On Writing Letters

I wrote a letter today, with my favorite kind of pen (Papermate Flexgrip, medium point), on my favorite type of paper (dirty-looking, lined newsprint-ish) to a person who can only write letters in this way.  As I wrote, I thought about the many conversations I've had with writer-friends and other friends, during which we have lamented the dying art of the hand-written letter.  I started to wonder just when it was, the last time I'd written or received one such letter.  I can't remember, outside previously mentioned friend, when I have sent or received one. 

I know I am not the only person in the world who is horrified that in schools, children are now only being taught to print the alphabet.  Penmanship is rapidly becoming a thing of the past.  It occurred to me that as I wrote the letter, I was becoming familiar again with my own handwriting.  How interesting!  How sad.  Had I forgotten my own penmanship?  I think, no, I hadn't, but strangely, it was a surprise to me there on that naked page.  I've grown so used to just signing my name, on checks, bank deposits, the occasional greeting card.  My signature is as familiar to me as my hands; as familiar as the spot where my "writer's bump" used to be.  Today, I realized that knobby spot on my middle finger is gone.  There is a small, purist part of me which is horrified by this discovery.  There is a larger part of me, and a more rational one, who assures that in writing-by-keyboard, I haven't failed, but instead have succeeded in reaching out to more people than I could have, without. 

Every writer, whether wildly successful, aspiring, struggling, freelancing, or just dabbling remembers a few lines they've written as being particularly good.  Perhaps even fantastic. If there is a writer in you, or a writer in your life, there a few lines floating around, labeled with some level of greatness or excellence.  I have a few.  There are some I have used, and some which haven't yet found a place.  Today the letter I wrote was easy, on comfortable paper with my favorite pen.  The words came as they should; they were easy and familiar.  But one of my favorite writing lines ever went something like this:

"Oh, I know.  It is a surprise to me too, the scratch of my pen on this paper..."

That was a good writing day, and one of my favorites.  It was written by hand, the pen was scratchy and the paper less than comfortable. Today's letter-writing exercise was frustrating at times, because I cannot write as quickly as I can type.  I cannot type as quickly as I can think.  But I enjoyed the process of writing by hand, and there is a certain rhythm one can only find in hand writing.

Although I have lamented the loss of it, I haven't practiced the art of letter-writing much lately. It's something Ilove to do.  So I wonder, why don't I do more of it? 

I Guess You Could Say...

For the past couple of weeks, I have been a crazy person.  I guess you could say I have been stressed out.  Last weekend, Christmas with my husband's family, which was wonderful, but the preparation was long.  Stress inducing.  Going to visit his family is, for me, quite a lot like going home.  I am so blessed to have in-laws I love dearly, and who also love me.  My mother in law is one of my best friends.  I know, it sounds impossible, but it is absolutely true; I would hang out with her even if we were not related.  I love her like my own mother, at least 364 days of the year, (come on... I get one day to be iffy on this) and in fact I have much in common with her, that I do not have with my mother.  The point is, I am one lucky person.  Except on the off year, when she does not get "Real Christmas".  Which means, the 25th of December.  Since the beginning of my time in Minnesota, my husband and I have "taken turns" with the mothers, for actual Christmas day.   As I just typed that, I am again reminded of what a ridiculous exercise this has become.  So, on the off year, when my beautiful and wonderful mom in law doesn't get (her words) "real Christmas", it is a dicey, sometimes tense, definitely sad-for-her time.  I've tried to talk with her about it and said,  "Christmas is whenever we are all in the same place, here we are, this awesome family".  Yeah.   Christmas, for her, happens only on the 25th of December, and although she will have a weekend prior to Christmas, when my husband and I come to visit, do all the fun Christmas stuff... it is lacking for her.  It is lacking for everyone, really, because mostly we open presents from everyone, and they open presents from us, but the rest are saved for "real Christmas".  I guess you could say this is a hurdle we've never gotten over.

