doctoral candidate in rhetoric and scientific and technical communication
family
the power of the dog
0 
The Power Of The Dog
by Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie–
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find–it’s your own affair–
But…you’ve given your heart for a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone–wherever it goes–for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog to tear.
We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ‘em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long–
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
rip dakota
0 
I was in Loveland, Colorado, from Sunday through yesterday (well, Sunday and Wednesday were spent on the road, driving). When we got back last night, I was told that I should get to my mom’s house because Dakota wasn’t doing well.She said that he had almost gone. He perked up a bit when I got into the house, letting me love on him and talk to him. His breathing seemed to calm a bit. But then he kept struggling, like he was struggling against some unknown force.
My baby passed away last night, less than an hour after I had gotten home from the Colorado trip.
Maybe he was holding on to say goodbye. Maybe he was waiting to get one final dose of love. Whatever it was, I was able to hold him one last time, tell him that I loved him, and tell him that he was the best dog a girl could have.
He was my baby and I will miss him so much more than I can say. My bed is a lonelier place without him. My house is not as much fun to be in. My heart is a bit heavier today.
RIP my boy, my buddy. I will miss you so much more than I can say.
You are loved. Always.
it matters
0 
I recently had a student tell me that she had missed classes because she needed to rush home to say goodbye to her grandmother who had taken a turn for the worse and was on her deathbed. The student’s grandfather had asked the family not to descend on them because it was too hard to deal with all of the people visiting and with the pain that was going along with her grandmother’s illness.
She put off her trip so that she wasn’t a part of a huge crowd of people overwhelming her grandmother. She was a day away from her trip when her grandmother passed away. She didn’t get to say goodbye because she was trying to respect her grandfather’s wishes and now she hurts because of it.
She told me all of this because I relayed that I was taking a trip to see my grandfather who is very ill. She told me to not wait — to go, to say goodbye and to tell him I love him while I still have the chance.
I understand her grandfather’s desire to give her grandmother a peaceful passage. I also understand her desire to want to say goodbye.
My grandfather is a gentle, good, kind, loving man. Sure, he is human and has foibles. But he has really made an effort to be a good man in his life.
I have stayed in touch with him via email. Yeah, my 80+ year-old grandfather emails and loves it. He has always enjoyed getting photographs of the family through email. He has enjoyed staying in touch with us to know what was happening since we couldn’t visit as often as other family members.
I adore my grandfather. I really do. I can remember sitting on his lap as a little girl. His cologne always makes me smile. His stories, gentle voice, and a face that has been passed on down to my own father (as well as a name), is one that I love to look upon.
I’m flying up to see my grandfather this weekend. This may be a goodbye visit. More than that, though, it’s an “I love you” visit. It’s my chance to tell him that he has really made an impact on my life and that I’ve been so lucky to call him my grandfather, to call him family.
These are the things that really matter. All of the rest of it is just icing.
being family
0I have a hard time being around strangers or large groups of people. It’s incredibly stressful for me. If I know that is going to
happen, I don’t usually go to a function. I will avoid them, give excuses, not go. This time, though, my brother said he was excited for me to spend Thanksgiving with him at the fire station he was working at. If for nothing else, I had to go because of that.
I got there after a two hour drive and my brother wasn’t there. His engine had just gone out on a call. Ugh. Now I’d have to hang out with people I didn’t know and try to feel comfortable. I’ve had to do that at other stations and it was so uncomfortable.
I shouldn’t have worried this time. These guys were awesome. They welcomed me, started giving me a hard time right away, and made me feel like they had known me forever. They were just like family.
My brother’s engine came back and I was greeted with a big hug by one of the guys who has known my brother since the Academy. I watched football for a bit with them (even though I know next to nothing about football). We talked baseball (talked lots of smack about the Yankees, heehee). We watched videos by Jeff Dunham (I showed one yesterday). One engine got a call and they had to go out. Then the rescue got a call. That left 5 of us in the station to finish up dinner. I offered to help but was told to relax. Ahem. Four guys in the kitchen. And they were hilarious, especially when trying to figure out how to make stuffing.
