Coloring Outside the Lines

  

     When I was in kindergarten the only thing I ever remember doing was coloring. One day we were given a couple of pictures to color in. I remember one distinctly.  It was a girl walking down the street, I can't remember whether she was pushing a stroller or walking a dog, but she was definitely eating a doughnut. The boy sitting next to me had an interesting suggestion when he saw me accidentally color outside of the lines.

        "Just color the whole thing red..."

        (A few things to mention. First, I probably should have learned to never listen to boys. Second, I ended up always being surrounded by boys  in my friendships and that probably started here. Third, I think this began my fascination with the color red.  Now back to the story.)

       Hhhmmmmmmm...I mean what could it hurt right?  I colored the whole picture red.  Then with my little friend's approval, I colored the second one orange.

     "WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?!?!?" I heard coming from my teacher, Mrs. Mercado (and this is probably why I remember her name to this day).  I was in huge trouble.  I got yelled at in front of the class. I remember sitting their crying while everyone else was turning in their pictures.  I remember being ashamed when my parents came for some parent's night and our papers were displayed on the wall...

     ...all because I had colored outside of the lines...

    

     I have a great amount trouble being out of my "comfort zone."  It's something I've struggled with for a long time.  Young kids are extremely impressionable and that's the lesson I learned that day.  Go outside of what is "normal" and be prepared to feel the wrath for whoever and whatever.

     When you move outside of your comfort zone, you become open to all of the possibilities for your life.  What makes us want to stay in that safe place is desire avoid disappointments, hard challenges, and loss.  You have to ask your self, though, as you stay in your cozy world, are you really living?  It may be stable, but I'm betting it's stagnant, too.  If I had to say one thing to make you move want to experience life outside of the bubble, it would be this:  All of the bad things are much easier to take when you are doing something you are truly passionate about.  Rely on your belief in your gifts to move you through the hard times. Learn to say, "Okay...that happened...next!"  

     My life over the last six months or so has been a tremendous lesson in letting go, moving forward, and not sticking to a schedule on any level. It's been spinning out of control with opportunity after opportunity and that....THAT...is a good thing. However, it doesn't mean I haven't been extremely uncomfortable in the process.  It's hard to fight the notion that nothing bad will happen if I just stay right here inside the lines...

     ...nothing good will happen either.  Go ahead.  Color the whole picture red... 


Happy Fishing!!!

--Red
    

"...Had just settled down for a long winter's nap..."

     There is this Christmas cartoon that I try to catch every year if I can find it on called "Twas the Night Before Christmas."  It's based on the the famous poem, of course, but the story involves a clock maker, Joshua Trundle, his family, and the family of mice, who incidentally can talk, that live in his house.  One of the mice children wrote a letter to Santa Claus that said that he was a fraud, Santa gets mad, and they all have to figure out how to make Santa happy again. Long story short they write Santa a song that is supposed to play though the town square clock at midnight, but they had problems making it work, so on Christmas Eve they give up hope and just go to bed...

     ...That's what I did this Christmas.

     After my last post, I realized I had some serious going overs and getting pasts to do. I had four full days, starting on December 22nd, to really think about an immensely hard 2012 through which I had, just like Joshua Trundle...and the mice, given up hope. The cartoon actually ends with Joshua reciting the "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" while Santa arrives because one of the mouse children fixes the clock and it plays the song and Santa is happy again. My husband Eric always loves the part when it says, "...had just settled down for a long winter's nap."

     Eric just really enjoys a good nap. I started to wonder when, on the weekends, I had stopped napping...

     I used to look at weekends as a time to relax, but somewhere over the last five years, I started looking at weekends as extra time to get a long list of "To-Dos" done. I had completely over scheduled my life and by the time I realized it, I was already too deep. It's taken the better part of the last six months to try and dig out of some of the responsibilities and over committing I've done.

     I have a theory about over scheduled people. They are so because they don't want down time. They don't want down time because that's when you have time to process the things that happen in your life. The only reason you don't want to process the things that happen in your life is they are just too painful. It's more than just a theory, I guess, because truly that was me. By the time I figured out I wanted to deal with everything I'd been avoiding, I couldn't find the down time to do just that. So somewhere around May, I started shedding activities.

     The problem I then had was while I was busy processing long time pains and issues, 2012 was doing its worse. I'm not going to say I had a totally bad year, because there were some truly awesome things and I came a long way as a person, but while still figuring out what had happened in my past, present day unpleasantness just kept coming. I almost feel as if the more sound person I had become was being tested and I honestly can't say that I didn't feel like waving the white flag in surrender...

     ...so I settled down for a long winter's nap. I'm not saying I spent the whole four days in bed, it was Christmas after all; there are lights to see and dinners to be had! I did, however, take as many opportunities as I needed to be alone. I took as many opportunities as I needed to think. As many as I needed to cry.

     I had a surprising burst of tears and emotion Christmas Eve. To be honest, I wanted to be done processing so badly that I kind of shut it off the night before, but I got hit unexpectedly by a situation that had been part of everything wrong over the last year, so I went off to take yet another "nap." I remember as I sat there, tears uncontrollably streaming, that I was also praying. I remember saying, "You have to show me something tonight. I need to see it." What I needed to see so badly was the hope I hadn't been feeling a whole lot of lately. I needed to see the Holy Spirit that can only be found within creation.