I think about my own family, and the craziness therein.  As opposed to my husband's relatively small, stoic Norwegian clan, we on my mother's side are a ridiculously loud melting pot of whatever seems cool; I like that we are Lithuanian on my maternal Grandmother's side because it makes sense to me. It is not the only history with which I identify; on my Father's side, there were horse traders and people from the Isle of Man.  I guess you could say I come from a diverse background.  I remember Christmases on both sides of my family and they were fun, and loud, and wonderful, and someone was always, without fail, pissed off.  I guess you could say my parents and grandparents were human beings. 

As I prepare for the trip "home", I think about so many things like this, so many Christmases past.  Always, at this time of year, I miss my grandparents, on both sides.  My Uncle Doug.  There are many things like that, upon which a person could focus.  I guess you could say I've changed my way of thinking.  I'm happy to be heading home for a few days. 

This year, I'm done with panic.  Done with "musts".  When I get home, my mother will be obsessing over cranberry relish and whether or not there are an equal number of gifts for everyone.  There will still be a rift in the family and some will not attend the extended family Christmas.  Everything that makes me nuts about my family will still make me nuts.  There will be a few pissing matches between family members, because that is just how it goes. I plan to hug the little ones tight, give gifts with my whole heart, and give great eye roll to those who just won't play. I guess you could say I am looking forward to going home.

Merry Christmas to you all, and may you have the strength to get through your family holidays. 

Take time to be amazed

I'll admit it.  I've been in a bad space. A funk. A snit.  I've been in a mood, not for long, but for the past week or so.  I have much on my mind.  The holidays are stressful.  My friend is in the hospital.  I'm worried about our sweet Maggie, who may not be with us for long.  These troubles settle not just in my mind but somewhere under my left shoulder blade and deep inside my left hip.  I know better than to wait until my body renders me useless...I'm familiar with this pattern and I know how to deal with it, yet I resist the idea that I am not invincible.  Every single time. That is true of many people I know, who keep at it and carry on despite what might be debilitating circumstances. I wonder, what is this compulsion to be above pain, whether it is physical or emotional? 

I know where mine comes from.  My Grandpas were hard-working men who didn't have much time for sissified behavior.  Their wives, my Grandmas were incredible women, tougher than most people I know today.  These were people who believed in hard, honest work, and who lived their beliefs in a way that is as impressive to me now as it was then.  I can still hear my Grandpa Jack hollering, "Headache?  You have a headache?  I've had a headache every God damned day of my life!  Sooner you get to work, sooner you'll be done!"  There was no ailment that Grandpa Jack hadn't had every God damned day of his life, so good luck trying to get out of anything. My Grandpa Brooks built a business, an empire really, from the ground up, and worked at it eight days a week.  These were the people who made my parents, who then made me.  Lucky me.  Lucky, blessed me.  I am so glad to have inherited and learned this sort of tenacity; it has carried me through some difficult times.

I have thought of them, lately.  When I don't want to get out of bed to take a walk, just because I want to exercise, I think of them.  How they got up every morning much earlier than I do, even on my early days.  How they ran a business, managed a farm, raised children, and a hundred other daily things that I cannot even comprehend.  It makes my life by comparison seem so simple.  I am amazed by them. 

I've been growly on my walks, the past couple of weeks.  I don't much like exercise in any form.  I have walked by a particular bunch of weeds, which bend and catch the morning sun in a way that cannot be planned.  I keep thinking, "I need to grab my camera and catch that".  They are especially lovely on mornings when there is frost.  I realized today, I am amazed by them.  I've watched them while walking, while driving in and out of my driveway.  Why haven't I taken my camera just down my driveway to capture them?  They are amazing in their simplicity.

I took a walk this morning with my neighbor and friend.  I am amazed by how much this changed my mood and my day.  Took a break in my day and had lunch with another friend, and her daughter, one of my favorite grown-up kids ever.  I am amazed at how happy I was to see this young woman, and at how an hour with my friend, her mom, changed the whole direction of my day. 

