Tag Archives: life
Bringing in 2013
I love all the year ending lists, the ones that look back on everything from 2012 and rank the best of the year. Top movies, top songs, top sport plays, top storms, top grossing products, top celebrity feuds, top political disasters, top-selling appliances, top exclamations shouted into crowds – you get the idea. It’s bewildering to me to look back on lists and comprehend how so much has fit into the last 365 days, and how did it go by so fast?
2012 was a high-speed chase to catch up with, stay on top of and try to control. Who am I kidding, I just sent out the last of my Christmas presents in the last day of December (sorry nieces and nephews – late though not forgotten.) I wasn’t really on top of anything in the past year. A top list of accomplishments I would create for 2012 would include things like “Was able to continue breathing,” and “Kept child alive.”
The month of December happened to be the craziest whirlwind of the year. With my grandma’s passing, an unplanned trip to Minnesota to go along with it, and almost a full week of celebrating holidays interrupted normalcy for me. I am embracing the new year for a fresh opportunity to maintain a routine and achieve goals. I’d like to be able to look back at the end of 2013 and recognize real accomplishments out of the day-to-day grind.
On Monday night, New Years Eve, my husband and some friends of ours made plans to bring in the new year bowling. We figured it’s close to home, affordable and a potentially fun and out of the ordinary activity for us. It has probably been years since my last time stepping foot in a bowling alley, though, I like to think bowling is in my blood. My grandpa and all of his brothers were bowling champions. Last month I, along with several cousins and my sister, took a bowling trophy from the home where my grandma passed. I never knew my grandpa so it seemed appropriate for me to keep something that used to be important to him.
On New Years Eve I naively imagined the trophy might actually bring me luck, that maybe my grandpa could reach down from heaven and help the ball down the lane for strikes and spares. My first game wasn’t too bad, then it got worse. I am guessing my grandpa never tried to play with fake nails, yeah I’m sure those were my only problem.
Losing – Big Time
Or maybe there is a lesson in being the big loser at bowling. In 2013, I need to practice skills regularly, show dedication to my interests and my family, not blame others or objects for my own failures, and continue to find happiness in every moment (winning or not).
Cheers – FREE Champagne at the bowling alley.
Turning to Love – 99 Years
Adaline & Eleanor – born October 2, 1913
Eleanor and her siblings attended Catholic school, while she loved learning she hated school and vowed never to send her future children to a Catholic school. She recalls the nuns being unreasonably strict and generous with ruler slaps on the hands. With difficulties at home and at school Eleanor had one place she would turn to for unconditional love. Her grandma spoke only Polish, she was a terrific cook and provided all of the individual attention Eleanor craved. Each of the nine children were given days they would be allowed to spend at their grandma’s. Eleanor discovered early on how valuable this time was to her and used her pennies of chore money to pay her sibling’s for their time with her grandma.
Into her teen years Eleanor felt jealous of her sisters naively believing they were more talented, more outgoing and more beautiful than she. Her twin Adaline seemed to get all of the from boys. Despite comparing herself to her sisters, Eleanor wasn’t about to settle for any man to become her husband. She had been turning to love and knew how important it was above anything else. Her brother Stan introduced her to his friend Mitch at a baseball field. He was tall, handsome, one of seven hilarious brothers and exactly the match to be able to give and receive the love Eleanor had been preparing for. They were married on September 2, 1939.
Before their vows Eleanor didn’t know how to cook or clean, she threw herself into being a housewife and tried to hide her lack of skills at first. Eleanor and Mitch loved each other with fairy tale affection and admiration for each other. “I even loved ironing his clothes,” she recalled “Because it was for him.” They were married three years before their daughter was born, then Eleanor stressed for three years when Mitch was drafted into World War II. Finally reunited with his return they had another two children, both boys. Mitch’s job at an insurance agency afforded Eleanor to be able to dedicate herself to motherhood in a way she never got to experience from her own mom. And the practice of turning to love made her an excellent mom. She sewed dresses for her daughter and took her to dance classes. She adored her sons and worried when each of them found love in their early teens.
True Love – Eleanor & Mitch
“They are too young,” she would recall believing. For the years of life she had lived she had come to have beliefs about age and developed fears about what was appropriate. And as her apprehension proved to be wrong, Eleanor turned to love, she embraced the two young women and accepted the error in her perception. Eventually all three of her children had moved out of the home, their daughter and first son married and their youngest son was away at college. Eleanor and Mitch became grandparents, “I hope I could be at least a quarter how wonderful my grandma was to me,” she would say.
