Too much to think about

I didn't sleep well. It was a combination of stuff. I have a cold that makes it hard to breathe without snoring (which wakes me up as well as waking up everyone else in the house); I'm suffering through a late menstrual cycle (late as in it took 6 weeks to get here and now it either trickles or floods and has been doing so for the past two weeks...I know, too much information) that makes me wake in a drenched sweat equally influenced by a slight fever from my cold; and I have a lot to think about of late.

Oh and let's not forget about the phone ringing at one in the morning. I didn't get to it in time, but the caller was "kind" enough to leave a message, "Would I be interested in walking their dog?" WHAT? It's one in the morning! And they didn't leave a call back number or even say their name. If it's a prank phone call couldn't it be more interesting than that?

The worst part, of course, is that I was awake and steaming about the phone call, which gave me more time to think about the choices ahead of me.

Let me clarify. Life is going great. Yes, I have a cold. Yes, I'm stuck between menstruation and menopause (meno without the pause, I like to call it) and yes, I've been given something to really think about that is pivotal in my life, but when I take a moment to stop and look at everything around me (and in me, for that matter), it's amazingly good. For instance, I've been asked by a university publication to submit a piece of my writing. I've never been asked before and while they may not publish it, to be asked feels pretty cool. I live in a really amazing house with a really wonderful partner and a silly, but special dog. I have good friends and I get to laugh a lot. My work is busy (sometimes too busy) but rewarding and aside from aches and pains of my aging body and this nagging cold, I'm healthy.

And then I'm given this option: Would I like to work full time at the hydrotherapy pool with the understanding that I'd eventually (within a year) become the manager?

What does this mean? It means I'd have to give up or cut back on my dog walking. Doesn't seem like such a big life decision when you've spent most of your life as a classroom teacher and been faced with much bigger and more important choices, but I'm not that teacher anymore and the choices I'm faced with in my life are much different now and surprisingly, just as important to me.

Dog walking has been a great experience. I've started my own business, I've made it fairly successful (there's only so much of me so there's only so many clients I can have without overdoing it all), and if I really wanted to go out and drum up more business, I could do it. But I don't have time nor do I think my body could handle walking more than 10 (or sometimes 13) miles in a day. I'm not 30 years old anymore. I'm not even in my 40s so the wear and tear is taking its toll.

When I first decided to start this business it's because I knew I wanted to work with dogs. I've wanted to work with dogs since I was in my twenties. I've wanted to write, too, but that's something that fits between everything else and so far, it's going fairly well. But I must admit, of late I've been so busy there's very little time to write. Still, I know once I've finished earning my small animal massage license, I'll won't have to study and I'll have more time to write...so again, I'm not too worried about making time to write. It's just on hold for now.

Which brings me back to my dilemma. Out of the blue, working at the hydrotherapy pool fell into my lap. My boss, who believes quite strongly that this was meant to be, doesn't think it fell into my lap, but was the plan all along. It may be. Regardless, I didn't expect to be here and yet here I am -- two great jobs and not enough of me to do them physically.

So she asks me -- do you want to work full time? I wish she weren't such a great boss because it's not like she's pushing me, she's just offering it. "You need to do what feels emotionally, physically, spiritually, and financially right for you." I can increase my hours and my involvement as much as I want. I can take on more responsibilities as my learning allows and I can make a full time job of it.

But full time pool work means little or less or no dog walking. Do I want to give it up? Do I want to do less of it? What would that look like? There are so many configurations it makes my head hurt -- or maybe my head hurts because of my cold or my endless menstrual cycle or the fact that I'm working too hard. Who knows?

Of course, I don't need to make the decision right away. I'm not sure that's a good thing though because it means the contemplation of it might linger longer than I'd like. Somehow I think this is another life's lesson: Not rushing into something and really making a choice that comes from thoughtful deliberation and not gut reactions. Or maybe the lesson is to learn to really listen to myself and do what feels right for me and not necessarily what I think might please others.

See? There's too much to think about. I'm going to take the dog for a walk and contemplate it some more, talk it over with Ann some more, and hopefully tire myself out enough that I might sleep better tonight!

I Know, I Know...

...it's been awhile. In fact, it's been so much of an awhile that I almost forgot my username and password to this blog.

It's been a busy September. August was busy, too, but September is flying by so fast I think my eyes have switched sockets. I can't complain. I'm doing work I love -- walking dogs, swimming and massaging them too -- but I can feel the tiredness seep into my bones of late.

Or maybe it's just the changing weather. Regardless, I'm working far more than I thought I'd be this September.

Last September I was back in the classroom. That's a different kind of tired. That's brain tired, but brain tired can zap you faster than physical tired trust me. Now I'm just physical tired and am so awfully glad (oxymoron?) that I have a massage scheduled for my own body tomorrow.

Of course, I have to go into to work at the pool for a brief bit because a 100 pound Great Pyrenees is coming in for the first time and there's no way my boss (who recently wrenched her back) can handle that. I'm not sure I could handle a dog that size on my own either, but hopefully the two of us -- one tired (me) and one wrenched (her) -- can woman-handle the big gal into the water.

I should definitely bring my camera.

This blog has been neglected because I'm always writing on my business site (www.wagsnwords.com) or my work blog (http://wellspringsk9.blogspot.com). Rubinations has been neglected as well.

Not that anyone is reading this, but if you're out there, I'm just sayin'

Off to bed...weary bones need to lie down for awhile.

Untitled

I woke this morning and found myself in the mirror -- slightly tired with a wave-like swoop of hair curling over my head. I've known teenagers who've achieved this look with pounds of gel and hours of personal attention in front of their own mirrors, but for me, the hair curls on its own and only a shower will wash it out.

That's how I slept -- curled with my face smooshed into my pillow and my hair, apparently, pressed into a wave. I slept hard last night and woke occasionally from dreams worthy of a surrealist prize -- quilted snippets of my life pasted together in unexplainable patterns. Ironically, I feel rested today. Yesterday was long -- 5 hours of walking dogs followed by 5 more hours in the pool swimming the sick, elderly, and injured. Surprisingly, the day (and evening) passed by quickly, but when I got home, I was wired and worried that sleep would give way to thoughts about scheduling and massage strokes, the tangled leashes and persnickety owners.

Instead, I crashed. I fell asleep and only occasionally heard myself snore or the dog in his bed whimper or the sound of airplanes making their way to the airport.

I work at the pool again today and then we're off to a basketball game tonight. Another long day.

I keep comparing my days now with my days as a teacher. Ann has one last week of vacation before she's called back to school for her own education -- classes offered by the district to prepare teachers for the upcoming year. I remember that feeling. All of the sudden you think about all the things you wanted to get done on your time off and you realize there isn't enough time to tackle them. You are both excited about the new school year and wary of how much energy it's going to take, especially the first two months, to meet the new students and their families, organize the lessons and field trips, and attend all of those meetings that the district somehow thinks is supportive.

