The Champ of Shame

Prison Dog

I can really beat myself up if given half a chance. It doesn't take much, but when I do something really worthy of a good beating, I am the champ of shame.

Here it is: I made a big mistake 10-days ago and the reverberations of that mistake have made it difficult to sleep, difficult to feel fully happy. It seems silly now, but the decision to let Rubin off leash when I knew (I knew!) he wouldn't behave burns in the pit of my stomach. The result? He antagonized two nasty dogs so much that one of them bit his owner. But that's not the worst of it. The worst of it is that she (the owner) wasn't sure who bit her and then she called the police.

Yes, the police ... who in turn called Animal Control. A nice officer showed up at my door and put Rubin under house arrest. It was called quarantine, though I had an option to keep him locked up here at home versus letting the nice officer haul him away. So for ten days, he's been unable to step outside the confines of our fenced yard.

This is a dog who walks with me everywhere. We log about 5-7 miles a day. He swims in the lake, runs through the wooded trails, and visits his dog friends all over the city. Under house arrest no dogs (or humans) were allowed in and Rubin wasn't allowed in the car to go anywhere.

It was torture for him and it was torture for me --torture doubled, in fact, because I understood why the situation was the way it was, but he had no idea. When I left the house and he stayed behind, he was confused and uncertain. As the confinement progressed, his mood changed. He became more stubborn. He refused to do things like come inside from the backyard or lie down when asked. He ripped things up. This is a dog who rarely ripped anything up yet there were toys he'd ignored for months torn to pieces. He whined at me. He stood at desk while I tried to work and begged with his eyes, with the cock of his head, and yes, with his moaning questions asking me to explain what the hell was going on.

Rubin is, if anything, a dog of routine. The woman who sold him to us warned us -- he'll grow to like habits. The habit has always been the same -- slow mornings, long walk, visits with other dogs and friends, more long walks and excursions on hikes, trips to the lake, and scheduled play dates at off-leash parks. A dog's life -- food, fun, friends, frolicking.

All of the sudden the routine changed -- still slow mornings, but then I left...without him. I came home, we played in the backyard until we were both panting and then I'd have to work at the computer or leave for an errand. He stayed behind. He never stays behind.

And every night I'd lie in bed stewing about my stupidity. I made the mistake yet he paid the price. He didn't bite anyone nor would he (unless threatened, but even then I'm not so certain). But here he was, stuck in the house and our small backyard wondering what was up with the major change in routine.

Forgiving myself has always been difficult. The forgiveness needed for this mistake is mountainous and I have yet to make my way up its slope.

Perhaps today will help. Rubin is free today and as soon as I take a shower, we're going out for a long, long walk -- down to the lake, up through the park, all along the ridge and to every doggie friend's house we can think of.

Perhaps that will set me on the path up the mountain of shame.

The Other Half of the Story

We watched the Sound of Music the other night. Not all the way through. During commercials of one show, we'd flip over to the movie taking bets on which song we'd hear, which scene we'd watch. "Somewhere in my youth or childhood," I sang to Ann, "I must have done something good." Flip the switch and there was Julie Andrews in the arms of Christopher Plummer singing that very song. Followed by the short but regal wedding with the nuns "trapped" (Ann's word) behind the iron gate watching the problem like Maria dragging her ridiculously long veil down the aisle toward the handsome Captain.

"I always thought the movie ended here when I was a kid," I told Ann. "And then in college, I watched the movie again and was astounded that there was this whole other escape-from-the-Nazis part of the movie."

Ann laughed at me a little and then said, "I guess it makes sense. The happy ending is a lot easier to remember than the stress of real life."

The next day, I had to go to my part-time retail job for a short shift. I've been thinking a lot about quitting, which is probably stupid given the recent economy, but it's hard to put in a whole day of work walking dogs, researching writing projects, and finding time to write them and then stand on my tired feet for four or five more hours in the evening. But I won't quit, not yet. Not until my business is a bit more firmly established or something else opens up.

Meanwhile, I am a part of a retail community distinctly different than the educational communities I've been involved with most of my adult life. The best way I can describe the difference is that both jobs take themselves too seriously, but I understand teachers carrying a greater burden of responsibility than that of retail employees whose sole responsibility is selling expensive camping equipment.

But there are a lot of similarities and the one I find most interesting are that they both are filled with gossip. It was easy to get sucked into the rumors of teachers, but I laugh at the gossip of retailers. "Did you hear what happened to L?" a fellow employee told me the other day and without any response from me, she said, "She was fired for having an undisclosed relationship with N."

When I was hired, we had lots and lots of trainings. One hour alone was devoted to ethical training, which consisted of a list of things we could not do followed by explicit examples of how the store would "release you immediately" if you violated the code. These included things like using your employee discount for someone else, stealing (obviously), talking about sales records with competitors, and yes, not disclosing a relationship with another employee.

In other words, if you're going to date someone in footwear you need to tell your supervisor. If you don't and they find out about it, you are immediately released. So it was the case, it appears, with L and N -- both supervisors in different departments. The kicker, according to my co-worker was that they didn't spill the beans rather L told her friend and co-supervisor C and C told her superiors.

