Tales from a Dog Catcher

One Good Day: The Moments that Illuminate Our Lives

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Tue, 21 Jan 2020 02:24:00 +0000

Andrew Paterson/Getty Images

One Good Day

One Good Day

You never know when it’s coming. It just happens.
A teacher in high school once asked our class what kind of flower we would be if we could choose,

I said “I want to be the grass that grows up out of the sidewalk. It gets walked on. Nobody grows it on purpose. Most don’t even notice it. Some people want to get rid of it, but it keeps on growing back because it’s strong. I know it’s not officially a flower, but if it was, that’s the kind of flower I want to be.” It was silent in class for a moment and she seemed to be a bit taken aback by my answer, but then she said “That’s a good choice.”

It was an important day for me because it was a day where I’d made a huge discovery. I didn’t have to be a victim. I could take charge of my own life. I could stop being angry. It was an important moment. Those are the good ones you remember. The ones that will carry you when you’re tired or want to give up. It was a Good Day.

When you’re younger, you think there’s going to be a non-stop array of good days. But, then again you think you know everything when you’re in your twenties. It’s a powerful decade full of self expectations; constantly measuring yourself against others your age. If I could go back in time to talk to myself I would say “STOP THAT”. But because of my age, I wouldn’t have listened. I often tell my children who are currently in that stage this very thing. They also don’t listen.

Then you reach 30. I liked 30. You start to shed unnecessary childhood burdens and realize that all you thought you knew when you were in your 20’s might not be as important as you thought it was. Some of it could be triggered when you have the responsibility of raising children for the first time. For me, that was 30. For others it may be earlier or later. It doesn’t matter how they appear, whether in the delivery room, by marriage or adoption, you are suddenly the least important person in this scenario…and you don’t mind. In a very Freudian way you are suddenly less ID. In a very Piaget way you are thrust into a non ego-centric world. You realize a lot of what you thought you did on your own was actually in concert with a team of people from different times and places that opened doors and supported your goals and faded away once their job was done and never said anything to you about it. Some taught you lessons you didn’t learn until later. And you feel humbled but appreciative. You begin to realize that you’ve done that for others as well and it may not have occurred to you. That now it’s your turn for a higher purpose. That’s a good day.

Then of course there’s 40 but I felt that this decade was when the many tasks of life made everything a blur without much time to ponder what I’d learned. It’s quite literally, a race.

childraisingbringchildrentofriendshousesurgentcareteacherconferencesgoingoverthehomeworkinthestupidfolderattendingchildren’sactivitiesgoingtoworkpayingbillscaringforsickparentswaitingforthecallcompletingyoureducationstrugglingtomakeenoughmoneymaybefinallymakingenoughmoneybutrealizingit’snotgoingtofixeverything’sthatwrongbuildingyourcareerbuildingyourmarriagegoingtoweddingschristeningsbarmitsvahsretirementpartiesfuneralssurgeriesoothingheartbreaksguidingkidstowardstheirgoalsfeedingthedogfillingoutformscleaningupgroceryshoppingbuyingsellingmovinghousesdroppingoffyourchildrenatcollegetreasuringfastrecedingmemoriespickingupmilkgoingtotheatm…

Then people get sick. Sometimes you get sick. Your pets die. A parent dies. A brother-in-law. Another brother-in-law. A nephew. Aunts. Uncles. Students you taught. A few friends from childhood. Your child’s friends to tragic overdoses and sudden accidents. And you start to become afraid of everything like when you were a child, but you can always talk to someone who will make it all okay.

And sometimes your last parent dies.

Then everything is different. Who will love you unconditionally? Who will make it all okay? There’s nobody standing in front of you anymore. You don’t know where you fit. Suddenly the grass sticking up out of the sidewalk is brown and cold and dry, covered with snow, made weak from too much being piled upon it. It’s not a good day. Probably not for a quite a while. But in time the good days will return if you keep yourself open to them -knowing it’s what your parents already knew and hoped to be around to see you learn and the grass will start to appear again in the Spring, and so will you.

You learn from this. You begin to become closer to those around you who are still here. You find more time and appreciation for your spouse who’s been through the same and now there’s less tasks that distracted you both before. You remember who they are outside of husband/wife/parent and wish you had been able to spend more time together and less time always having to work. You cling to your children at the same time they are attempting to spread their wings and begin their non-punctuated journey above — much the same as yours.

And then you’re in your 50’s and you start paying attention to those moisturizer commercials. New words creep into your life- words like retirement, pension, grandparent, AARP (actually AARP has been unrelenting in their effort to creep in into your life, what with all the mail, postcards, and ID cards and their very simply written magazine where each sentence has the fewest amount of syllables possible and interviews with celebrities who are at least 20 years older than you but “give interviews” to the magazine where actual real quotes from them are limited to about 3 with much paraphrasing from the writer since there must only be 8 syllables a sentence — because they believe their intended demographic is already in the beginning stages of dementia).

Then Facebook sends you an ad to create your Legacy Page — for someone to control it when you pass away and you wonder: Why did Facebook send me this now? Is there something Facebook knows that I don’t? I’m younger than Brad Pitt and I wonder if he’s getting Legacy Set Up requests on Facebook? You start to buy more fruit and avocados because avocados will save your life according to the most recent edition of the AARP magazine. Brad Pitt probably eats a lot of avocados.

And then you start to get rid of things you once wanted that aren’t so important anymore. You Marie Kondo the hell out of your closet and then have nothing to wear to work when Winter comes. You sometimes mistake the new teachers at your job as students. Many were. You have a student in your class who’s parent you had in your class. Yesterday you were the energetic creative teacher who always knew the newest tech and practices — and then realize at 56 you are now the senior member of your department and years rushed by and suddenly your children work at serious jobs with important responsibilities. That was the goal, right? Of course it was, but yesterday you were at the park swinging them higher and higher as they squealed for more. A trip to the ice cream place was the ultimate treat. Now they don’t eat sweets unless you count Matcha and Red Bull.

You wish you could’ve stopped time to enjoy the ride more and not be forced to make it on time to the next item on your list of responsibilities. Then you remember regret is stupid. You spend time with your grandchildren and watch their every move with a sacred type of attention. You push them on the swing while they squeal “higher!”. You show them the magic of rainbow sprinkles. Every moment you wished you’d had more of to fully enjoy with your own children- you have now. It’s a bittersweet do-over.

And then one good day a wave of wisdom washes over you. So much seems to make sense that didn’t before. You wonder if it’s the avocados but you realize it’s exactly what your parents and grandparents told you.

With age comes wisdom -along with some unpleasant stuff but hey — wisdom.

