsYlydrD0vvDuddRhx1n98ncFaSlYkL_8bIJexdAVXgN_55sOcL9mw7xZ5O4y7_NX5kyqDT0SPXVIc8z4Y/s320/Picture+442.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563349238874353490" border="0" /></a>t turning back is not an option. I must walk on in confidence and with faith that the next step will be there, even when I can't see it. If I look over my shoulder, I may lose my balance and fall. If the steps are obscured by the shadows of uncertainty, I can decide to leap into the dark unknown. In any case, I will end up at the bottom of the stairs, whether on my two feet or on my knees, I will arrive there--exactly where I am supposed to be.tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-28939807610400305282010-12-07T22:06:00.016-05:002010-12-12T18:21:34.013-05:00the year in reviewThe first snow-related school delays were announced Monday morning, I've had to turn on the heat in the house, and the Charlie Brown Christmas special came on tonight. The end of the year is quickly approaching, with the promise of new beginnings just around the corner, and I can't help but to reflect upon all that's happened this year. It's been a year of highs and lows, loss and gain, trying new things and returning to some old activities--overall, a year of some really hard lessons learned. I've made friends, lost friends, and found out a whole lot about myself along the way.<br /><br />I entered the year as a college graduate, having finally graduated <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCm_WLsj1Pf5XgPa5ov4fZMfqv3ull3H8Yc0gXOphNg6n6Po1IH4skX2c0RVNkgv3ykQD91sg4e5ALiKCBdhtMJ-MawzatYdGa7AAGmRD_vWAIH9iQVUrXVzCTvUG87uFPGEAUt9fUgVhZ/s1600/Picture+535.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCm_WLsj1Pf5XgPa5ov4fZMfqv3ull3H8Yc0gXOphNg6n6Po1IH4skX2c0RVNkgv3ykQD91sg4e5ALiKCBdhtMJ-MawzatYdGa7AAGmRD_vWAIH9iQVUrXVzCTvUG87uFPGEAUt9fUgVhZ/s200/Picture+535.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549935731947214082" border="0" /></a>over 21 years since I entered college for the first time. It seems ridiculous now that it took me that long to do it, but I know all of the reasons why, even if no one else does, and I refuse to judge myself harshly for what I've been through or for the choices I have made. I'm right where I want to be right now, and I have a drive and a passion going forward, and that's all that matters.<br /><br />If my finishing my degree didn't seem unlikely or impossible enough, this year saw a truly incredible event when the New Orleans Saints not only made it into <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIXB6ab4MDY5wQJrPxN_D9zbYoO8lCQecEk4lu9Pg5eNlmUAyJ-DzZ9rWdIhH8PNjEiwbBm_AJZ6t0Jwvx9g-wiodtDb_5Yhf2bfAdJfMd3J4J-1RRAw99eixtw4wpXc84Whapxnzsn4A/s1600/19453_292512588298_691558298_3309792_6438313_n.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIXB6ab4MDY5wQJrPxN_D9zbYoO8lCQecEk4lu9Pg5eNlmUAyJ-DzZ9rWdIhH8PNjEiwbBm_AJZ6t0Jwvx9g-wiodtDb_5Yhf2bfAdJfMd3J4J-1RRAw99eixtw4wpXc84Whapxnzsn4A/s200/19453_292512588298_691558298_3309792_6438313_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549935736354231986" border="0" /></a>the Super Bowl for the first time, but also won the game. I was lucky enough to be in New Orleans for the weekend, where I got to go to Mardi Gras parades for the first time since my family moved away from the city when I was 12. I also got to see a childhood friend whom I hadn't seen in as long. I realized that no matter how much time has passed, New Orleans still feels like home.<br /><br />I have family members who decided not to speak with me this year. I also had a friend decide that she no longer wanted me in her life. On the surface, it sounds like I must be a horrible person, but I don't feel bad at all about their decisions. I have chosen, quite consciously, to live an honest life and to strive toward sincere relationships with others. My choice has made some others uncomfortable. I'm sorry for their discomfort, because I know how that feels, but I will not change who I am or what I will allow into my life to make them feel better.