     Going to church on Christmas Eve has always been a part of my life since I was a small child. I always found it to be a special, full of light in the world, and peace for all people gathering. As you can guess, I wasn't really feeling it this year, but it was tradition, so I got myself ready. I used to be a door greeter before I taught classes at church, and found myself back in my "old job" this particular evening. So, I bet you're thinking, wow, here is the unhappiest person in the world on Christmas Eve, and now she's working the door? I know...yeah... I was thinking that too!

     There is something to be said for immersing yourself in humanity when you feel at your lowest. I had stripped it all away. I had allowed myself to feel the pain of the tremendous loss that has occurred in my life over the last seven months. In the end, I showered, got dressed, and limped spiritually into church searching for a Christmas miracle.  As it turned, I would also be the only person who volunteered to work the door.

     Not only did I learn how to say, "Merry Christmas" in probably an estimated seven different ways, but I received something completely priceless that night. I received "thank you" and other kindnesses from strangers. I received hugs from friends I hadn't seen in awhile as, well, I suppose we've all been stretched thin by every day life. The best thing I received though was seeing faces, sad and lacking the hope that should be shining in their eyes on a Christmas Eve night, brighten when I would ask how they were this evening or say, "Merry Christmas." It was hope. It was a small, but very significant glimmer of hope...

     ...Suddenly, I felt like I was shown what I asked for earlier that day.

     I have been so much more at peace after that night. I'm not completely done sorting everything out, but I am on the mend. One thing for sure, and maybe this is a sort of New Year's Resolution, is that every weekend, no matter what, I'm going to try to take a "nap..."

     ...a long winter's nap...oh yeah...I definitely see more of those in my future for this coming year...

'Twas the night before New Years, and all through this place
No more will be processed, no more need for space.
The problems of last year are still in my sight,
But I have new hope that will get me through nights.

I understand what's needed, I'll take more time to think.
I won't carry around hurts 'til my heart starts to sink.
So me in my snuggie, and iPad in lap,
Promise to settle down for many more "naps."

While grabbing the starfish, there will be ups and downs.
I'll share them here with you, we are all "ocean" bound!
So, here are my wishes, huge smile as I write.
"HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"

Happy Fishing!!

--Red

"Starfish" Episode IV - A New Hope

    I haven't written in my blog of well over a month now.  There is very good reason for that.  There really hasn't been anything to talk about.  Nothing inspirational, no significant events I've participated in, just trying to get through the day-to-day.  To be honest though, I haven't really wanted to talk much.  A few posts ago I talked about being really crabby lately, and thought that maybe I had found my way out of that....Nope....I think this overwhelming feeling of defeat and irritation has actually been going on now since before that post and that's long time to not feel...I guess...hopeful.

   It's funny, but I just noticed that "hope" is one of my blog's keywords.  When I look through my posts to see when I used it, I had only done so once in a post about recovering from my dog Dali's passing.  Since then we also lost our cat, Girlee, the company I worked for was acquired and I lost co-workers that I talked about what went on in their lives every day, and a friend I've known since junior high school also passed.  That's a lot to process in the span of six months.  I'm not surprised that's the only time the word "hope" made it into my blog labels.  With event after disheartening event, it's no wonder that my propensity for feeling that things will turn out for the best has been extinguished.  It's almost like I don't want to be happy because something is just going to come along and take the wind right out of those sails.  Have I simply, for the time being, run out of "hope"? 

    Have you ever felt like this?  I'm a person of faith.  It's Christmas.  I should feel hopeful this time of year.  Again...Nope.  Nothing there...and that's really extremely unusual for me.  This is my favorite time of year and I'm really starting to think something is very wrong with the way I'm feeling...

   ..."Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope..."

   Remember that?  I don't know if there is a person on the planet, or at least in the United States, who hasn't seen the movie Star Wars...   So, how crazy is it to have the hope that you can defeat the Death Star just by inserting it's blueprints into a small droid that could end up anywhere?  That taking down said "Star" is as simple as "bullseyeing womp rats" back on your home planet? I'm sure there were moments of doubt in the trash compactor, but they still tried... Was this the "new hope" referenced in the title of the movie?

    I absolutely hate "dog lost" posters.  I know alot about dogs, and I know they hate change and can get really, really firghtened when out of their element.  Facebook has made all of this worse of course with people actually posting photo's of their lost dogs.  I absolutely can't stand it.  It's really hard for me to look at.

     Yesterday one of the local animal shelters posted a picture of an Australian Cattle Dog that had been picked up.  They just knew this dog had to have a family.  Why?  She was 14 years old, deaf, nearly blind, and well, she wasn't skinny in the least.  They wanted a "Christmas miracle" to find this dog's family.  They wanted a "hope," so they posted her photo.

