Playing

"Dear Dog, she bought a new camera!"

The way things turned out -- my camera wouldn't work. Tried to fix it, but no luck. So, I decided to buy a new camera. In the course of buying a new one, I also bought a new battery for the old one and what do you know? The old camera now works AND I also have a new camera.

It's okay. Now that have my own (nice) camera, I won't hog the camera and Ann can use it more.

Lucky me.

I played with the camera and the settings yesterday and this morning. Here's what I'm learning...

This photo is on "fine" image. Later I turned to "standard" to see a difference. I like how the camera picked up the morning light as Rubin does his morning stretches.

Again, the light is defined really well and it captures the details of Quillette's whiskers on the left side (right in the photo) of her face.
This is a pot on our deck. I had on the telephoto lens. I think it would have done better with the standard lens, but still, lots of nice detail and pretty realistic with the colors.
I really get the feeling of morning in this photo, maybe because Ann's in her pajamas, but the eastern light highlights everything very well and I'm impressed that the camera picks that up.
We went for a walk up over the hill and I took this photo of the I-90 bridge or the floating bridges even though Quillette was pulling at the leash. This is NOT a "fine" setting, but rather "standard." Still, it picked up what it looked like with my eyes and did a nice job capturing even the details of the shade in which we were standing.
Coleman Pea Patch is the climb back up over the hill. Lots of shades of green. Can you see it?
Telephoto lens again. I like how the dahlias stand out against the green background.
Ann wanted to play, too so she fiddled with a few photos. This one turned out the best. I'm not darkened by the light over my head. Nice.
We stopped at the bakery at the top of the hill for some delicious bread pudding (the baker only makes it on weekends) and ran into an old border collie named Chance. Even the peeling paint on the door behind him is pretty vivid.

I think I'm going to really like this camera. Tomorrow will be the true test since I'll be taking photos of my students on a ropes course in the foggy morning (or so it's predicted) and then of my dog clients in the sunny (or so it's predicted) afternoon. And I get to test the action setting. Should be fun!

Lost to the Dogs

And here I stand

I've gone back to work teaching part time. These past two weeks, we've been in our classrooms, attending meetings, and doing all those little things that need to get done before the kids walk through the door. Every year of my teaching career (I'm about to enter into my 23rd), there are attempts to help teachers find balance in their lives. There are workshops and discussions, small group get togethers, and commitments by everyone to not work as hard this year as last.

Nothing has changed this year. In fact, we were all handed a leather journal and asked to complete a writing assignment that will be given to us every week. I have mixed feelings about this, but have decided to make the attempt.

The first topic of the journal is why I became a teacher. This is a difficult question for me to answer, but here's my attempt:

I was combing through photos the other day, clearing out my computer files of accumulations I really don't need when I came across a photo of Rubin, our dog, as a 9 week old puppy. He stood in the kitchen looking up at something, his round puppy belly covered in red curls, his tail straight up, and his ears perked and ready for action.

And then I laughed. The laughter came out of nowhere and caught me by surprise. He is now an adult version of that puppy picture in all respects except for his legs. In the photo, his body is about 10 inches in length, but his legs are about 3 inches high. Today, Rubin is all legs -- the tall, muscular legs of his poodle genes. But in the photo, I could barely find his legs and this is what made me laugh. Sure, I can see the adult Rubin in the puppy Rubin, but what I realized is that as he aged, his legs simply got longer. He literally grew up, his legs stretching tall lifting his body further off the ground with each passing month.

When I look back at my career as a teacher, I realize I am much like Rubin. I didn't have teacher legs. I had these little stubs that held up a form uncertain of my potential. I look back on why I became a teacher and I can't put my finger on any one moment or person that said, "You must teach" nor did I have any desire to teach. Not really.

My mother would disagree pointing out that as a kid I always liked hanging out with younger kids and as a teenager, volunteered to work at a school for autistic children all on my own. "No one made you do that," my mother would say. That may be, but I still don't remember saying to myself "I want to be a teacher."

I wanted to be a professional athlete most of my high school years and as a little kid, I wanted to dance on the Carol Burnett Show, but I the latter was more because I knew at a very young age I was gay though I had no language for it. I just had a serious crush on Carol Burnett. If I danced on her show, I'd be close to her.

I didn't go to college to become a teacher. Instead I worked in television news hoping one day to be an editor, which I thought would catapult me into film making. Then, after about three years working for an industry I have very little respect for anymore, I left, headed back to school and got my teaching degree. Looking back, I haven't a clue why I made that choice. I know I had some friends who encouraged it, I know I was fed up with my stressful job, I know I was at the end of tumultuous relationship, and I know I was always a follower more than a leader so somehow, someway I followed something other than my own initiative into teaching.