Only a few years into being a single couple in love, Mitch died unexpectidly from a heart attack. She turned to the love of family to share in their grief. And in the love she had for him and for her own life she found strength to begin again. Eleanor and her daughter started a business and opened a gift shop called Two’s Company in South Minneapolis. The shop’s patrons returned to the store as much for the warmth in their presence as they would to buy beautiful things. Eleanor exuded love for living through her passion for her family, business, travel and laughter.
Grammy and me, 1982
She adored being Grammy and had four grandchildren already before her younger son added another three, including me. Grammy was always thrilled to greet us at the door and require a buzi (Polish for kiss). She shared her affection for flowers and birds, she demonstrated how to engage in conversation with people in a genuine way and she modeled incredible sales skills when we tagged along at the shop. We drank old fashion malted milkshakes, searched through her hard boiled eggs for shells and charged her quarters when we caught her swearing. She loved politics and sports. Proudly cheering on the Minnesota Twins and Vikings, she would anxiously call in from another room to check on the score if the game was too intense to watch.
Grammy was an honest cheerleader. You are so beautiful. You are so talented. You are so smart. Even though I know she said the same thing to everyone, I knew she truly meant it every time the words escaped her.
Eleanor, her 3 children, their spouses and 7 grandchildren – 1993
As I grew into a young adult I became more aware of her amazing life and her gift at finding happiness. She continued to work, travel the world, drive her car, live in her own home and maintain a garden into her 90’s. She attended some of her grandchildren’s weddings and began having great grandchildren. Her love of life and for those around her grew, and in turn she stayed youthful.
When I was in college Grammy asked me, and my friends I brought over, about dating. “You’re so beautiful Holly, I bet you have so many suitors,” she would tell me. My friends chimed in telling her I have been too picky. So when I was finally in a relationship worth telling her about I became nervous. I introduced my boyfriend by photograph and tried to communicate my feelings for him. As my nerves had predicted, she was honest and fearful of me being in an inter-racial relationship. My heart deflated when I heard her response, “I didn’t marry the first man I fell in love with.”
Her approval was important to me and I was disappointed, yet I couldn’t be mad at her. For the 90 years of life she had lived she had come to have beliefs about race and developed fears about what was appropriate. When she met my boyfriend for the first time the initial apprehension she showed by the sight of his picture was gone and she turned to love. Her perception of what was correct had never been challenged this way before and she accepted she didn’t have to fear.
She has inspired me with her acceptance, her unconditional love and her willingness to change. A few years later she shocked me again when she questioned me about gay marriage. “Can you believe they want to get married?” She asked me. We talked about rights and why it is important for people beyond what is acceptable in a church. “I never thought of it like that,” she said. And in that moment she turned a page on almost a century of beliefs for a powerful demonstration of turning to love.
Grammy celebrated her 99th birthday this past year. She continued to live at home, the home she shared with her husband, raised her kids and created memories for generations more. She maintained her memory, her humor and her youthful spirit, though her energy faded. Knowing her time on earth was drawing to an end she had been surrounded by family; children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren all voicing their love for her and appreciation for the wisdom she has provided. She passed this afternoon fully alert to her loved ones surrounding her and to where she was going.
Grammy turned to love for 99 years, she gave unconditionally, she accepted when she was wrong and practiced forgiveness to others who wronged her. I am blessed to have had her in my life and to witness how she lived and loved. I imagine a world with infinite possibilities if everyone were able to turn to love and seek happiness the way she did. And someday, if I am a grandma, I hope to be at least a quarter of how wonderful my Grammy was to me.
Not your average holiday letter.
One thing I love the most about this time of year is all of the mail! The tradition of catching up with old friends by a Christmas card, a family photo or yearly update with a good old fashioned stamp on it makes me smile, plus fresh frame-worthy pictures to update frames is a bonus. Snail mail anytime of the year is welcome, though, I know I send and receive the most in the month of December.