On my way home I was inspired to consider other things which are incredible to me.  Here is just a partial list:

The unlikely but beautiful sea-green color of my husband's eyes
The way the big windows in my house face exactly northwest
The whorl on Lucy's face, the direction it flows, and how that is supposed to tell her personality and demeanor, and that it is accurate
That my mother in law is one of my best friends (truly!), and that she and my own mother are buddies (really!)
The extremely strange and unlikely circumstances which lead me to my short list of terrific friends
The way that I survived not one, but two brain surgeries
That my Dad is the person who put me back in touch with my Father, and pushed me to continue that relationship (figure that one out, ha ha)
That flowers can be green and purple at the same time
That I have the most amazing set of nieces and one nephew in the universe
That both of my stepmothers are not "stepmonsters" but women who I really love and admire
That I am loved (really!) by people I never thought I would be
That sunflowers exist and stand up, against all laws of physics
That hummingbirds exist,, and fly against all laws of physics
That now I have not just one but two horses, and they are both wonderful beyond belief
That I feel loving and protective over every kid in my neighborhood
That I feel loving and protective of every dog in my neighborhood, and that both dogs and kids are super cool

Certainly, I could make a much larger list.  But it was a bit of a game changer when I started thinking about things this way.  I encourage you to take time to be amazed.  It is a leveling exercise.  Good luck to you, and may you find something new to add to your list, every day.

I think tomorrow, I will grab my camera, catch those cool weeds when the sun is coming up. 

Reflections on a little black lab: 

Her name is Maggie, and I knew that, the first time I held her.  She was just two weeks old, a fat little orb with slits for eyes and legs not long enough to propel her toward me.  She tumbled around with her litter mates, all of them crying that newly-born cry which is half fear and half excitement.  She rolled toward me, quicker than the others, and I scooped her up in one hand, at the same time saying, "Hello, Maggie!"  Her tiny body fit in my palm.  I held her to my chest.  And so it was.  I visited her on Fridays, every week. I would say, "Where's Maggie?" As she grew, she would stumble on fat legs, trot a little, then muscle her way through or over her siblings, at the sound of my voice.

She was to be a surprise, a gift to my husband, although we were not yet married at that time.  I brought her home when she was just eight weeks old.  Maggie fit in Nolan's hand perfectly now; she was too big to fit nicely in just one of mine.  He carried her around like that for days, like I had, in one hand, close to his chest.  I kept saying, "You have to stop doing that!  He won't hurt her, you just have to let them work it out." My old dog Astro had trained his share of puppies and he was not impressed by the arrival of her royal highness, but she loved him.  Astro would never admit it, but she wore him down.  He wanted everyone to believe he merely tolerated her, but to be truthful, he fell in love with Maggie just like the rest of us.  He played again.  She made him young again, and tested his patience again.  There were times when we thought, "oh no, she's dead", thinking surely he would chomp her head. He never did.  Instead he just took her toys and laid on them.  Put a paw on her head, as if to say, "Shut up now, or I will kill you".  He would gather her toys in a pile, allow her to be obnoxious for just-so-long, and then lay on them.  Game over. 

When it was time for Astro to pass on, Maggie grieved.  She quit eating, she wouldn't sleep.  She looked for him constantly.  It was difficult to watch.  But of course, she was only four.  And he was thirteen.  I took her everywhere with me, because I couldn't stand the way she cried and searched, every time I came home.  Because of course, I had taken him away.  Why didn't I bring him back home? 

Sooner than I thought it would happen, a new dog came into our lives.  Enter JAX!  Maggie was then forced to be older, the one to"train in" if you will, the new dog, twice her size but always submissive to her.  I watched, after Astro's passing and Jax's arrival, this little imp of a lab turn into a serious, loving mother hen of a dog, who cared for not just the ridiculous disaster who was Jax, but also the ridiculous disasters who were her Dad and me... the humans in her life.  In retrospect I see how Jax gave her a new purpose, and then how she herded, gathered,  and cared for us all.  Poor baby. 

It is time for us to make the decision no pet owner wants to make.  Maggie Mae has been the coolest dog in some ways, also the silliest.  She is a lab.  She is afraid of water.  She will not go outside no matter how bad she has to GO... if it is raining.  If it is too cold, she will pee on the porch.  She is afraid of the dark.  The dog cannot be dragged into a lake, a kiddie pool, not even a mud puddle.  Unless of course it is her idea, in which case she will roll in the puddle with wild abandon.  Let's not even talk about the other things she occasionally rolls in.  Gross.

