George and Little Bird were on spring break last week (although I thought spring in Michigan came sometime in July?) anywho –

While Little Bird went to her favorite day camp, George spent a few days at his friend Jimmy’s house under the care of Jimmy’s mom. At some point during the three days, she bribed the two boys to go pick up sticks in the yard, promising a penny for each and every stick they picked up. (Anyone who has spent a couple of days with two five year olds would understand the necessity of this bribe!)

After several minutes, she peeked out into the yard to check on their progress. George’s pile of sticks was at least twice the size of Jimmy’s. Suspicious, Jimmy’s mom watched for a few minutes to see what was causing the discrepancy.

Turns out, George has figured out how to make a buck. Before placing his stick in his pile, he broke it in two.

The vet recommended a trainer for Gabe when I was there last week. She hadn’t used him personally, but was interested in hearing what I had to say if I did choose to use him.

I visited the website and found it to be a franchise company with branches in 8 countries and across the nation. Training came with a lifetime guarantee and that was applicable to any location you moved to as well.

I called the local guy and we talked for several minutes about Gabe and about the problem I was having with him (leash aggression). He asked me a lot of questions related and unrelated to the problem to get a general feel for Gabe’s personality and demeanor. Does he bark at the doorbell? (I dismantled the doorbell when the kids downstairs damaged it). Does he jump on people when they come into the home? (No one ever comes into my house except my ex husband and Gabe knows him.) Does he steal your shoes? (No, but we keep them in the closet.) Does he counter-surf, stealing things off the counter? (Um, no, but I nearly beat the tar out of him the one time he tried that as a puppy so I doubt it’s likely to happen again.) Does he tug on the leash when you walk? (No, but we’ve used a choker, then a prong choker, then an elastic choker, and now a Halti collar to curb pulling.) He and I both agreed that it sounded like Gabe is a pretty well socialized, balanced, happy dog without many issues, but that the problems we have out walking are something that should be addressed through training.

So then he elaborates about the lifetime guarantee for training and goes on to say that the first visit is usually 2-3 hours long and then he would come back as many times as necessary for that problem or any other problem that I ever have with Gabe.

My mind starts ticking away. Hmm…so it’s a flat, one-time rate that will last me the lifetime of my dog, how much is this gonna set me back?

Five.Hundred.Dollars.

Yeah, well, dude, let me call ya back…..

So I go back to the website and I read articles from various newspapers about local franchise openings and such and I try to read between the lines about the actual training that they do to figure out if it’s something that I think would warrant Five.Hundred.Dollars.

One of the articles read:

“Tycocki explained what we were going to do. When the dog, at the moment it was Zoe, does something bad, you growl Bahhh! at it. Again, I wanted to laugh, but I was willing to believe anything because my puppy had driven me to desperation. Zoe began to lick my hand, and Scott quickly growled BAHHH! It worked. Her ears were back. She stopped. She was looking right at Scott. ‘This is good,’ Tycocki said, ‘exactly what you want. She’s submissive and completely paying attention.’”

I read several other articles just to be sure I was getting this right. This company is all about communicating to your dog as your dog’s mother would have trained him, to use dog language to train your dog, not treats or punishment.

To be perfectly clear then, this company wants me to pay Five.Hundred.Dollars to teach me how to GROWL at my dog.

GRRRRRRRRRR!!!!

Just saved myself Five.Hundred.Smackaroos.

I arrived at pottery class with minimal expectations and a complete lack of enthusiasm. Our instructor sat down at the wheel and showed us a new technique for a pot, which actually seemed like something I might be able to do (unlike the mugs she was proposing last week). Charlie was already itching to get on the wheel and didn’t even give her the respect of sitting down and listening to her. He had brought his 10 year old daughter to class and she was more attentive than he was.

When it was time for me to wedge my clay and sit down at the wheel I did so absentmindedly. I was frustrated with my lack of skill at the wheel. I was feeling as though I would not be able to conquer the walls, I would never make a pot with sides or depth or height. I was worried that my ‘successes’ would be at the hands of my teacher, who was able to fix all my errors with a soft, gentle, mindless touch.