The holiday letter is kind of a funny thing to me. When a simple card or picture will not do, individuals and families might opt to generate a quick synopsis of the last 12 months to update friends and family who might not otherwise hear all of the news flashes throughout the year. I’m not sure when my mom thought this would be necessary to write one for our family, though, I remember the year I did not approve. In 1996 I was 14 years old and read over her draft of the family holiday letter. I’m sure she highlighted many major events, boasted about how wonderful her kids were and used proper sentence structure and punctuation, yet it seemed to make us even more boring than we actually were. By pointing out the yawn factor, she challenged me to come up with something better. The product ended up being a sarcastic summary of life in our household and I was required to continue writing holiday letters until long after all of us kids were grown.
A few years back my mom’s friend Sue mailed me a stack of my holiday letters she had been saving. Her note said she had been doing some deep cleaning and heard I hadn’t been keeping copies. I guess rather than holding onto the letters themselves I will purge them onto the internet to be able to look back on and maybe inspire someone else to create entertaining holiday notes. Starting with letter #2.
Amazing how my mom folded each letter identically over the years, huh? Now I am anxiously awaiting the mailman’s arrival!
Thorns From My Husband
Last week I came up with an idea for a post I wanted to write about the irritating statements my husband makes. It’s incredible how a short concoctions of words can send me into a whirlwind of irrational, over-emotional turmoil.
I cleaned up.
I have a surprise for you.
Are you feeling better yet?
These are just three examples of phrases I hear from him which begin a cycle of madness in my mind, how to react, what to say next, what does this mean, etc… It sounds insane, right? Those three statements appear to be so innocent, even thoughtful perhaps. Well lemme just fill you in on the context with which these endearing words are uttered.
First, speaking of cleaning up is generally stated because it would be entirely impossible to know otherwise any cleaning had taken place. I’m guessing the majority of women can relate to being the cleaner one of their couple set, with the exception of my friend Crystal. Crystal and her husband, Buck, are equally anal about their cleaning. I would give a sliver of an edge to Crystal since she recently had lasik eye surgery and swears she can see the cobwebs on her ceiling I could not find with binoculars.
Unless your relationship is like Crystal and Buck or by some freak chance your partner is a better housekeeper, you can relate. For example, a few weeks ago my daughter and I went up north and left my husband with the house to himself for three days. Upon returning home I noticed additional clutter and a distinct odor. Maybe my facial expression gave away my disgust even though I had already anticipated needing to clean when I got home. “I cleaned up.” He said.
And this is where my mind begins stirring – What did he clean? And if he cleaned how bad did the house get over the weekend? Do I praise him to encourage this behavior or would this demonstrate complacency with a lack of effort? “OK, thanks.” I mutter heading to the broom closet. Maybe I should just be thankful he didn’t wipe out the Tupperware collection like my dad did when my mom went out of town one weekend in an effort to be helpful.
When my husband tells me he has a surprise, naturally I want to feel excited. He tends to spring this on me rather often because he enjoys watching me squirm about it. Instead of excitement in the anticipation, I find myself being bothered with trying to imagine what it could be. There have been times I imagined some rather fantastic surprises, special dates and lavish gifts to come home to find my favorite juice in the fridge “SURPRISE.” Now rather than creating a spectacular surprise in my mind I try not to even remember he spoke the word so I cannot be disappointed. He is rather thoughtful and talented with his ideas, I just wish they came without the preemptive news flash to warn it’s coming.
And finally the questions “Are you feeling better yet.” This is not a sincere curiosity of if I am under the weather. This question is directed at me when he thinks I am upset with him for no good reason. It seems like a stab at my perspective in a disagreement, as if I had no reason to be bitter towards him. As if the whole disagreement was related to my mood rather then something he contributed to. “Are you feeling better yet,” can almost always lengthen the duration of my anger about a situation and on the rare occasion I wasn’t upset this statement can just as easily put me there.
So… Like I said, I intended to post about these phrases and end it there. Except earlier this week I caught up with an episode of Super Soul Sunday when Oprah interviewed the author Michael Singer. He wrote The Untethered Soul about finding inner peace and strength. The following clip is a segment out of the show directly related to the issues I have had with things my husband says.
I haven’t read the book, though, now I know I need to. There are many thorns I have with people and being irritated by what is said. Seeing this part of the interview I recognized I have been making the choice to be disturbed. I understand for the rest of my life I could be having internal conflicts about what to say when he mentions cleaning, no matter how many times I say “Don’t surprise me,” there will likely be another surprise, and the question of feeling better yet will probably not be put to rest either. So damn Super Soul Sunday – to point out my wasted energy on waiting for others to change around me. It doesn’t matter who is right or wrong, joking or flat out disrespectful – it’s my own thorn. Next time I get the sensation of being bothered, my hands sweat, my thoughts turn to irrational questioning, my shoulders tighten and I’m ready to react… I will practice making the choice not to be disturbed. Growth is hard and no one else can do it for me.