As the other engine came back, a man wandered into the garage with chest pains. My brother was out there helping him so I wandered out to watch. It was cool to see them in action. They had to call for a rescue since the station rescue truck was out. By the time the rescue got there, another pulled up moments after (so there were two rescues in the garage). They pulled out the bed (which was a cool bed and runs on a DeWalt motor) and loaded the man up and took him away.
Just in time, too. Dinner was ready. The rescue guys pulled in just as the tables were getting set up. Smoked turkey, ham, two different kinds of sweet potatoes (one with brown sugar and pecans on top — omigod were they good!), cranberry sauce (jellied and whole, homemade), mashed potatoes, and more.
Then another call came in just as we were finishing dinner. This time it was my brother’s engine and I got to go along for a ride. It was cool. A kid had been hit with a vacuum by his father (who was on meth) and they needed to bandage him up. The kid was originally from Bosnia (only in the States for 5 years, he was 19) and he was pretty layed-back about the whole incident. The police left the scene to go talk to the father (the kid had walked to a convenience store). We waited around a bit and then the decision was made to take him to the hospital. We all climbed in to the engine and headed for the hospital.
By the time we got back (1 1/2 hours later), we were up for dessert — some desserts were brought in by community members, which is awesome). I had a yummy blueberry pie.
Then I headed home. Two hours later, I pulled into my yard. I had such a good time. I kept telling my brother, on the phone, to thank them again. I wanted them to know how much I appreciated being made to feel like family. They made me belong, even if for only a day.
simple things
0 
When I was in my early 20s, I was in a bad relationship. I mean a really bad relationship. I was being systematically beaten and terrorized for nearly five years of my life. There are huge chunks of periods during that time that I can’t even remember. They are blacked out spots in my memory. I think my mind has done that so that I don’t relive or dwell on what happened. Suffice it to say, it was bad. Police, hospitals, judges, counseling, and more were a daily routine in my life.
Things that I do remember, though, were what got me through each and every day. I remember waking up in bed one day and seeing the way the sun came through the blinds and made lovely shapes of shadow and light on the wall. I remember the birds chirping on the tree outside the bedroom window. I remember cuddling up with my little rug-a-muffin Dyno, a sweet (and very protective) yellow lab who later succumbed to Valley Fever (a dreadful disease).
It seems that when life gets hard for me, I turn to those little things…the bright side of life. They get me through the days. The sunlight made me smile. I knew there was something beautiful in the world. The birds made me want to sing. I knew that there could still be joy in the world.
It is now 15 years later and I still do this. My life isn’t nearly as rough as it used to be and I don’t necessarily need to focus on those little things to get me through (because, truth be told, I see so much beauty and joy now that I don’t feel like I need to grasp on to every little bit of it). I still notice it, though.
Yesterday morning, as I walked through campus from my car to my office, listening to my Audible recording of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love, I was enjoying the crispness of the air and musing on her words (she has a lovely voice and adds to the overall impact of the book). I didn’t see it at first but then noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye. Right in front of me, along the path I travel to get to my office, a little black skunk was moseying along the sidewalk, sniffing in the grass, and checking out the trees.
My head went up. Its head went up. We both continued walking. I headed out into the grass, away. The skunk headed toward the building I was going to. I love the way they run. They remind me of the ferrets I used to have, the ways their bodies scrunch up and move along. It made me laugh. It was cute. There was no danger in the moment. We were both in our own spaces and enjoying the early morning (I get to work at 6:30am and am usually the only person around).
Later, my nephew, Justice, and I had a conversation with one another over the phone. Justice has come a long way with learning and pronouncing words and it’s such a joy to hear him talk. But there are still times when I have no clue at all what he is saying. His exuberance, though, makes up for that. As I listened, he talked and talked and laughed and talked some more. And I listened and smiled and laughed with him. It made my heart sing.
This morning I was running late. I had stayed up watching an extra episode of the third season of Battlestar Galactica and I think that I was dreaming about it and couldn’t rouse myself (which is very atypical of me).