I centered the clay and tried to focus my energy. I pushed my thumbs in and began to make space, make room, to delve into the heart of the clay. When I moved my hands to either side, positioned them to mold the clay between, my teacher said, “close your eyes, Amy”. Without even thinking long enough about how dumb it sounded, I did.

I just felt.

I felt the clay, the thickness, the softness; I felt how it swayed between my fingers and held there until it ran smoothly. I let my hands tell me when to move up and let them guide me as I brought the clay up and up and up.

And when I opened my eyes, my pot had walls.

I made five pots last night. Now that I have walls I have a new struggle of trimming the lip without killing the rest of the pot, but by night’s end, I was feeling accomplished and proud of my silly pots. They are far from perfectly symmetrical. They certainly aren’t the same thickness throughout, but one demon was quieted last night. One voice stopped talking and let me create.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I begin to really see.

I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. It wasn’t so much just a simple reluctance to come to work again with nothing to do. It felt more like the sort of day where I want to pull on my favorite blue t-shirt and slip my comfortable faded black sweatshirt over the top, (even though, or perhaps even because, they don’t match), to put on a pair of sweats and never leave my house kind of a day.

But, I do that nearly every weekend. So why did I need it today?

I got up and took the dog out and checked my email and thought about calling out from work, but I realized there was nothing at home that was going to delight me any differently today than it would on a typical Saturday, so what was the point?

As I drove to work I realized that what I really wanted was to linger around and do nothing with someone. I really wanted to call up a friend and go for a long lunch, or to lay on the couch and watch back to back movies with someone snuggled next to me, or even to just sit with a little child and play. I wanted a slow, easy, comfortable day, but I wanted it shared.

I have pottery class tonight and I honestly don’t want to go. I don’t want to go hear about how good Charlie used to be and about how he has people begging him to make him something (even though he only just last week at the tail end of class completely a single pot). I don’t want to go and struggle with getting my blasted walls to come up again. I don’t want to endure my instructor telling me how to make god-awful mugs that I wouldn’t be caught dead with. I want to sit and do something that feels familiar, to laugh, to cry to just be, but to be with someone.

I used to go over to my friend Suzan’s house. More than 8 years ago now. We used to play gin rummy by all the wrong rules (we thought we were doing it right!) We would laugh and talk and play cards for hours. We talked about topics that were deeply serious and topics that had no relevance to life at all. And all of it was good for my soul.

That’s the sort of evening I need.

Funny thing is, I don’t have a single person of that sort in my life anymore with which to do such things. My relationships now all seem to be centered around something, not just carefree like they were back when. I have work friends, I have hang-out-at-the-bar friends, I have friends I could go to dinner with on the weekend, but who live too far to just get together for a bit after work. My family is all at least 10 hours away from me. I have great friends that I could hang out with, if only we didn’t live 4 states away from each other.

I didn’t grow up in PA, I didn’t go to high school or college in PA, my family didn’t live in PA, and until about 6 years ago, I had never even held a job in PA. How is it that given such circumstances, people make casual but lasting friendships? Or why is it that I can have such superficial relationships now, but nothing that delves any deeper? Nothing that cuts to the chase and gets to the point so we can just exist without pretenses?

I don’t want to invite someone over that I feel like I need to a) clean, b) cook or even c) shower before they arrive. I want to just have people in my life that can stop by unannounced and we can have a ball together doing nothing. Is that possible as an adult? Do people actually do this? Am I just dreaming about wanting to be on Friends?

Sigh. I guess it’s just that sort of day.

Anyone up for a game of gin?

The process of sorting through my books is a process of sorting through the stages of my life. I found, nestled inside the pages, the questions (typed on a typewriter) for my American Novel 326 final. Inside another text I found my handwritten notes for the very same final. I have found post it notes with questions about the text. “- similar theme mentioned in the opening – sig?” There are books that have spurred passionate discussions, vividly drawn to mind as I flip through the pages. In one book I found a name and an address of someone I don’t know. I have a stack of Agatha Christie paperbacks – some of the first books I fell in love with as a young adult. They were before my college days, before I met Jen who taught me it was sacrilege to break the binding of a book. I learned from her that to love books is to handle them with great care. Most of my books look brand new.