While there are parts of that routine I miss (shopping for school supplies!) that feeling that someone is turning up the speed on the treadmill without your knowledge is something I don't miss at all. Yes, it's hard working without knowing when my next vacation will be. Yes, it's physically draining to walk dogs for 8 miles a day and then wrestle with 125-pound dogs in the pool. Yes, I don't earn the kind of money I used to, which allowed me a certain kind of freedom. Nor do I receive the healthcare benefits offered by a school district (thankfully I can be on Ann's).

But when I think about where I've landed -- dog walker and K9 massage/swim therapist -- I smile. No longer am I struggling with the "art" of teaching or the politics of education and I can feel my sanity return a little bit each day.

Why all the flower photos? Because I keep taking pictures of flowers I see and I realize how happy the photos make me. Kind of like a photographic take on "Just stop and smell the roses..."

The Next Move

I've finished my first round of small animal massage work and am on to the next and hopefully final level before I become licensed. The next round looks much more involved something for which I feel both apprehensive and excited. I want the challenge though I know I'll be stretching my 51-year-old brain in ways I'm not sure it can stretch anymore.

We'll see how it goes.

But after my dreams of the past few nights, I can tell I'm focused and nervous about this next move. First, I keep dreaming about people watching me as I massage a dog. This is a reliving of the "test" I was asked to take during my first round of massage education and in the dream, I feel the pressure (no pun intended) to do everything just right. This is not good pressure. Instead, it's the kind of pressure that didn't (and doesn't in the dream) allow me to really feel what I'm doing. Since I'm still new to this profession, the knack of "feeling" my work is new to me and with eyes watching every move I make (not only with the dog, but with my own body) put me more in my head than my hands. My boss always says her brain is in her hands and now, after a few months of this work, I'm starting to understand what she means.

The other dreams range from trying to escape from floods, helping friends with their grammar, and trying to manage large groups of dogs or children in huge, crowded cities. This is how I handle my doubts about this next move. In my dreams, I put myself in tough situations and work on trying to maneuver through them. Ironically, I'm sleeping better than ever before though not as long as I'd like.

Of course yesterday, after finishing my massage course, I sat on the couch relaxing by watching a movie when I saw the aura in the bottom part of my right eye. "Damn!" I thought. "A migraine." Despite the medication, it hit me full force. I knew it was a result of a week's worth of concentrating in a way I don't have to either as a dog walker or massage therapist, but nonetheless, it knocked me out and sent me to bed for a dark and fitful sleep.

I'm back to dog walking tomorrow and then an evening at the pool. Spike, my favorite old dog is on the schedule and so is Max, my second favorite. I'm looking forward to that work again -- both the walking and the massage -- moving from my head to my hands and my feet. I still marvel at how I got here and while there are times I panic about money, life is moving along quite nicely these days.

Quite nicely.

Will the cycle be broken?

My friends have always told me I'm a perfectionist. I don't see it. There are so many things I don't do perfectly that it's hard to understand their perspective. Of course, I guess it says a lot about me that I am aware of my imperfections and all the things I don't do perfectly perhaps proving their point.

But recently, I've come to understand that I might just be suffering from perfectionism. Since I've enrolled in small animal massage classes and started working at a hydrotherapy pool for dogs, the perfectionist in my has emerged -- well, emerged more clearly to me.

I am on a steep learning curve. My brain is trying to wrap around learning all the anatomy and kinesiology of dogs at the same time I'm trying to remember all the details of my new job and stay on top of my own business as a dog walker. Because the learning curve is steep, I make mistakes. They are minor mistakes mostly, but to me they feel major. I forgot to take the garbage out at work, for instance, feels like a huge transgression and then not taking the time to schedule a dog into the scheduling book, a big mistake, feels monumental.

I am lucky in that my boss is forgiving and compassionate and in many ways, that's part of the problem. I have the utmost respect for her not only as a business owner and my boss, but as a person. And that's what made me realize my perfectionist tendencies are in overdrive. I want to do a good job both in massage school and at my new job not just because it's my nature to do the best I can (personal perfectionism), but because I so admire the woman I work for and the business she's created. I'm not sure what kind of perfectionism you'd call that, but it's moved my perfectionist tendencies into a whole new realm.

When I make mistakes -- in my work or personally -- I am extremely hard on myself. I eventually can let it go, but it takes time. Now that I feel the need to do an exceptional job because of my high regard for the work of my new employment as well as for the respect I have for my new employer, I am exceptionally hard on myself, which takes a lot more time for me to overcome.

I realized all of this yesterday while I was walking dogs. "Ah," I thought, "This is why I can't let this go!" No one, of course, is in control of this except me. I'm the one who creates all these pressures and while others are willing to forgive and move on (in fact most don't really see any reason to forgive because the transgressions are minor), I can't.

What's most frustrating about all of this is that I've been here before. Not in this exact same position, but similar enough that I bang my head against my fist and scream, "When will I learn?! When will this cycle be broken?" I get frustrated with myself that I haven't yet learned this lesson. Just when I think I've worked through these issues they circle back around and I moan in their arrival. "Not again!"

Apparently, I haven't learned what I need to learn and once again have put myself in a position to face them head on.

Argh!

What Is Seen

Yesterday, on a walk with a dog through an impoverished neighborhood, I came upon this planter box. I had to take a photo. I'd walked this street countless times, but I'd never seen the flowers or their creative "pot." Each day is like this. I walk past the same neighborhoods with one or two or perhaps three dogs on a leash and see something new and interesting -- a house, a car, a yard, a mailbox, a flower -- as if someone were sprinkling presents on the path before me each and every day.

Helicopters woke me last night. They were searching for a suspect, the white of their searchlights tracing the grid of each block. I couldn't sleep. Instead, I got up and watched the helicopters fly their pattern methodically through the sky. My head ached, a migraine knocked at my temples and so I drank a glass of chocolate milk, downed a heavy dose of medication, and waited for the swelling and throbbing in my head to subside. By the time I got back to sleep it was 3:30 in the morning.

In the past -- as in when I was a teacher -- nights like that one would drive me insane. I knew I needed every ounce of energy to survive a classroom day and lack of sleep made it difficult to do my job well. But I'm no longer a teacher and while I'm still grappling with what that means in my life and while I was still irritated that I didn't sleep well, I knew I'd be okay today -- tired, but okay. Which is weird because my work is now much more physically demanding than when I was teaching.

Teaching was all in my head. It was endless hours of questions, of thinking one step (sometimes ten) ahead of what needed to happen next, and of planning for all the options if things didn't go as planned. I came home exhausted both physically and emotionally though I didn't put out much physical exertion. Still my body was tired because of the obstacle course my head had to navigate.

Now the obstacle course is physical. While I must engage my brain to figure out the dog walking schedule of the day, the actual walking is a relatively quiet activity. There are no questions, no need to think about the next activity, no worries about options if things fell apart. There is this dog then that dog and on most days, two or three dogs at once. And then it's off to the hydrotherapy pool where I greet the owners and their dogs, spend an hour in a warm pool encouraging an elderly dog to use an injured limb or thinking with my hands as I massage a nervous, overweight hound.

