Context

I’m heading to visit with my nephews this week, so it made me think of this very awesome story.  A couple years ago, I was visiting my nephews in Madison.   I was hanging out with the older nephew, Zach, who was probably 3 or 4 years old, at the living room table when his dad (my brother) asked him to help with the dishes.  Zach looked at me very proudly and then told me all about he helps his dad with the dishwasher.  Then I asked Zach--what he was going to do to help this time?  He looked at me seriously and wide-eyed and said…

‘Save people.  From bad guys.’ 

Aaha.  Of course you are!  And why wouldn’t you be doing that right now, at this very moment, while you’re unloading the dishwasher! 

I love this.  And I think that I particularly love it because we adults always want to put everything into context.  Everything has to make perfect sense all the time, and if it doesn’t, then it must be wrong. 

Well, Zach’s answer wasn’t wrong, it was just different than what I was expecting.  Which made it even more perfect. 

Peace & love to all! 

Crazy dogs and the people who love them

A couple years ago, Tom & I lovingly adopted a 4-month old pit bull mix from the Humane Society in Michigan.  We called her Zula, and she became our own. 

Yesterday, Zula rolled around on her back in poop.  She came running in the house as normal and ran over to me, sitting down so very nicely so that I can pet her poop-stained back.  Awesome.  Hmm.  “Babe, can you give the dog a bath tonight?”  : ) 

The day before that, she bit me in the leg.  To give some context here, Zula doesn’t play very well with other dogs.  In fact, she attacked another dog a few months ago when she got out of our yard.  When Tom heard someone yelling and came out to see what was going on, poor little Zula tucked her tail between her legs.  Such shameful behavior!   A little bit of dog blood and one vet bill later, and we were on our way to trying to find a dog trainer in DC that could help us out.  Anyway, I digress.  This time, when she saw that other dog from afar, she barked, I pulled back on the pinch collar, and she bit me in the leg.  Sigh.  I wish I could say it was the first time, but it’s not.  I know that it’s misplaced aggression, but it’s really annoying.  It makes for a particularly bad day when you go to work thinking, “My own dog bit me today.” 

A few days before that, she barked at a man walking past us.  I was sitting on some steps, and she pulled me over.  I was determined not to let go, so I skinned my knee and hands. 

All of this happened within one week.  So all of this information begs the question- why in God’s name do I still have a dog? 

And the answer?  Because we love her.  We rescued her and gave her a home.  Someone before us didn’t love her, and we’re determined not to give up on her.  Besides, what would happen if we gave her up?  Is a 3-year-old dog with dog-aggression tendencies and impulse control problems going to get adopted?  It’s more likely that she’ll end up dead.  And that is something we couldn’t possibly live with. 

I happen to know I'm not alone here.  I just happen to be one of the people who love crazy dogs.  In our home, we can’t let her socialize with other dogs.  But we have a really great dog.  She can have her own little spot in our house.  She can chew on her bone.  She can get really, really excited when other people come over.  She can sneak onto our bed when we’re not home.  She can sit at the bottom of the stairs at 8pm every night, whining to put herself to bed.  She can chase her tail.  She can stare out the window.  And she can show those squirrels who’s boss. 

So we’re doing what any crazy dog-lover would do in this situation….working with a trainer who knows more about dog aggression than we do and sending her to boot camp in order to control her anger management issues.  : ) 

I can't help but wonder whether this whole blog post begs the question:  is it that I'm a crazy person who loves dogs?  And she's not giving up on me? Hmm. 

P.S.  My organic no-stir peanut butter is now in the refrigerator. So all of you who were worried, you may now sleep at night.  And you’re welcome. 

Ramblings of a 30-year-old

On Saturday, I told my husband that I thought I should start wearing lipstick.  He immediately told me rather matter-of-factly that is the kind of decision that most 12-year-old girls make, not 30-year old women.  That made me laugh out loud.  In fact, it still makes me laugh out loud.  Oh, Wagner.   

Despite the relatively lackluster response from my husband, I bought a tube of lipstick at the Giant grocery store the very next day.  My first tube of grown-up person lipstick.  For those of you who might think this is really, really strange, it most definitely is.  However, I spent my most formative adult years after college in the Peace Corps. Then I was a social worker mostly trying not to garner any sort of attention from adolescent males.  And then I ended up here, and I thought I could spruce things up a little bit.   Maybe someday I’ll get around to doing my nails! 

And in other news, the woman sitting next to me on the metro this afternoon looked really nice, and she kept smiling at me.  And then she asked me where I was going, so I told her and asked her the same question.  Then she started telling me all about how she never takes the metro and how it was such an adventure to figure out where she was going.  We chatted for a bit, and then I told her to enjoy her journey, and I got off at Gallery Place/Chinatown for my malaria lecture. 

I saw this article in the Onion a few days ago, and it also made me laugh out loud.  It was entitled, “Grown adult actually expects to be happy.”  The first paragraph went something like this: 

According to incredulous sources, local hardware store employee and grown adult human being Rob Peterson, 37, actually expects to be happy in life.  Despite possessing a fully developed brain and a general awareness of the fundamental nature of existence, sources said Peterson apparently continues to believe that achieving life-lasting happiness is somehow possible. 