Pawnee For Life
In my last semester of college I was coming down to weeks before graduation still wondering what my next step in life would be. I enjoyed every ounce of the college experience and probably didn’t give enough thought to looking past that. Lucky for me, a peer in one of my psychology classes told me where and how to apply for a job at the community mental health center, where she had been working.
Not ready to abandon my college roommates or completely emerse myself into career minded adulthood across the country somewhere, I submitted my resume. At the time I wasn’t so sure the interview went well, the boss lady seemed bitterly all about business. I figured either I missed something good about the interview or there were few applicants for the position when they called me back to offer me the job.
When I went in to sign the initial hiring paperwork, I met a hunk who was hired on the same day. He later became my husband. And the mean boss lady was a bridesmaid and is one of my best friends. She told me she hired me because she liked my purse…
In the moment working at the community mental health center was the logical next baby step for me after graduation. Looking back I understand how this job, the team I worked with and the people we served made a deep impact – much grander than a baby step. The team consisted of dozens of bright and creative minds, all complimenting and balancing each other out. We worked with children diagnosed with mental illness and their families, I witnessed growth and change for some kids I would have doubted possible. In the workplace the team seemed to be synchronized like a grandfather clock, finding strengths and supports within each other to do our jobs well. Of course our grandfather clock would be wildly colored, with constantly evolving pieces being added and removed, provide laughter every hour on the hour and have a tiny toy rat terrier in place of a cuckoo bird.
Working with kids with emotional issues did get a little cuckoo at times, and not only did we have the support we needed in the workplace we all got along outside of work as well. All the credit goes to the boss lady for hiring some amazing individuals, with whom, I am happy to call my friends.
While we did have some great times and continue to maintain friendships, things were not all golden and drama free. The team consisted of many strong-willed individuals who saw situations from opposite perspectives, though, I have never seen a group be more respectful in figuring out how to work towards solutions. And I know I may be a little extra persuaded by the experience finding my husband there and all, though I think others share the same insight about the incredible group dynamics.
I worked there for three and a half years following my college graduation and left to further my education in this field. Few of the staff I worked with are still there since many used the opportunity as a step like I did. Those years were invaluable to me personally and professionally. I appreciate everyone I worked with and learned from, unfortunately now my dilemma is being unable to replicate the fun workplace I remember, anywhere else I have worked since.
Let’s just say… If I were granted a corporation to save the world, I know just the people I would recruit to be a part of the team.
Beaches, Temples and Whores – Oh My!
By this time in our Indian travels I was as accustomed as I could get to standing out in the crowds. I did my best to be respectful of the culture, be polite and not act as though my values were better than what I was observing around me. I was also feeling more comfortable and safe in my foreign surroundings, even with a language barrier I was gaining sense of who was trustworthy and who was trying to take advantage. We had been cautioned before the trip and learned a lot during the month about Indian men – not all Indian men are this way! We had been told when walking in crowded areas to cover our chests so they wouldn’t be grabbed, one of us could have also used a warning about watching her behind as it got slapped by a man on a moped. We studied the disparities between the laws to provide women with rights/protection and what actually happens with Indian marriages, abuse of women and trafficking. http://inspiredlivingkc.wordpress.com/2012/06/25/grassroots-for-women-children/
Not only do some Indian men look down upon females in their own society, we learned how Indian men judge American women to be promiscuous. We get this reputation since American television and movies display women as highly sexualized and dressing provocatively, while Bollywood films don’t contain even a kiss. While we drew onlookers where ever we went, I tried not to even consider they viewed me as a whore simply for being an American. The only time this idea of how Indian men view American women came blaring with sirens was on our last weekend in West Bengal.
Our final excursion from Kolkata, during the month in India, was to Puri for beaches and temples. Our instructor traveling with us from the U.S. was exhausted from the month’s adventures and hosting the students so she sent us with our Indian tour guide Amrit. He had traveled with us on another trip to Darjeeling and on some sightseeing around the city. (https://inspiredlivingkc.wordpress.com/2012/06/25/one-weekend-not-long-enough-darjeeling/). “Come, come please.” He would scurry us along like his little ducklings down sidewalks or through the train station “Come, come.