You remind yourself that regret is a waste of time. That everyone struggles to get somewhere and it’s the getting somewhere that matters and not so much whether the journey was straight and easy or zig-zag and difficult — but that you reach that goal and the journey to get there is unique to everyone and probably for a good reason you’ll never really understand until the future -if at all.

And if it was straight and easy- it doesn’t make you better than someone’s whose was crooked and hard. It’s what you do to make a good life for yourself and the people you love that matters. If everyone could choose — they’d choose straight and easier and happier but it doesn’t work that way. Take it from someone who sometimes traveled through a dark twisted road to get to a place where the sun shines in spite of many obstacles -some from what life gave me and many of which I created for myself — ignoring the many flashlights handed to me in the darkness by good samaritans I couldn’t see from the obscured vision that comes from looking to the past too much.

From not remembering what kind of flower I was.

Applaud your success and and go on with your life with optimism and joy. Everyone makes mistakes. Most everyone can learn from them. Judging people for any reason is a waste of good mojo.

Keep those connections with people from different periods of your life — it’s good for you in so many ways — it reminds you of all the things you were and are still part of who you are — and not just who you often have to be now sitting indoors somewhere in a meeting where people use words like “lean in” and “best practices” and new acronyms you don’t recognize and don’t intend on learning, while the sun shines outside.

Remember where you came from — it can be a lifeline when you become confused as to where you’re going now — Forget where you came from if it was a bad place and start from a better point of your choosing. The most important thing to look back on is whether or not people’s lives were made better or easier by you. That you were kind. That you made amends and accepted amends. That you noticed when someone really needed a hand and you offered it with no thought of yourself even if it was inconvenient or you were tired. That you gave without any expectations. That you’ve earned the love and trust of others. That you recognize and remember joy.

One good day you realize it’s pretty easy to be unhappy, and it’s a lot of work to be happy. Cut everyone some slack because this is a finite game and so many negative things we fixate and bind ourselves with is just preventing happiness. Most things that stress you out are temporary and you can choose to recognize that. That happiness doesn’t happen to you — you happen to it.

And one good day you start learning again. You learn new things. You learn you’re not always right. You learn to say less and listen more. You learn people who say mean spirited things about others reflects more on their character than the people they’re talking about. You realize that people who do that are often looking to feel better about something inside themselves they can’t fix and you can love them, but you don’t have to join them.

Nobody is ever all one way. Expecting that from someone else is unrealistic. Try expecting that from yourself first. See. Not a thing.

And you watch the younger generation struggle with all that and hope they take it easy on themselves and others because all that mess is hard. And you hope they’ll be okay — but they have to stumble through this regardless. It’s just how it is. They have to find their good days themselves. You’ll be here if they need you as you always have and as long as possible to make it okay -at least as long as you keep eating avocados.

It just happens on one good day. Actually multiple good days that come throughout the years often separated by great spans of time and some not-good-days. Maybe that day comes to everyone when they can recognize it.

One Good Day. It can be sooner or later- but the sooner the better because why not. Why not?

Summer Reading Themes - Try Something Less Human

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Thu, 11 Jul 2019 17:45:00 +0000

photo courtesy of climigration.org

I'm a real sucker for those "Best Summer Reads" ads you see proliferating everywhere - on Amazon, Facebook Ads - magazine articles. Of course what represents a desirable Summer Read is entirely subjective.

For those going on vacation - easy, simple romance. "I hate him - he is awful but has an incredible looking (fill in the blank)." Followed by the well meaning friends who see what the character cannot see even though it's obvious because she/he - okay- just she. I'm sticking to she because it's always she no matter how politically correct you're attempting to be. It's just a thing. I think perhaps a "he" would notice those " heated glances", "random meetings","nuanced phrases with subtle innuendo","goosebump resulting accidental physical contact" while passing through the doorway on the way to the kitchen to get the home-made lemonade everyone seems to have on hand for these situations.

This is followed by the inevitable miscommunication - followed by some conflict which elongates the realization that they are in love (after the requisite 3 days.) It's a proven recipe as evidenced by all the romance movies set in Southern beach towns my daughter made me binge-watch last week when she was home visiting.

For others it's time to settle down with a good mystery. For a few years Psychological Thriller was my Summer Read. Nothing says summer read like psychopaths with razors but who still have an "incredible looking (fill in the blank)". For a few years I realized that I needed some help after I gave all my post-vacation paperbacks to my friend at work after the summer and she said "Can you stop this Grief/Death Genre thing - it's starting to get to me." It had been a good thing for a while otherwise I wouldn't have gravitated to it - but her comments really woke me up. It was time for a change.

So if you happen upon this blog - which I hope you do - why not try an uplifting, heartwarming, heart-wrenching, thought provoking yet still at the same time hysterical Summer Read. Instead of physical exercise - you can raise your heart rate running the emotional gamut while still lounging by the pool. Then you can go and spoil and appreciate your pet - or perhaps even rescue one when you're back home. In this particular book, (maybe the sequel will improve upon this missing part - let me know what you suggest -really - I'd like to hear what you think), there are really no "incredible looking (fill in the blanks) like in the above examples of Best Summer Reads; unless you're admiring a shiny coat of fur, perky ears, spunky personality, bright eyes, healthy teeth or lovely new collar.

I promise though - all the emotions expressed in Tales from a Dog Catcher which is a narrative non-fiction book - based on my real-life experiences as a young female Animal Control Officer for a Police Department in the Hudson Valley in New York State in the mid 1980's - are real.

And you won't need a well meaning friend who always has home-made lemonade on hand to help you notice them.

Although that never hurts.

As always - I wish you all the best. Have a great summer anywhere and anyway possible. -LDK

Finding a Home for You and Your Four-Legged Buddy

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Thu, 13 Jun 2019 22:39:00 +0000

By Cindy Aldridge

Sometimes life throws us curveballs, and we have to move — whether it’s to be closer to family or for a new job in a new city - when it comes to buying a house, you need to find the best fit for you and also your pooch. If you add just a little bit of extra thought and planning, you’ll soon find yourself enjoying your new home with your four-legged friend.

Selling Your Home

First, you have to sell your house. Find a trusted real estate agent and communicate your needs with him or her. An important step in selling your house is to stage your home. Clean up clutter, brighten up dark corners, get rid of personal decor, and hide all signs that your pet lives there (as much as you can, anyway). Staging your home makes it easier for buyers to envision themselves there, and it could help the home sell faster and for more money.

Keep Your Dog in Mind When Finding a New Home

While shopping for a home, keep your dog in mind. Look for a fenced yard, or if there isn’t one, find out if you can add one. Just keep the cost of adding one in mind when putting together your household budget. For example, the average price of a wood fence installation in Bowie, MD, is between $1,850 and $3,766.

