Meet Precious Zoobie Zoo

"Receive with simplicity everything that happens to you." - Rashi

I hesitate to write another animal column because it feels like I've written quite a few lately. But, short of the fired up pieces about local politics I occasionally generate, the columns about animals seem to be among my readers' favorites. Folks will cross a room or send a note letting me know how much they enjoyed reading about my pets. The last animal column I wrote was after my beloved, rescue Rottweiller Roland died. Every condolence, hug, email, tear or tender story you shared about your furry friends on the heels of that meant a lot to me. I was devastated and it was comforting to know there are so many others who understand that kind of love for an animal.   

Some years ago, when my previous beloved, rescue Rottie died, I was equally devastated. So, the first thing I did was rush out and get not one, but two new dogs. I did it the day after Pru passed - didn't even try to "sit with my pain," as a therapist I once had would say. The dogs were rescues, half-grown female pups; sweet enough, but nothing special, just little Heinz 57 mutts. They are Rosie and Ducky, still with us today.      

A while after getting those  two, I was at the animal shelter for some reason (not to get a dog) and I encountered the most pitiful thing I've ever seen. It was an ancient, blind, Poodle mix who had just been surrendered. She was sitting there, shaking in her cage with a look of sheer terror on her face. I couldn't leave her there; just couldn't do it. So, "Blind Dog" (the only name that ever stuck) came home with me and lived for several more years.

She was small, with a front leg that had been broken and healed bent off to the side. I liked to imagine she was a circus dog who fell during her act and that's what broke her leg. The circus then abandoned her to a serious of bad homes and sad situations. Her cataracts were large and bright; they made her look like she could shine laser beams out of her eyes. And, she didn't smell good. But, we took good care of her and over time, she wiggled her way into our hearts.   

I carried "Blind Dog" around in a backpack at times because she couldn't keep up with the other dogs on walks and was often at risk for being trampled in the house. We took her on outings and she'd ride along in that backpack, sporting a scarf or a little shirt, smiling her big blind smile. She looked like she felt like the Queen of the World as people petted her and told her how cute she was.  

Ending up with "Blind Dog" was a surprise, as I've never been fond of small dogs. But, when she died, she left a surprisingly large hole in our hearts, so we buried her in the back yard, planted a rose bush nearby and got her a  little stone.  As much as I missed her, though, I was never tempted to get another small dog...and then Roland died.

This time I forced myself to "sit with" my pain and grief, so rushing out to get another dog wasn't an option. Pulling weeds ended up being my most soothing and productive grief activity and since our yard had not been weeded for a couple of years, there was plenty of weeds to pull. Last week, I weeded my way to "Blind Dog's" grave, which was badly overgrown and covered by the rose bush we'd put there. It took a while to get the area back in shape and while I worked, I reminisced about "Blind Dog," chatted with her some and told her how I still miss her at times.  

The next day, while taking my Pets of the Week photos for the paper, I encountered another near blind Poodle mix. She was younger than "Blind Dog," much smaller, with no broken leg. She was just as pitiful looking, though, sitting there shaking in her cage. She had been found a badly matted, sick stray, wandering around a parking lot unable to see because of a nasty eye infection. When I met her, she was freshly shaved and bathed, but still looked like a mess. The rescue folks named her "Precious" and it was obvious there was something pretty precious in there, behind all that sadness and fear.

"Precious" looked like my "Blind Dog" in so many ways. I suspected it was more than a coincidence she showed up the day after I'd spent so much time communing with "Blind Dog" at her grave. I told Mr. Clark about her, in passing, and was relieved to hear she'd been placed in a foster home that very day. Then, that night (admittedly with a couple of glasses of wine on board) I swear, I heard the voice of "Blind Dog" in my heart, telling me to go get that dog, which, of course, I did.  

