doctoral candidate in rhetoric and scientific and technical communication
love
a year has gone
5
… and I still miss him as if it were yesterday. Each morning I wake up, and this photo greets me from the wall across from my bed. A friend got me Walking With Zeke, by Chris Clarke (of Creek Running North fame). Clarke writes
And he was sometimes taken for granted, an occupational hazard of being so steadfast, so trustworthy. While I never for a moment in more than 15 years forgot how much I loved my dog, I count myself as lucky that I came to realize, late in his life, just how profoundly he had affected me.
I had lunch with three women today, all dog owners and lovers, who spoke with such care about the dogs in their lives. Then one stopped, leaned toward me, and said, “Tell me about your dog. I know you lost him recently. I want to know about him.” I struggled not to let tears well.
This is the plain truth: Dakota irritated me beyond reason when he begged for food, when he pulled trash out of the garbage cans, when he ate too much and then threw up. But I wouldn’t trade any of those things for the joys he brought me. For the unconditional love, the friendship, the listening. I can’t tell you how many times he would lay his head on me when I cried, getting close to me, almost as if he knew I needed to be loved. Or how I would wake up with sore hips because he laid so close to me in bed that I couldn’t move — and how I didn’t mind those sore hips because it meant I was loved. Or how he made me laugh when we played tug-of-war with his favorite toys, or when he burrowed through the snow, popping up like a “whack-the-mole” 20 feet later, with snow on his nose.
I still love my boy. He taught me so much about myself and about love, just when I needed it.
It’s been a rough year, Dakota. I’ve missed loving on you. I’ve missed talking to you. I don’t cry every time I talk about you anymore. Instead, I smile, and remember, and love you all the more.
a lifetime with my brothers
0I’m reading Three Weeks with My Brother
I’m the odd one out usually. I’m the oldest. I’m the female. I’m a type A. I’m introverted. I’m single. I’m different. I’ve had experiences in life that no one in my family can quite understand, try as they might
Threes aren’t usually good numbers (despite it being the magical number of Schoolhouse Rock
todd
As I’m reading the Sparks’ words, I’m overcome with this intense appreciation for my brothers. Even in this dynamic, where I’m included so often, I’m the odd duck. I’m not a brother. I’m not a middle child. That’s where it all ends, though. These two brothers of mine, who could not be more different, have one commonality: they love me.
I know, like the Sparks, that my brothers and I have been rocks for one another. It was only last Friday when Shadow and I stood in my storage unit, getting things ready for a yard sale, and we were talking about our relationship. He said to me (I’m paraphrasing because I don’t recall his exact words, but this was the sentiment), “I know that no matter what, you and Todd will always be there for me. No matter what. I can’t say that of anyone else in the world. Even spouses aren’t bound by the same fidelity that we, as siblings, are.” I agreed. It’s a very special, very deep bond that we share. Who else in the world would understand why we do some of the things we do? No one else has that wealth of understanding besides our siblings.
shadow
Even our sister, whom we love very much, cannot understand. She’s ten years younger than me, missing out on so many of the events that shaped our young lives. She has a different relationship with each of us, based upon those experiences. But Todd, Shadow, and I lived a life that is shared.
In one chapter of the book (a book I borrowed from Todd’s office a few weeks ago and need to return before I move, btw), the brothers Sparks are in Cambodia. They have just visited the Killing Fields and are humbled and saddened by the events that took place there. As this story occurs, interwoven is the story of their youth. At this point, Nicholas Sparks has married, become a father for the first time, and is moving across the country, away from his father (his mother had recently passed), brother, and sister. And I’m struck by this. While our circumstances are different (I’m not married, not a parent, and don’t have a deceased parent), there are many similarities. He writes,
I could feel the tears coming, but tried to hold them back. We’d come to depend heavily on each other in the last three years, but I tried to diminish the significance of what was happening. I told myself that we were simply moving; it wasn’t as if we wouldn’t see each other again. I’d come to visit him and he’d come to see me. We’d talk on the phone.