A nice, big backyard is preferable, but it isn’t necessary. It all depends on you and your four-legged friend. Check out the flooring, too. Some flooring is better when it comes to pets. Carpet might seem ideal, but if you’ve ever house-trained a puppy or cleaned up after an elderly dog, you know that carpets can add complications — and hold on to smells. It’s better to look for hard floors such as hardwood, tile, or concrete. If you have an elderly dog, pay attention to the stairs. Sometimes it’s difficult for older dogs to climb them, so if there are steps, consider whether you can add ramps for your aging, arthritic pup. For example, you can pick up a portable ramp from Amazon for around $90.

Pay Attention to the Neighborhood

Keep an eye on the neighborhood, too. A dog-friendly neighborhood will have lots of people out enjoying time with their animals. You’ll see sidewalks, parks, pet supply stores, vets, and dog parks. If you can, ask the neighbors about dogs in the area. You also want to consider how far your home will be from work. If you can’t get home during the day, you may have to hire a dog walker to give your pup a potty break (a half-hour walk usually costs $18 - $22).

Moving with Your Dog

If your move is local, take your dog to the new house along with some of his favorite toys and treats. This way, he can sniff around and get familiar with the home, and the treats and play will help him associate the house with good times. If your move is long distance and an early visit isn’t possible, take your dog for a brisk walk before you take him inside. Then take him in on his leash and show him around the home. He’ll want to sniff everywhere, and that’s OK. He’s learning his surroundings.

When moving day arrives, you should consider sending your pup to a dog sitter to get him out of the way. This is also good for your dog because seeing all his beloved belongings and furniture taken away can be stressful. Having people coming and going from your home can result in open doors and other dangerous situations for your pup. And if your moving date is flexible, consider scheduling your move on a slow weekday. By doing so, you will be less stressed, and so will your pet.

Pack his things last and unpack them first. The sooner he is in his new spot the better, so he can be near the things that are familiar to him and start to adjust. Don’t wash his toys, beds, or blankets. The familiar scents will calm him. Don’t forget to take breaks from unpacking to play with your dog. He’s under a lot of stress, so reassurance that he isn’t losing his loving family is key. Plus, spending time with him helps him get the idea that this is his new home.

Start his regular walking routine as soon as possible. While walking, allow him some extra time to sniff around so he can get the lay of the land. He’ll be experiencing all-new smells in his new home, so it’s both exciting and scary for him.

Once you’re settled, your pooch will curl up next to you and be just as happy as he was before the move. After all, he’s still got you, and that’s what matters most.

About the Author:

Cindy Aldridge is a freelance writer and dog lover. She started Ourdogfriends.org as a fun side project for herself and to educate pet owners and potential pet owners about how dogs can enrich our lives. She enjoys writing about dogs and pet ownership.

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

The Cat Who Came to Thanksgiving in 2015

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Sun, 24 Mar 2019 16:21:00 +0000

I have a story - it's happy and then tragic -then it was okay for a while - but because of some amazing people at the Woman's job - it's now a great story. My name is T-Kitty (that name was chosen by the Man here - I didn't choose it nor did the Woman but it does sound sort of like a cool rap name so I'll keep it).

I have my own Facebook Page and 54 friends - some of whom live in other countries because I'm that intriguing. I also have human friends in my neighborhood who don't even know the names of the Woman and Man who own this house. They should get out more. I have very particular opinions about most everything and I love everyone. Really.

I was a much loved kitten. I had a Mom - she was an older human but she was great and we were happy. Then one day a white truck with flashing lights came to take her away and she never came back. So I waited. And waited. Then the house became cold- there was nobody to let me in so I moved into the basement since there was a hole in the foundation and I could come and go as needed. The neighborhood humans fed me a lot but they all had dogs who didn't like me so I just stayed in my home waiting for my Mom to come home. I waited for 4 years. One day this other woman comes by in a big car and calls over to me in a snowstorm. I came running over because she looked like she might have snacks and she scooped me up and took me away to another home, but this one was warm and the lights were on and there were a lot of people there who were petting me and feeding me some great food and I fell asleep on some fuzzy blankets. The next morning I had my own bowls filled to the brim and I thought - maybe my Mom wasn't coming home but she somehow sent these people to take care of me. I waited for my Mom for years living in a condemned house in the cold. Now I've lived here in this warm house for 4 years and I have a wonderful new family.

I will always love her - but because she loved me so much I am very affectionate and happy and adaptable. I sometimes give the Man and Woman here a hard time because they need the exercise, but to be honest - I think of them as my new Mom and Dad and Sister and Brother and even a tiny human who is my best friend.

It's great to meet you. I have to go have a snack and take a nap. I may go out a bit and run around in my yard for a while since the sun is shining, but I'll be back to chat now and again.

When I Attempt to Make a Doctor’s Appointment

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Sat, 23 Mar 2019 23:58:00 +0000

Support legislation to keep dialysis patients insured. Tell Congress to pass H. R. 3976

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Wed, 14 Feb 2018 21:46:00 +0000

This is not a dog story.

Kathleen with about 15% kidney function 1960's

This is not witty or heartwarming - but it has a happy ending. A happy ending the President of the United States Richard Nixon gave to our family in the form of signing H.R.1 in 1973.

He gave me my mother back. And right now there is a risk that Medicare covering people with End Stage Renal Failure could be impacted by our existing administration. So what can I do, a simple writer and teacher. Here is what I can do. I have a platform. A small platform, but nonetheless a platform. And just like celebrities who use theirs for political causes on award shows I'm using mine for the millions of people who are only alive because they have access to dialysis.

My Mother told me hours before she died "Make sure they know Lisa - you write it and make sure everyone knows." and I never really knew what she meant by that. What she would want "them" to know? There is so much. And maybe someday I will understand and do what she asked - and in a way maybe this is it? However right now I'm going to use this platform to tell you about my Mother. The short version is posted on facebook to generate support for passing H.R. 3976. The longer version - the story of my Mom and our family and how we almost lost her is here. I will send this link to the House in hopes that a story of pain and death and loss was changed for a story of life by another H.R. Bill in 1973. That they can act with compassion as well and the best parts of their humanity may be affected somehow by my story. A story they can also be the heroes of that voted for my Mom's life 45 years ago.

In 1972 my Mom's kidneys finally began to fail. She was 28 years old. The doctor sent her home to prepare to die, but she'd known they were failing since she was a young teenager and was able to adjust her diet and liquid intake and live on 10% less kidney function for years. She'd make it last again. In the following months it became clear that she was running out of options. In 1973 at the age of 29 she ran out of time.

They prepared my Dad for her death, how he would know it was imminent, what he could do, how it would look, how long it would take, how he should keep me away from her in the last stages because it would frighten me, (she would seize, it could be months or days, she'd hallucinate, she'd swell from uremia, she'd no longer recognize me, she'd gasp for breath, she could become combative - death from kidney failure is not a peaceful death unless you're medicated into unconsciousness which didn't seem like an option in the 1970s).