"Precious" is now sleeping contentedly at my feet in her new dog bed. She is wearing one of "Blind Dog's" shirts, a little purple one that had been my favorite, so I kept it after "Blind Dog" died. "Zoobie," as we've started calling her, is on a bunch of medicines, special food, and has to have medicated baths, but, as Mr. Clark says, "at least she can see." She's a tiny thing, still tentative and insecure, but you can tell she has a lot of love to give and she's getting more comfortable all the time.

Officially we're only fostering "Precious Zoobie" until her forever home can be found, but I've already bought her a backpack and I think we all know how this story will end...

"an invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but will never break." - an ancient chinese belief

surviving the "stay-cation"

"I got gaps; you got gaps; we fill each other's gaps." - Rocky

Mr. Clark took some time off for a "stay-cation" last week and I'm proud to say we survived it. Vacations are easy to not only survive, but enjoy - they're all fun, new places and excitement. "Stay-cations," on the other hand, mostly involve work - work around the house, work in the yard, extra meals, extra dishes, extra laundry, etc. If you want to find out how comfortable you've grown with the spaces in your marriage, spend a week together doing not such pleasant things. It will become obvious, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

Our "stay-cation" was challenging because our house is big, our yard is bigger and both are a mess. Also, Mr. Clark's job involves being gone most of the time, which means I've gotten used to being by myself. I have routines and it's hard to give them up, even for a week, even for the sake of spending "quality time" with my beloved. He likes music in the morning; I like NPR. He likes cooking; I don't like a kitchen mess. He likes listening to baseball; I don't like sports.

None of these differences are substantial and for that I am thankful and well-blessed. However, in the absence of substantial differences, minor ones seem bigger. After 33 years, we understand this, so we also scheduled some "dates." We went to a concert, had a couple of meals out and visited a botanical garden. We dressed up to do these things, combed our hair, I put on makeup - we don't normally do that for rattling around the house on weekends. It turns out Mr. Clark's a handsome guy and I clean up okay. (We did discover, however, that even at our pretend E-Harmony date best, we get seated towards the back of restaurants. We decided it's because restaurants want it to look like their clientele is hip, young and fashionable - not old people on E-Harmony dates. Fair enough...)

The "stay-cation" involved so much manual labor that we suffered a harsh realization about how out of shape we've become. In our minds, we're still fit and able to work all day without consequences. In reality, by the end of those "stay-cation" days, it was all we could do to walk the dogs and that was done with a crippled, hobbling sort of gait. "Who are these old people and when did we become them?" was a frequent topic of conversation.   

As often happens when we spend too much time together, there were a few tiffs, some harsh words, and a door or two slammed. When you've been married as long as we have, you learn how to hurt each other quickly and badly. Getting past the hurt, forgiving and forgetting is part of staying married and over time, Mr. Clark and I have gotten better at that.  

I photographed weddings for awhile and even though I did a lot of them, I was always surprised by the surety with which young couples say their vows and the lit up way they stare into each other's eyes. Mr. Clark and I got married as a sort of a lark and our approach has always been more like Antoine de Saint-Exupery's "love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction."

We do work well together and we dream the same kind of dreams. By now, we've been through so much together that neither of us is able to imagine being with anyone else. He's a part of me; I'm a part of him; together we've made this life. That's what makes it possible for us to reconnect during those times when harsh words fly or the fire flickers out.        

If being in love is an "unconditional commitment to an imperfect person" then Mr. Clark and I are doing just fine. The "stay-cation" gave us ample opportunity to connect with each other's imperfections. It also offered plenty of time to enjoy each other's company. Marriage is nothing, if not a process and for us, the process has always been about growing apart and reconnecting. We did both of those things during the "stay-cation" and in spite of the sweat and muscle aches, by the end of the week we agreed that Mr. Clark will take another "stay-cation" next year and this time we will strive to not only survive, but actually enjoy it.  

because you asked...

This is the label on Ed Bob's sauces, mentioned in the column below about Plants vs. Seeds and Ed Bob's sauce.

"Plants vs. Seeds, that is the question..."