I lift dachshunds in and out of the pool, maneuver mountain dogs to the side of the pool, and level hounds in the water as they tend to swim vertically at first. I talk softly to scared mutts, ignore nervous Labradors who seek my attention, and cuddle with Newfoundlands whose nature is to trust without much encouragement. After miles of walking all day, the warm pool is an elixir for my tired muscles. There's a meditation to my work, a meditation I never found while teaching. 

And every day there is something new, something unseen before. I found the soft belly of a Bernese Mountain Dog especially comforting last night. She's had the same belly every time she's come in, but last night it was particular warm and inviting. I saw a side of my own dog I never knew before -- the one who allowed other dogs to tackle him like nephews on their favorite uncle. And then later, he remained calm and mature when my boss's Doberman raced around him in blissful puppy joy. A hawk followed me through the park yesterday and the trees seemed to enjoy the cooler weather as much as I did.

There is so much unseen or maybe it's that I've never had the space in my head to be able to see it before. People always ask me if I miss teaching. I really haven't been away from it long enough to really know, but at this point I have to say that I don't. This doesn't mean that I'm not proud of the work I did as a teacher or that I regret my choice to become one. I think it means that I've walked that road to its end and now I'm on a new journey, a new road. I think it means that I've seen the sights I needed to see and am seeking a different landscape I can explore with different eyes.

This road is calmer. This road allows me to breathe and take in the full sensory experience of my life. It's not a better road than the one I walked teaching, it's just very different and if it's better, its betterness comes from the fact that it is the road I need to be on now. It is the road that lets me see what must be seen at this time in my life.

And so I'm tired this morning, but still ready to step into the pool with a nervous hound, an aging Lab, and a sweet and compliant spaniel.  A long day ahead.

The Smell Next Door

It's not a bad smell. No. It's a glorious smell and it reminds me of our vacation to Mexico a few years ago. Mexicans live next door and they have been dancing in the backyard all evening. Oaxacan, they practice the traditional dances of their people and perform them at street fairs throughout the summer. It's fun to watch the line of men (and one woman) hop and skip and laugh as they memorize the steps over and over again.

And then there's a feast. The kitchen, which sits just outside our office, is a flurry of cooks stirring up pots of delicious food that wafts out their windows and into ours. Everyone sits out on the back porch and quietly talks and eats. The music of their dance is as beautiful as the music of their language and my only regret is that I can't speak any Spanish...

...oh and that I can't have a plate of food!

It's too dark to take pictures or I would. I know they wouldn't mind. They see me with my camera all the time and when S. was pregnant (their first child) we snapped photos of her belly's progress. In fact, Ann went over and helped her make a belly cast right before the baby was born. Now the sculpture hangs in the baby room and S. makes jokes about wanting to wear it again just so she can feel skinny.

I'm tired tonight. Big, big day. Not a bad day, just lots of activity. I should go to bed. I'm certain I'll dream of Mexico and maybe I'll even hear the ocean out my bedroom window. That would be nice, but for now I think I'll just have to settle for the smell of Mexico.

And I know...the photo at the beginning of this post has nothing whatsoever to do with the post itself. I just liked the photo!

A Good Tired

I took a nap on the couch this evening after working at the pool. I didn't really want to sleep too much because I worried it would keep me from sleeping tonight, but off I dozed into the ethereal kind of sleep that feels refreshing and drugged all at the same time.

I love taking naps, but I've tried to avoid them lately because then I have trouble sleeping at night. But today, I needed it -- even if the nap only lasted 30 minutes -- I needed it.

Six months ago I never would have imagined myself living the life I'm currently living. Not all that much has changed -- I still live in the same house, with the same woman, the same dog, the same friends who come over to visit, my same family all still alive and well -- but in many ways, everything has changed. Part of it has been difficult. Having been a teacher for so many years, my summers have been mine to craft as I saw fit -- naps were routine and each day I made myself lie down on the couch and feel the glorious dreamy glow fall over me. No papers to grade, no parents to confront, no staff meetings to attend -- yes, glorious.

Now I'm self-employed as a dog walker as well as holding down another part-time job at the pool working to help dogs rehabilitate from surgeries, maintain their mobility, or just strengthen old bones and muscles so that they remain relatively fit in their old age. I work six days a week now and though my days aren't the traditional 8 hours a day, I work hard and the work is physical.

The difficult part is not the jobs, it's not the physical nature of the work or the one day off a week. The difficult part is that Ann, also a teacher, is used to spending her summers with me and the leisure pace of our days were a strong part of our marriage. I know it's hard on her now that I'm gone for long stretches of the day and even harder when the weekends are short and I'm off to work. She doesn't say anything, but I know she misses the "old times" when we were not tied down by anything except our playful plans to swim at the lake or visit friends or see a movie.

She's adjusting, as am I, and while I'm trying not to feel as if I've put a strain on our time together, I fear I have. Yet I'm torn because the work I'm doing now feels so right, so exactly perfect that it's hard to feel any need to change. Ann has never asked that of me nor would she. Instead, she's taken on this amazing role of doing things for me -- things I normally did for her like making me meals or cleaning the house -- and I am immensely grateful for her support.

I suppose this is what makes our marriage strong and steady -- we adapt to what is needed and though it means we must change in ways we are unaccustomed to, we are making the transition relatively well. I've thanked her repeatedly for her support in this move from full time teacher to...to what? Business owner? Massage therapist? Dog walker? I still struggle to define exactly what I am these days and often find myself saying, "I was a teacher" avoiding the thing I am now.

The thing I am now is a good tired. My work is rewarding and exhausting. My work has got me on a steep learning curve and yet each day I feel a little bit more sure of myself, a little bit more accustomed to not being a teacher. It's made time all the more precious. Working with dogs -- on walks or in the pool -- has provided me with so many lessons already, but if there is one that really sticks out it's that living in the now, in the moment is much more fulfilling than the pauses in between the teaching.


I have to remind myself that most people live like this -- working without long vacations, doing a job and then leaving it behind when they head home in the evening. I have to remind myself that living a teacher's life is very different than the vast majority of the working world and while I appreciated the gift of those summer vacations, there's something more powerful living inside of me right now.


The other day I sent my blood pressure numbers to my doctor. We're keeping track as I continue on with the medication she prescribed. My numbers are lower than they've been in years and I jokingly told her it's either the medication or retiring from teaching -- I'm not sure which. She smiled and said that whatever I was doing I should keep it up because it was working.


I think what's working is me. I think what's right is that I'm on a path that feels true. Not that teaching didn't feel true in many ways -- especially after 23 years of it -- but this true feels deeper on some levels. As a teacher, I always doubted myself and while the doubt raised my blood pressure and gave me sleepless nights, it also drove me to be better, to give more, to overcome my insecurities by striving to be the best teacher I could possibly be.