Let me reinforce one thing here. She was a 29 year old beautiful talented young woman, wife and mother, healthy in all other ways. Dialysis existed. It would save her. It was too expensive.

She starting furtively writing me urgent notes with handwriting that looked like scribble, hiding them for fun and telling me I could read them later "like a scavenger hunt in the future" she said. She finished sewing costumes for my school play because my teacher said "She doesn't look sick and you promised". They did not want my teacher to know the entire story since she could speak out-loud about it in front of me and I'd hear things they didn't want me to know - and they didn't trust her. There is a special place in hell for that teacher.

My Mom taught me all about things that Moms usually wait to talk to their daughter's about when they're young teens.

She left tiny notes in my dollhouse for me to discover over time, supposedly written by the characters from "The Borrowers", my favorite book at the time, that would explain that they were going to be there to watch over me for my Mom as long as I needed them. She made my Dad stock up on books - all the James Herriot's - made him promise to get the Stephen King's when they came out. They'd read them together on Friday nights at our house. I had joined in moving up from children's to adult books. It was sometimes silent in my apartment on Friday nights - all of us quietly reading. Those are my favorite memories.

They tried to help prepare my Dad to discuss it with me but he couldn't. He thought he'd be able to fix this somehow. Our extended family tried to help but they both pushed them away. This was something they both agreed on - that this experience was going to be private, that everything be as normal as it could be until it no longer was. I'm sure they were frustrated because everyone knew something was wrong and wanted to help - I know they were but it was intentional on their part. I only learned that a few years ago as an adult when my father told me this. They deliberately isolated us from friends and family as best they could. They didn't want me to hear anyone who might accidentally speak about it. They were going to hang onto normal as long as possible. One night it no longer was normal. An ambulance came. A day later my father brought my mother home and she went into her bedroom and didn't come out anymore. My father paced back and forth and kept calling people. I begged him to let me go in the bedroom and I'd hear her shout no from down the hall.

I heard moaning and crying and talking that made no sense. My Dad told me she was having a nightmare and sent me outside to play. I sat in the hallway in the building and listened. I listened to him trying to comfort her and and her screaming out and then crying. I listened to my father cry.

-->

I found out later they'd sent her home to die. My father was panicking and called my grandfather's doctor who had started to regularly call him after a visit with my Grandfather and had been very insistent on knowing more about my mother. He knew that we needed help now that the reality of it was upon him. He called, relatives came for me. That doctor came right away to our house in the middle of the night and called several people at Westchester Medical Center. (formerly known as Grasslands in Valhalla, NY), The ambulance was taking too long, He picked her up and drove her in his own car to Westchester County Medical Center.

H.R.1 had just passed and it was 1973. A miracle had happened. The President had signed into law that kidney failure at any age requiring dialysis be covered under Medicare. It was almost too late for her, but she was a survivor. It should've been too late at that point in uremic poisoning. She was in systemic organ failure by the time she was in the ICU. There was more than one miracle in those chaotic weeks.

Kathleen with me before my 8th Grade Concert

For this to be turned back at this day and age - or limited in some way so that the government can save money on dialysis patients is beyond reprehensible to me.

You may ask if we had insurance? Yes, we did. Good insurance from my Dad's job at a bank but my mother had a "pre-existing condition". They wouldn't pay. It covered him and it covered me. It would not cover her in anyway. So we never bought a house or went on a vacation or did many things families did because my parents chose life. And life is expensive for a person with kidney failure. So they knew that this was a waiting game, to live in the moment and hope for a miracle. Life is hard for many people - living under a toxic cloud of fear impacted them both irreparably - all of us I believe. As much as I was deliberately kept from the information as much as possible, I was a smart child. I knew something was wrong and I pretended for them that I didn't. I overheard things I never shared with them. They needed that.

Kathleen at 40 Getting ready to go to dialysis

Dialysis costs are more than the treatment. There are the medications, the tests, the equipment, the transportation. Life changes - and all of it costs. If you are fortunate enough to get a transplant the drugs are not always covered under Medicare. If you actually own a home or have any assets then be prepared to liquidate. Things may have changed in years since under Obama's no longer allowing pre-existing conditions clauses in insurance. I do not believe that is something we can rely on anymore. Things you expect to keep you safe, alive - are being attacked daily. And we all sit here and wait thinking "Well they can't do that". I'm sure in Germany in 1935 many people sat in their homes feeling safe thinking "Well surely they can't do that."

This is long. You may not share my politics. That doesn't matter. What matters here is that these are our families through no fault of their own relying on dialysis to continue living, being parents, children, employees, spouses, friends. I apologize for the length of this but felt compelled to share this. This is my small platform - and I'm using it. I do this for anyone and everyone who has been down the road my family has - some of us know each other in real life and on FB.

I share this in support of my Mother. Kathleen Rita Finnell Duffy 1941-2003.

Those numbers cause me a great deal of pain - but it's the dash between them that makes the difference. The dash that included wonderful memories, elementary school graduation, middle school dances and concerts, much needed motherly advice, having my friends know and confide in her, my cousins hanging out with their Aunt Kathy - the cool Aunt who tried to keep them out of trouble, (and sometimes got them in trouble), high school and college graduations, holidays and laughter, tears and long discussions, advice on raising her two grandchildren and never to wear lilac and moisturize more , the opportunity for my children to have a memory of their grandmother...and I had a Mom. Too much to write here Because We. Had. More. Time.

Kathleen with her first grandchild 1994. Her second would arrive
in 1996. They got to know each other.

But without H.R.1 the numbers would've said

Kathleen Rita Finnell Duffy 1941-1974.

The dash made all the difference.

In support of everyone living with ESRD and in memory of all who lived courageously for as long as they could with it. In Memory of my Mother Kathleen - the longest surviving continuous dialysis patient in New York State.

-->

9 Reasons to Tolerate your Mom When you are Returning from or Leaving for College

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Wed, 03 Aug 2016 16:12:00 +0000

You had a year of firsts! You lived on your own for almost a year, bought your own food, (sorta), came and went as you pleased whether it was in a town not far from home, a bustling urban mecca or a rural campus in another state where most of the students used words like “Pop” for soda or “Grinder” for a sub – your Mom was with you every second you were away, wondering if you were okay during the day, eating enough, being safe, trusting the right people, meeting new people she hasn’t known since they were 8 years old, rebounding from the inevitable hurt that comes with being a young woman and stepping into the world of relationships, getting enough sleep, feeling sick or sad. Everything you felt, your Mom felt too but was powerless to intervene, help or console you. Maybe for the first time you felt powerful; but your Mom felt powerless.

