That's pretty much what these past few weeks have been like...a long, drawn out game of good news/bad news, with every bad news item being something that costs more money than I really should be able to afford to spend, and every good news item basically relying on my ability to have a sense of humor about it...because there really hasn't been much good news at all, other than the usual things in my life that I am grateful for and are always there: good friends, sweet children, my job and co-workers...and that overall "I'm a relatively privileged American and have a great deal more than most as my baseline" thing that keeps me from feeling terribly sorry for myself.
At any rate, it turns out at the end of it all that the worst news of all was actually good news in disguise. I went to the vet today to have more of Twyla's stitches removed, and the vet informed me that the huge bleeding tumor that "had to come out"...was merely a bad infection. However, the small, unassuming little tumor they accidentally found and removed in the process of removing the big, scary, bleeding one...was an early stage of cancer. Thus, my sweet puppy was saved by a big bleeding tumor. At least for now.
I mean, I'm trying to be realistic here...cancer doesn't always just go away when you remove the tumor. But the placement of this tumor (under her front leg at the shoulder joint) was such that I would never have detected it until it was large enough to impede movement...and the vet believes they caught it before it spread. There's still a probability that more tumors and more problems will crop up...but we have a reprieve. Twyla can recover...and I have time to weigh my options about treatment and perhaps research alternative cancer therapy for dogs.
I'm having a hard time dealing with the future right now, though. I just want to stare at that damn dog and marvel at our present state of unbelievable good luck. It was a sheep in wolf's clothing. Imagine that! hahaha.
Eighteen years ago today I got married, providing the last laugh for a lot of people. I was the one who had forsworn marriage, at least until I was 50. I was so sure of it, I'd made several bets on it.
Never paid up, because I'm cheap like that.
I'm all Endicott now. Paying the bills, washing the plates, upstanding as hell.
I ain't complaining. I got a good deal.
It's already being suggested that John McCain lifted his "cross in the dirt" moment - recounted at Rick Warren's Mega Church the other day - from Alexander Solzhenitsyn's "Gulag Archipelago".
It would be a shame if he did. But I'm willing to allow that the experience could have happened and move on. Or even that McCain conflated Solzhenitsyn's experience with his own after reading "Gulag Archipelago." I really don't care. And I don't want to see the partisan wrangling over whether he lied or just "misremembered."
I think we've got more pressing concerns at this point. Among many other things, I want to know how he or Obama are going to handle Iraq (notice I didn't say "get us out of..." 'cause that's a pipe dream). I want to know how they're going to try and stem the tied of our collapsing banking system. I want to know what emphasis they're going to place on the monstrous rise of HIV (especially in black and gay communities). I want to know how they'll handle Iran, Israel, and Syria (to name a few). I want to know about their long range plans for a sane energy policy.
This is Twyla:
I rescued Twyla from the pound almost exactly 8 years ago. My pit/hound dog mix (Yes, that was quite an interesting combination...all the charm of a pitbull, all the laziness and stink of a hound dog...and I loved her to death) Cash had just died of cancer while I was pregnant, and I had to fill the emptiness with another difficult damn dog.
I found Twyla on my first trip to the pound. She was curled up in a silent little ball in the corner of her pen. The sign on the door said "I'm deaf." She didn't look up when I walked by. She just went right on sleeping. On my way out, though, she was standing at the door of her pen, wagging her stump of a tail and displaying what I came to recognize as her usual sort of hyperactive, yet vaguely confused expression. I fell in love with her, of course, as I do with all difficult things.
Twyla's arrival in our household marked the demise of my marriage. My ex was none too pleased at the prospect of bringing a hyperactive, deaf dog into the household. He marveled at the fact that I always did things the most difficult way possible. It kind of amazes me that the people who are most annoyed at my flaws are the ones who most benefit from them.
She behaved herself, at first. She was a sweet, demure little lady. The dog trainer I spoke to about her had told me that she would be extra super sweet the first 10 days after I brought her home, but then her bad habits would come to light. It was for that reason she wouldn't even make an appointment with me before she had been with me for 2 weeks.
When I did bring her to the dog trainer, she was still on her best behavior. The trainer was impressed with her elegance and grace, but told me that she didn't know how to posture or communicate with other dogs...most likely due to the fact that she was deaf. The dog trainer taught me a few hand signals to work on, and sent me on my way to enjoy life with my new deaf dog.
Shortly after that, the demure sweetness broke down. Twyla became anxious. She had separation anxiety, and would crap and pee all over my bed if left alone in the house. I had to buy a crate to put her in while I was away. This cured the problem, but the whole ordeal and being pregnant, separated from my husband, and working two jobs made it difficult for me to bond with Twyla. I was resentful of the fact that I had to deal with this other animal's needs. Maybe it was a mistake for me to have gotten a new dog so quickly. I wasn't really feeling the love for this dog that I had felt for my dear departed Cashy.