"Gardening is the slowest of the performing arts." - Mac Griswald  

I am not a patient person; that is why I prefer to buy plants rather than fuss with seeds  when gardening time comes. Mr. Clark is a patient person who would rather fuss with seeds than "waste money buying plants," as he puts it. That is why he orders seeds every spring, which he then expects me to plant. And, that is why I buy plants every spring and neglect his seeds.  

We've been going 'round and 'round about this for years, but the discussion became more intense several years ago, when  Mr. Clark grew his first garden using only seeds. He was out of work at the time and wanted to make some hot sauce and salsa as "something to do while he looked for work." Since there was no money for plants, seeds were the only option and since I was working at the time and he wasn't, Mr. Clark knew he'd have to fuss with those seeds all by himself.  

My hope was that, if he could get his seed garden to grow, he would sell some of his sauce at a Farmer's Market somewhere, but he said, no, that would be a waste of his time, since he was so busy looking for work...

(Do we sound like an old married couple? We are. This year we'll celebrate 33 years of this type of wedded bliss...)  

Mr. Clark's garden not only grew, it thrived. He learned to make a bunch of different hot sauces and salsas. He named his product line "Ed Bob's Hard Times Hot Sauce, for good times and for bad." He even designed a label featuring a line of happy looking little men, followed by a line of sad looking little men. They were clip art from a Depression-era anti-syphilis campaign poster and seemed to communicate the message "for good times and for bad" perfectly.

The "Ed Bob's" turned out to be very good and he made so much of it, we gave it as Christmas gifts that year. By the next spring, Mr. Clark was working again, at a good job that kept him on the road quite a bit. People were clamoring for more "Ed Bob's, and because Mr. Clark was gone so much, I won the plant vs. seed discussion easily. We bought a bunch of pepper and tomato plants and, once again, the garden thrived. Mr. Clark spent almost every weekend that summer making "Ed Bob's."     

    

By this time, the word was out. "Ed Bob's" was a big hit because you can put it on almost anything and it makes almost anything taste better. People we don't even know started hunting us down, "friends of friends" on Facebook and such, wanting to know if they could get a bottle. Apparently, they tried it at our (real) friend's house and had to have some of their own. Mr. Clark ramped up production and started allowing real friends to place orders for "friends of friends." And, because there was so much of it, everyone we know got "Ed Bob's" for Christmas again.

This year we started the seeds vs. plants discussion early because I had cut back on my work hours and Mr. Clark was traveling more than ever. It was clear he was going to push the seed thing hard and since I was "going to have so much more time on my hands," what could I say? I did insist on ordering fancy seeds and seed starting supplies, and by mid-February, I had trays of seedlings sitting in every sunny spot in the house. By mid-March, they were all in bigger pots and the "hardening" process had begun. ("Hardening," involves spending hours toting trays of seedlings from here to there, making sure they get the right combination of sun, shade, cool, warm, etc.)  

In the spirit of keeping marital bliss alive, I tried not to complain too long or loudly, but I believe next year I'll be able to buy more plants and start less seeds, just so Mr. Clark won't have to hear my voice so much when it's gardening time.

Last weekend we planted a bunch of the seedlings in the garden and it almost broke my heart. They look so small and defenseless out there...It turns out I became attached to those little plants as I fussed with them and toted them about.

A disadvantage of a successful seed spree is that you end up covered up in tiny plants. Thanks to an aggressive plant give away program I instituted a few weeks ago, many of my tiny friends have already been "re-homed" (as the animal rescue people say) and quite a few more are going to their "forever homes" (another animal rescue term) this week. With any luck at all, my fussing with seeds will be soon be over, at least for this year.

As for the "Ed Bob's," Mr. Clark doubled the garden size this spring, "to be sure there's plenty of room for more tomato and pepper plants." Production should be in full swing by the end of June. Friends and "friends of friends" are already placing orders and our families actually seen happy knowing what Christmas will bring.  