And the first years were anything but easy. Still that's when my legs grew, if you will, and 5 years later, then 10, then 15 I looked down and saw that my teacher legs had gotten longer and stronger. It was shortly after my 15th year of teaching that I could finally say to myself -- hey, I'm pretty good at this and really mean it. It was a bumpy, bumpy road up until that point and I still have moments when I doubt, in the deepest sense, what the hell I'm doing or have done with my life.

But these are my legs. Whatever path led me here, I've come to realize, was the right path. Just as Rubin was destined to be a long-legged dog even though he was born with stumpy short legs, there was some kind of voodoo working lifting me up into the teacher I am now.

And here I stand.

The World Asleep

I am sitting in my brother's dining room on his computer while everyone else sleeps. Even the dogs, each curled by my side, are asleep. I hear rumblings occasionally -- my parents' radio downstairs, my sister-in-law shuffling her slippered feet in the master bathroom, and the bird -- a loud cockatiel -- silent in her cage.

The loudest noise comes from the swallows who have nested in my brother's chimney. Every 15 minutes or so, they chirp in urgency. No doubt the mother had returned from a successful hunting trip and they loudly protest to be fed first upon her arrival.  

It's beautiful here, though the beautiful blue skies of yesterday have given way to gray. Still, the horses are in the pasture just beyond the fence line, the wide expanse of open fields dotted with groves of walnut trees stretches out before me, and the colors of summer -- wheat and green -- remind me of a pastoral watercolor. 

I am taking pictures, trying to lift my lens from the dogs and the landscape to my family. My mother with her gray curls for the first time in a long time not working in the kitchen; my father quietly sitting in the shade on the porch, smiling ever so slightly at our constant stories and witticisms; my sister-in-law who takes up work in the kitchen preparing meals, cleaning the counters, and discussing exact instructions for barbequing the halibut; Ann, my love, swinging in the macramé chair suspended at the corner of the deck, enjoying my family as much if not more than I am; and finally the dogs -- ours and theirs -- learning to co-habitat and share and occasionally chase each other around the yard.

This is not what I expected my life to be, but now that I'm here, I can't think of any other place I'd rather end up.  In the car ride down here, I told Ann that I was hesitant to say it, but my life feels golden right now. 

"I don't want to open myself up to disappointment," I explained and she laughed telling me to relax and appreciate it all.

I'm trying. 

Now, with the world around me still asleep, I'm letting myself settle in to the golden moments. And just as I feel my body sigh, a bathroom door opens, I hear more rustling from downstairs, and the world opens its eyes.

Oops, I'm Not Keeping Up

Summertime is always so much busier than I think it will be. I can't keep up. Ann's mom left yesterday morning and Ann morphed back into her real self -- relaxed, jovial, unhurried -- but the busy pace of the past few weeks keeps building and I'm not sure I can keep up.

Okay, so I'm blowing it all out of proportion, I'm sure, but still it's hard to find time to do all the things I want to do like hiking and lake swimming and cycling and visiting and let's not forget eating. Summer foods are my favorite. I must find time to eat, but not gain back the weight I've lost.

And there you have it: The paradox of summer. So little time, so many temptations.

Ann just set a slice of her beautifully delicious cherry clafouti down in front of me. What's a girl to do?

So here is my attempt at catching up. My favorite moments of the past two weeks captured digitally:

The best grilled polenta I've ever tasted...
Jocelyn and Maisy (cousins) sitting in a leather boat made by Maisy's dad out of two leather chairs pushed together. Who needs toys!
A magnificent lunch with my amazing parents who entertained Ann's mom for an afternoon -- yum and thank you!
The lunch was so good I had to sleep it off before we headed back to Seattle...
Ann's mom, Genevieve, stemming cherries that later she pitted (by hand) and from which Ann made three clafouti's, six jars of cherry/rhubarb jam, and still there's a bowl of pitted cherries in the fridge.
Visiting our good friends on Vashon where Rubin got to swim in the Sound (brrr) in the shadow of Mt. Rainier.
Swimming at Doris and Steven's house...
And there is that cute, cute Maisy again getting her diapers wet...
Oh and there is so much more...stay tuned. I'll catch up at some point!