2 2. Even if you were an independent sort; your Mom still knew where you were, could slip into your room to watch you sleep (only for a second, okay two seconds; it’s not creepy – it’s sweet and you’ll get it someday when you have your own kids). Your Mom was still a Mother who had her children living in her home. Even though she knows you’ll always love her; she was sort of demoted from MOM to mom. Evidently that’s the goal of parenting; but it still hurts no matter how proud you are.

3 3. It’s a year of new beginnings for you, but your Mom likely focused on the year before – a year of endings that were exciting and memorable and bittersweet. They were even more so for you –but for you they signaled a door closing only for another more exciting door to open. In a way your Mom felt the closing of the door in an entirely different way; yet cheered you on, allayed your anxiety and tried to make the transition as smooth as possible. She knew that this was the last door you would walk through together as a pair. You were too busy and excited to realize it, as it should be. It was hard to not think about the first time you walked into a school holding hands when you were so resistant to let go. The ease at which you were eager to let go now was a sign of success….job well done….the creation of a self assured confident young woman such as you. It was still bittersweet.

4 4. A lot of the fun, the friends, the laughter, the noise and even the drama that followed you made life interesting and exciting – if at times a bit exhausting. It was a cloud of joy that followed you wherever you went and when you left; the silence was deafening.

5 5. She may not understand there are new boundaries right away…she will. Give her time and confide in her when you feel comfortable doing so because she will carry your secrets to her grave which is a promise all best friends make and keep – you’ve moved into an additional category - daughter/best friend. Respect that. It’s sacred. Give her some slack because she understands that there are some secrets that are yours alone – because she was your age once too. It is essential that every woman should have some great secrets to look back on when she’s 80. Your mother does, as did hers, and hers before – these are the times when you make them.

6 6. She’s learning too. Just like you are growing from a girl to a woman and then sometimes want to crawl back into the comfort of just being a girl, your Mom understands that and doesn’t see it as a weakness. If you need to, and you probably will, have to push her away at times to become who you are; she may need to be reminded of this. Don’t worry about offending her because she understands but it may take a while for her to accept it. She gets it because she remembers what it’s like to be 19, 20, 21 and the risks, dangers, incredible joy and excitement that waits behind every corner. She gets it because as old as she is; she sometimes feels that way too. It’s the inherent nature of being a woman – you are never too old to need your Mom.

7 7. You Mother loves you more than herself. That never changes. It may be annoying but as you get older you will understand and appreciate it more because when you’re young you just accept it as fact. Unfortunately, you may only understand it once she’s no longer here – but realize that she knew you would. There is a saying that having a daughter, (or a son), is like wearing your heart outside your body for the rest of your life. It’s a terrifying beautiful feeling that you will understand one day all too well and if life smiles upon you; you may get to share that together. Give her a hug, a Starbucks drink and promise not to text and drive and she’ll leave you alone for a while.

8 8. So, if your Mom is driving you a bit crazy right now, realize it’s because she’s feeling a bit crazy right now. Actually; she is a bit crazy right now but try and remember when you were 6 and made up a story and told your whole school your family was going on a 10 day cruise for 50 dollars a person and everyone’s parents and teachers called her to find out how she got this great deal and she covered for you. She had your back then.

S 9. She’ll have it forever.

The Summer I Grew Up; Living With Your Eyes Open - Guest Author Emma Korpics

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Tue, 26 Jul 2016 01:02:00 +0000

Emma in 2009

Years ago I featured my daughter as a guest blogger on this site. Tales from a Dog Catcher had just been published and I think she may have been going into 5 grade. We were on vacation in North Carolina and I interviewed her as my guest celebrity. It was then that I realized how funny she was...not in that cute little kid kind of way, but edgy, witty, tongue in cheek funny.
Here's the blog post from 2009.

Emma in 2016

Emma doesn't let people in until she's very comfortable with you. It's an honor really - harder to achieve than the Pulitzer. But when she does; it's totally worth the wait. As time went on she started to let others know she was funny - and then onto high school where she gained a reputation for being hysterical, quick and witty. She also could sing and dance like she'd had years of training - something else she'd mostly been keeping to herself. She was in select choir in elementary and middle school - she didn't even tell us she was auditioning. She was in the high school choirs, select, chamber, show choir...she was in the Musicals. We were lucky if she even told us when these concerts were. She was amazing. and even though it has been a number of years now since she's begun to allow the world to see this side of herself; I'm still constantly surprised.

SO...Just when you thought that was it; there was more. I'm finding that she can express herself as well on paper as she can on a stage. I had an idea she could do this - but I didn't know to what extent. That she could cause me, a 53 year old cynical seasoned (better than old) adult to stop and pause and really reevaluate my thinking....my perception of life.

"You don't realize how fast life is going until you really look into how much time has passed between each memory. I think about when I was sitting in the car as my mom drove me around because I didn't have a license. It feels like that was simultaneously yesterday and a lifetime ago.

...Obviously once you leave home and you fave to fend for yourself (for the most part), you start to grow as an individual. However, I'm not talking about individuality or relying on yourself - but growing up in the context of perception....time is precious and every minute has to be taken advantage of -and in this I have found a way to make an experience out of everything."

(CLICK THE LINK BELOW TO READ EMMA'S ARTICLE)

July 25, 2016
The Summer I Grew Up
Living with your eyes open.

Emma Korpics

WWW.THEODYSSEYONLINE.COM Photo Credits: Emma Korpics

https://www.theodysseyonline.com/summer-grew-up

Tea Party in Heaven

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Sun, 08 May 2016 04:30:00 +0000

Laila:"Janie, Janie..Jane Elizabeth Morgan are you eating enough vegetables? Coffee is not a food group. What's wrong with these girls...don't you think by now they would be able to handle these things themselves. I bet they don't know we can see from up here."

Kathleen "I know. I just saw Lisa eat cake for dinner with cool whip, like she thinks I couldn't see that. At least she finally bought moisturizer and it only took her 20 years to do it. They both need to slow down and take care of themselves. At least she's neater now, except her closet....I can't even begin to tell you....."

Laila: "Oh. I remember that closet.”

Man, (newer arrival) appears with Scottish Cap: "Oh, you have no idea how bad that closet really was." Both those girls thought they got a lot by me....sneaking cats into the apartment. Hey, did you know that there are no calories in cake here?

(Passes entire pepperidge farm cake over to Laila and Kathleen.)

Laila: Oh, I can't. I'm diabetic

Kathleen: Oh, I can't, too much potassium and magnesium "

Man with cap: "Ladies, I've only been here a short time but I know something you don’t....you can eat whatever you want now. It's okay."

All sit down and start eating cake. Blueberry Hill plays in the background.