"That's just wrong," said my co-worker, "And it's so stupid because N and L only went out for like 6 months and then broke up. No harm, no foul as far as I'm concerned. Can you imagine your friend telling on you?"

Working retail is a lot like being IN high school as opposed to teaching in a high school.

This is when the story gets tangled or, at least, when I get tangled up with it. C is my supervisor and she recently asked me if I would be willing to walk her dog two days a week for the month of April. This was a favor on my part since I didn't charge her my full rate and she lives about 20 minutes from my dog-walking area. Still, it was only for a month and the extra money would be good for business.

So now, every Wednesday and Friday I make my way to my supervisor's house and walk her very sweet older dog. In the process, I've learned more about C, a woman I didn't really know, but treated with respect since she was, after all, my supervisor though she is 25 years younger. In the basement of a beautiful old house, she shares her small apartment with her dog and apparently, with someone else or previously with someone else. She lives, it appears, a life solely focused on work. It feels lonely to me and in that sense, I find myself having sympathy for her where no sympathy existed before.

"I'm kind of in flux," she told me one day. "There's a lot going on in my life right now," she added in an email. And then later, "I might be moving so I'm not really sure if I'll need you after April."

As more and more unfolds, I've softened a bit. She's a cold person, that's for sure, and focused on getting ahead at work climbing the retail ladder quickly and efficiently. But in her personal life, something's gone terribly awry and even the dog projects a kind of serious sadness about it all.

I don't really want to know what's going on and I'm certain NOT to share any of it with my co-workers. If she wants them to know, she can tell them, but at this point our "relationship" is undisclosed.

"Are you worried that it's unethical not to tell someone?" Ann asked me the other night.

"It's business," was my response, "not personal." But the more I walk the dog, the more I let myself into her house and see her side of life, the more I see there is another half of the story. Her story doesn't end with her role as my supervisor. There is nothing as dramatic as an escape route over the Alps, but more complexity exists between work and the rest of her life.

I have no idea if her friendship with the fired supervisor has any relationship with her possible move from her home or her need for a dog walker. Perhaps all the chips just fell the wrong way all at once, which happens to all of us throughout our lives, or maybe the falling of one chip created a cascade of all the rest. I don't really know nor do I really want to know, but the other night, flipping through the Sound of Music (of all movies), it struck me that we are all made up of more than one story. Our chapters overlap the chapters of others and in the process, our stories grow more and more complex. We are novels as thick as War and Peace, as sad and entertaining as The World According to Garp. We are a Farewell to Arms and The Wizard of Oz all rolled into one. We are the Sound of Music from beginning to the unexpected and unremembered end.

PS -- The next day, I saw this movie on You Tube -- the next chapter!

What Brothers Want

Not my brother, but it could be!

My brother is a good guy. I love him a lot. He's older (and soon will be getting older) than me, but I think the age difference served me well. I looked up to him in many ways and now that I'm 50, I still do.

But I won't get too mushy here since the reason for this post has more to do with his demanding side than his loving side =-).

Ann and I went to Mexico. My brother wrote emails and skyped us to find out about our trip. He wants pictures, he said. He wants to see our adventures. He wants to know what our little corner of Mexico was like so he can compare it to his little corner of Mexico.

Geez! Okay big brother...here are more photos...love ya, man!

The town plaza...much more lively at night when it's cooler.

Ann and Lisa at the Beach of the Dead -- Dead because it's near the cemetery.

A bit tired, but the flowers make up for it!

Ann catching a wave.

It's almost Easter so I thought I'd share a religious photo taken at the cemetery by the Beach of the Dead.

Ann sleeping in the sun, though NOT in the sun as it were.

How brave am I? Sharing a photo of ME in a swimsuit, doing the thing I love the most! You big lady!

Our first night at our favorite restaurant!

On the way down the steps (147 of them) to the beach.

My favorite photo looking back at the beach where we spent most days.

Yes, a mosque in Mexico. Colorful, eh?

Not our beach, but a neighboring one. Very empty because the riptide's a killer.

The deck outside our bedroom. I forgot to take a photo of the bedroom. Oops.

The blue room in between the bedrooms.

A look back from the living room to the kitchen. Yes, they now have recycling! Yahoo!

From the kitchen back to the living room.

The view from the upper deck to the flowers stretched over the lattice overhang.

A view roughly to the north from the upper deck.

Our house with Lisa and me sharing a moment in the distance.

I have a million more, but I'll wait until my brother demands MORE.

Love ya, man!

Waves of Change

How we handle stressful situations says a lot about who we are as people. I get agitated and my brain slips into overdrive trying to figure out solutions. President Obama, it appears, breathes deeply and sallies forth undeterred by Republican rancor, royal protocol, or this audacious recession/depression we find ourselves slogging through.