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">My animal family experienced a lot of changes this year. The New Year started with a newly adopted Alla remi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgam0jt8M0eVted6ZsRjGP6L8Z8kgcdikrkMLjOkiSkstMM1o6Dpz6jx9hc0oJet19mEA-rRO_4aWYWzlc7F60EmB84iKgGo24WI_BCUv2QhI_jmbqv1k8GZdVABVkaMhqT-d8LHjlPKzCz/s1600/Picture+686.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgam0jt8M0eVted6ZsRjGP6L8Z8kgcdikrkMLjOkiSkstMM1o6Dpz6jx9hc0oJet19mEA-rRO_4aWYWzlc7F60EmB84iKgGo24WI_BCUv2QhI_jmbqv1k8GZdVABVkaMhqT-d8LHjlPKzCz/s200/Picture+686.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549929007787098386" border="0" /></a>nding us all what it was like to have a kitten in the house, and in May, we welcomed a full-size puppy into the mix when Iko came to live with us. I saw her shelter picture on Facebook on an early Wednesday morning, and a week later I was in North Carolina <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvtnozdykB_YVVSJWEQAoMAptLrfOC32vAT1m5E2BHfADQ8CCygiPuh0RoU0sy9UX9mwSujr77hFy9Hu63u_QBxbqgr918qLHM6_-sTmtrwU5jckC5Ag42fWkYkEOd528BsdBmt23sCZ6/s1600/Picture+1022.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvtnozdykB_YVVSJWEQAoMAptLrfOC32vAT1m5E2BHfADQ8CCygiPuh0RoU0sy9UX9mwSujr77hFy9Hu63u_QBxbqgr918qLHM6_-sTmtrwU5jckC5Ag42fWkYkEOd528BsdBmt23sCZ6/s200/Picture+1022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549929016471126002" border="0" /></a>picking her up from her foster mom. It was love at first sight for me, but my happiness was short-lived when just a month later a fatal illness was showing itself in Alla, and my once playful kitty was on a quick downward decline. I said goodbye to her in August, before she ever had a chance to grow to adulthood. My heart was broken, but still open, and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW7KPoZP_3Hsj5uZUjewAnC2Z7O544D9q_iM53nL0_bC2LNxc1igDAq48nbGb2j2uYrpBmU3JimLVVUDxohOlKV6NDkhMV4_4ckKUwVffS_hfo24KbVwkeSrYajlUHpNTSblJEXHm3Sgh_/s1600/DSC07046.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW7KPoZP_3Hsj5uZUjewAnC2Z7O544D9q_iM53nL0_bC2LNxc1igDAq48nbGb2j2uYrpBmU3JimLVVUDxohOlKV6NDkhMV4_4ckKUwVffS_hfo24KbVwkeSrYajlUHpNTSblJEXHm3Sgh_/s200/DSC07046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549929004047144722" border="0" /></a>I soon found another young cat in need of rescue. Hazel traveled from a shelter in Georgia and landed firmly on my lap. Brandi, Eli, and Bennie are all elderly now and are experiencing their own infirmities and limitations, but I am grateful for each and every day I have with them, and I am committed to doing all I can to keep them happy and healthy for as long as possible.<br /></div><br />I haven't had a chance to travel as much as I would have liked to this year. A trip to Indiana was scrapped in May, and a trip to Tennessee was canceled in November. I did, however, get to spend some time in Florida in April for what I hope will be my annual skydiving trip. I got much closer to a few friends and found out that another relationship had changed. I floated in the Gulf of Mexico, dug my toes into the sand, ate too much, drank a little, got a tattoo, played video games, and jumped out of a plane. It was a great trip!<br /><br />Staying home more meant doing some travel around New England and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLyDSxplgK35zzkQObeNgke__9fY-HNljSoJSz5WZYqW9NoF9dfSF4o_SZ9RRHksGiZ23M7qai9AN7B15SuLMibvvTEJOXlK-P_AmAK3uuxPaWdlJhT7qI9GaJIgbYr5k56LlH8ZsSTl3k/s1600/2010-10-09_15-51-42_415.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLyDSxplgK35zzkQObeNgke__9fY-HNljSoJSz5WZYqW9NoF9dfSF4o_SZ9RRHksGiZ23M7qai9AN7B15SuLMibvvTEJOXlK-P_AmAK3uuxPaWdlJhT7qI9GaJIgbYr5k56LlH8ZsSTl3k/s320/2010-10-09_15-51-42_415.