Laila: "Thanks Fats!"

Kathleen: "Nice of Fats Domino to stop by".

Another man with a Scottish cap comes over, with each step he leans towards the right, walking sort of sideways. He’s kicking a soccer ball. Sits down.

2^nd Man with Scottish Cap: "Aye, you'll be having the kettle on won't you.?"

Kathleen: “Oh I’m so glad to see you! And you brought your soccer ball.”

2^nd Man in Scottish Cap: “It’s a football”.

Kathleen: “OH!” I’m sorry, I forgot for a minute”

Two lovely lassies come over and join the group. They’re wearing pretty dresses and linking arms.

Kathleen: "Tea?"

Ladies: Aye, a wee bit. Some cake too. There's no calories here. Do you have any scones?’

2^nd Man in Scottish Cap pulls a bag out of his pocket. “Of course girls….I wouldn’t forget that. I brought these just for you."

The Lovely Lassies start giggling and chatting, and laughing harder at their private jokes. They’re quite the riot together.

2nd Man in Scottish Cap Looks around. "Have you a piano around here, preferably one with just black keys"

Fats Domino: "Absolutely...after we finish lunch I'll bring you over there. Just want one more slice of cake, you know...since there's no calories here."

Laila and Kathleen: Yes, we just found that out.

Tall Polish looking man walks over, he's about 6 feet 3. "Got enough for me. I brought a three foot sandwich. Sorry there's not enough to share...Are you watching those two?”.

All: Yes.....that's what we were talking about.

Tall Polish Man: Those two...thick as thieves as usual.

They all begin to have lunch, cake, tea and Polish man decides to share sandwich.

First man with Scottish cap: "They're going to be okay, aren't they?"

Laila: "Yes. They will, we all did a good job.”

Kathleen: "They'll be okay, they just don't know it yet. It's hard."

Polish Man: “Yeah, we did good with them.“

Second man with Scottish Cap: "Aye, we did didn't we?"

The Two Lovely Lassies nod their heads. "It takes time, you remember?"

Everyone nods. A man in purple arrives, he's young to be there.

Laila: "Tea?"

Man in purple: “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.” Looks at Laila "Your daughter really liked my music, she wore the album out."

Laila: “Yes, she did. She played it all the time. You’re very talented.”

Fats Domino takes a seat: Yes you are…I think you got some of your ideas from me!

Man in Purple: “Yes, as a matter of fact I did….there’s a lot of people I’m seeing around her that influenced me.”

Gets up to go see them.

Laila: Finish your cake first, then you may go visit your friends. Just be back by the time the streetlights come on.

Man in Purple: “Yes Ma’am.”

Tall African American with amazing voice arrives; "Oh cake....now I can have as much as I want!"

Polish Man: "Yes, you can eat as much as you want now….no worries about Diabetes or a stroke. Have a big slice."

Cuts a piece.

Polish Man: "Is that too much?"

Tall African American man with amazing voice: “No, it's never too much, never too much, never too much."

The ladies offer the man in Purple some more cake. He nods and smiles.

Man in Purple: "Sure" he says. "Let's go Crazy."

Sequel Preview! ... More Tales from a Dog Catcher

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Mon, 11 Jan 2016 02:47:00 +0000

In the course of my duties as an animal control officer, I was sometimes often responsible for doing things I didn't want to do. Sure. Everyone can relate to that. It's work. Some people feel this way all the time; others some of the time - for example - using the copier machine at my job is definitely NOT one of my all-time favorite things. "Why not" you ask? "Well that sounds likes tons of fun". I guess I'm just not a fan, especially since it's usually not working or stops working the moment it senses I'm in the room standing in front of it. Now, let's say if one of my responsibilities was breaking the copier, chopping it up with an ax, and I mean really annihilating it, repeatedly - and then dancing on the wreckage while yelling "There you go - how do you like that?!" than that would be an entirely different story. That would be a story of vengeance that would follow with a story about the ways one looks for another job. But I digress.

The story segment below could be construed to be a series of sad events - an isolated eccentric older woman facing an eviction and having to give up some of her beloved pets in the process, unfortunately feeling that the mobs of feral cats that she fed daily who accumulated in the lot next to her building were her pets as well - an opinion not shared by her landlord. However; (especially those who are familiar with the first book), you will find that what may begin as a common and tragic tale is always something more. It could be unusual and a little dangerous, involve blood shed, high ranking police officials, in full dress uniform en-route to an important ceremony, on their knees in a parking lot yelling into the back of a car and then arguing about who's better at it. Some hysteria...mass hysteria as well as the more common humorous type, and surprises. Always surprises.
Below is a segment from the sequel to Tales from a Dog Catcher...only the very first part since there is so much more to the story. This is a promise that the book you ask me about is in the final stages and coming soon. I just wanted to give you a little taste of what's to come and thank you for your patience and continued loyalty. I hope you enjoy this small preview from More Tales from a Dog Catcher. - Lisa

The General (chapter segment)

After bringing the two carriers downstairs, I saw the owner of the building waiting for me. I braced myself for what was to come and started to walk over to the car. The landlord was still really mad and since the problem of Miss Sally was only half solved by evicting her, he still had to deal with getting rid of the cats that hung around outside. It seemed that he still had quite a bit of mad left in him that he had to get out of his system. "I got a business all lined up to come in here lady, I mean Miss, um warden person… these cats will drive people away. I want them out of here, all of them, that crazy old woman is gone, but those…” He hesitated for a moment and took in the scene before him. A crowd was beginning to gather, and within them, possibly some potential customers for whatever he planned on turning this building in to. I could almost visualize him applying the brakes in his head .

“Those…stinkin’ cats!”

Clearly, this was not his first choice of words. He knew what he wanted and even though I liked Miss Sally, and I really didn’t like him…none of that mattered. Somehow, I had to get these cats out of here and find a way to dissuade them from coming back, a complex process that I knew he would not understand or tolerate. It would take too much time. I knew that after a while when no one was feeding them anymore they would move on to somewhere else, although he didn’t look like the kind of person who could wait that long. It couldn’t be done overnight. They would come back until they saw that there was nothing more to eat, but that could take weeks. I tried to explain that to him, but it wasn’t having it. It wasn’t the immediate solution he wanted. He stood there with his arms crossed, glaring at me; the current target of his hostility.

On top of the rest of his complaints, he had just informed me that his taxes paid my salary. You would think with so many people paying my salary that I would be driving a sports car and vacationing on a warm tropical island somewhere…but this was not the case. I was standing on a sidewalk in the middle of the city on a cold day with the wind making me realize I should've opted for the long underwear underneath my uniform pants. A growing audience was waiting to see what I, and their tax dollars, would do next. The crowd wanted action.

And that was when I spotted The General.