Now I still have doubts -- especially with the dog massage -- but instead of the doubt defining me or driving me forward like it did in teaching, this doubt feels more like an opening up of sorts -- an allowing, as it were, to live at a different pace and see that not knowing is as important as knowing, that the angle of the learning hill is all the sweeter when I'm not so worried about getting to the top but more focused on this moment's step.


I know, I know. It sounds Oprah. It sounds like a self-help book filled with gibberish and impossibilities that only the wealthy have time to afford, but when I come home from six days of hard physical work where I've exercised dogs either on long walks or at the pool and I feel this good kind of tired, I know I've found something I've been looking for all of my life. Not only is it in the work I do, but it's in this house, in this marriage, with these friends, with my extended family. It all feels like a circle that's finally connected and I just want to hold it for awhile.


Enough of this sap, eh? I'm off to bed.

Dead Battery

I'm reclining in a faux-leather recliner sofa looking out over the Willamette Valley's walnut groves and mountain horizons while my brother lies snoring in the recliner chair. We are relaxing after a too big of breakfast and not much exercise. It's nice, but I'm bummed because my camera has a dead battery and the spare is still charging at home -- 200 miles away. I took a total of three photos before it died and those three didn't turn out so well.

I'm not sure why I miss my camera so, but I keep seeing things that I wish I could take a picture of only I can't. My sister-in-law's point and shoot just doesn't cut it and there's no way to catch the hummingbird on the flower with a lame lens. So all the photos I want to take aren't getting taken (took?) and my hands feeling itchy with the desire to frame something beautiful within the lens.

All morning I've been trying to figure out how to set up google calendar with different colors only it isn't happening. They only offer me one color, which isn't going to work for the purposes I need and it's frustrating. It seems like such a simple request -- multiple colors -- but maybe it's just me -- not tech-savvy enough to figure it out.

So the next step is to use the 60 day free trail for Mobile Me. That might do the trick, but then what? If I like it then I pay money to use it? Seems a bit like a scam.

Frankly, none of this is what I want to think about, or write about yet here I am in this beautiful house with the beautiful view -- my brother snoring beside me, my dog impatiently resting at my feet, and my partner asleep in that sad way she does with her mouth turned down at the other end of the couch -- and I'm thinking about calendars and my dead battery.

I guess I don't know what to do with my free time. I haven't had much of it lately and now that it's here, I've napped some, taken a couple of walks, and even watched a rather ridiculous movie. I think this is called vacation.

Okay, I best go play fetch with the restless dog before he wakes up all the napping. If only I had my camera to take a photo of it all!

Taking the Test

I am on my final chapter of my animal massage course. It's all about First Aide. I feel pretty confident, but I have yet to log in and take it. I'm too tired right now, my brain feels like cold oatmeal. So in the meantime I'm studying -- rereading and rechecking all the details I sometimes forget or overlook.

Once I pass this test, I must write a paper and take a week-long practical and then the first course is done. The next will be/should be more involved, but frankly I haven't been impressed with the rigor of this program. Maybe it's because I was a teacher for so many years or maybe it's because I paid so much money to take the course or maybe it's just me, but this course hasn't really prepared me for massaging dogs.

What's prepared me is my work at the pool where I get to actually work with dogs and apprentice with my boss who is, in my humble opinion, a great teacher. I wish I could have paid her the money I'm paying the school, but these are the hoops I must jump through in order to continue on in my new career.

It feels odd to call it a career. Teaching was a career, but I suppose at the beginning of it I didn't see it that way either. Twenty some odd years later, I can call it a career -- a profession even -- but I don't know if I'll have the same feeling with this new direction in my life. Maybe it's because I'm over 50 and I don't have a lot of role models in my life who have changed careers at this age. Or maybe it's because I'm really enjoying my new work and since it took me about five years to relax and enjoy my job as a teacher, I'm having a hard time believing that something so joyous can actually be a profession.

I'm rambling this morning -- another result of cold oatmeal brain -- but I guess the point is that I keep waiting for all of this to sink in. I am no longer a classroom teacher (with my summer's off, which is truly something I miss). I am a dog walker and K9 hydrotherapist -- well, not yet since I first have to finish the course -- but I'm on my way to being a hydrotherapist and every morning I still wake up and pinch myself. "Is this really my life?"

The cold oatmeal is warming up. I best go take my test!

Food for thought

Since he joined our family, Rubin has been a challenge. Not a bad one, just testing our patience (mine in particular) and posing problems we never thought we'd have to deal with. The main problem has been his inconsistent eating habits.

I've never had a dog who didn't like to eat, but Rubin is the most particular and finicky dog I've ever met. A whole bowl of the most expensive canned food will be set in front of him, he'll sniff it then walk away. From another room I can hear his stomach growl from hunger, still he won't eat. I'll offer a treat and sometimes he'll take it, but if he's particularly hungry, he won't touch it.

He also struggles with what I call intestinal distress. I won't go into details, but after getting up late at night to take a anxious dog outside to do his runny business, I'll take him to the vet whereupon I find out he has neither parasites or giardia just an upset tummy. Prescription? Rice, boiled chicken, cottage cheese, and pumpkin.

He won't eat it.

This last time his intestinal distress lasted over a week, which was unusual. The vet prescribed doggy pepto and antibiotics. In addition, I was supposed to give him "flora" in his food -- a brown powdery substance that came in expensive packets. But how was I supposed to give it to him if he refused to eat?

I took to stuffing globs of food into his mouth until he swallowed. As you can imagine, a battle ensued. I'd fix his food, he'd run to the other room. I'd encourage him to eat and he'd race upstairs fearing I'd force food into his mouth. The weird thing is that once he ate that first shoved in mouthful, he'd eat. It was like his little brain said, "Hey, that tastes pretty good. Who knew I was so hungry?"

Still, we have this psychological battle going. Ann tried feeding him, but he'd only eat if I weren't in the room or if I left his food out while I went to work and he could eat alone and in peace. But mostly, he wouldn't eat.

He'll eat when other dogs were at the house though. He'll watch them devour their food, wait for them to finish, and then put his face in his bowl and finally eat what's served. We talked about getting another dog just to help him out, but realized another mouth to feed wasn't the best idea with our busy schedules.

The final solution was to make his food. I balked at this because I didn't want to be "one of those" kind of dog owners who was over the top spoiling my dog more than I might a child. But he needed to eat and I needed to figure out a way to get him to eat.

Through some research and an accidental contact with a woman who teaches classes on cooking for your dog, I found a recipe that seemed simple enough -- ground meat (beef or chicken or lamb or pork or bison), grated fruits and vegetables, flax seed oil, turmeric (yep!) and some liquid acidophilus. I mixed up a batch of what I called Canine Hamburger Helper and what do you know, he ate.

Like a Lab. Voraciously, enthusiastically, and hungrily...like he hadn't eaten ever before in his life. I felt relief. My dog wouldn't starve to death and he had an appetite. No more force feeding, no more coaxing with sprinkled cheese or exotic dog treats.