There are a few books I’m not sure how I ended up with – they were my husband’s, although I am certain he doesn’t miss them; he read because I read. It’s easy to see my favorite authors, and how varied my tastes are. I have several books by Chaim Potok, Barbara Kingsolver, Louise Erdrich, and Nicholas Sparks. I have the books to represent my college coursework in American Novel, Contemporary Lit, Shakespeare I, II, III, Classical and Children’s Literature.

What I’m learning most, however, is that the process of listing my books hasn’t been as difficult as I thought. I’ve sold and mailed two books thus far and found a sort of joy in knowing someone was going to enjoy the books that I have loved as well. I know the Art Center where I take pottery classes is having a book sale in the summer and I have several books to donate to that cause, too. As I sort through a stack each night, separating the sell-able from the donate-able, I have come to realize that there is a distinct separation between owning books and loving books and one does not directly imply the other. I can love books for the rest of my life and not own shelves of them. At least I’m going to try!!

I found a couple more books that I love and just can’t part with – there haven’t been many that I’ve staked my claim to, but thus far, in addition to the ones I mentioned earlier, I’ve held onto “East of the Mountain” by Guterson and “The Good Husband” by Godwin. I’ll let you know if there are more as I go.

I know I won’t be banking my first million by selling my books. I also realize most of them probably won’t even sell. The lesson that God is teaching me isn’t about financial gain from personal sacrifice as it is about the emotional gain when I break my unhealthy relationship with these material objects. I still have a lot to learn. Tonight, I am grateful that God is a patient and loving teacher!

If a 203 pound Mastiff runs at the speed of a yard a second towards his owner who is standing 10 feet away and rams his basketball-sized head into the inside of his owner’s knee as she steps forward to (stupidly) try to cut him off at the pass, her knee will:

A. have a bruise the size of a grapefruit;
B. hurt when she walks, sits, stands or lays down;
C. turn the most atrocious shades of purple and blue within an hour;
D. not heal for the next month, during the onset of ‘shorts season’; or
E. All the Above.

Some lessons must apparently be learned the very hard way.

I won’t pretend as if it ranks up there with a spinal tap or chemotherapy or anything of the sort but standing at LM’s feet, watching him flinch and say “ow!” with every little pin prick of the laser last night was hard on Mom. He endured 5-6 pricks for each of the 5 red spots (spider angiomas) on his face, and four were in the tender skin around his eye. He was brave. He toughed it out. And he tried very hard not to cry when it was finally over. We iced his face and will see in a couple days when the redness subsides if the procedure was successful. The perk: they think my insurance may cover the procedure afterall.

We rushed home to schlep the dog off to the vet afterwards. The waiting room isn’t big enough for our dog and anyone else’s, so that’s always a fun time. (Gabe officially weighed in at 203 pounds.) The office has two cats that just wander around and at some point the one thought the coast was clear and had to come sneaking out for a peek. It was all I could do to hold onto Gabe and keep him from eating that cat. The vet loves him, says he’s doing great, but he could stand to lose a couple pounds (couldn’t we all?) I talked with her about our leash issues and she recommended a new trainer that will come right to our door. I’ve heard all of this before, but it’s at least worth an inquiring phone call. The perk: K9Advantage finally made a flea/tick solution that will go up to dogs of Gabe’s size. Translated this means that I can actually by a regular six month supply instead of having to pay double for twelve pouches just to cover the six months. In plain English: a vet bill cut in HALF!!

We stopped at Pizza Hut on our way home for take out. We haven’t had take out pizza in, well, years. I went in while the boys waited patiently in the car. I’ll try to summarize the experience in a word: incompetence. It certainly took me back to my days waiting tables at the Pizza Hut in my hometown, but it was absolutely crazy. The perk: knowing that I wasn’t responsible for the nightmare and that I could take my pizzas and LEAVE.

We got home and I quickly flipped through the mail. Catalogs full of skinny, sexy women, bills, bills and more bills. The perk: my totally beautiful, black watch tartan plaid bags arrived from Slush!! She’s really talented with that sewing machine and I’m glad that I could, in some small way, help her effort to adopt.