When the baby arrived, I went to Chicago to stay with relatives for 3 months, and Twyla went to live with a kind and generous co-worker who fostered greyhounds. I never even checked in on her, and I'm sure my co-worker thought I would never return to claim her...but I did. Life resumed upon my return, but I still did not bond with the dog. There was new motherhood and new singlehood, and new jobhood to deal with, and I just didn't have time to connect with another demanding, needy creature. I thought I might never bond with her. I'm not really sure I cared.
I won't describe the ensuing years. There were other dogs who came and went. Strays and castoffs, housemates' dogs. It seemed the days of me even caring about an animal in my home were long gone. Pets served a function. A dog was there to take on walks, and to provide a degree of protection from home invasion. Twyla was a challenge to walk, because she was so strong and so unwilling to leave other dogs alone. And, although she looked intimidating, it's difficult to say whether or not she would provide much protection against home invasion, because in addition to being deaf, she's about the sweetest animal you would ever meet. I find it hard to imagine she would defend the house against someone who might scratch her itchy spot.
Still, she stuck with us. And, I guess, I stuck with her. Over the years, she started to grow on me. In spite of all of the stolen sticks of butter and loaves of bread that she would swipe off of the high counter and eat off of the floor, I kind of developed an appreciation for her sweet, simple personality. And even though it annoyed me that she always "followed me in front of me" throughout the house, and would lay on my bed and pull down my windowshade to watch for me if I left the door open in my room...I appreciated that she did seem to be attached to me, ever so subtly more than any other ass scratcher.
But I never realized how much I loved that damn dog until we discovered a bleeding lump of something in her chest. Some mysterious thing. Something yucky that, as the vet said "had to come out." One day, she was running around joyfully in the back yard...the next she was doing her best to act like she wasn't wincing in pain. But she *was* wincing in pain. So it had to come out.
The vet had to make "relief incisions" because the tumor was so large and Twyla's skin is so taught that he couldn't sew her up properly. He told me not to worry about them. He also told me that when he opened her up to remove the larger-than-a-fist-sized tumor...he found another one, which he also removed...but which might mean the problem was not an infection, as we had hoped. That, he told me, we might have to worry about.
When I first got Twyla, I had read a lot about boxers. How they stay puppified throughout their entire lives, but how their lives are usually short (9-11 years). Twyla is now 9, and even though she acts like a puppy, she is not a puppy. She's an old girl.
But she's a tough old girl. She made it through the surgery and we had to FORCE her to lay down in the little bed we made for her when she came home. Within a day she was romping around like her old self, frankenstein stitches and all. Within 2 days, she was swiping butter off the counter like old times.
On the 4th day, she slipped out of an open gate and took herself for a romp around the neighborhood, which is something she hasn't done in quite awhile. I spent that entire day scouring the neighborhood, crying, anxietying, FREAKING OUT...until I found her listed on the web page of the animal shelter. FOUND. Fifteen minutes after the animal shelter had closed.
Of course, I drove down there, with her meds in hand, to see if there was anything I could do. I was worried she would be scared. I was worried she would be in pain. In tears and panic, I implored the ladies who were just getting off work to please just let me give her her pain medication. They were nice enough to let me in to talk to the vet who had attended to her. They knew exactly which dog I was talking about. I have a feeling they would have known even if she DIDN'T have stitches all up and down her chest. Twyla is just that kind of dog. She's memorable. She's a character.
The vet was glad to see me. I guess they were worried that someone had spent a sizable amount of money to have a dog stitched up and then just abandoned her? hahaha. (and believe me when I tell you that the way my luck has been lately, I was totally worried that she had been run over by a car to add to the tragic irony.) Since it was after closing, and everything was locked up, they could not let me take her home (I think the vet would have just released her to me, but the cashier who was on his way home said it was too much trouble to open the cash box or turn on the credit card machine. I told him I didn't want to get him in trouble, I just wanted to make sure Twyla was comfortable and not in pain...but secretly I thought he was a real prick, and I think the vet did, too.) but they did take me back to see her. The vet did, anyway. She told me she wouldn't let them put her in an outdoor pen, and I thanked her for that. She flipped the light on in the exam room, and Twyla looked up at us. She had knocked over her food dish, and spilled kibble all over the inside of her pen. The vet told me they gave her an antibiotic, but she was so amped up and happy, they didn't think she needed any pain medication. We both looked at her, looking up at us amidst the spilled kibble with that "uh-oh...I'm in trouble" look on her face, then looked at each other.
"She's such a brat!" I exclaimed, lovingly, through my tears.