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549925288017104450" border="0" /></a>crossing off the last remaining things on my "To See & Do List" for the region. I finally got to Salem, Massachusetts, one of the few places in the area that I had wanted to see even before moving here. We managed to create the perfect mix of history and haunting, and I learned about American chop suey. October was dedicated to pumpkins, and we went to Maine, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island to see them. We saw giant pumpkins, painted pumpkins, carved pumpkins, and lit pumpkins. We watched pumpkinboat races, pumpkin pie eating contests, and pumpkin chunking done by catapult and by air cannon. And the pumpkin whoopie pie I had was amazing!<br /><br />I turned 40 in November, which seems really weird to me. I really wanted to do something fun for my birthday, but we found out a week prior that we were being relocated to Louisiana in a few months, so I decided to be practical and to spend the week painting, packing, and staging our house in preparation for its sale. The week has grown into three now, since we obviously underestimated the sheer volume of "stuff" that we own and the time needed to prep and paint walls, trim, cabinets, doors, and fixtures, but if the hard work pays off with a quick sale it will be worth it. Our Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations have also fallen victim to practical needs, but I am looking forward to many years and many celebrations in our new home.<br /><br />As this year ends, I am happy about what lies ahead in the next. I am looking forward to living in Louisiana again and to being closer to family and friends. I am excited about exploring a new area and about having new adventures. I have personal and professional goals that I am anxious to start working towards. More than anything, I am pleased with an opportunity to lay down roots, to establish myself in an area, and to create a sense of home. I have felt like a gypsy for a while now, moving every few years, and never quite feeling settled. I am grateful for the perspective that I have gained from living in the Midwest, the Northeast, the Tennessee Valley, the Blue Ridge mountains, and New England. I am proud that I've been able to adapt to a variety of settings and that I've been able to work with people from different backgrounds. I know that the future will bring great things, but mostly I feel that the future will bring me full circle into myself.<br /><br />This blog was born from the ending of another blog, and it has been an affirming experience for me. My first entry was inspired by a trail of footprints in the snow, and I can n<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh126-rcoj2zKwGVKomCUbRvrECdDMUTrkL1vrtanWGwXwzkeZmzhLt9omKm0gQBmMO95wuCH_iSYlePvq3ViJrvuRNmViTVhTHeuOG7BHbix_0WP8NfcDevcHD0dtQhxHBwnVNsnomHudT/s1600/welcome+to+louisiana.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh126-rcoj2zKwGVKomCUbRvrECdDMUTrkL1vrtanWGwXwzkeZmzhLt9omKm0gQBmMO95wuCH_iSYlePvq3ViJrvuRNmViTVhTHeuOG7BHbix_0WP8NfcDevcHD0dtQhxHBwnVNsnomHudT/s320/welcome+to+louisiana.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549925301898766722" border="0" /></a>ow see more clearly where those footprints lead. I know that the path will not always be smooth or clear, but I trust that it is heading always in the right direction. I know, too, who I want with me as a travel the path, and I know that together we can face whatever lies ahead. I hope that I will remember to enjoy the view along the path, realizing that it's often not about what lies ahead (or even behind), but more about what surrounds us, what is unseen, and what waits down this fork or that. I hope that those whom I have met and will meet along the way will be better for the experience, even when our interaction is less than positive. I even hope that the owner of the dead blog will someday learn the lessons that she needs to in order to live an authentically happy life, because that really is what it's all about....really.tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-58707420679770854262010-11-09T12:54:00.007-05:002010-11-09T17:24:03.958-05:00ode on a big apple<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">"It couldn't have happened anywhere but in little old New York." --O. Henry</span><br /><br />A few weeks ago, I spent a day in New York City, walking around a large portion of lower Manhattan, eating pizza in Little Italy, entering the bizarre underground world of designer handbag sales in Chinatown (knock-off or stolen, I don't know), exploring local neighborhoods of NoHo, SoHo and NoLita--the streets lined with merchants' booths and the air filled with the aroma of meats smoking on grills, having dinner and drinks in the Flatiron District, and even shopping at a church rummage sale. It was a long, rich, and rewarding day, and I went home exhausted, my love of the City firmly in place.