A Father and a Day

The other night I woke from a bizarre dream. I was on a boat with my entire family right down to uncles and cousins and distant relatives on board as well. We were leaving. That was the sense. Not that we were going anywhere, but that we were leaving only something was wrong. Mom and Dad were not on the boat. We were still at the dock so I looked to see if I could find them and there they were -- my mother in the lead, my father right behind, and my sister behind him holding her little dog. My sister was laughing, my mom was waving, and dad was looking down at the water.

I thought Is he nervous about the water? Is his eyesight bad? Does he know the boat is about to leave? What does he see?

I knew they'd missed the boat, but I tried to make it up to the pilot house to let the captain know we needed to go back, that the whole family wasn't on the boat. But I couldn't find the pilot house or anyone else who worked on the boat so I stood on the stern and waved as the boat powered on its way. My mother was looking off in the distance, not in the direction of the boat, my father was still looking down at the dock, and my sister was still laughing, slapping her thigh as if she just heard the funniest joke.

No one waved back.

Then I realized it was all a dream. This happens to me often. In the middle of the dream I realize I'm dreaming and then I redirect the dream. This is my dream and I can make it do what I want, I say to myself and then whatever I want to have happen, happens.

So I made the boat go back to the dock. I didn't make it turn around. Instead, I made the boat back up or go in reverse so that I never lost sight of my parents and my sister. But once I'd realized it was a dream and that I had control of what happened, I woke up. My last image was of my father looking up from the dock and finally seeing me. He lifted his right hand slowly and ever-so-slightly gave a little wave then turned toward my mom and sister to let them know I was on the boat, but they didn't see me.

I'm never sure what dreams mean. I try to analyze them for some kind of meaning and with my father 81 years old, my mother 82, and my sister living across the country, there are a bevy of interpretations I could offer this dream.

I don't want to. Instead, I want to focus on the fact that I could get the boat to go in reverse with my thoughts alone. No need for a captain or a crew member, no need to find the pilot house or to alert any of my other relatives that our family was incomplete.

When I woke from the dream, I felt a combination of grief and confidence. The dream stayed with me for most of the day as we drove to my parents' house for the Father's Day weekend. I suppose it's rather ironic that my brother, who came with my niece, brought kayaks and we spent the first afternoon paddling the inlet where the current pushed us rapidly toward our parents' house. My brother and niece headed out on the boats first and as I stood on the shore waving to them, the emotions of the dream returned to me. I was sad, but hopeful. I was confident, but overwhelmed with the feeling that the tide was more powerful than my ability to change any course.

We had a great weekend despite my dream. We're boarding a cute dog this weekend named Argo, so he came with us as did our own dog, Rubin. They were both fun to have around with Rubin lying by my father's or my brother's feet depending on who was sitting in the living room. Argo hung out on the couch, but occasionally sat in dad's lap just long enough for a photograph.
We ate way too much (why can I never feel full at my parents' house?) and laughed a lot. We told stories, watched bad TV, and took naps.

That's how a Father's Day should be spent, I think, the sails not as full as they normally are, surrounded by a family all looking up.

A Matter of Money

Running my own business, a business dependent upon people and their money, has made me realize (though I realized it before just not this realized) we all look at money in very different ways.

Take for instance this client: Three cars -- two SUVs and a sports car -- one BMW, one Mercedes, and one Honda. There's money there, yes? Or perhaps it is locked up in car payments. Hard to say, but three cars and two people makes very little sense to me. Okay, there's a small child involved and an even smaller dog but the small ones can't drive. So while each adult drives a car, one car sits. The client said to me, rather off hand, "I'm not sure why I bought that BMW."

I'm thinking: Sell it.

Instead, I am asked to cut my rate for dog sitting. Not by 10% or 20%, but by 60%. Only, they didn't ask me directly. They accidentally "replied all" on an email and I got to see the request from wife to husband. "Perhaps we could negotiate the price?" she wrote and then offered a sum for seven days of work, a sum 60% less than what I'd normally charge.

I would have offered them a discounted rate since I know seven days is a long time and times are tough. I usually do this, but I wasn't afforded (interesting word) the opportunity. And it's hard to imagine cutting my rate by 60%.

Not when they have three cars in the driveway, two of which cost more than the full-time salary I made as a teacher.

Not when I inadvertently receive an email asking to negotiate my rate.

Or take a look at this client: Large house on the water. In large I mean at least 4000 square feet. Four cars which includes a Volvo for their daughter. Really nice people. They never once questioned the rate I charged for pet sitting their dog.