I can feel this event coming. I called Todd a few weeks ago and said I’d like to visit him and and his wife one final time before I go. I probably made it sound so final because he said to me that it wasn’t as if I was dying. We’d visit. We’d talk on the phone. But there is something more to it. There is a tearing of these powerful bonds that we’ve worked so hard to create. Distance makes things different. Living one state away isn’t so bad. It still feels like that person is very close (at least that’s how I felt when he lived in California). But I’m moving to an entirely different cultural section of our country.
I’m worried that I’ll be forgotten. I’m worried that no one will visit, that I’ll be lonely, that I will no longer be included in THE FAMILY. That maybe my family will be better off with me gone, and they’ll be glad for it. I worry that I don’t have any anchor…that there will be no reason for them to want me to visit. I worry.
I know it’s not true, but it’s how my emotions are getting the best of me.
The Sparks write
In the house were a thousand memories; in my mind, I could hear mom’s laughter from the kitchen, and see my brother and sister at the table. For the second time in my life, I was leaving my family, but this time was different. The last time I left, I’d been a teenager; now I had a family of my own; I knew I’d never be moving back.
In this town, there are a million memories: proms, graduations, houses, cars, weddings, births. I left and came back. I was drawn back. Now, when people ask me if I’ll be back, I say probably not. I will go where the work takes me. Flagstaff won’t be my home. I will be a visitor, someone who remembers what this town used to be like, when my brothers and I swept in like a storm, playing air guitar, becoming pool sharks, and learning how to love one another.
I hope, maybe after I graduate, that my brothers and I can take a trip like the Sparks brothers. I want us to experience new things, to share and enjoy one another, and learn from one another.
A lifetime with my brothers may not be long enough.
contribution
0This is my contribution to Valentine’s Day. Some of these pierce the heart while others make me smile.
I wish you all much love and happiness, not only today, but everyday.
connections
0
I have finished my incompletes. I’m waiting to upload one class (I have to have permissions to get into the class to do so and I have requested them) and have finished all of the rest.
There is still much work to do — ongoing classes and thesis. But the worst of it is over, I hope. :-) So, while I may not post every day like before, I will be posting more frequently. After I’m done, I’ll be able to post daily again.
This last weekend I went to San Diego for my great-aunt’s 90th birthday. It was so much fun. I saw family that I hadn’t seen in years and they welcomed us in as if they had seen us yesterday.
It was like being surrounded by a big cocoon of love. Seriously. Corny, I know, but that’s how it felt.
My favorite cousin told me that she had felt the same way about me and it was good to put my arms around her and hug her close.
I got to hug my grandma and tell her I love her. That meant the world to me. I have always enjoyed being around her and it was so good to see her.
I’ve promised myself to go there more often. I think we all need that kind of rejuvenation now and again.
what we wish for
0
We recently finished up Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy (you can hear an interview with the author on NPR’s Fresh Air). In this book, Grealy accounts her bout with cancer and how the surgeries took their toll on how she looked physically.
Grealy writes about how being in the hospital made her special, made her stand out, be the star. People paid attention to her. When her 2 1/2 years of chemo were over, her mother asked her if she was happy. She put on a brave face and said she was but when she reflects on it, she wasn’t happy that her moment of stardom was over.
She writes, “As hard as it was to admit this to myself, I was afraid of it ending, of everything changing. I wouldn’t be special anymore; no one would love me. Without the arena of chemotherapy in which to prove myself, how would anyone know I was worthy of love?” (136)
I wonder how many of us feel that way with our own traumatic experiences. I’ll be honest about this. When I found out I had cancer, I was sad. But it also felt really, really good to know that my family rallied around me. It was nice to get virtual hugs and support here.
When I write about the abuse I went through, the poverty we lived in, and the various events that litter my life, it feels good to hear readers give me support.