<br /><br />Oddly, some of my most amazing memories and experiences have taken place in New York. At 18, I drove there from Cornell with a car-full of close friends, saw the City for the first time, and fell in love. I spent my 30th birthday there, which marked a turning point in my life, causing me to question all that I had known to that point and<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixb7oMbZ-l0ujX9lHPEoAKJ0ZNbqHkwbzC3nzGj6DnqKKQ_mPB75LOb1xiUN9DPhH092vHgEVxNZPO6P1pf6fwAjejF0UdPje6LeWypdv3pIyDYoleN9loHkG1er5IqGsSDlN6zLqlXPz4/s1600/69842_1677264616586_1386623139_1790026_6287124_n.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixb7oMbZ-l0ujX9lHPEoAKJ0ZNbqHkwbzC3nzGj6DnqKKQ_mPB75LOb1xiUN9DPhH092vHgEVxNZPO6P1pf6fwAjejF0UdPje6LeWypdv3pIyDYoleN9loHkG1er5IqGsSDlN6zLqlXPz4/s320/69842_1677264616586_1386623139_1790026_6287124_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537676256130049026" border="0" /></a> setting my future off on a distinctly different path. Mitchell and I spent a couple of days there about a year after we moved to Connecticut, and I was finally able to wake up in the "city that never sleeps." And now, on this trip, New York played the perfect host to a reunion 28 years in the making.<br /><br />My oldest and dearest childhood friend had told me that she would be coming to New York from Houston in the fall of this year. We hadn't seen each other since my family had left New Orleans in 1982, except for a brief visit some time during our early high school years that neither of us could remember much about. We had stayed in touch over the years mostly thanks to her persistence through annual Christmas cards and family photos. (My terrible history with correspondence should be explored in a future entry.) I was extremely excited to see her after so many years apart. I had "penciled it in" a few months in advance and wondered how our meeting would go--would we know each other, what would we talk about, would it be awkward?<br /><br />As the weeks ticked by and her visit neared, I began to feel nervous about the reunion. Since I had a medical procedure done in June, I had been dealing with physical symptoms that made it difficult to exercise, or had at least given me an excuse not to. I think the real problem was a depression that I had sunk into when I learned about Alla's fatal illness in July. I hadn't felt much like doing anything since then, and I had gained back a lot of the weight that I lost last year. How could I let her see me like this? I had been a tall and skinny kid. Now I was tall and very far from skinny. I was nervous about being judged, uncomfortable in my own skin, and afraid of "messing up" the whole get-together with my negative mood. I almost hoped for something to come up that would make it impossible to meet up.<br /><br />The day that my friend arrived in New York, she called me. She had already been to the top of the Empire State Building, and her excitement was audible. When she asked about me coming to the City to see her, I began my reply with something like, "We're gonna try." She snapped back at me, "Try?!" I instantly remembered her incredible tenacity and knew that I would be seeing her come Hell or high water. I also knew that it didn't matter what I looked like or how much I weighed. Something in her voice relaxed and reassured me. I was once again excited about spending time with an old friend.