Of course this morning, I'm sitting here waiting for him to eat and he's not. Ann says I worry about it too much and that makes him nervous. She's most likely right, but I still find it frustrating. I guess that's my life lesson -- learning to let go of the things I can't control. Leave it to Rubin to provide me with another chance to work on my issues.

He does that a lot -- reflects back what I need to learn. I always say you don't get the dog you want you get the dog you need and Rubin is proving that in spades. I need to relax more. I need to learn to let things go and not stress out about them. I need to slow down. I need to be kinder to myself and allow myself breaks. All of my "issues" are reflected back to me through him. The only thing I can do is take a deep breath and learn patience -- not with him, but with myself.

That's a hard lesson and one I've been trying to learn for most of my life. Still I have to give him kudos for trying to teach me. He's a brave little boy to take me on as a student. I sure wish he could see that he'll need more nutritional strength if he's going to meet this challenge.

And in the background as I type, I hear him sigh deeply and with an edge of exasperation as if to say, "Who's the challenge?"

Coming Back

Right now I'm sitting at my friends' computer at her house in Port Townsend. I haven't been back to PT in two years and I have mixed emotions about it. We drove in yesterday and were happy to see the skies clearing and the sun trying to make an appearance. It was good to leave the rain of Seattle behind, but there is so much more to a place than the weather.

I lived in PT for 17 years. 8 years ago I left and moved to Seattle. Those are the surface facts. The deeper details are a tangled web much of which I can't and maybe don't want to recall. But when I return here, especially after a significant absence, I am overwhelmed by the subdivision of my feelings. That's the best way I can describe it -- distinct plots of emotions and memories as neatly laid out as a housing project.

In one plot is the history of my relationships here. I had many friends in PT, but now it's winnowed down to just two with whom I stay in contact. Ironically, those are two people I met right before I left PT and while they keep me informed about all my other friends, I find it odd that when I come back to visit, I end up visiting them and not everyone else.

In another plot is my life on the farm -- the long-term relationship that held me here for longer than I should have stayed. I am reluctant to explore this acreage in any depth because it all seems so long ago and while important in the development of who I am now, I don't want to expend the energy. So when we drove by the road that lead to the old house yesterday, I glanced but had no desire to take a look. Some plots are best left unattended.

Then there's the plot of my teaching career that includes the students I worked with as well as all the teachers I've known. Last night some of those teachers were here and it was good to catch up -- to survey that plot again -- and realize I am still remembered. We also ran into a couple of former students, which is always a little awkward because I can't always remember their names or their personalities. Still they smile, we exchange a bit of history, and then I can move on holding a bit of that past in my back pocket.

There is the plot of new friends some of whom were here last night as well. I like the merging of those boundaries -- old friends introducing me to new people and then establishing my own relationship with people I didn't know while I lived here. And then there are the acquaintances who I sort of knew many years ago, who are friends with some of my older friends. They are like a web of connection through which I can pass on well wishes to those people I don't see anymore.

Of course there is the plot of gossip and after a late night of dinner and visiting, to settle down with the three last remaining friends to talk about who is dating whom, where so and so is working, and how much weight everyone has gained or lost is a nice indulgence. I feel as if I don't really have to put forth the energy to visit those plots because I catch up through the eyes of others.

The most significant plot to me, though, is not the people or the memories or the stories. It's the place. I miss many things about PT -- the food for one -- but what I miss most of all are the tall trees, the musty forest smell, the open pastures, and the beaches. We're going to go for a long walk on the beach this morning and though the rain has finally found us, I'm still looking forward to the salty air, the sandy walk, and that view across the water to the straight line of the horizon.

When I lived here, it was those long walks in the woods or along the beach that gave me peace. They were also the medicine that made me realize how much of my life I'd lived in fear. I suppose it's not ironic that now I've made a job out of walking dogs in the city since walking here in PT (usually with dogs) was the way I grounded myself, the way I found sanity at a time when I thought sanity was lost. Still, if I could take one thing back to Seattle with me, it would be the nature of this place -- the smells and sights and the long, long walks where I never see another soul.

Everyone is still asleep from last night's party. While I want more sleep, I found myself lying awake and listening to the morning chorus of birds calling me to go outside. I took the dogs out in the backyard and while they were eating their breakfast on the porch, three adult deer silently leapt over the fence and sauntered across the lawn. Luckily the city dogs didn't see them, but I watched and smiled, realizing I need to come back every now and again just to remind myself of the acreage on my past.

Happy Dance

As I write, there is a very long-haired dog sound asleep beside me. The curly one is on his bed in the living room -- his usual morning position.

My body is relaxed but tired today. I somehow thought that ending my teaching career would give me more time, but as of late, I've been busy. That's not a bad place to be considering, but it's not the place I thought I'd be. I worked last night at the pool -- apprenticing actually -- after spending the day walking dogs. Standing in a warm pool after walking 5 or 7 miles is exactly what my tired feet need, but both jobs are physical. Therefore, I'm tired -- a good tired, but tired all the same.

Still, like Woobie in the photo above, I find myself doing the Happy Dance...well, that and pinching myself. "Is this really my life?" I wake up asking. "Am I really making a living working with dogs?"

Okay, so I'm not rolling in the dough and I'm lucky to have Ann who has both a frugal approach to life and a good paying job, but still, I'm holding up my end of the financial part of our marriage and doing something I love. There's a lot to be said for that -- marriage and work I love -- and that's why I keep pinching myself. I keep reviewing exactly how I got here and most of it feels like a cosmic combination of luck and timing.

And dare I sound like one of those woo-woo guests on Oprah, there is something divine in trusting both my instincts and the universe. Sure, I still have the bad habit of worrying too much and an even worse habit of wondering if I've faked my way here and am actually not as good as everything thinks I am, but those feelings are not as intense anymore. Which I guess is to say that I'm trusting more -- trusting that perhaps I am good enough, perhaps I am competent and kind, perhaps I got here by my own character and not so much by chance.

While Woobie's Happy Dance exemplifies how I'm feeling about where I've landed, Rubin's levitation is also representational of each day when I realize I am in this amazing place in my life. "Hey," I find myself saying as Rubin is doing in this photo, "Look what I can do?"

Maybe I should write a book that will land me an interview on Oprah. Instead of "Eat, Pray, Love" it could be "Walk, Water, and Wonder." Even though some days the reality is more like "Poop, Rain, and Wrinkled Skin" either way, I'm still dancing and walking through my life a few inches off the ground.

Age

Yesterday we sat in the sun at my parents' house surrounded by elders -- my parents, two friends with whom I grew up (surrogate Aunt and Uncle as it were) and a more recent friend. We represented age by the decades -- 50s, 60s, 70s, and 80s. We talked of the past, we talked of the future, we talked of now, and we talked of our ailments. Collectively, there was enough medication prescribed we could have started our own pharmacy, but we didn't dwell on the aches and pains. We didn't dwell on anything too long, which is precisely why I loved the day.