"Yes. She certainly is." The vet responded. She rubbed my back, assured me that she was going to be ok, and that I could come back in the morning to pick her up.
We turned out the lights, and closed the door...I drove home.
(Sorry if that was disjointed. It was a rough, rough week over here. I really hope this week is better.)
p.s. Read more about white boxers here. I totally recommend the breed, and absolutely recommend that if you are looking for a fun-loving, playful, good-natured companion animal, you should rescue a white boxer.
By my reckoning about a dozen people were subjected to "involuntary separations" today; cost cutting, downsizing. Nothing personal.
Sure and it wasn't. Everybody has a job to do and mouths to feed, if none but his own. Including the guy from HR tasked with doing this unenviable job. The Angel of Death I dubbed him.
Pithy, I am.
It was almost comical... almost... The Death Angel would arrive appear and the victim's neighbors would scurry to a spot a few aisles over and herd. Wide eyed, heads jerking, peering over cube walls.
Actually herd, like a group of wildebeast. As if grouping like that would confuse a likely predator. I saw fear, raw, open fear today. Frustration, tears. And in at least a couple of instances a bit of nobility and grace under fire. I saw a man praying at his desk - boxes packed in anticipation - while directly over the low cube wall adjacent to him his co-worker packed his things while the Angel of Death stood vigilant, clipboard in hand, checking off whatever procedure we use at a time like this. The praying man was spared.
The last two (or was it three?) times we did this I was fortunate enough to be out of the office. I see now why so many of my co-workers were dreading the day. Most surreal day of my work life.
Our manager called the "all clear" at 1:30 and said we could all go home if we liked. I thought a beer and a plate of calamari were in order. But I'm still numb, or something... I'm certainly not relieved.
I had to show this video to all of my friends, and now I am sharing it with you. I can't remember the last time I have seen a politician addressing not only poverty with such absolute understanding of the issue, but also the interconnectedness of people and all of the issues we face as a nation and a world.
This quote made me cry:
"One of the greatest responsibilities of the next president is to convince americans that we are completely linked to one another, both as americans, AND we're completely linked to the people in the rest of the world. In fact, we are all ENTIRELY connected." -John Edwards
Here's the link. Watch it all. It's amazing.
Brancaccio: What is it about now...that gives you any hope?
Edwards: That we're faced with great challenges that can not be dealt with, except together.
Here's some stuff I've been reading latelyish...
Crazy Aunt Purl is so sassy! I hadn't thought of how annoying it is for veteran bus driver to be inundated with all of the noobs trying to save a gas dollar:
There are a lot of new people taking the bus and they're very needy, holding open the doors while asking the bus driver convoluted questions, "Do I get off here and transfer to get to X or do I go to there and ride another bus to get to X or will I get lost?" As if the bus driver can answer them and let them know if they'll get lost. I personally can get lost on the way to the breakroom at work, so "lost" is a relative state of being, doubtful a random bus driver can analyze it for every strange passenger. I'm impressed with the drivers, though, they're far more patient than the seasoned riders who are pushing these needy newbies out of the way in a huff and rolling their eyes and making comments.
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Those silly bus riders! If they were REALLY concerned about the environment, they would invest in a fully electric car from Tesla Motors. Right? Or use all of the gas money they save in...like...I don't know...a gazillion years of bus riding.
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Maybe someone ought to start researching how to make a vehicle that runs on cow poop!
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Meanwhile, Treehugger.org has provided me with my New Year's Resolutions for the next 10 years. Probably I should start on them a bit sooner than that...
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After spending a weekend with a bunch of teachers and school administrators last week, this article was a good read. I'm happy to say the new principal at the high school I am involved with seems to meet these standards, in theory...let's see how she does in practice.
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I like this plan, but I think people who DON'T own cars ought to be rewarded, too.
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Stefanie Nagorka makes Andy Goldsworthy look positively classical! (here's more)
My mind is abuzz.
There is work stuff and life stuff and love stuff and art stuff all floating around up there. Crowding and clamoring for attention. Maybe I can attempt to tackle this whole update thing one issue at a time. I keep vowing to make it a practice to create a personal blog post every day, whether it's one sentence or many paragraphs, to just recap my day for anyone who might be interested...but the days keep getting away from me, and then I end up with this whole jumble of updates.