Given all that, she has still been an awesome dog.  She had to grow up when she didn't want to... and if any of you know Jax... helloooo... he's who she had to train in.  Bless her heart, she has been, despite her dislike for being hugged and touched, the dog who has laid in my bed, right against me, full contact, when I've had a couple of different surgeries.  She's been the good girl who will not leave my side, or Nolan's side, when one of us are hurt or sick.  She can be such a lummox when she is seeking attention, but on the other hand, so careful and tender when she knows her humans are hurting.  And has, time and time again, laid close and allowed hugging, with great patience, even though in her younger years this was simply torture for her.  As she gets older she chooses to cuddle up now and then, but not often, and not for long. 

It is with great sorrow that my husband and I speak about the end of her life.  She is healthy, physically.  She takes a thyroid pill, it changed her life, she runs like a stocky little greyhound.  But she is losing her mind.  The wonderful neurotic, caretaking dog that she has been for so many years is so quickly leaving us.  It started with something we found funny.  Oh dear, too many people here, and Maggie needs some quiet so she is hiding in the shower.  It didn't seem SO weird then, after all, she has always been quirky, and we have loved her for it.  That was two years ago, probably... and today, if there is any change in her routine, she becomes a trembling, panting, teeth-chattering mess.  It has been a gradual progression and we haven't talked much about it.  But today, we are a long way from that silly little dog who just needs some private time, so she hides in the shower.  We have reached, now, the point where we have medicated her for almost a year.  We've changed her medication.  The vet (who I love, and so does she, and so does Jax) said, let's try this, and then this, and then THIS... but understand none of it might work, we might be dealing with dementia.  So then it becomes a quality of life issue.  We are at the second "this" which isn't working.

I've experienced human relatives who, toward the end of their lives, didn't recognize me.  It was creepy, horrible.  And this is where we are with Maggie.  At times she does not know who I am or who Nolan is.  It is the most horrible feeling, to chase her and have to catch her, knowing she is absolutely terrified of us.  I don't want this life for her.  We haven't decided yet but I think it's maybe time.  We keep saying, "Let's give it a week",  as if a week will cure her.  She has good days. 

I can't help but think of a time in my life when I was saying, "But today was a good day, so, maybe..."  And how, as a therapist, I would say to my clients, if you are measuring your happiness by "good days" versus "bad days", and the bad days are winning, then, you need to get out of this situation.  When I was telling myself, "but we had a few good days, so, see how this is a good thing?", I realize now it was such a ridiculous bunch of backward logic.  And I fear that out of selfishness, we might be keeping a dog alive who is suffering.  Wait.  I know we are. 

Princess Mary Margaret Magdalena Moon Pie... with your soft, soft puppy hair which you never lost, with your deep black seal eyes, your funny way of "talking" to people, your silly acrobatics, the way you flail into a person you think is pretty cool, the way you become five hundred pounds past your reasonable sixty five when you get on the big bed and don't want to get off ... the way you were so proud, those many years ago when we took down the deer fence around the garden and you brought me three or four dead corn stalks every day, the way you so proudly cleaned our woods of  old toys, foil balloons, dead squirrels, and also pieces of dead things I could no longer recognize, but that were definitely dead and slimy... the way you sit so proudly and "shake" ... you are a wonderful, cool, fantastic good girl.   Ten years with you is not enough.  And another month is too long. 

I won't say goodbye to you tomorrow.  But soon.  And then I will simply say, "Good night, my silly girl girl, I love you so much"  Like I have said to you every night of the almost 11 years of your life.  Good night, Maggie.

I'm new to this blogging thing.  I'm not sure how much I will use it.  But I like the idea of it, in that I can share thoughts and ideas here, and not lambaste my friends with them.  I'm not quite sure yet how to get all of this done, but hang in there with me, folks, and maybe this will turn out to be a pretty cool thing.  Onward...