Okay, that works for me. I clear my calendar to make room for their dog since I only sit one dog at a time. Now they may want the dog back earlier, which means I cleared my schedule of potential clients who would pay me for the whole time in exchange for a dog who won't be staying with me for as long as scheduled.

Not a big deal to them...they get their dog back, but I'm out money. Money I could have earned from someone else.

I can't figure out if they just assume I have enough money and dog walk and pet sit for fun or if it never crossed their mind that $100 carries more weight with me than it may for them.

Or maybe it's both.

Or maybe it's neither. Maybe it's something entirely different. I can't tell, but in both instances I would not make the same choices.

I know this makes me sound as if I think I'm better than them, which is not my intent, but still may be how it comes across. I wouldn't own three expensive cars nor cheat my dog walker out of the rate she quotes me. I might cancel my boarding dates, but I'd expect a cancellation fee or even offer to pay part of what I'd agreed to pay originally.

What I've learned is that people with money and people without have a very different view of the world. I have one client who I know scraps together the money to pay me every month AND they include a tip. I have another client who balked at a rate increase, which was still half the rate I normally charge and yet every month she flies to San Francisco or New York because she "has to get away." And she NEVER tips. NEVER.

Money makes my stomach hurt. It always has. Funny how I end up here, dickering over money with people who view it very different than I do.

One View

Phoebe on the right with her fellow PhD friends.

Now that I'm 50 years old, I look at the world differently. It was inevitable, I suppose and I know I'm not the first 50 year old to feel this way, still it's curious to look around and assess the world from this misnamed halfway point.

Last night was our friends' daughter's (Phoebe's) PhD celebration at her parents' house. Doris and Stephen are like family and therefore by extension, Phoebe and her family are part of ours. For me, Phoebe represents energy -- the kind of energy I don't think I ever had even when I was her age (early 30s). In the past 5 years she has gotten married with a large wedding at her parents' house, she had her first child, and completed her PhD in Philosophy and Anthropology with a focus on shell fossils.

Just writing that paragraph made me tired. Was I that ambitious 20-25 years ago? I don't think so, but I know I could stay up later than I can now. I know my body didn't hurt as much as it does now. And I know I could eat a helluva lot more than I can now and not suffer the consequences.

But then I look at Phoebe's mom, the Grandmother to Phoebe's daughter Jocelyn. Doris is in her mid-late 60s and seems to have more energy than Phoebe. Two days a week she provides daycare for Jocelyn and two other days a week she provides daycare for her other grandchild, Maisy (only a few months older than her cousin Jocelyn). Occasionally she watches Elliot and like one of those relationship mazes, he is the son of her son-in-law's brother and his wife.
Elliot has a new baby sister, Penelope and while she has yet to stay with Doris and Stephen, her other Grandmother steps in.

This, I suppose, is what everyone thinks about when they define nuclear family and even though it's gotten a bad rap as of late, it's a pretty sweet deal. Everyone seems extremely happy with the arrangement. In addition to all the daycare, there's a weekly evening meal where the whole lot of them get together for a massive dinner that includes food fit for the vegetarians and the carnivores, the lactose intolerant and the gluten-free dieters.

Is this what I want in my life? No. I'm happy. I'm content. I like the relationship I have at home with Ann, with my friends, and with my biologicals. It all suits me and it does not wear me out...well, not on a weekly basis. But mine is just one view of family; Doris and Steven's is another view. Theirs suits them as much as mine suits me.

Yet, like a Venn Diagram we cross, sharing a family space of commonalities. Their family represents energy and laughter, and accomplishments. Mine represents the same laughter, but it's much more relaxed and settled. There aren't big things to get accomplished and though my niece may end up with a PhD at some point in her life, no one is working on such accomplishments while getting married and then getting pregnant.

Phoebe's homemade PhD cake (made by her mother, Doris) representing the three degrees of the three candidates - fish, charcoal and shells...yes, all edible.

Blueberries

I am eating fresh blueberries. I am in heaven.

There are two dogs fast asleep beside me. One is my own -- Rubin and he is tired after a big romp at the off-leash park including swimming in the river. The other is Marley who, if I didn't already have a dog, would try to adopt. That's the trouble with my work. Dog walking introduces you to many dogs as well as their families. Most families of the dogs I walk are responsible owners, but every once in awhile I am asked to walk a dog whose circumstances pain me.

Marley is such a dog and although I was never asked to walk Marley (I offered), it's very hard to put him back in his yard knowing he will spend the rest of the day (and night) there without much human interaction.