Our hotel in Puri was right on the beach and ocean fun was exactly what we needed after sweltering in the Indian summer temperatures. It was slightly confusing for a group of American girls to prepare for what to wear to the beach and for swimming since India is modest and Indian women keep covered. While many of us had bathing suits, we all kept clothed with pants and shirts for our water recreation.
Amrit reported there to be a dangerous undertow right off the shore and hired 3 lifeguards for protection. These men were no Baywatch studs, middle-aged and scrawny, these lifeguards wore shelled cone hats tied to their heads in order to specify their hired rescuer status. The guards stood over the American girls in the water and quickly put a hand on their bodies, even with no legitimate threat of drowning. Once I saw this happening I chose to only dip my toes in so I could avoid unnecessary wandering hands.
Just being near the ocean and out of the city of Kolkata was wonderful. We spent all afternoon breathing in the sights and sounds of the beach for a change. As with so many beaches there were people who approached trying to sell something. Some of us bought necklaces, massages and even rides on a decorated camel.
View from The Pink House
During our stay in Puri there was a restaurant down the beach from our hotel called “The Pink House.” The eatery was a patio area covered with a thatched roof. They served fresh fish and had a mural of Bob Marley on one wall. From where we ate there was a picturesque view of a gate towards the ocean.
Beyond the beach in Puri, we went into the market area for shopping. And getting the chance to be tourists instead of students for the weekend, we chose tourist type activities like taking a boating excursion on Chilika Lake with over 200 dolphins living in it. Our boat of caucasian females quickly became the attraction on the lake and while our cameras were aimed at the surfacing dolphins, the other boating sightseer’s had their cameras pointed at us. http://www.go2india.in/orissa/satapada.php
Our other tourist activity was visiting the temples and ruins around the area.
Sun Temple
Raja-Rani Temple
Udayagiri Khandagiri Caves
Monkeys at Udayagiri Khandagiri Caves
During our stay in Puri we were invited by Amrit’s friends to come for lunch. I don’t remember thinking too much about the invitation before we arrived. We arrived at an apartment on the beach where there was a small kitchen with a cook preparing our meal. We were chauffeured into a bar area with swinging doors and crab netting hanging from the walls for sailor themed decor. Our hosts encouraged us to sample the Indian beer and mix drinks however we desired. Finally a chance to relax with a few beverages and my new fellow student friends, or so I innocently thought at first.
As we settled in and began socializing with our hosts my curiosity lead me to wonder why we were really invited over? Turns out Amrit’s friends were two well-off men from the city staying at their beach apartment where they travel to on weekends. The men were likely the same age as the fathers of most of the students in our group, and both admitted they were married. One man proudly stated the apartment is off-limits to their wives. At this point I quietly put down my beverage and tried to reserve my judgments for the remainder of the visit. Did these men think they had won the jackpot with eight promiscuous American women in their bachelor pad? Did they think I was a Pretty Woman who stepped out of American Pie to act out my Basic Instinct?
Though I sensed it to be odd, nothing happened during lunch to confirm my suspicions. However, Amrit scheduled another meeting with these men before we headed back to Kolkata the last day. This time we were to meet them at their country club. When we entered the building, we were greeted by Amrit’s friends and some head people at the club including a president and manager. Confusion set in, in my mind we were just students, nobody important enough to draw attention from important people…
Our group moved upstairs to a room where we would be eating lunch. Us students observed the room quickly and looked at each other, the bathroom and closet as you entered the room along with two headboards nailed to one wall indicated this was a hotel room. The furniture had been cleared out and large clothed tables had been put in place for the meal. More guests began filing in and man after man introduced himself to us, soon the men out numbered our group of female students. Similar to the meeting before alcoholic beverages were encouraged, except this time most of us declined. Concerned by the hotel room and all male company, one of the girls asked Amrit to clarify what “country club” meant to Indian’s. He informed us that Indian clubs sometimes have golf, pools, tennis and other sports along with rooms to stay (sort of like buying a timeshare to a hotel/resort.)
During the meal we did our best to make small talk with our hosts, some of the men hardly spoke English or were very difficult to comprehend. Finally when the visit was over we all made our way out to our awaiting vehicles. One of the hosts from the country club came running out after us to ask if everything was okay because he had seen a trail of blood. All of us looked around assuming it was unrelated to us, except the last student to get into the vehicle. She hadn’t realized she was bleeding despite a heavily dropping cut. It wasn’t until the country club was in the rear view mirror when she finally explained what had happened.