<br /><br />The day in New York taught me something that I had forgotten, a lesson I had taken for granted in all of my years spent wondering where I fit in, where home was, where I belonged...a symptom, I believe, of moving too many times. I realized that there is a purity about friendships formed when you are very young...before you know what it means to be cool, before the cruel judgments of the outside world tell you who you should be and how you should act<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3LPZbuu7NQh8ye4QE40M0NUxik6dSn8xflZ-2EWmd-87ky9TRyjKNlg0uBG-r3vfvrPTtzOCzeXcYphwAHkGHIFoZvIQh7SE8jtkMAWS1MzY1bQYpJ7Ex_jt028_4iu44AAcqsryKTxC/s1600/Picture+004.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3LPZbuu7NQh8ye4QE40M0NUxik6dSn8xflZ-2EWmd-87ky9TRyjKNlg0uBG-r3vfvrPTtzOCzeXcYphwAHkGHIFoZvIQh7SE8jtkMAWS1MzY1bQYpJ7Ex_jt028_4iu44AAcqsryKTxC/s320/Picture+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537673258190426146" border="0" /></a>, and certainly before it matters how much money you have, how thin your are, or what you do for a living. She had known me during the years that I was most authentically myself, so she knew me on a level that others who had only known me as an adult may never know me. She already knew that I was a good person, goofy-yes, but sincere. And, she carried with her the ultimate token of our enduring friendship in the form of the handmade construction paper card that I made for her just before my family moved away. (Seriously! It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen!)<br /><br />I had at one point thought about spending my 40th birthday in New York. I now realize that she's already given me a gift that I can carry into the next year of my life. I've made a conscious decision to end the depression that I've been in. I've begun exercising and following my diet again. I'm looking forward to redefining the word "home" and to continuing to create a home for myself with those who mean the most to me, regardless of geography. I remember who I was as a child and no longer feel alien from her. I am still that little girl. I will always be that little girl.<br /><br />Thanks, New York. I owe you one!<span class="sqq"></span>tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-21821252590316482562010-09-25T20:43:00.008-04:002010-09-25T21:54:34.935-04:00Nine lives? Please.Just three weeks after Alla's death, I started looking in earnest for a cat to adopt. I didn't know if I was ready, but I couldn't get the thought out of my head, so I pressed on. I looked at picture after picture and struggled with all the unknowns, like whether the cat would get along with the dogs, how Eli would adjust to a new companion, what type of hair the cat wo<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8WnqVSJ2mFkgjsDGqtmDiDMzrpe-oBdEUTukHgWglmubtnhv3-0h4y15MwOtSaHeY8gVFn9B5jwhvj78xvMrddRXab6WBK27FjK68YWdwYArHM9XnpAmc1SRyUyBdBJx-UE-f3FbYee3/s1600/DSC07046.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8WnqVSJ2mFkgjsDGqtmDiDMzrpe-oBdEUTukHgWglmubtnhv3-0h4y15MwOtSaHeY8gVFn9B5jwhvj78xvMrddRXab6WBK27FjK68YWdwYArHM9XnpAmc1SRyUyBdBJx-UE-f3FbYee3/s320/DSC07046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521031633833718594" border="0" /></a>uld have and whether it would affect Mitchell's allergies, and, of course, the huge paranoia that comes from having lost a cat to the dreaded disease FIP. After several days of searching and thanks to an online rescue friend, I found a beautiful, long-haired Siamese (otherwise known as a Balinese) in the Savannah, GA animal control shelter. By that weekend, Hazel was in Connecticut, making herself comfortable with the dogs and trying to decide what to think about Eli, since on the outside he looked a lot like a cat and she far prefers dogs to cats. It's been three weeks now, and it feels like Hazel has always been a part of our family.