And so, as comfort, I am eating blueberries while he sleeps. I'm not sure if it comforts Marley that I eat berries, but he must feel how delighted I am in their sweet tartness and fleshy juice.

I have yet to see Marley settle down. This is a first. Usually, he is all over the place peeing to his heart's content as he is not yet neutered (yes, part of the neglect he faces in his life). I rarely bring him inside the house for fear he'll lift his leg on anything that smell like Rubin. Occasionally, like today, I'll let him in the house on a leash and then he walks wherever I walk. Now that I am at the desk, he has no other choice but to be here with me and so he's relaxed into a nice nap and I have let the leash relax as well.

There is nothing like a contented dog.
There is nothing like a neglected dog.

Both pull at me emotionally and thus, the blueberries.

Marley does not belong to the neighbors up the street. They are watching him for some friends. Since Marley is used to activity in his life, sitting on the back porch all day (and night) long is very boring so he jumps the fence and comes to our house. They've fortified the fence as best they can and while I've agreed to walk him for 30 minutes a day, he ends up getting much more than what the time I'm getting paid.

How can I turn him away?

He goes back to his real home tomorrow afternoon and I'm hoping the whole out-of-sight-out-of-mind effect kicks in. It will be nice to walk by the neighbor's house and not have to see the bored dog howling at me from the back porch.

But I shall miss him. He's a really wonderful dog -- so smart and loving and willing to please -- it's a shame he hasn't found a better home in this life. A home with loving owners who take him everywhere they go, train him to do tricks, and teach him to swim and fetch and roll over on command. A home that feeds him better food than kibble from the grocery store, who allow him to suck on frozen marrow bones, and toss blueberries in the air so he can catch them.

Maybe he'll find his blueberries in the next life.

Hot Tamales

It's warm out, though not as warm as yesterday and the day before. Still, standing on our neighbor's porch making tamales was sweaty business!

This Summer I Went Swimming

My parents tell me that when I was a kid, I took to the water like a fish. I'd leap off the side of the pool and into someone's waiting arms so repetitively, they grew tired before I did. It's no wonder then, that our son (read DOG) likes to do the same thing -- swim, leap, and splash.

And it's no wonder that one of my favorite songs is called the Swimming Song:

"This summer I went swimming, this summer I almost drown
But I held my breath and I kicked my feet
And I moved my arms around, moved my arms around"
(best version sung by Kate and Anna McGarrigle, but written by Loudon Wainwright)

Yesterday was hot and now that my life is spent primarily outside (as a dog walker) and I am approaching my menopause years, I get hot in the sweltering heat. For instance, yesterday was not only a full day of dog walking (8 dogs in total), but it was our first 80 degree day. While those who live in Phoenix may laugh at 80 degrees, for those of us in the PNW 80 degrees is record breaking heat. And since it was the first day of such heat, no one was prepared for it. Remember, we are the people who rejoice when it's 60 and bask in the "heat" of such a day by wearing shorts.

So, when I began the walk with my last set of dogs, my destination was the lake even though I knew that the lake was at the bottom of a very, very big hill. Going down to the water wasn't a problem for any of us, but going back up was quite a climb. Even the dogs had to stop in the shade and catch their breaths.

Lucky for them, though, they'd gotten into the lake (I did not) so they were quite a bit cooler than I when we made the climb back up. I was beat red and drenched in sweat by the time we arrived and even the air conditioning in the car couldn't cool me off fast enough.

I had to laugh yesterday when Rubin, Monty, and I got into that warm car. I blasted the air conditioning while Rubin and Monty jockeyed for the perfect position, which for them is right between the two front seats since that's where the cool air is felt the best. Like an old married couple both sweaty and hot, Monty would push his larger body into Rubin's trying to get him to move over and Rubin would growl as if to say, "Don't touch me, I'm hot!" Once they got their positions settled, they sat sphinx-like side-by-side with their tongues long and panting. It was quite a sight.

So when Ann got home shortly after our last walk, I asked if we could go to our friend's house for a swim. "Great idea!" Ann agreed and we piled the dogs (yes, Monty was still with us) into the car and drove straight to the pool. I wore my wetsuit because the pool is unheated and we haven't had enough warm days to really heat up the pool, but I was pleasantly surprised when I jumped in the pool and felt refreshed.

Monty and Rubin were, too. They both donned their own "wetsuits" and I helped Monty swim since he struggles as a swimmer and also has a sore front leg. (This was not only a refreshing break, but a therapeutic one as well.)

While Monty practiced his crawl stroke, Rubin swam around and around thrilled to be in a cool pool and with his best friend.