Really?  It’s that crazy to want happiness in life that the Onion writes a parody about it and puts it on the front page? I guess it’s funny because I’ve recently learned that being happy is a feeling.  (Do I sound like I just graduated kindergarten??)  You can’t possibly be happy all the time.  You can, however, have joy every single day.  Unwavering, underlying joy.  And within that joy, we can be really pissed off that it’s raining and forgot our rain boots or sad because so many things are beyond our control. 

Now I’m reminded that we have a really good life.  A really joyful life.  I’m not always happy, that’s for sure.  I don’t always remember to count my blessings.  And sometimes I behave in ways that I’m embarrassed of later – most of those episodes I save for my incredibly lucky husband.  But, nonetheless, we’re lucky and blessed.  I can enjoy the small things, like a hot shower and a cup of Sunday morning coffee.  A cuddly dog.  Burritos.  And the big things like good families.  Love.  Friendships. 

So here’s to enjoying the journey. 

Also, I’m really not sure why I have to refrigerate my organic no-stir peanut butter.  I’m also not sure why I didn’t realize it so it’s been sitting on my shelf for the last week and a half.  That won’t kill me, will it?  Any thoughts? 

City Life

Sometimes I’m surprised that I ended up living in a city.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love public transportation.  I love NOT having a car.  Selling my Ford Taurus that I practically lived in for two years was arguably one of the most satisfying days of my life.  I love all the food variations and free museums.   I love the motorcades that interrupt traffic downtown.  I love walking by the White House and wondering what President Obama is doing at that exact moment. I love that we can wander around downtown and find something interesting to do.   

But, sometimes, I find myself missing the quaintness and feeling of small-town life.  And on those days, I’m reminded of Carrie Bradshaw (Sex in the City, guys….) walking down the streets of Manhattan when she gets shouldered by a guy rushing past in a suit.  To whom she conspicuously yells:  “Oh, you’re SOO busy.  YOU’RE SOOOOOOOO BUSY!” 

Every once in a while, I feel like yelling that. 

I suppose I haven’t gotten so far as to actually scream at someone on the street, but I do find myself getting a bit lost in the anonymity of city life where nobody knows anyone walking down the street, people bump into you without apologizing, and cars that honk incessantly at someone who hesitates the slightest bit at a green light.  So I find myself savoring the moments when people hold doors open for others or say “god bless you” after someone sneezes or say good morning to a stranger.  I kinda like that. 

And this morning, I liked the guy at the bus stop.  Now, I’ll admit, this will shock many of you: I don’t lose my wallet anymore.  I bring my metro card and pass to work every day.  And I don’t ever put my credit card in my jeans pocket and lose it anymore.  I’m practically all grown up!  So this morning, I was quite surprised when I realized that my metro card was in my other coat pocket.  The bus pulls up, and there I am, frantically searching through my bag for my pass, and obviously not getting on the bus.  The guy waves me over, and I tell the bus driver that I don’t have my pass.  He says, “Don’t worry about it for now, unless you need it later or something.”  He lets me get on the bus without paying.  Man, that was nice.  And it was a great way to start my day. 

So I guess maybe it's not so much a town/city problem.  Maybe it's just a matter of people paying a little more attention to life as it flies past us.  I know that I'm not always very good at that.  But now, since I owe the world a favor for my free bus ride, I'm gonna have to up the ante.  (Is that even how you spell that?) Now I have to find a way to do something really nice for a stranger.  I'll keep you all posted.

Day One

I've tried to start a blog before.  Whenever I do, it feels weird to be writing something that anyone and everyone could read.  So I'd get one post in and then forget about it.  Which, in retrospect, is probably weirder. 

This time around, I got stuck on the title of the blog.  It felt so defining-- like I had to decide exactly what I was going to write about.  What was my life theme?  Apparently I'm not sold that I have one.  So I'm bordering a smoldering crisis, 30 years old and still NO THEME?!  Or worse - too many themes to pick one. 

And then one day this week, I got on the DC metro like I do most mornings on my way to work.  Only this morning, I was wearing headphones, which I rarely do.  I'm sitting in my half-awake daze, listening to the Avett Brothers, when I feel someone tapping my shoulder and saying something I can't quite make out.  Then I feel her doing something to my head.  It's still pretty cold in DC, so I was wearing my hat.  I see the woman behind me rip into her purse and whip out a little square napkin.  She uses the napkin and does something on top of my head, and then she hands me the napkin.  "See, look?" 

And there is one of those little bugs with the 8 million legs half-squished in a little square napkin.  I smiled and said, "Oh, thanks!"  She smiles back at me and leans back into her seat. 

So there I am, sitting on the metro, holding that woman's napkin with the half-alive bug.  I smile to myself.  What a nice little kindness, I thought to myself.  That lady I didn't know didn't have to do that.  In fact, I'm certain that she was probably not the only person who noticed there was a bug on my head.  But, she was the only person who did something about it. 

I got out at my stop, Farragut North, and I dropped the napkin into the trash bin.  I made my way up the escalator. Still thinking about that little kindness.  And then I had a name for my blog.We could all use a little more of that in our lives, right?