Miss Sally had named him “The General” and it suited him. He was a grizzled orange cat - clearly a veteran of many battles. He was probably the scariest cat I had ever seen. He had scars criss-crossing the side of his face and missing fur in other areas. Half of his left ear was missing from some conflict in his checkered past, but mostly…he was mean and proud of it. He was pretty bold for a feral cat. I would sometimes get calls from people complaining a wild orange cat had chased them in the middle of the city. I knew immediately who they were referring to. He wouldn’t attack them; at least he never did before. His modus operandi was to charge at strangers walking by and as soon as they reacted, turn and fly back in the other direction. He would run out and chase cars as they were pulling away. He was one of the few wild cats there who didn’t mind getting a little close to people, however not for affectionate purposes. He seemed to enjoy harassing them and showed no fear of humans. It was this feature of his personality that led me to my idea.

The General as the unofficial leader, (or official leader if there is some type of secret feral cat fraternal organization –sort of like the Masons), of the feral cats, was usually the first to come out and eat when Miss Sally set out the cans of cat food in the back of the building. Perhaps I could trap The General? I knew I would have to bring him to the shelter. He was hostile, aggressive and he was the one I got the most phone calls about. Maybe with him gone, the rest would go off on their own more quickly. It was time to do my job and put all emotion aside. I often had to do things I didn’t want to do, and then gave myself headaches trying to figure out a way to make something positive result from a bad situation. Sometimes there was no upside. It was what it was. I knew if I baited the trap and left, he would just manage to get to the food and back out without tripping the latch that would shut him in. He was too smart for that. I had had twice trapped cats from this empty lot next to Miss Sally’s building, but never him. Any cat worth earning the rank of general wouldn’t be trapped that easily. But, maybe if I set the trap up and waited there, I could grab the trap up the moment he went for the food and shut the latch myself. I had a feeling that it wouldn’t take that long. I knew I had to do something with the growing crowd waiting for my next move, and The General might be bold enough not to mind an audience.

I went over to my car and pulled it up onto the sidewalk. Yanking open the back door which was heavy and unwieldy, even without the wind, I pulled out the trap. Maybe this would work, but even if it didn’t it would be obvious to the owner of the building, as well as to the people in the crowd, that I was trying. I hated being in this position, but I had to do my job. I had to put the thoughts about what would happen to The General, if I was able to catch him, out of my mind. I knew in my heart that the General was a cat with little hope of rehabilitation. Maybe he wouldn’t go for it. Maybe he was smart enough to tell it was a set-up. Regardless of how grouchy The General was, I didn’t want to be the one to bring him to the place of his ultimate demise. More and more lately, this seemed to be the primary purpose of my job, but I couldn’t let myself think about that right now. I had taxpayers waiting to see what I would do next.

I set the trap and grabbed a can of cat food out of the car and popped open my glove compartment to get the can opener. I had dry food in the back of the car, but that wouldn’t do it. I opened the can, choosing fish since I knew it would smell the strongest. I set it up and walked back to my car. Looking at my watch, I saw that I was late to another call. If he didn’t jump on this opportunity soon, I would have to leave and come back later and try again. I knew this wouldn’t go over too well with the onlookers, not to mention the landlord, I couldn’t sit around here all day and wait. I had to stay long enough to appear like I was doing my job while ignoring the other calls that were also part of my job. I would probably not be able to catch this cat in this last ditch effort to perform the impossible so I would be NOT doing my job in two places at once, Tax payers love that. - but sometimes appearances were more important than real work in public service - something that still didn't make sense to me.

It was about 10 minutes after I set up the trap, that I saw a flash of orange approaching from the side of the building making its way towards the trap. No way. I couldn’t be this lucky, but it was actually him. The General. He ignored all of us, brazenly heading for the can of food. It seemed as though The General was going to decide his fate with his stomach. He looked over at the crowd with disdain, and slowly sauntered towards the trap. Everyone was standing still, so apparently chasing people wasn’t in the cards. Slowly, I backed over towards my car and leaned in to open the glove box again. I grabbed the new lead lined gloves the Chief had recently purchased for me.

“They use these to handle primates at the San Diego Zoo!” He’d told me with a grin. He seemed very pleased with his purchase.

“Guaranteed to be impenetrable.” The Chief put them on and admired them.

“You’ll probably be the only A.C.O. in the county to have these!” he did a few air-boxing moves and took them off, somewhat reluctantly handing them to me.

“Now don’t go and lose these, they weren’t cheap.”

“Yes Chief” I'd said and took them out of his hands. I wondered if I would ever have to use these…hopefully not for any primates. Although in this town; I was learning that almost anything was possible.

“These are finally going to come in handy,” I thought to myself while pulling them on.
If I was going to get anywhere near The General, I would certainly need these. By the time I turned around, The General was already in the trap sniffing at the cat food. I started to walk over towards the empty lot. He didn’t move but just sniffed the food and started to eat. I quietly approached him from behind. I knew I only had a split second to do this right. I gave him a quick push and quickly snapped up the trap and tried to slide in the latch that would close it.

It was jammed! But wait! I had on my new invincible gloves, I thought why not? and blocked his escape with my hand, keeping the door shut and grasping the wires to hold the trap and trap door all at the same time. There was a loud “yaaay” and some clapping came from the crowd. This was really getting to be too much. Didn’t any of these people have jobs?

All of a sudden, I heard a loud pop and felt like someone had squeezed my hand as hard as they could. The General was howling and banging around inside the trap so hard that I could hardly hold onto it.
All I have to do is get him in the car and get out of here. I thought to myself. I sort of limped over to the car, banging the heavy trap against my leg. This cat wasn’t as heavy as I thought he would be but the fact that he was howling and thrashing around didn’t help matters any. I was having a hard time holding onto the trap but I needed to use my other hand to open the back door. I must have caught my hand in it somehow and the gloves were stiff, making all of this more difficult. The General kept howling and hissing, but he wasn’t as large as I thought he would be. I’d held on to Dobermans and Rottweilers easier than this. Why was it so heavy? That was when I heard the crowd again.

“Oooooooh!!”.

Really? Didn’t these people have anything else to do? I turned to look at the landlord who looked different. Paler...sort of gray. Oh no...I hoped he wasn't going to have a heart attack.

“Miss, um, Officer…are you ok. Do you need, uh, something?”

But the landlord, as ill as he looked, seemed more subdued than he was before, actually almost nice.
"No thank you. I can do this." I said. I opened the back door with my free hand and struggled to slide the trap into the back seat and tried to close the door to make sure that The General didn’t escape. I was pushing as hard as I could, but my right hand wasn’t cooperating. I turned to face the landlord to ask him what he was talking about when I looked down at the sidewalk and noticed that I had stepped in what looked like a puddle of blood. “Oh no! Had I hurt The General? Did I close his paw in the trap or something?”