If I hadn’t been late, though, I would have missed out on it. I walked out the door with my beloved Dakota. We headed out to the gates to open them when a flash went across the sky. It was so beautiful. A shooting star that creased the dark sky with its brightness. And I smiled.
I smiled for the joy and the beauty that is in my life. I reached down and scruffed Dakota’s neck, telling him that he is a beautiful boy and that I love him.
A new day was beginning. And it’s a beautiful one.
the long goodbye
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I am already thinking about saying goodbye to everything that I know within the next year. While I’ve moved away on occasion, I’ve always come back, and knew I’d be coming back eventually. This time, however, I don’t know that.
I know that my doctorate will take 4-5 years. I know that most likely I’ll be thousands of miles away from my family. I know that it is unlikely that I’ll come back to Flagstaff to work after my doctorate because it is unlikely that there would be a position for me at the University in my field.
I’m starting the long goodbye. I’m getting my finances in order. I’m getting rid of things that I won’t absolutely need. I’m spending as much time as I possibly can with my family.
I’m trying to spend as much time as I possibly can with my family. It doesn’t always seem as important to them, though. That really hurts my feelings and it’s really stupid because I know they care but they just don’t show it in the way I need it sometimes.
My brothers have said they’ll visit with their families. Willow keeps telling me that she’s excited for me to move because she gets to fly in the airplane all by herself and meet me at the airport (her parents told her she’d be able to visit me on her own).
But it’s the holidays and I’m feeling alone again. Half of my family is going to Colorado to see my sick grandfather (I’m going in December because we didn’t want to overwhelm him). The other half of my family didn’t even ask what I was doing until today.
I’m spending Thanksgiving in Phoenix with my brother at the fire station. I’m looking forward to it. It will be fun. Twenty-five people that I don’t know and one that I do. Fun? Ahem. At least I’ll be with family.
My birthday is coming up. Solstice/Christmas is coming up. Ugh.
While I love being single for the most part, I hate this time of the year because it’s all about family and I feel left out. I feel like I’m that proverbial 5th wheel. That sucks.
The move will probably be good for me. It might force me to make friends outside of my family, which has always been hard for me to do. I know my family, especially my brothers, will be there for me no matter what. I know that they will love me no matter what I do. I’ve never found a friend who is like that so I don’t tend to trust many people with the deepest parts of me.
This long goodbye is hard. We all know it’s coming. I have to make plans for it now so that everything is in order when it happens. It’s hard, though. It’s bittersweet and exciting and difficult and challenging. It’s the right thing for me to do, but it’s still hard.
(My sister, her husband, and their two kids to the right)
onslaught
0This is the best Dove commercial yet.As I wrote to my brother, this little girl reminds me of my niece, Willow; not only because she’s a redhead but because I have wondered what she sees every day.
It makes me want to be a better woman so she has one more woman (besides her mom) who she can see as strong, independent, and not willing to compromise my beliefs to fit in with what society deems is appropriate (and what may go against my own ideals).
beloved britney
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She was the most gentle, sweet dog that you could meet. Weighing over 100 lbs, she was still able to be gentle and generous with her sweetness.
The kids would tug on her ears and her tail. They would push her. They would get in her face. They would drape themselves over her large Great Pyrenees body. She always took it and never snapped or growled.
Britney was my brother’s dog but I loved her as if she were my own. I remember when she became a part of the family. She was a beautiful, fluffy little ball with tannish-gray ears. She terrorized Bailey (a year her senior) and continued to do so for the rest of her life.
Britney lived nearly 12 years (her birthday would have been in August) and for those twelve years, she was loved and cherished.
Whenever my brother spoke a key term, she would bark. She didn’t do anything but bark and it was more like “bark, Brit.”
Brit gave delicate, sweet kisses — but was picky about who she gave them to. I count myself fortunate to be one of those people.
Britney passed away this morning after some issues with her thyroids and weight. My sister-in-law, Cathy, was with her and my brother, Todd, arrived home from work shortly after. She was cremated.