Thanks mom and dad for spending all that time with me years ago while I perfected my addiction to water. I'm sure I tested your patience.

"This summer I swam in the ocean,
And I swam in a swimming pool,
Salt my wounds, chlorine my eyes,
I'm a self-destructive fool, a self-destructive fool.

This summer I swam in a public place
And a reservoir, to boot,
At the latter I was informal,
At the former I wore my suit, I wore my swimming suit.

This summer I did the backstroke
And you know that's not all
I did the breast stroke and the butterfly
And the old Australian crawl, the old Australian crawl.

This summer I did swan dives
And jackknifes for you all
And once when you weren't looking
I did a cannonball, I did a cannonball.

This summer I went swimming,
This summer I almost drown
But I held my breath and I kicked my feet
And I moved my arms around,
Moved my arms around."

Scheduling

When I first began teaching, seasoned veterans of the profession told me that my success depended on being organized. I've always seen myself as a scattered person, so I've never felt that organization was my strong suit. Then I got to meet people (teachers among them) who were extremely unorganized and I realized I was pretty good at it.

Pretty good, not great.

Pretty good, meaning not my mother. Of course, when one has the high standard set by one's mother then one will never see themselves as organized.

But this is beside the point. Now that I own my own business, my "pretty good" organizational skills come in handy. Right now, for instance, I have sticky notes on my computer telling me when to walk which dog, right down to the last minute. If I don't do this, I wake up early in the morning worrying about timing.

Today is not as packed as tomorrow, but today I have an afternoon interview and then Rubin's agility class 45 minutes out of town. Those solid and scheduled appointments remove any flexibility in the day. Luckily, there are only 5 dogs to walk today. Tomorrow there are 8, but I have no afternoon commitments so my time is a bit more flexible.

This matters to no one but me (and Rubin, of course) though it obviously matters to me a lot. My free time -- time when I'm not expected to be somewhere walking one dog or another -- isn't really free at all. I must keep up with billing, since I blog about the dogs every day, I must keep up the blogging, and since I take photos of the dogs every day, I must catalog and sort the photos at least once a week. This takes time and right now I'm feeling pinched for time.

No, let me rephrase that: I'm feeling what I always feel when it comes to organizing my time -- I'm feeling as if my priorities are all wrong. My mornings are spent with this internal dialogue -- should I do this first or this? Should I read the newspaper or get right to work transcribing interviews? Is there time for a Sudoku puzzle or should I really organize photos?

At 4 this morning I woke thinking, "I need to pay bills" and after the shock of remembering, I tossed and turned for an hour thinking of all the things I need to do in addition to paying the bills. "This is ridiculous," I told my sleepy, worried self. "You'll get it all done, you always do. Sleep. You need sleep."

Eventually I fell back to sleep and first thing this morning, I paid the bills, organized my invoices, cataloged my photos, and re-considered my walking schedule so I might be more efficient with the car. Oh yeah, and wrote a check for the agility class tonight.

Of course now that I've listed all of that out, more things have popped into my head: Get the walking gear together -- I won't need rain gear, but I need two extra leashes. Replenish the poop bags in my backpack. Put the photo card back in the camera. Get a new video tape, too for the interview this afternoon. Get everything ready to go for agility class like special treats to really motivate Rubin.

When will I have lunch? Better make a sandwich to nibble on in the car in between dog walking.

See? I'm pretty good at organizing, but that Ferris wheel of spinning details keeps turning and sometimes, sometimes I want to get off. I woke this morning thinking it was Saturday and then realized that no, it was only Thursday. Can't really get off the Ferris wheel until then...but even then, I've already got a list going -- reorganize the pantry, wash the windows, buy a new fridge (Ann's idea) which means cleaning out the old fridge, make an appointment to service the car and the scooter, clean the house, pick up some more pet food and treats...blah, blah, blah.

I wonder what unorganized people think about?

Arnold's eyebrows

I read the newspaper online this morning and was presented with a photograph of Arnold the Terminator Governor's face. He dyes his hair apparently because his eyebrows were not even close to the color of his hair and each eyebrow was speckled with gray.

Hmmm. Curious. While his State is living in catastrophic debt, I doubt he is suffering financially. Has his house been foreclosed? Has his credit card raised his interest rates? Is he stuck at home on a "Stay-cation?"

I think not.

So, can't he afford an image specialist who can advise a different course of action - don't dye your hair at all so your eyebrows and your hair color actually look like they came from the same head or if you're going to dye your hair, let's dab a little on your eyebrows.