Before we had left the building, one by one we used the restroom and then trickled outside towards the vehicles. She was the last student and regrettably none of us realized we had abandoned the buddy system and left her inside. One of the male guests from our lunch tried to corner her and kiss, she reacted in a haste and somehow managed to cut herself on the door in her escape.
Five years after my travels to India I am still trying to understand what that lunch, with grown men in an empty hotel room was all about. Their intent in the invitation was unclear. I feel conflicted between what my obvious fear was during the day, and not wanting to unnecessarily judge a situation to be negative out of fear. I guess part of me just wants to hang on to hoping people I encounter are honest and sincere towards me.
Puri was quite an adventure. The Indian beaches and temples were worth the trip, though, we were not American whores.
This post is part of a series I am writing about my month abroad in Kolkata, India to study the social welfare systems. Feel free to look back on previous posts – here are a few:
https://inspiredlivingkc.wordpress.com/2012/05/23/my-indian-summer/
https://inspiredlivingkc.wordpress.com/2012/05/27/step-one-assimilation-to-traffic/
https://inspiredlivingkc.wordpress.com/2012/06/03/lessons-in-love-the-mother-teresas-homes-kolkata/
https://inspiredlivingkc.wordpress.com/2012/06/13/when-it-rains-it-floods/
If My Dogs Attended School, They’d Be In Special Ed.
I love our dogs, they are a part of our family. And they are oh so special. Macy is a mid-sized terrier, loyal, agile, anxious and stubborn x10. Harper is nearly 90 pounds and although he just turned 3 he seems all puppy, also extremely loyal. This week’s walk in the park is a prime example of the nut bag behavior I deal with for these lovable clowns.
In lue of getting a work out in at home, pilates with a toddler on the hip is impossible, I figured an escape to nature would serve the same purpose and be fun for all. I loaded up baby and pups for a ride to our favorite dog park – Shawnee Mission Park. The parking lot was rather empty on this Tuesday morning, which worked out fine for me I was able to open the back and let the dogs run straight to the gate without leashes.
The dog park area is large in comparison to other parks we have gone to, there is a long wide path down the middle flanked with grassy areas on either side and wooded areas beyond that. Although there are paths down towards the wooded areas, we have always seemed to stay in the middle as it is the quickest way to the water. My dogs love to be 
social with other dogs, although they lack social etiquette and don’t quite get it when other dogs are annoyed with their jovial nosiness. My husband and I haven’t dedicated adequate time to training our dogs, although, we are pretty proud of them coming when we call (eventually). On our last trip to the dog park another dog accidentally knocked Parker to the ground, the shock made her cry and our dogs immediately retreated from their playful fun to lay down in front of their baby to protect her.
The dogs and Parker were so happy to be out free to run, Parker calling out to her dogs and laughing when they would coming running back towards her. She alternated between running after them and breaking to be carried. Needless to say the toddler toddling was not moving fast enough for the dogs. There were not many other park goers when we first arrived, the dogs greeted 
fellow pedestrians and pets who passed then happily continued down the path. Long down the path reaches a wooded area and the trail forks, both sides leading circling to a beach area. The dogs had been racing forward and back to us until we neared the fork, at this point Macy couldn’t contain her excitement and ran straight out of view towards the water.
Slightly annoyed at her irregular disappearance, I figured no need to worry we would catch up to her. The beach time was the real purpose of going all the way to Shawnee Mission Park anyway, bringing the dogs out in the heat I knew they would need some time to cool off. Harper stayed near us, whether to look after the baby or because he is a baby himself – he stayed close. We took our time and descended the hill down the path I thought was the shortest towards the water. My memory served me wrong, though the twists and turns eventually got us in sight of the beach to which my daughter exclaimed “Wa wa!” And finally I was back in sight of my little white terrier sprinting along the shore after a boxer. A couple more turns and we were at the beach with no sign of Macy. I called and whistled, no Macy, no boxer and no people.
I knew my anxious mutt probably followed the other park goer and his pooch back up the opposite path when she realized she would be abandoned alone on the beach. I pleaded with Harper, as if he could suddenly exhibit Lassie’s intelligence, “Go get Macy.” to no response… Lugging extra 30lbs on my hip, and a good for nothing beast at my side we began to climb the opposite path, where Macy had apparently gone to join another family. By the time I reached the spot back where the fork rejoins at the top my cell phone was ringing and I knew someone was calling from the tag on my dog.