We got settled on the couch and turned on LM’s favorite show, “Survivor”. We enjoyed our pizza, laughed at how worn out our dog was just from going to the vet’s office and cheered when our favorite player on the show succeeded. LM sat with a frozen ice pack against his face and at one point, snuggled up against me, he said, “Isn’t this the best Thursday night ever, Mom?”

That, my friends, was the best perk of all.

It went something like this:

George called. “Thanks for the box, Aunt Fred!” (I had sent a box with little Easter baskets for them to enjoy along with a few discarded dog toys). “Which one is the toy you put peanut butter in?” I told him which one.

“THE RED ONE MOM!!! YOU PUT THE PEANUT BUTTER IN THE RED ONE! THE ONE WITH THE HOLE IN IT!”

Little Bird got on the phone next. She was telling me about how they were going to go see her friend’s baby twin calves. “DAAAAADDDD!!! THAT’S MINE!! DAAAAAAADDDD!!! MOM! DAD IS TAKING OUR EASTER CANDY THAT AUNT FRED SENT US!! NOOO IT’S MIIIIINNNNEEEEEE!!!”

So there’s this tree. And there are these two apples. And as it turns out, they didn’t fall far at all….

So, I realize that I’m not the quickest person, truly. But since WHEN is Bearca Poka’s sister?!?! Geesh! Glad I’m finally in the KNOW!!! 🙂 Now, what other things haven’t I caught onto yet?

I canceled my order to Amazon.

I have written in the past in many ways how blessed I feel. To be honest, I’ve been struggling lately with the luxuries that surround me in my everyday life and the complete lack of basic living necessities for millions elsewhere in the world. It’s not that I believe we should all strip ourselves of every material possession, or that we should send our complete salaries off to Mali to restore some semblance of balance, but I stare down a $6 battery-operated toothbrush each morning to then see the face of a starving 9 year old girl on our refrigerator- a child we chose to sponsor from the Dominican Republic whose family cannot afford to give her more than one meal a day, cannot educate her nor give her the health care she needs. Just today I posted about the elective, cosmetic laser procedure to get rid of five red spots on LM’s face. The duality is forcing my morals to sit up and take notice.

I fight everyday with my weight issues. I spend more of my time thinking about food in any given day than seems reasonable to me. But I am afforded the luxury of being overweight. I am afforded the ability to go out and buy whatever I want to eat. I have taken the privilege of eating for granted, and I have abused it. I feel guilty for this more than most anything because food is a simple, basic, necessity to life and yet it is not something that everyone has. Food, is in fact, a luxury to most. How do I find peace with the imbalance?

I don’t readily have an answer, but I believe God gave us the emotion of guilt to serve a purpose. It is there to guide us when we are off path, it is there to help steer us in the correct direction and to lead us back to Him. I feel guilty. I feel ashamed of my stacks and stacks and shelves and shelves of beautiful, nearly new, dusty books. I feel guilty that I spend more on my dog every month than we do on charity.

It isn’t right.

I have to do something. I have to start somewhere. I started by canceling my order to Amazon. If you know me at all, you know that there is no greater joy in my life than new books. None. Truly. But I couldn’t do it this time. I couldn’t look at the total for our order and know that while it might buy us 5 new books, it would feed a family for a month in other parts of the world.

I don’t mean to get “preachy” or to sound like Susie Do-Right here. I simply mean to document my struggle. To say that I am sitting here trying to tell myself that I could sell some of my books and yet just as equally I keep convincing myself that it won’t do anything that’s significant so I might as well keep them. I look around and think that in some very simple ways we could do without so that others might do with. And then a voice inside says that God gave us these blessings, we should enjoy them. I don’t know how to create an equilibrium within my own life that will bring me peace. I’m sure others have found personal ways to make peace with similar demons, I need to find it for myself.

I also know that I can’t help others until I help myself. Getting out of debt is my number one priority so that I can truly live as God intended me to. I am going to try to make that happen faster than what I had originally planned. And it’s going to begin by selling some of my books. What I hate most about it, is that it pains me to let them go. For that reason, if for no other, I need to get rid of them. An attachment such as that to material things can only bring ruin and further greed. It’s a small step, but it’s a step. And it’s in the right direction.

If you’re in the book buying business, let me know. I know a good seller.