Apparently not.

This is trivial, I know. There are so many other things going on around the world that I waste precious time focusing on Arnold's grooming. Hell, there are so many other things going on in my life the amount of wasted time feels monumental.

But sometimes I don't want to focus on anything truly important or meaningful. Sometimes that feels like a waste of my time. Like this morning, when I tossed and turned at 5 unable to sleep. Too much to think about followed by a hot flash that not only raised my body temperature, but also fueled my worries. Or last night, after my sister called and Ann asked me what she had to say. "Where do I begin?" was my response. It was too much, simply too much to retell.

There is a lot of walking I must do today. Six dogs are on the schedule including two new dogs who do everything but walk. A Basset Hound and Beagle, they are all about their noses and so it's walk a few steps and then throw nose to the ground for a good five minutes. I'm going to take Rubin with me in hopes that they will want to smell him enough that as he moves, they'll move. We'll see.

I have an interview this afternoon for an article I'm writing followed by a much needed haircut. I have turned into Elvis with my hair poofed up on my head like an evangelist. "The taller the hair, the closer to God," my stylist always jokes.

These are the things I want to think about -- which dog to walk first, who to walk with whom, the interview, my haircut, dinner, and yes, Arnold's weird eyebrows. I want them to push out the things I don't want to think about -- mainly my sister's needs and her inability to tell me something only once, not seven times in a given hour.

Clear my mind, clear my mind. Breathe and breathe and breathe. Focus on the eyebrows. Focus.

The Art of Exercise

I walk a dog named Gerta. I was hesitant to walk her because she is part pit bull and with all the bad press, I didn't want to take my chances. Meeting her helped calmed my reservations a bit especially when she licked my hand and rolled over on her belly within the first minute, but for the first few weeks of walking her I didn't do much out of her normal routine. We walked through her neighborhood just the two of us -- no other dogs allowed.

The more I got to know Gerta, the more I realized my fears were unfounded. She's very sweet, though she has a habit of being very destructive. When I arrive at her apartment, there is usually a mess scattered about and not of the owners making. Gerta gets into things. Boxes, garbage, and her current favorite -- leather boots. The other day I arrived to three pairs of boots tossed about on the couch with huge chunks ripped out.

I am not Gerta's full-time dog walker. I am simply helping out the regular guy who is out of town for the next few weeks. How much should I get involved? Well, this is my problem: I could care less about the owners. My sole concern is the dog.

So here is a dog -- a sweet and wonderful dog -- who is obviously bored silly. Or should I say, bored into destruction. I walk her for only a half hour, but she needs more. Lots more. I kept counting the weeks until my temporary job of walking Gerta would be over and I could pass her back to her permanent dog walker, but when I saw the boots and the obvious boredom, I stepped in.

This is what makes me a bad business owner. I'm walking Gerta for about 45 minutes each time though I'm paid for 30, I've strapped on a weighted pack to her strong back, and yesterday I introduced her to my own dog, Rubin.

Rubin is funny when he first meets dogs. He hates it when they come at him to smell his face and ears or his butt. He backs away and gives a little growl as if to say, "I hardly know you! Back off!"

Once we get to walking, he's perfectly fine and his aloof nature comes in handy. He ignores the other dog, which in the case of some dogs, is perfect. Teabiscuit for instance. (Yes, that's the name of another dog I walk.) She's scared of her own shadow and another dog is trauma to the nth degree. When she met Rubin she raced to the end of her leash back towards home, but after a few walks together, Teabiscuit keeps a wary distance from Rubin though will occasionally walk beside him. Now in fact, when other large dogs approach (and all dogs are large compared to teeny weeny Biscuit), she hides behind Rubin for protection. Rubin's aloofness makes Teabiscuit feel more comfortable.

It doesn't have the same effect on Gerta. Gerta wants to play and Rubin, since he has yet to really know her, does not. But once they are walking together, once we're all moving forward, well Rubin's disinterest calms Gerta down. Combined with the weighted backpack, we successfully tired her out yesterday. 15 minutes into the walk she was panting and by the time we got back to her apartment, she was ready for a long nap on the couch.

This is the art of exercise. I don't care about all the disagreements people/trainers have with Cesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer, he has done a great job focusing America's attention on exercise. His phrase -- Exercise, Discipline, then Affection -- are words for dog owners to live by. Even the other TV personality -- Victoria Stillwell of It's Me or the Dog -- stresses the importance of exercise.