     As much as seeing the photo made me upset, first being that this poor darling, who had first been wandering the streets, but now in her very old and deteriorated state, was in a shelter, I shared it.  A few hours later, the word came in.  Because of people sharing the photo, the owners had been found and the dog, now known to all following the story as "Daisy," would soon be home.  The "Christmas miracle" indeed happened...    

    ...just a little hope that indeed sprung eternal...and I, and many others, bought into the "new hope" for a little lost Blue Heeler girl.  It just had to work out.  She just had to go home.

     I don't know what I need right now.  I don't know if it's more healing time than I've taken or I just need a good kick in the ass to realize things just aren't so bad.  Maybe it's both.  I do know that a dog named Daisy helped me experience a little hope for the time being...

     .....and it was easier than bullseyeing womp rats....

Happy Fishing!

--Red
    

    

Sink or Swim

     I remember that my Dad taught my brother how to swim by throwing him into the ocean. We lived on Long Island, NY and would take our boat out to Fire Island every summer. That's when my brother was thrown overboard...I did fall off of the boat once, but my Dad was more merciful towards me and got me out of the water. A few years later I was given swimming lessons in the comfort of our in ground pool.

     On the Friday before Memorial Day, I felt the familiar panic of being four years old, unable to swim, and in a very vast ocean...I had lost my beloved dog, Dali.

     I wrote about Dali, our thirteen and a half year old Australian Cattle Dog/Border Collie mix in this blog before ("I Am The Bulldog" - March 7, 2012). She's been sick with liver tumors since she was almost twelve with the official diagnosis coming about eight months ago.  To say her passing has greatly effected my husband and myself is an understatement. Dali's behavioral issuers had to be closely monitored for her and our other dog's safety. One wrong move could mean a bite delivered to any of us or potentially anyone outside of the home. People are amazed when I talk about the level of management needed that frankly most people wouldn't deal with. I don't blame them. It's been a stressful thirteen and a half years. There were times I couldn't even walk freely in my home for fear of causing a fight if some kind.

     This also meant I couldn't use the computer as often as I would have liked to write or anything.  Our home office is a small space and highly conducive to setting off Dali's aggressions. Normal dogs typically have a critical distance of four feet. They don't like to be towered over or feel crowded.  Add that to a dog that is fearful and acts out on that, then there are issues.  I remember that if Eric was gone for the evening, before I got my iPad, it meant no work of any kind could be done. Managing Dali and keeping her happy and comfortable was top priority. Even after I got the iPad, I still couldn't get very engrossed in anything I was doing because in a split second Kobi, the other dog, could do something to incur her ire and a fight was on...

     ...and all of a sudden she was gone...

     Eric and I really don't know what to do with ourselves. Every routine was based on Dali. I'm not kidding. From the time we let her out of her crate in the morning to the time we put her back in at night, everything we did revolved around her. As unhealthy as that was, Eric and I no longer have a huge semblance of our life from the week before.   It's been weird, not to mention highly unsettling.  I mean after all, as humans, we all love our ruts and routines.  Mine just happened to be a life consuming one.

     My stepmother said she knew how much I loved her.  She also said that, "She helped you to become the wonderful person you are now and helped you find your place in this world. The ones that do that are always special as they show us a side of ourselves that we sometimes don't even know existed..."


     ...And in death Dali was still showing me a whole new side to myself...

I found this picture the other day...



     The funny thing about my life so far is I was quite a good "swimmer" when faced with troubles. I have quite the get up and go attitude. However, I would say I have also not faced anything as heartbreaking as Dali's passing was. I have been dumped by boyfriends, betrayed by close friends, and abused by my Mother, but, believe it or not, found nothing as profoundly life changing as Dali no longer being a part of my daily life. I just didn't feel the same anymore. It was like because that routine was gone, part of me died, too.  For the first time in my life, I guess I was really grieving.  This was something so foreign to my life previously.

     During this period, and while I was honestly barely maintaining my head above water neither sinking nor swimming, something strange started to happen. I found I was blessed with wonderful and numerous examples of "life" around me. I saw young dogs up for adoption at a local pet store. I saw a newly adopted dog at a friend's house. I saw my own dog start coming to life in ways he hadn't been able to before. So many new beginnings. So much new life all around...

....I began to wonder if now maybe I had a new life to get on with...a new "me" maybe...

     With Dali's passing , I got to experience a huge loss. I got to experience the entire grieving process.  The last step is called "recovery" where one shows a new interest in daily activities and begins to function normally on a day to day basis. The goal of recovery is to reorganize one’s life so that the loss is one important part of life rather than the center of one’s life.  Trust me, both my husband and I went through all the shock, denial, obsessive thoughts, anger, guilt sadness and anxiety before reaching this point.  In the end though, Dali enabled me to truly acknowledge how exciting life going forward can be and actually, really, must be. You always here the phrase "life goes on". I feel I understand it and am excited about. I want to be a part of that life. That life going on.  The feeling that I could go ahead and swim...

...I think I'll "doggie-paddle" out from shore now...



Happy Fishing!

--Red


                                         R.I.P Dali Cooper - January, 1999 to May 25, 2012

                               I miss you more than you know. Thank you for all you taught me.