Would I want to live through any of that again? No. But there is also some part of me that equates trauma with love. If I’m hurting, I get loved more. It’s not a conscious thought but I feel more love when I’m hurting. People remember to tell you more then.
During my last surgery for cancer, I felt like a fraud. We catch my cancer early, before it can spread. I’m relatively well off compared to people who have to do chemo and radiation. I have chunks of skin taken out (which can be traumatic) but it is nothing like chemo. Whenever I wrote about it, it was double-edged. I wanted the support but I felt horrible – feeling like I was milking this thing for more than it was worth. Or, maybe more appropriately, more than I was worth.
I don’t want to be a victim or a survivor or any other word/language that is associated with someone who has dealt with large levels of trauma in his/her life. I am, though. I have. And trying to find love outside of that is always a challenge. I’m not sure what non-traumatic love feels like.
for love
0 
There have been many writings on what people will do for love. Many writers have taken pen to paper to note the extravagant lengths they will go to for their one true love, for their children, even for their pets.
In fact, I’ve written many times on how much I treasure my own little furry guy. I’ve written about how he knows when I’m upset and will cuddle up to me, even nuzzle me when I’m crying. I’ve written about his seeming empathy for a dying prairie dog. I’ve written about the joys about coming home to him and seeing his excitement to have me there — finally.
I don’t ever think I’ve seen a story quite like the one I’m going to share, though. This is a love story, an intervention story, like I’ve never seen.
It made me laugh. It’s heartwarming and funny and silly all at once.
An excerpt:
Lady “was really perky, and happy, and generally excited to see you when you came in the door every day,” recalls Andrew Mirsch.
But that was before the Mirsch family moved into a new house.
“We noticed Lady spending an awful lot of time down by the pond in our backyard,” Laura Mirsch recalls.
Lady would wander the area, disoriented and withdrawn, soporific and glassy-eyed.
Learn more about Lady. I highly recommend listening to the five minute audio. It is well worth the time.
thankful
0
Sorry I haven’t responded to all of your well-wishes. I’ve been quite under the weather lately. I’ve been in bed for three days (and, frankly, tired of it).
The fire crews on the Woody Fire were amazing. Within 24 hours, the fire was contained. The fire, while within mere feet of homes, did not consume any structures nor take any lives. The crews did an amazing job. This fire could have been catastrophic but they saved the day. Really. I think we owe them so much.
While the fire was across town from me, we have had many fires, already, in my area of town. Some burned for days. Some were left to burn because structures weren’t threatened.
While other parts of the country contend with hurricanes, earthquakes, mudslides, and other natural disasters, for us, we know that it’s a yearly anguish to deal with forest fires, especially with this drought we’re going through.
We’re waiting for monsoon season to slow all of that down but we also know that a fire is always just around the corner.
–
I’d like to wish all of the fathers out there a very happy father’s day. Kiss and hug your children. Make sure they know they are loved and that you treasure and cherish them. You wouldn’t be a father without them…it’s a symbiotic relationship.
–
And because I’m in the mood…
In speaking with a friend, I realized that I may not be portraying myself in the best light that I could. Perhaps I come across as distant, withdrawn, or guarded.
So periodically I’m going to write on romance and love and anything else along that line.
To get this new path off, I’ve decided to share a W.H. Auden poem that asks questions about love.
O Tell Me the Truth About Love
W.H. AudenSome say love’s a little boy,
And some say it’s a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that’s absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn’t do.Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It’s quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I’ve found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn’t over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton’s bracing air.
I don’t know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn’t in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I’m picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
precious
0
Last weekend I spent time with Willow and Justice and Kooper.
On Saturday, Kooper and I hung out for a few hours, eating lunch and watching movies. He chose to watch Lilo & Stitch. He would giggle and point. He would talk to me about the movie. It was cute.