<br /><br />I constantly wonder, though, how Eli feels about the stream of cats he has seen come and go in his 14 years with me. He was always "the baby" of the house, since he grew up with his older brothers BoBo and Otis. They were my kitty crew for a full 10 years--BoBo as the patriarch and my lap warmer and the other two a silly Mutt & Jeff sort of pair. I don't think that I realized how much the group had aged until BoBo succumbed to the mounting effects of his failing kidneys at the age of 16. Otis was 11 already and Eli 10. It seemed fitting, then, when 8-year old Manny came to live with us five months later. Little did I know then that Otis would become sick just a year after we lost BoBo and gone in under 3 months. Twelve-years old seemed too young and intestinal cancer so random, but just 2 1/2 years later, Manny fell victim to the same tormentor at the age of 11. And, then, of course, Alla was taken a year later, a mere 7 months after we adopted her and at the tender young age of 14 months.<br /><br />In case you've lost track, since January 2006, Eli has experienced the loss of four of his feline friends. And, now, my "baby" suddenly seems old and tired, jaded and suspicious, aloof and cautious, maybe even sad and worried. And his emotions are rubbing off on me. I worry about him day and night. His meow is off. Could he have a tumor in his throat? He's lost weight. Could it be intestinal cancer yet again? He seems a bit dehydrated. Is it his kidneys? He isn't ea<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKagiZHLOPSI200tBiLZMITefuOSTBIzuogz12wIng_BcVggM_82K3JmcPL8RJTKx965Rk82ydB4bf2nERd070v4urVdwfCG3A9td8nkBOn6i7PxRo8T8b382FStpmNgq7BBTPz17CNuMp/s1600/Picture+070.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKagiZHLOPSI200tBiLZMITefuOSTBIzuogz12wIng_BcVggM_82K3JmcPL8RJTKx965Rk82ydB4bf2nERd070v4urVdwfCG3A9td8nkBOn6i7PxRo8T8b382FStpmNgq7BBTPz17CNuMp/s320/Picture+070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521032157984459778" border="0" /></a>ting a lot. It could be any number of things. I'm trying not be too doom and gloomy. I am struggling with the decision to take him to the vet to do bloodwork or to just watch and see. I am wondering if this is just a natural slowdown for a nearly 15-year old cat. In any case, I am still not OK seeing Eli as anything other than the strong, independent, wise, young cat that he has always been. To this point, he has been ageless, and I don't know how to (or want to) treat him like an elderly pet. He's not the type to submit to medical treatments without much complaining. He would much rather be outside enjoying the fresh air and rolling in the dirt than to be babied or tended to. He has a routine, and he has trained us all to follow his schedule and to meet his demands. I can't imagine him approving any changes or amendments. He's the boss. He will always be the boss. As long as I keep things on his terms, I am sure I will be making the right choice. I just don't want to have to make any choices...not for a long, long time. Please.tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7521671440580045177.post-32148933741498548722010-08-31T17:30:00.005-04:002010-08-31T18:55:44.438-04:00getting outside myselfA good friend gave me some great advice yesterday. Knowing that I was trying to come up with the answers to some difficult questions, she told me to take the afternoon off and just go be with nature. Though I couldn't take the time yesterday, I did get outside a bit today. First, I took three of the dogs to the dog park. I don't usually take Bennie since she's older and doesn't really like playing rough like they do there, but she wanted to go for a ride, so I figured the ride would compensate for the destination. Anyway, the dog park was the perfect destination for me. It's a great park, the best one I've ever been to, with lots of big shade trees, park benches, and picnic tables. It backs up to a brook with a small, dammed off section which creates a pool perfect for dogs to swim in. Since none of mine are swimmers, though Labrador blood runs through half of them, we didn't visit the water today, but some of the other dogs there did and they happily shared the water left on their coats and feet with the rest of us.