Still, so many people don't get it. They keep their dogs in their backyards and feel as if that's enough. It's not. For Gerta, who doesn't have a backyard, the apartment is a house of boredom. Her owners run her in the morning and take her to the dog park in the evening, but she spends long hours alone during the day. She's smart and strong and you can bet a leather boot looks interesting.

If I were a good business owner, I'd pressure the owners to hire me for an hour instead of half an hour, but Gerta is a temporary client and I'm not the kind of person to push an issue. Instead, I walk Gerta for a longer time and don't charge for it, I bring a pack to weight her down, and I try to offer her stimulation she normally wouldn't have -- like walking with other dogs or hiding homemade dog cookies in her puzzle toy.

Gerta's owners are good people and they are doing what they can to help her out. They didn't seem the least bit upset about the torn leather boots and are appreciative of the extra attention I'm paying to Gerta. They clearly love their dog. I also know that people can't give their dogs 4 hours of exercise a day (often what Rubin gets since he is a dog dog walker...though Rubin still has issues), but if I had one wish granted in this world it would be that every dog in the US (the world?) could be exercised regularly. Imagine what an impact that would have on humans as well?

Today is another busy day. I'm tired and glad it's Friday. Rubin's tired too, but the day is scheduled with 5 dogs and a few errands. Rubin will accompany me on most of it, but not all. He needs his rest, too. Certainly, he'll walk with Gerta again today though I think I'll give Teabiscuit a break and just walk her alone. She'll like that.

Thankfully it's sunny today and I'm looking forward to walking in the warmth instead of the cold and rain of late. I, too, need the exercise.

Painting Myself Into A Corner

I have submitted my 2 week notice to my retail job. I do this with a bit of trepidation. First, the summer months will be financially lean as I will be solely dependent on my dog walking business. Next, I worry about my choice to quit which was precipitated by an offer to return to my teaching job (part time, not full time). Finally, I will have a lot more time on my hands -- something that makes me a tad bit nervous.

Dog walking is going well. It is a job that ebbs and flows. I have some steady clients (about 6 dogs a week) and then I have additions -- covering for another dog walker, for instance, or walking dogs for people who are in a temporary need. The additions are not permanent though there is always a chance they may well be. I'd love to have more permanent clients, but with the economy being what it is, hiring a dog walker has moved down the list of priorities for most people.

My freelance writing job will end after the next newsletter due June 1 and that will fold into my return to teaching beginning in September. I am excited about the chance to continue writing for the school, but I'm a bit nervous about my return as a part-time teacher. On the one hand it will be a great way to practice maintaining my boundaries, but on the other hand, it will no doubt tap into my quirky perfectionism -- the need to make every lesson plan and assignment meaningful.

After four hours of retail work last night, I couldn't sleep. My body aches after a shift and so I tossed and turned and my brain shifted into worried thinking. I spent a good part of the morning trying to put my finger on the core of my worry and the best I could come up with is that feeling of not knowing what will come next.

After 22 years of teaching, I decided to leave because I knew EXACTLY what was going to come next and none of it felt new or different or motivating. Now I'm on the other side of the feeling. I should be excited and in many ways I am, but I am also nervous. At the center of my nervousness is the need NOT to get stuck in the predictability of my career or, as the title of this blog suggest, not to paint myself into a corner.

And there, perhaps, is the prickly conundrum I'm feeling: I want the possibility of the future to outweigh the uncertainty of the future. I want that edgy feeling of having to make my own way in the world, but not the nervous anxiety of not knowing which way to head. The greatest difference between my life as a full-time teacher and my life now as a small business owner is that most of my work today revolves around making more work. As a teacher, most of my work was wading through mountains of work, most of which was not generated by me. It came from all the expectations outside my classroom -- the meetings, the committees, the institutional desires to document and explain and justify.

Each side of this dilemma has benefits. There is as much comfort in predictability as there is frustration and disappointment. Equally, there is as much thrill in making my own was as there is worry and anxiety. The cliche of one day at a time has some weight in this dilemma. I find myself saying, "Today is good. I have what I need. I'm doing good work. I am happy and content."

To live inside that moment with a bit more permanence is the dance I find myself doing of late. I suppose I should trust my history -- the more I am open to possibility, the more possibilities open up for me.

Meanwhile, there is rain again today. If it weren't for the leaves on the trees and the slightly warmer temperatures, it would feel like November. They say it will dry up soon and I'm looking forward to that. I'm looking forward to a lot of things of late, but walking dogs in the sun feels like a small comfort on which to begin.

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!