On the way to Phoenix, Willow was tracking the drive via her dad’s GPS system on his computer. Then she played mp3s off of his phone for us while trying to convince us to put in a CD for her to listen to.
She cracked me up when she was taking pictures of me and trying to shoot everything under the sun while we visited Todd at the fire station.
And the next day, as we drove to the stores and her dad was going through the Phoenix radio stations, she was telling us how old fashioned the music was or how we needed to put in a CD and not listen to the radio.
The way she uses language makes me laugh. She’s funny (even if she can’t tell a joke to save her life – much like her aunt Dawn).
But Justice was the one that made me smile from the heart this weekend.
The way he dances whenever music comes on – no matter what kind of music – is adorable. He does hand movements and wiggles his little bottom. He has this way of wiggling his way into your heart and you just want to love on him.
He wasn’t feeling well most of the weekend but he was a trooper. He didn’t let a runny nose or fever get in his way.
He fed the animals at the Renaissance Fair. He chased me across the grass at the fire station. He hugged on his uncle Todd and aunt Cathy.
Last night I watched Willow and Justice while their parents went out. There was one moment that made me want to hold on to him forever.
A commercial came on the TV and he started dancing to the music. He did a sort of wave with his little body and it was so fluid and so sweet that I wanted to jump up and hug him.
He kept going, though, and within a moment was on to something else – as any toddler should be.
But for that second, that little boy pulled on those strings to my heart and made me love him all the more.
soaking it in
0
There are things about family and life that you don’t realize until they happen.
This weekend, Shadow, Justice, Willow, and I went down to Phoenix. We went to Todd’s most recent fire station to see it, check out the trucks (they are different at the different stations), and to hang out with him for a little while. I, of course, shot lots of photographs while there.
On Sunday, we went to the Renaissance Fair.
It was so much fun. We all just hung out and enjoyed ourselves together. We bought “faire” food, walked around a lot, and did some rides. The weather was perfect. The company was excellent.
As we were packing up to go, Todd and Cathy came out to tell me that they really liked the photographs that I had taken and framed as a gift to one of his previous stations. They said that they were really good and that they thought the station would really like them.
Then Todd told me he’d like to sit down with me after they move into their new house to go through all of the photos I’ve taken of him and his firefighter career so that he can decorate his new office with photos from that.
It was nice to hear that he wanted my help doing that and that he likes my photographs well enough to want to hang them up in his house, where many people will see them.
As we were driving home, Shadow and I were talking. We were discussing our lack of religion in our lives and how we feel that it isn’t something that we miss because we have everything that we need. He says to me, “I have a best friend / spouse, wonderful kids, and siblings that make my life great. I probably have more than I deserve.”
And I thought about that. I’m in that group. And I feel the same way about him and Todd. They are my family and I feel so rich for having them in my life.
It’s not just my brothers, though. It’s their wives, who welcome me into their homes and make me feel like a part of their family. It’s Willow and Justice who I completely adore.
It’s a sense of something even bigger than all of us. It’s this thing that links us. It’s this bond that no one else can ever understand because it requires history, shared lives, and shared dreams. It requires respect and love.
And those, we all give in spades.
big love
0
StoryCorps is a national project to gather the stories of people – everyday people – around the country. This project brings people together, usually loved ones, to record the stories of their lives. A recording is made to CD and, if desired, sent to the Library of Congress. This project is putting a face on the United States of this period.
Two of the stars of StoryCorps are Danny and Annie Perasa. Danny spoke of his love for Annie with such eloquence and depth that it moved millions of listeners to tears.
This is a man who made sure that his wife knew she was loved each and every day of their life together. From writing love notes to her each morning to recording his voice at the premier StoryCorps booth in Grand Central Station, Danny was the epitome of a romantic.
Sadly, Danny passed away last Friday from cancer.
I think, though, that he left a legacy. He has inspired many of us to voice our love and appreciation for those around us. He has also given me encouragement that, maybe, there is a Danny out there for me.