We traveled to Mexico this past week and yes, the photograph above was taken at one of our favorite restaurants in Sayulita, (the town where we stayed) -- Burritos Revolucion!.
Our vacation was relaxing and rejuvenating. We swam, ate, slept, walked, ate some more, played games, and yes, dealt with some stress, but only on the last night of our stay. It went down like this:

The Casa where we stayed, high atop a hill where the cool evening breeze kept us happy, is completely open. Aside from the locked gate upon entry, there are no other doors except for those going to the bathrooms and bedrooms. Ironically, even the bathrooms have "open windows" to the rest of the house with only large plants to block full view of one's nakedness.

A view of the porch with the house to the left and the gardens to the right...

Consequently, the rental agency offers a hotel safe bolted to the adobe shelf in the one kitchen closet. There we kept our passports, wallets, extra cash, and other valuables whenever we left the house. Sayulita is known for its food, its surf, and its hospitality -- everyone knows everyone or at least everyone knows someone who knows someone else, but with the increase of Americanos, there has also been an increase in theft.

So every morning, before we headed to the beach or to breakfast or for a journey through the town we locked up our "valuables" under the special combination we'd agreed upon in the steel safe bolted in the closet. On the last night, I went to open the safe to retrieve our flight itinerary double checking exactly when we needed to be at the airport...

...only the combination didn't work. ERROR ERROR ERROR the safe squawked and the more we tried the combination, the more it beeped at us and the more I panicked. Our passports, our money, all of our ID, the cell phone -- EVERYTHING was in the safe. Without entry, we couldn't get home and despite the glorious time we'd had in Sayulita, I was ready to come home.

We traveled to Sayulita with our good friends Jeanne and Lisa. We travel well together and sharing a house is always stress-free and wonderful, but it was at this moment of stress that our true colors emerged and like a psychological exam, our quirks came to light.

I went into overdrive trying to figure out our options. I couldn't sit down. I paced. I implored. I wrung my hands and pulled my hair.

Ann tried to calm me down, but at the same time, worked the problem solving angle with me going back to step one and reading the instruction booklet that came with the house (to no avail I might add -- you'd think "How to break into the safe" would be an important chapter in the manual, but no.)

Lisa, on the other hand, developed what she at first called "heartburn" that then turned into "indigestion" that later turned out to be Montezuma's Revenge. While Ann and I flitted around the house in worry and problem-solving mode, Lisa tried her darnedest NOT to throw up on the beautiful Mexican rug in the living room.

Meanwhile Jeanne, the hospital administrator who handles crises almost daily, sat in her chair and watched us. Her advice? Wait until the morning, ask the house manager (Ramon) and stop freaking out.

Wait until morning? You don't tell a person like me (uptight, nervous, and worried) to wait until the morning. Besides, no one knew exactly when Ramon would be around, we had to leave by 9:30 to catch our plane (though there would be no traveling anywhere without passports or ID or money), and we weren't certain if Ramon knew how to break into the safe.

I must say, I was astonished at Jeanne's calm. I suppose that's a necessary role in any crisis situation, but I was a bit miffed that she wasn't in the same frenzy I found myself in. You know, when in crisis you always want everyone else to behave the way you do...it only makes sense. Ha!

We are all different, aren't we? In some ways I suppose the world needs those who problem solve out of panic as much as we need those who thoughtfully practice patience. Let's just say, she was the Obama in the situation and I was -- well, I was more like Paul Krugman, the doubting Thomas, the person who's certain everything we are doing (or not doing) is wrong and will therefore fail.

In the middle of this odd scene -- me in a panic, Ann not quite panicked, but soothing mine, Jeanne contemplative and calm, and Lisa about ready to hurl her fish taco onto the floor -- I remembered that one of the owners of these hillside casas was in the house (his house) right above us.

Let me step back a moment and tell you one other quirk of mine (besides panic and overdrive problem solving): I am not a good initiator. For instance, I'm not good at making phone calls to people I don't know, I rarely complain about food at a restaurant and never send it back, and I'm not someone who would willingly walk up to a stranger's house late in the evening, and ask for the combination that gets us into a locked safe.

But there I was, walking up the garden path to this amazingly beautiful house to find someone I did not know, had never seen before and ask him if he could help. Ann went with me (she's always so supportive of my neuroses). I won't go into all the details, but it turned out that Cap (the man in the house) was warm, welcoming, and willing to help. He gave us the "secret" code to try and if that didn't work, "come and get me!"

As luck would have it, the secret code didn't work so for the next hour, Cap problem solved with us! He called his sister (who owned the house), searched for a "jumper cable" to override the possible dead or failing batteries, and punched in the secret code again and again aghast that it didn't work. He called his sister once again (back in the US) and she gave us the same advice we'd heard from the locals all week long -- relax, take a deep breath, have another beer, and try again.

None of us drink, but we did the rest and lo and behold, it worked. Why it worked, we have no idea, but I could feel the stress leave my body the moment the door opened and I saw my precious passport. At which point Lisa headed to the bathroom where she spent the rest of the night (off and on) battling Montezuma.

We are home now and safe, after a long journey back though we still have visions of Sayulita to keep us warm...
In hindsight, I think I'm glad that Obama is more like Jeanne than like me, but I'm also glad there are Paul Krugman's in the world, too.