Many have suggested that Mr. Clark start selling "Ed Bob's," to which he replies, "Are kidding me? You gotta' know somebody to get this stuff."

Like I said, sheer wedded bliss...

about transitions, big and small

"We should find perfect existence through imperfect existence." - Shunryu Suzuki

A young friend of mine asked me to write about transition. She is the mother of two small children who works full-time. She said she struggles with transitions - "not the major ones, but the daily ones" like "going from super worker bee to super mom." She said she thought the "answer" might be found in meditation or "present moment awareness," but she tends to "lose sight of that in the hustle of life."    

I was flattered that she was curious about any insight I might have. And, who on any given day, hasn't experienced her quandary? I am challenged by transition all of the time.

Transition is different from change or transformation. Change implies alteration with or without consent or control. Transformation implies change of a permanent type. Transition is the process we go through during change, during transformation and between the every day events of our lives.

There is the transition from dream to sleep and from sleep to awake; from home-self to work-self; from parent to child to no family-context-self. We transition from caretaker to caregiver, from mother to wife, from daughter to mother, from mother to friend...At work, we move between worker, teacher, learner and supervisor. And, there are all of the emotional transitions - from strong to weak, energetic to tired, happy to sad, bored to fulfilled, needed to needy, aware to oblivious. Transition is the constant in every day.

How do we handle all of this shifting and moving about? As with all things, some people transition more gracefully than others. Part of it is people are made of different emotional and intellectual fibers. Some are more easily affected by the ebb and flow, changes and challenges life presents; others let things roll, like water off a duck's back. Introspective people are more affected by transition than "in the moment" folks. Fearful or apprehensive people find transition difficult because change is scary and transition is how we change. Transition can also be confusing; it involves going from the known to the unknown; and, often, it doesn't happen on our preferred schedule or at our preferred pace.

Like my young friend, I handle major transitions better than minor ones. High school to college, college to work, single to married, married to motherhood - I moved through those pretty easily. Those were transitions I chose, prepared and planned for. It's the unexpected transitions, the ones we have no control over that make me struggle. They can be big, like "now my husband's out of work," or "my daughter has to have appendix surgery - today." Or, they can be small, like the car won't start or the plumbing clogs or one of the pets gets sick. These things all involve a shift from, "Things are going just fine," to "What now and how do I cope?" That's a shift I don't like to make.

High personal standards or being a perfectionist doesn't help ease in transition, either. Setting the bar too high results in trouble shifting gears. My young friend is intelligent, gifted, energetic and has very high standards. It's no wonder it's hard for her to move between roles. When I'm busy being the perfect worker, I work longer and harder than my family prefers. In order to meet my personal standards as a mother, I'd have to quit my job. The same goes with housework and yard work and life's other details. If perfect is what I'm striving for, there's no way to achieve that. Balance and compromise will help me transition more easily and I need to be less hard on my self.  

My strategy for becoming a better transitioner, over time, has been to more willingly embrace chaos and imperfection; to accept that no single endeavor of mine will ever meet my personal standards; and, be okay with that. Learning to seek balance means letting some things slide. 

One of my favorite sources for thought along these lines is The Story People - a series of books, artwork, products, daily quotes, etc. generated by Brian Andreas, an artist, sculptor and storyteller with a very unique take on life. It's almost like he's one of those rare, delightful schizophrenics who, off meds, sees and hears things the rest of us don't - in a good way. The Story People are big on chaos and how perfect imperfection is.

Two of my favorite Story People quotes are: "She left pieces of her life behind her everywhere she went. It's easier to feel the sunlight without them, she said." and "I'm beginning to think peace is something we made up to keep us from being satisfied with all this luscious chaos."

I keep these quotes taped near my computer to remind me that when something unexpected happens, all I have to do is transition. If what I am doing is interrupted by something else and I accept the transition, it's easier to believe that what comes next could be interesting, pleasant and possibly even transformitory. And, if the outcome of the interruption is bad, a gentle transition makes it easier to deal with what comes next.