“Get the cat, Brit.”
r.i.p.
sacred cow
0 
The photo to the right by urikrishna reminded me about an event of my childhood. urikrishna writes about the extra-sacredness of a five-legged cow. In my life, the five-legged cow has a special place, as well.
When I was a kid, living in Missoula, Montana, a big highlight of the summer was going to the fair. That fair, much like the fair here in Flagstaff, was heavy on the 4-H and Home Economics entries. People worked all year to get the biggest bull, the largest watermelon, or the best apple pie for the yearly fair.
This one year, as my brothers and I walked through the fairgrounds, we noticed a big crowd around the cows. Now, crowds around the cows wasn’t a strange event but this was an unusually large crowd. And, being kids, we had to see what everyone was looking at so we squeezed our ways under and between all of the adults to get up close to the “event.”
As we peered through the fence, our eyes got big and our mouths formed those big “O’s” that kids get when they are amazed over something.
Right before us, close enough to touch, was a five-legged cow. This was something cool and new. Yup. What a story we’d have to tell the kids at school (and, as luck would have it, anyone who would listen for the rest of our lives — you’re here, aren’t you?).
Unlike the cow to the right, the leg was not growing out of its neck. Ahem. No. It was a bit more unsavory. It looked like it was coming out of it’s backend. Yes, you heard me. It wasn’t, not quite. But to kids, when you see a leg that close, that’s what it seems like.
For the next few months, especially at the dinner table, we’d regal one another with tales about the five-legged cow. “Do you remember…?” “This is like that time we saw the five-legged cow…you know the one. It had a leg coming out of its….”
Oh, yes. Dinner conversation. I’m sure we were delights to be around.
Was the cow sacred? Heck yes. Was polite dinner conversation sacred? Not a chance. We had a story and would use it any chance we had.
I have seen one other five-legged cow since but it wasn’t as impressive as the one I saw as a child. There are some things that leave an impression. A five-legged cow with a crowd of adults around it gawking is one of them.
better red than…
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One of my favorite people in the world is a redhead (my niece, Willow, in case you didn’t know). She and I have declared that we are creating a gang of redheads and we’re taking over the world. We notice other redheads everywhere we go.Now, my red hair isn’t as red as it used to be. I used to have hair almost as red as Willow’s. But age and staying indoors, away from the sun, have caused it to darken. But if you look underneath, at the tight ringlets around the base of my skull, you’ll see those thick red hairs.
So, imagine my surprise and concern when the BBC writes up a report about gingerism (another term for redhead). The harassment of redheads is off the charts.
Photographer Charlotte Rushton is quoted,
“I was on the Tube, pregnant, and I was really humiliated by this drunk yob. He was shouting ‘do the cuffs and the collars match?’ He got right up into my face. You don’t do that to other people.”
Ok. Did you just laugh? I cannot begin to tell you how many times men have asked me if “the carpet matches the curtains.” And can you begin to imagine how humiliating that is? Men who don’t know me want to know very intimate details about my body. They want to know things that not even close family know.
Why do they think they have that right?
I think, however, that the UK redheads are misinformed. They think that we, in the US, are treated as if we’re glamorous. It’s not true. We are treated as oddities….as something different. We are ridiculed for our tempers (as if people with other hair colors don’t have tempers) and for white as white looks. The lighter skinned of us rarely, if ever, tan. We burn. We have freckles. Many of us have very light blue or green eyes. We are a genetic mutation. The BBC article continues in this vein:
Red hair has great cultural resonance. Red is the colour of heat, danger and warnings. When applied to women, it is the colour of sensuousness, fiery temperament and emotional instability.
I cannot begin to tell you how often I’ve heard someone say, “Ignore her…she’s a redhead and prone to being sensitive” or “the redhead curse of emotional outbursts.” Frankly, I’m sensitive because I’m sensitive. I have no more outbursts than anyone else but perhaps they are noticed more simply because I have red hair. They are noticed, though…and commented upon.
I am a redhead. I can’t help that. Would it change if I changed the color of my hair? That would be difficult. The hair on my arms is red. My eyebrows are red. My eyelashes are red.
As the old saying goes…better red than dead. Heh.