And the roses...
And the canine youth amongst us...
Instead, we ate German. Bratwurst, sauerkraut, potato salad, German beer, and German chocolate cake. I ate myself stuffed and devoured the time with my aging parents and our aging family friends. Happy Birthday, Papa (the occasion for the festivities). You have always surrounded yourself with interesting people and I am happy (as are Ann and Rubin) to be counted among them.

On the drive home, Ann and I got to talking about the 32 years difference in our ages. There was a time in my life when 32 years seemed like an impossible journey, an eternity of sorts, but time, of course, has changed all of that. 32 years seems as quick as lightning these days and when I look forward to those years, I wonder how to slow them down, how to force my heels to the ground and press the brakes a bit harder.
The other day I heard a story on the radio that one of the low points of happiness in one's life is at the age of 50. The highest points are childhood and old age. Apparently, I am in the dip though things feel pretty wonderful right now, which either means the statistics are wrong or my life is going to get measurably more wonderful.

I vote for the latter.
Sitting around that sunny table (and where has the sun gone today?), I started to look forward to the days ahead. All those "old" people knew how to relax, knew how to appreciate good food, good friends, and good memories. All those elders knew that these moments were what it's all about and so they sat in the moment and took a deep breath. This is what I am learning as I slip from age 51 to 52. Or perhaps it's not a slip at all, but a step forward, a march onward.
I'm glad I've had such role models. And I'm not just glad that the important adults in my life are all still alive, but that the important adults in my life are people I love spending time with. I get to laugh. I get to eat good food. I get to take in the wisdom and question the assumptions. I get to ask for another bratwurst and hint at the need for a larger slice of cake. And I get to do what a lot of my friends don't -- I get to spend time with my aging parents who are relatively healthy and just as quick-witted and sharp of mind as they were when they were my age now.
So Happy Birthday again, Dad and thanks to both of you for inviting us to your wonderful party. Now, let's see if we can find that sunshine again!

Peeing in My Pants

In the pool with Gussy. Photo courtesy of Wellsprings K9.

As a child, I remember wetting my bed. I didn’t do it often, but I still have a clear memory of lying in bed after a terrifying dream or a dream where I think I’m sitting on a toilet and then the shock of waking up to the warm chill of wet pajamas and a soggy bed. I have vivid memories of the bathroom linoleum under my feet, the glare of the stark bathroom light, the icy washcloth in my mother or father’s hand, the smell of the fresh pajamas, and the feeling of clean sheets as they slid me back into bed.

I was never a chronic bed wetter, but the occasional times when it happened were enough to imprint long-standing feelings of shame. My parents never shamed me, they just methodically cleaned me up and put me back to bed, but still I learned early on that peeing in one’s bed or clothing was wrong. That, of course, didn’t stop it from happening as a child. Sometimes I wet myself after a fit of uncontrollable laughter or out of fear or when I waited too long and got stuck halfway to the bathroom and felt the warm humiliation trickle down my leg.

Once, when I was a teenager sent on a community ski bus up to the mountains for lessons, which I detested, I avoided the bathroom for long hours because it required fumbling with the layers upon layers of clothing my mother insisted I wear. Then, when I knew I had to go, but was neither close enough to the bathroom nor quick enough to drop my three layers of pants, I wet myself on the side of a very steep hill. At first, the warm sensation was a relief to the bitter windy cold of the mountain where I didn’t want to be in the first place, but the comfort was brief. Soon, the smell of urine overwhelmed me and my wet long underwear froze against my skin.

The bus ride home was interminable; my peers, none of who were my friends, sat as far away from me as they could.

Eventually my body and my common sense kicked in and the act of peeing in my pants became in impossibility. If I were swimming in the lake wearing my swimsuit I’d have a difficult time peeing in the water. Hiking in the mountains, squatting behind a tree or a boulder, I’d have to drop my drawers and wait for the longest time before my body would allow the function to happen naturally. My brain had learned and my body had complied, I must pee in a toilet with my pants down and my bottom bare.

Now, years upon years later, I have a new job, which requires that I wear a wetsuit for the entire length of my shift. I stand in a hydrotherapy pool for hours at a time helping injured and aging dogs recover muscle memory and tone by swimming in warm water and massaging them at the side of the pool. I love my job and despite the dryness of my chlorine skin, the bruised claw marks on my legs and arms, and the feeling that dog hair is permanently embedded in my nose, I can’t imagine working anywhere else or doing a different kind of work.

Until it comes time to pee. Sliding a wetsuit off and then back on takes time and I don’t have much between clients. So I invested in a wetsuit with a zipper that runs the full length of my crotch from my belly button to my lower back designed specifically to let me relieve myself. My boss calls them kinky pants, which they really are, but they serve an important function. They allow me to pee. Or so I thought. During my first 15-minute break between dogs in my new wetsuit I unzipped, squatted, and waited, but soon I found myself in a panic.

I had to go. I mean, I really, really had to go, but nothing came out. The pressure built and no matter how hard I concentrated, I could not pee. At first I thought something was wrong with me. A bladder infection. Kidney failure. A disease for which no scientist had conceived a name. Then I took off the wetsuit and I peed like a racehorse. Sweet relief. I put on my wetsuit, worked with another dog in the pool, and then once again made the attempt to pee using the handy zipper.

Torture. I could not pee. I breathed deeply. I tried to relax. Nothing. The pain was excruciating. What’s wrong with me? I thought. Why can’t I pee? Again, off with the wetsuit, racehorse time, and back on with the wetsuit to work with the last dog of the day.

“You’ve been conditioned to not pee in your pants,” my partner says later that night.

“But there’s a hole for me to pee out of,” is my response. “Why can’t I pee out of the hole?”

“Because your mind and body still sense that you have on pants and you haven’t peed in your pants in decades.”

There are so many processes where the brain takes over. Breath, heart, eyes, reflexes – functions that don’t need to be learned, but just are. Learning to pee in a toilet is learned. Diapers work up until then, but once you learn to pee in a toilet, there must be a neural pathway created that says, “Do not pee in you pants” and pretty soon, you can’t. Your brain won’t let you. There’s a communication block or an understanding that pants on means no peeing. Pants off – pee. Despite the little hole in my wetsuit, my pants are technically on. For all intents and purposes my brain can’t conceive of a hole in my pants as reason enough to release my bladder.

I kepy trying. By the third day, I’d figured out that I can pee in my wetsuit if I’m standing up, but that wasn't going to work for all sorts of reasons. Eventually, I sat on the toilet, the zipper unzipped, stretched my legs out to the side, leaned back on the toilet seat, took a deep breath, closed my eyes and willed every muscle in my body to relax.

Success. Ridiculous success. I’m rewiring my brain, I think, I’m rewiring my brain to be able to pee in my pants. To put aside all the shame and guilt and humiliation and allow myself the simple, convenient relief of peeing, though not technically, in my pants.

This will take some time.