First, I guess, is work stuff. I am teaching a blogging and social media class next week, and I am THRILLED about it. Writing the curriculum (in blog format, of course) is so exciting to me, because so much has changed since the last time I taught a blogging class. Everything is so much less linear now. There's more texture and nuance in social media, more things to hook people with. Every time I think I have made a complete list of all of the special interest social networking sites I can have my class explore, 3-4 new ones pop into my head. I sat in on one of our beginner classes yesterday. They were learning about the internet and people were asking those kind of "what's in it for me, and why should I care about this stuff" questions, and I got totally arm-wavey about exactly why they should care. I love it when our clients look at me like I am Nerd From Outer Space. hahaha. But I play the part so well, you would hardly guess I am just ACTING. :P
So, there is that. And even though there's a lot of stress at work, I feel like I am getting opportunities to grow and experiment, and I'm delighted by it. Along with this blogging class, I am supposed to write a media literacy curriculum of some sort. Just a 3 hour class that introduces the main things everyone needs to know about using the media for participation in social, professional, and political networks...WISELY. This is all very exciting to me.
So, we will see. This next semester at work is going to be rough. I'm glad I am getting to do the fun stuff now...it keeps me from focusing so much on the scary stuff that always comes from working for a non-profit. But, you know, my philosophy of late is "enjoy it while you have it, you will miss it when it's gone." And that's what I try to come back to whenever I'm knocked off balance by something or someone.
Which reminds me that I had another appointment with the kids' therapist yesterday. You know...thankfully I have a good friend who is not afraid to be a total ass to me and let me know with no uncertain terms when I am being avoidant and/or selfish. Between him and the therapist, I can't really hide from my problems...and even though it PISSES ME OFF (hahaha) I'm thankful for it. So I think I actually am going to work on these achievable goals and steps that I worked out yesterday.
My main problem is that I have a difficult time letting people in only part way. I guess I always thought people wanted all or nothing from ME all of the time, but it turns out that I think I generally choose to give all or nothing. I'm going to try this new thing called discretion (as evidenced by the fact that I'm blogging about it in a public space)...but I mean, with specific people in my life (mostly a specific person) I am going to attempt to have a very very casual relationship in which there is no engagement beyond what I am comfortable engaging in. This will make other people who have expectations of me happy, and it will keep me at a safe distance from this person who has been given multiple chances to participate in my life and has failed multiple times at doing so without causing significant damage. I have the next step to take, and I'm biding my time before I take it...but it feels good to have a step. And even though I am LOATHE to thank him for it, I am glad my pesky best friend pushed the issue with me. Fucker! hahaha.
Regarding love and life and art (which, in reality, is kind of all the same thing) I have been compelled to look back at some Kerouac. I need to read _Desolation Angels_ again. It's amazing to me how a book I read when I was 19 can illuminate some of the answers to issues I am facing now. And I HIGHLIGHTED passages. You see, when I was 19-20, a couple of friends of mine and I started a little long-distance book club. It was me and my friend John, who lived with me in chicago, and our mutual friend Christopher from Wichita. We would read a book, highlight the important passages, then pass it on to the next person. I think I still have all of the books. I'm pretty sure we did Birdy, Harold and Maude, The Bell Jar, and I had totally forgotten that we did Desolation Angels...but I think it was just two of us who did that one (we each used a different color highlighter). The passages I highlighted then...mean so much more to me now. I love it when I find those bread crumbs, and I love that who I essentially am has changed so little, even though I think I have evolved much in the ensuing years. At some point, I will post the passages, but suffice to say they are about letting go of things, and not trying to control that which can't ever be controlled. And how love is one of those things. And how much better it feels when I give up control of that...even though it's scary.
So I have been creating and feeling and experiencing with that in mind. And it's good. And even the sadness I sometimes feel...that's love, too, and therefore beyond my control. All I can do is feel it and sit with it and let it go.
I guess I am saying that all in all things are good. I probably could complain. I most likely DO complain...but right now, I see no reason to indulge in complainingness. hood. itude.
I hope you are well.
I've read several commentaries and a couple FriendFeed threads on the "controversial" New Yorker cover featuring Michelle "Angela Davis" and Barack "Osama Bin Laden" Obama (I won't bore you with a pic, it's everywhere). Try as I might, I can't get worked up about it. Perhaps because I'm old enough to remember real radicals? Even met a couple.
The Obamas are far from it. They are as about as upwardly mobile mainstream as it gets. Harvard, Hyde Park, big law firms, impressive political resumes. Remember?
And I think that's the point of the cover. It's so over the top as to be ridiculous.
I'm really trying here, but to say that this plays into the hands of virulent racists is beside the point. They're already virulent racists. This cover won't make them more racist.
As for what's being termed as "hipster racism" (or perhaps more accurately, "Hipster Smugness"), I'm familiar with the phenomenon. It's the coda of the post-ironic world. Everything is tired and passe. I get it. We're all rubes outside of New York.
But I don't get that from this cover, especially when it's juxtaposed against what I hear is one of the stronger themes of the article; namely, Barack Obama is a savvy political insider who cut his teeth on Chicago politics.
But perhaps I'm just not hip enough for the room.