A girl with a rottweiler had Macy leashed and was waiting for me up the path, when she realized Macy didn’t belong to the people she was following she stopped to help. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to the stranger who interviened. She even said Macy was looking around nervously, of course I knew this was between the mindless bounding over the other dogs… Want to play with me, where’s my mom, I’m so excited, I’m so scared.
With our group finally reunited we headed back to the water and Macy dove right in.
Parker was dressed in a swimsuit, I assumed it would be wet and messy on the beach even though I didn’t intend on us actually getting deep in the water. Therefore, I came without a swim suit and felt comfortable in light summer clothes until Harper made me think I might actually have to dive in for him.
Shawnee Mission Park
Despite being half golden retriever sometimes I wonder if he really has any of that blood in him, he doesn’t retrieve and he is scared to swim. Harper will run along the water and take advantage of the splashes to cool is black furry body, he doesn’t generally go deep enough to even let the water touch his chest. On this morning he stood in the water facing the shore when some seaweed must have brushed up against his leg. Panic set in for my giant and he scooted his body back further into the water. At this point fear increased more because not only was he feeling something on his leg, now he was getting into deeper water. I called sympathetic and encouraging calls for him to come to me. I knew if he continued his backward motion I would have to forego my plan of not getting wet in order to save him. Yet, back further he went until the water was over his back and he appeared petrified putting his head underwater as if to bite at the lake creature pulling him out.
Just before I could leap forward and make the 10 soaked steps it would have taken to reach him, Macy swam out in front of me and snapped Harper to attention. It was as if in a split second she taught him how to doggy paddle and he could finally make a forward motion in the water again. She lead him to the shore and as soon as he could reach he practically leapt over her to get to dry ground again. Macy suddenly made up for her earlier run off and became the Lassie for the day to save Harper from drowning. Yea, like I said – they are “special” dogs.
Harper refereed a game of Tug-A-War and stayed close to the shore after his terrifying ordeal.
Daddy & Daughter Demands
My daughter is becoming fiercely independent. Don’t get me wrong this is exactly the kind of attribute we want to praise and encourage for her to develop and benefit from throughout her life. Years from now she will have the strength to stand up for herself and others. She will be able to advocate for what she needs and she will not take no for an answer… years from now.
Right now, though, this independence is too much for her to handle. My daughter wants to be on her stool washing dishes, standing on the toilet to brush her teeth, unlocking the front door after errands, turning on the stereo (and turning the volume waaaay up), reading her own books, cooking, and dressing herself.
I was so pleased when she learned how to pick out a pair of shoes, put them on herself, and cooperate with switching when I told her “wrong foot.” Even when she is opinionated about choosing the pair which didn’t necessarily coordinate with her outfit, her learning this task made me happy.
Not all of the independent tasks she is trying are coming so easily though, and some of them seem to be incredibly frustrating to her nearly 2-year-old mind. “No” seemed to be absent from her vocabulary up until the last few months and now it seems too many statements or questions are met with a sharp “NO.” When she gets stuck in a task she cannot figure out there is tantrum and tears, yelling and refusal of help. One night over the weekend she fought to put on her own pajamas, whining and squirming with them. When she got her legs stuck in the arm holes the body flailing began, so mad these pajamas could do her so wrong.
I allow her to have as many opportunities to practice her skills as possible. I stand outside in the heat for an extra five minutes for her to put the key correctly in the lock, I take the time to show her the correct method to get results, I step in to take over when she has lost control and I spend plenty of time cleaning up her messes. Let’s face it learning can be dirty sometimes. I wrestle with thoughts of psychology, child development and reinforcing behaviors, how much is too much and am I raising her right… Quickly snapping back to reality as duty calls for a second bath for the day when she attempted changing her own diaper in her crib after the nap.
Is this the terrible two’s, has it already arrived four months before she even turns the dreaded age? This stubborn toddler now demanding her way and don’t help, will be challenging my stress level for how long? When will she grasp the limitations I put in place for her and stop trying to push it? (dumb question I realized this after I wrote is since there will be evolving changes all the time.) The hardest part about meeting her demands is when my husband so honestly pointed out “How will you be able to deal with BOTH of us?” See he exudes much of the same childlike intolerance for when things don’t go his way, minus the body flailing.