Where I Stand

It's Sunday night. Tomorrow I go back to work. 3 hours of teaching, 3 hours of dog walking, and then obedience class for an hour. That's a short day. I think I can handle it. Tuesday's not so bad either, but Wednesday's shaping up to be a long one and Friday, too since I'll be working at the pool with the dogs. Oh, and let's not forget that I work a full day on Saturday. Thursday will allow a breath, but only a short one.

This is my life for now. Until June 11 when I am done with teaching and will be able to retrieve my mornings again. It's weird thinking about being on a non-teacher schedule. I know it's hard on Ann since we've almost always had the same schedule, but she knows this is the way the rest of the world works and so she is resigned to spending some Saturdays alone and waiting up on some nights.

At least it's no longer REI where I got home at 10 and worked one day every weekend. And I was sore from lifting backpacks onto the backs of rich people for less than $10 an hour.

It's a transition and my body can feel it from head to toe. There's the physical changes -- walking dogs for 4 hours a day then climbing into a pool with them for massage, active exercise, and doing my best to keep them level and swimming -- as well as the mental ones -- learning the difference between cross friction massage and passive range of motion, memorizing superficial muscles and all the tendons, and keeping track of the intricate communication system of client charts, scheduling books, and employee notes written on blue sticky notes.

My head sometimes feels like it's going to explode. But it can't yet because I must finish report cards -- 2 page narratives for 22 students -- and I must finish out the school year including a late night event for the students' final performance. My head must stay intact. My body, too.

Today was my only day off this week. Next Sunday and Monday I'll have off as well. There's a part of me that just wants to lie in bed all day and read a book while eating an omelet followed by waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. Working so much has helped me lose weight though I'm not sure it's a healthy way to lose it. At the end of a 13 hour day, when I've eaten very little, I down a quick dinner and fall into bed. On the days when I'm not working as much, I binge on as much food as I can tolerate hoping to supplement the calories I've missed on the days when I don't have time to eat.

I'm hoping it all levels out after June 11. I need it to level out. I need to feel the rhythm again in my life.

Soon.

Defining Rural

I didn’t want to wake up this morning. I wanted to sleep in for a long, long time. This is not a bad thing for I am usually an insomniac waking up at 2 in the morning to ponder details that seem important, but truly aren’t. When the alarm went off a 5:50 this morning, I groaned. Usually I say, “About time” since I’ve been lying awake for a good hour or so just waiting for the alarm to sound.

Not this morning. This morning I was deep in sleep dreaming about a contest where I could win oodles of money if I could give a good definition for the word “rural.” All the other contestants went before me and most had no idea what rural meant. When the judges finally got around to me I said, “Rural means a greater distance from what you think you need, which ultimately means you must drive your car way too much and pollute the natural, rural world where you’ve chosen to live.”

When the alarm sounded, I groaned (as I’ve said), but I smiled at my answer. I knew I’d won the contest even though I was no longer in the dream.
But I was still sleepy. Very, very sleepy.

Hours later I know if given half the chance, I could curl up under a warm blanket and take a long, long nap.

It’s not going to happen, but thankfully today I’ve scheduled my own massage. While it’s never happened before, I can imagine myself falling fast asleep on the massage table.
This is all a result, I suppose, of working three jobs – teaching in the mornings, walking dogs in the middle of the day, and working until late in the evening at the dog spa. I know I can’t sustain the “both ends of the candle” routine, but on June 11, teaching will end and I can sleep in.

I hope.

For now, though, my body and mind are tired. Actually, they are exhausted and aside from the teaching demands, it’s a good exhaustion. I’m at my growing edge these days learning the anatomy and physiology of dogs, massage techniques and medical documentation during my time at the pool, and continuing my education about dogs and their owners (something I do every day with my dog walking business).

I’ll be happy when my teaching job is done and I can sleep in a bit more though the early morning sun is making it difficult. Still, I’m amazingly happy. Not sure how that’s happened. Not sure how I’ve landed in a place that feels so right, but someone said to me yesterday that I am where I’m supposed to be and I guess that feels exactly right.

I guess I really did win the prize!

Queer Reflections

I am in my final month of teaching. After 24 years, I've tried to "retire" once before (two years ago), but then the financial crisis hit and I panicked. So I took a part-time job back at the old school where I taught before. The money has been nice, but I am so ready to be done.

But that doesn't mean I haven't been reflective about my career. I have. I know I'm a good teacher. I know I've done a lot of good in my career. I know that I've made a difference in a lot of lives and that if I had the stamina for it all, I'd teach to my grave. But I don't have the stamina. I need change. I need to be challenged and frankly, I've met and faced all the challenges teaching has had to offer.

Still, this morning as we were reading our all-class novel (Totally Joe by James Howe), I realized that so much has changed over the past 24 years. The novel is about a middle school boy who is "totally gay" and figuring out what that means as he moves through those difficult years of adolescence. It's a great book and given the popularity of the television show GLEE, the novel has given us a lot to talk about.

20 years ago (even 10) we NEVER would have talked about this stuff. By this stuff I mean, gay stuff. 20 years ago (even 10) I couldn't be out to my students. In fact, 20 years ago I was doing my best to hide my identity for fear I'd be fired or accused of something immoral. Now, as I look out over my classroom of 22 students, three have gay and/or lesbian parents, two have gay uncles, and 75% of the class adores the show Glee and the gay character, Kurt.

Sure, they still giggle when Joe, the character in the novel we're reading, talks about kissing a boy and sure they get a little squirmy when he talks about playing with dolls and dressing up like a girl, but then they make comments that floor me. "I don't want Joe to break up with Colin," one student said this morning.

"But Colin' being a jerk," said another in response. "Can't he just be comfortable with himself?"

"But that's the point," another chimed in. "It's hard to be true to yourself if everyone is teasing you and calling you hateful names."

Of course, they have a long way to go in some regards. They're writing their own stories as well and none of the characters in their stories are gay and even the kids with gay parents didn't give the characters in their stories gay parents, but still, I marvel at how much more enlightened this generation is than the previous ones.

And I suppose I played a part (a very small part, but a part nonetheless) in "enlightening" generations about queer issues over the last few decades.

There are parts of teaching I'll miss. Reading novels out loud and discussing them is one of the things I'll miss. Kids have amazing insights and even though I've read some of the novels 10 or 15 times over, when I read them with kids, I learn something new every time -- a new perspective, a new connection, a new insight.

But there's that stamina thing again and I just don't have the stamina. It's time to pass the baton to some other queer teacher who can enlighten the next generations.

Been Awhile...so much has changed

I know, it's been awhile. It's been such a long while I forgot my login name and password.

Not that anyone cares. I write this to clear my head, which of late is very crowded.

I woke up at 5 this morning. I'm bummed that I couldn't sleep longer especially since it's Saturday and I really have no reason to get up early. But here I am, awake, my head spinning and my feet cold.