<br /><br />The dog park is a great place to just get dirty and have fun. I mean, the dogs have no pretenses about their objectives, so why not drop your defenses and do the same? I, for one, can think of nothing better than being kissed by a 100-pound pit bull who climbs up onto<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38ZtbTe79XI06rgT7WI8VVqc4Bau9bFcT-WigFQ0TXr3txS_t5rpjw6Lm8ZE6CZbzqS-7gHcoQR4cB_0dW30lunHdAXbY6o0EsVbkYGUaxzOeaUblUxqykrBFr3hHmqozlDEwkBKul0Y5/s1600/Picture+822.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38ZtbTe79XI06rgT7WI8VVqc4Bau9bFcT-WigFQ0TXr3txS_t5rpjw6Lm8ZE6CZbzqS-7gHcoQR4cB_0dW30lunHdAXbY6o0EsVbkYGUaxzOeaUblUxqykrBFr3hHmqozlDEwkBKul0Y5/s320/Picture+822.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511710457126350194" border="0" /></a> your lap or having a shy Rhodesian nudge your hand for a clandestine stroke while the rest of the canine crowd is engaged in something akin to a rugby scrum in the far corner of the park. The dog park puts all humans on an even playing field. There are no occupations or titles there. You're Gator's mom or Happy's dad. (Yes, there was a dog named Happy there today!) No one asks you about your political views or where your kids go to school. They talk about how old their dog is and how they came to have a dog. They talk about surgeries for knee injuries, baby teeth, the dog at home who doesn't like the park, and the funny things their dogs do. They smile, they laugh, they live in the moment...just like their dogs. The dog park is kind of like a playground for grown-ups.<br /><br />So, since it's in the 90's right now, we didn't stay at the park for too long, but after everyone had their nap in the A/C, I felt the need to go back outside again. I haven't felt like doing much in the gardens around the house all year. Truth be told, I haven't felt much passion for gardening since we moved here. Maybe it's because the other houses are so close, and I prefer a more secluded outdoor space. Maybe it's just my lack of joy over living in Connecticut in the first place. But, hostas still need to be trimmed back after their blooms are gone, and I still hadn't done this, so outside I went. Armed with a new pair of shears that I found tucked away in my old, rusty gardening cabinet, I started cutting, and cutting, and cutting.<br /><br />I soon remembered what I loved about being in the garden, about doing a mundane task like weeding or pruning. It's the quiet that I find inside my head. Gone are the voices of worry and doubt. There is no such thing as gossip or judgment. No deadlines, no bills, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaM2sr-S0zA2_LCXym3ik_SkPez378dcb8SJYJlmUtnyrpAs-0d1gr2fJpRiEcP71Y_adFwj7RTpmeJVfLnckiSi8SRryM_wBouvODYBWBNity4q5JccZ5lbUfKAduSbZIw0aZAFobKbCQ/s1600/daddy-longlegs_waterdrop_600.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaM2sr-S0zA2_LCXym3ik_SkPez378dcb8SJYJlmUtnyrpAs-0d1gr2fJpRiEcP71Y_adFwj7RTpmeJVfLnckiSi8SRryM_wBouvODYBWBNity4q5JccZ5lbUfKAduSbZIw0aZAFobKbCQ/s320/daddy-longlegs_waterdrop_600.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511710448555023026" border="0" /></a>no boss, no nothing and nobody. Watched over by my dogs, who somehow protect me from the outside world, I am able to just dig into the task at hand. Today, I reacquainted myself with the daddy longlegs spider and thanked him for the great job he does in my garden. I walked barefoot through the fallen leaves of last autumn that line the beds of the side yard, where our characteristically au naturel approach to gardening is more "naturel" than the front, and I could feel the warmth of decay through my soles. I had dirt under my nails and sweat on my brow, and I felt truly accomplished and peaceful, all at once.<br /><br />I had cut and cut away at the things that were no longer needed and had thrown them in a heap onto the compost pile. Like pushing aside the nonsense that clutters my mind from time to time, I cleared space for new growth as well as tidying up what's left behind when an something dies. There's still work to do, as I never made it to the hosta bed outside the kitchen window, but I guess I know where my next opportunity lies.tjwessonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16717080036189974480noreply@blogger.com0