There are far more smiles, hugs and expressions of cooperation then there are the no’s, the tears and the tantrums. With both my hubby and my toddler I will keep practicing patience, choosing by battles and providing loving support when it’s accepted.
And when my husband voluntarily gets up with my daughter in the morning and serves her chicken, pepperoni and cherries for breakfast. I’ll just say “Thank you for letting me sleep in” and wake up tomorrow. Life is perfect right now, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
One Weekend Not Long Enough – Darjeeling.
Darjeeling was our first escape from the madness of Kolkata. It was a much-needed break from the heat to be up in the Himalayan Mountains, to hear nature instead of honking and to be away from the congested population of the city. We had only been in India for about a week and I already needed a vacation from my travels. 
This was to be our first of many train rides in India, we left on a Thursday evening for an overnight train. A group of caucasian women stood out no matter where we went, however, the trains always seemed to bring out the most obvious and uncomfortable gawking. For example, waiting for the train we entertained ourselves with a simple game of UNO, which drew a crowd of men hovering to watch.
On the train our group shared two sleeper cabins, these were not private cabins, rather to the isle. The cabins contained two blue, school bus style bench seats facing each other. Above each bench two additional bunks would fold from the wall and attach to each other with chains, creating a total of six beds. We knew to be aware of theft on such public trains and for this reason used our backpacks as pillows and kept all valuables in a tight grip for any measly slumber we might have gotten. Somehow my travel mates were always accommodating as I snagged the top bunks – climbing three beds high – on each sleeper train we rode. In the morning there would always be one or two travel-mates who wouldn’t have slept at all and observed the creepers who came by to gawk at us, strolling back and forth through the open isle.
Following our first train adventure it was a three-hour drive up the mountains to get to Darjeeling. Though it was overcast for much of the weekend the scenery was beautiful, already it was evident how much friendlier the people seemed by smiling and waving. On some mountainsides you could see tea plants covering acreage and I wondered how dangerous it must be to work those fields. 
After an overnight train and 3 hour drive we arrived in Darjeeling.
After checking into our accommodations we explored the town, shopped and relaxed. Most of us purchased scarves and wore them frequently the remainder of the trip, as well as saving some for souvenirs for family members. Some bought jewelry, books, and tea to bring home, we visited an internet cafe and enjoyed macaroni and cheese for dinner with beer. Some of the girls were thrilled to order mac and cheese and devour something similar we could find back at home, it was a let down since India doesn’t really have our American taste for cheese.
One early morning we woke up to journey to a location called Tiger Hill, it is a spiritual sight to witness the sun rise. Only 11 km from Darjeeling, I read there are over 400 taxis used on busy days to drive tourists to the sight. We had to park far from the viewing location and hike up the remainder to join the crowd of spectators. From this high point in the Himalayas, Mount Everest is visible, although on our morning it was too cloudy yet still crowded with spectators.
When the sun was well risen, our group of light-skinned women once again became the attraction. Tourists to Tiger Hill were requesting us to pose in their vacation pictures. Of course with a language barrier there was no way for them to explain to us what the relevance was in having pictures with us. I wondered whether they were hoping we would be of some celebrity status back home or if we were really that much of a novelty to be seeing in person. Whatever it was, I declined posing in pictures. My travel mates who accepted ended up getting lines of people waiting for the next shot.
Posing for Indian tourists’ pictures.
Our whole class on Tiger Hill
After the shopping, relaxing, admiring the animals and visiting Buddhist temples in Darjeeling it was difficult to leave. I regained my ability to take a deep breath and then it seemed we were headed back to Kolkata again.
On our way back down the mountain to get to the train we were invited to visit a tea plantation for lunch and a tour. We met the manager and his wife who lived on the property, they showed us their factory and around the crops. I was lost in the process of how tea is made and instead focused my thoughts on the workers who take care of the field. On our tour we stopped at one location in the crops where hundreds of women were picking leaves. They strap a bag to their head which rests on their backs and fill the bag 20 to 26 times per day, six days per week. The workers make very little in take home pay, though the company provides housing, health care and schooling for the children of the workers. Consider how far your tea traveled next time you brew and who may have contributed to your cup?
When I returned home from India I was asked many times whether I would want to take another trip back. Without hesitation I’d answer “I’ll go back to Darjeeling.”
Inspired Living KC 