Inside the crowded space I call my head is the following:

I must get up and begin reading my text for animal massage school. Yes, I've enrolled and the materials arrived the other day so with yellow highlighter I've been reading about dog senses and cat's whiskers (among other things) and the whole time I'm worried that I'm not going to remember a thing when it comes time to take the end of the chapter quiz.

There is no food in the house. What shall we have for breakfast?

The house needs a good cleaning. When will I find time to do that?

I must go to work at 11 this morning. Yes, Saturday work, which is really an apprenticeship at this point and perhaps this is what crowds my brain the most. I applied for a job working at a hydrotherapy pool for dogs. I got the job (to my joyous surprise) and have been working their about 12 hours a week. Every moment I'm exposed to so many new things that I'm both giddy and overwhelmed. I can I learn all of this?

Sheila, my new boss, is phenomenal. She knows so much and is extremely thoughtful and patient teaching me. I catch on quickly to the routines none of which have anything to do with the dog's rehabilitation. Things like turning on the jets, cleaning the filters, washing the floors, and returning phone calls. I find myself gravitating to those tasks because when we're in the pool, an aging or injured dog between us, I am flooded with vocabulary I am trying desperately to understand. Proprioception, Plantar Extension, Plantar Flexion, Hyper tonicity and on and on and on.

Then there are the techniques for swimming the dog -- using the pulley system, not using it; balancing the dog by holding the outer back toes or rotating the tail between your fingers; holding the dog against the side of the pool using your knees and hips; inverting the dog and pressing their spine against your belly; medial lines and lateral lines and on and on and on.

But what makes it hard to sleep is not the learning so much as it is the fact that I have four jobs going at once. I am still teaching in the mornings, then walking dogs in the middle of the day, and then working at the pool in the afternoons and evenings. Oh, and let's not forget the article I'm supposed to write for school (part of my job description), which makes a total of four jobs.

I know it's temporary. I know the teaching will end on June 12 and for that I am eternally grateful. But getting to June 12 feels like a long wait. I just want to be in the pool learning more or sitting on my couch reading about gait analysis and massage techniques so when I'm walking dogs or working in the pool I will feel confident.

Yes, that's it. A lack of confidence wakes me up each morning and in the pit of my stomach, I can feel this excited hesitancy bubbling away, which activates my brain and gets the thoughts and lists ticking away at 5 in the morning. So today, even though it's Saturday and I'm allowed to sleep in, I got up.

And let's not forget that my sister flies in this afternoon. What psychic energy that's going to take. Energy I don't feel like I have right now. Still, I'll do my best to be present and polite, to listen to her endless stories about her work and her cats and god knows what else.

I'm glad I have a few hours at the pool this morning. Despite all the challenges of learning new information and even feeling a lack of confidence, when I'm in the pool working with a dog, there is a calm that comes over me. It's primal in many regards and it feels exactly like what I need right now in my life. Something grounding. Something where my brain and body must connect in ways that doesn't happen when I teach or even when I walk dogs or even when I write.

Of course, I'm tired now. Ready to go back to bed, but instead I'll figure out something for breakfast and move through the day one foot in front of the other.

Can't See the Stars

I can't see the stars tonight -- way too many clouds along with wind and rain. But if I could, I think they'd be out of whack. Here's why:

Friends' house got broken into and ransacked today.

Rubin's friend Monty is feeling crummy and has the squirts.

The doctor finally put me on blood pressure medication...it makes me feel old.

Everyone unexpectedly converged here for dinner throwing off the night I needed to organize the last of my taxes (they're done I just need to tie up loose ends and WRITE THE CHECK TO THE IRS...who me, yelling?)...and go over the edits for my Caylx piece.

But there's always tomorrow.

Ann's at a school event, though I'm hoping she comes home soon. Rubin is under the desk grumpy with me because I cleaned his ears.

I need a bath.

I need something sweet.

Things feel a bit disorganized.

So I'm trying to remember the words of one of my students last week who, during her parent-teacher conference, said, "I think I'm doing well in class because I'm using my time affectionately."

I need some of that wisdom right now.

Wish I could at least see the stars.

The Book I'm Not Reading

I'm actually reading a book, but last night we saw Patty Larkin in concert with John Gorka. He was okay, she was fabulous. Amazing guitarist. I don't know why she's not better known. It's not really the lyrics that are amazing, but rather Patty's riffs. As our friend said last night, "It's like she has extra joints on her fingers!" Anyway, she sang one of my favorite songs -- The Book I'm Not Reading -- with the chorus that says, "I need someone to read me stories."

That's what I was supposed to do with the current book -- read it out loud with Ann, but she's still finishing up Kingsolver's latest (The Lacuna), which I finished a while back and then I read Erdrich's new one (Shadow Tag) and had nothing to read while Ann was still working her way through Lacuna. So, I picked up "The Girl Who Fell From the Sky" by Heidi Durrow and Ann asked if we could read it out loud. I said yes, but then started reading it and am now halfway through.

My excuse? It's not a good read aloud, but it is a good book. Quite good.

I've been on a reading binge of late. I suppose that's a good thing because it helps get more stories in my head. Next up is Ash by Malinda Lo, a young adult novel that is the retelling of the Cinderella story with a lesbian twist.

All this reading means I haven't been writing. Well, I've been "helping" Rubin write his daily dog blog, but I haven't really been focused on "serious" writing -- writing that involves no quotation marks. But today, the mail guy delivered the copy edited version of my story that has been selected by Caylx for publication in July. It's filled with all sorts of editing suggestions complete with an editing guide to help me figure out the chicken scratch in the margins.

I'm half tempted to send it back and say, "Looks great, go ahead," but I feel the need to look at it closer and find something that I disagree with if only to make myself look intelligent. HA! (All the while the editor may well be checking out this blog to see if they made a mistake deciding to publish one of my pieces! Such is the nature of internet publishing, I suppose. Note to Caylx editors: If you're reading this, I am a reasonably intelligent woman who, like most of my generation, have a wobbly sense of self esteem that, despite years of therapy, still asks, "Did they really like what I wrote?")

But the point is, I'm reading more than I'm writing these days and replaying the sage advice of one of my mentors (Diana Hume George) who told me that reading IS writing so never apologize. I'm not apologizing, Diana, just shouting out through this blog that I'm being productive.

Really.

Oh, and I've been cooking. Tonight's concoction was pasta with olive tomato sauce. Simple, easy, and mighty tasty. Now we have enough food for the week! Alas, I always make way too much, but it's a good thing since we both like to eat leftovers for lunch.

Still, in the back of my mind are the threads of a story. I'm not a fiction writer, but I keep trying to convince myself that if I write the story like it's true (the nebulous definition of creative nonfiction), I can pull it off. First, though, I must read to keep those creative juices flowing.

I must admit, it's not helping to watch season two of "Damages" on DVD. I can easily binge on Glenn Close and the show has so many twists and turns that dig me deeper and deeper into the story, I'm expecting to strike oil soon!

Terrible metaphor, but remember, I'm in my reading mind, NOT my writing one.