That's when I saw the stream of blood pouring down my arm from underneath my invincible lead lined gloves. How was he bleeding through my gloves? Why didn't I feel my hand anymore. Then it finally clicked. I suddenly realized why I had been having such a hard time holding onto The General.

Then there was a loud crash. Turning from the growing puddle of blood, I saw the trap lying on the ground. I hadn’t even felt my hand let go of it. I watched as The General took off like a bullet towards the group of people who had been watching the scene unfold. There was some screaming and a bit of chaos as taxpayers ran for cover. The General zigzagged around the crowd and then ran off into the distance but stopped and turned around abruptly, staring the crowd down. This was the feline equivalent of a Clint Eastwood movie. And that was when he started to charge back in our direction.

He was heading straight for me. It was too late to run and my hand was now throbbing in pain. I mustn’t have felt it right away due to that adrenalin rush people get when they’re injured. Someone who just got hit by a car will tell you. “Well I felt a bump, and it wasn’t all that bad.” Meanwhile their leg is still under the tire.

Things were starting to appear as though they were in slow motion and my feet felt extra heavy, like they were glued to the sidewalk. Everything started looking wavy. Well, this was how it was all going to end I suppose. Maybe I’d get a statue dedicated to me in the middle of town. No, probably just a plaque. I'd settle for a plaque - it would cost less tax money.
I closed my eyes and put my arms up in front of my face and waited for the white light.

I heard a loud bang and then more screaming from the crowd. I hadn’t felt anything hit me. I opened my eyes to see that some of the people in the crowd had adopted my exact posture.

“He hit your car door and then took off up Division Street!” a woman in the crowd yelled over to me.

“No, he hit the car door and ran under it. I saw it!” a man shouted.

“Nah, he’s not under there” said a boy who was on his hands and knees on the sidewalk looking under the car. He looked like he was about 11 years old. Why wasn’t he at school?

A murmuring started to develop among the crowd. It seemed that there was some disagreement over which direction the General had gone. The owner of the building looked a bit shook up and whatever animosity he had toward me in the beginning had seemed to evaporate. He started to approach me and I noticed that he still looked a little pale. I thought some people can't take the sight of blood. It never bothered me even though in this case; it was my own. I mustn’t have looked much better myself because he walked over to me and gently removed the radio that I was clutching in my good hand.

“I think you should sit down Miss.” He said holding onto my radio.
I looked over at my right hand and pulled the glove off with my left. It didn’t look as bad as I thought it would, considering how much I was bleeding, but when I tried to move my fingers, nothing happened.

“Could you do me a favor and …help me call headquarters?” I asked.
There was no way I could use the radio without pushing the transmit button.

“Uh, sure. Why don’t you let me hold that for you? I’ll press the button and you talk.”

“Okay” I said and sat down on the hood of the car. Blood started dripping down my arm again.

“You just sit there and …well..put your arm back up and hold it up, good....yes, like that. Now hold onto that hand with as much pressure as you can.”

He held the radio up in front of me. I could have asked him to use the emergency switch on the side of the radio because that would signal that an “officer needed assistance”. It would have sent every police officer in town racing over to me like I’d been shot. I’d only used it once before and this was no way even close to how dangerous that previous situation had been. No, I needed to get some help, but not that much. I didn’t want to draw too much attention to myself, although I had a feeling I’d already lost that battle.

“306 to 844. I’m at the 100 block of Division Street. I’ve been bit.”

Instantly Will responded from the dispatch desk.

“Officer’s responding. ...are you okay?”

“Affirmative” I said and explained, as briefly and calmly as I could so they would't send the cavalry, what had happened.

I held onto my injured hand to try and control the bleeding. It didn’t look that bad, just two perfectly round puncture holes right in the middle of my palm surrounded with a large purple bruise that was starting to grow larger by the second. So much for the invincible lead lined gloves.

I tried moving my fingers again and to my relief I thought I saw them move a little. I heard sirens in the distance and I looked down Division Street to see who they’d sent for me. I felt my hand was swelling up and I was afraid to look at it again, but when I did, I was surprised at how benign it looked compared to how it felt at the moment. My hand throbbing, I sat on the hood of my car and waited, trying to move my fingers without much success. I would need a ride to the Emergency Room. I looked at the crowd. It seemed to have thinned out a bit yet there was still quite a large group just standing there staring at me. I thought that maybe I should say something. This was getting odder by the moment.

“I’m okay. Thank you for your concern. You can go now." I said.

The crowd seemed to collectively turn around and walk away. I thought I might have heard a sigh of disappointment. The boy was still standing there while his mother was trying to pull him away.

“I’m sorry you got hurt.” He said.
“Thanks” I said. That was sweet. Then I thought about it for a moment and asked

“Why aren’t you in school today?”

“I got braces…see” he said and gave me a big grin. He certainly had a significant amount of metal in his mouth.

“Impressive.” I said.

“Thanks.” He said.
“You’re welcome.” I said. Then he and his mother walked away. Aside from him, I just couldn’t wrap my head around why all of these adults had nowhere else to be considering it was a week day. The previously angry building owner - now apparent friend, was waving the police car over towards us. For someone constantly trying to stay under the radar, I usually ended up doing the opposite. My friend Nick pulled up and shut off the sirens. I was glad they hadn't called the ambulance. This was a quick trip to the emergency room - and thankfully it was busy enough today that I didn't have to be anymore the focus of attention as I already was. I sighed. Finally, for the moment it seemed as though there was quiet.

“Show’s over” I whispered to myself under my breath....but what I didn't know was that it had only just begun.

More Tales from a Dog Catcher (c) 2016 Lisa Duffy-Korpics
Photo courtesty of Mark Rogers Photography: San Francisco Pet Photography

Section from "The Pine Kneedlers of Bay Shore". (working title)

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Sun, 10 Jan 2016 20:54:00 +0000

Belinda looked around the "space". Why in the world apartments, or condos or any place where people lived these days was referred to as "space" instead of: "hall" or "room"...made no sense. Supposedly it sounded trendy...or larger. Who knew?

"This is a lovely open space; would work perfectly for your book collection. You could really showcase your collection here. It would be quite the showpiece."

Since when did having books in shelves comprise a "collection". Why was everything a "showpiece" and small 3 by 5 foot blocks of empty areas considered a "unique space."

It was bullshit. All of it. On top of that; it was all bullshit in the shade of beige. The "neutral palette" was in fact nothing but different shades of beige. It reminded Belinda of the bland pureed food she had once used a syringe for to push down patient's throats when she was still a nurse on the geriatric service.

None of this looked like the advertisement. None of this looked like the model. Why would they show people the model and raise their expectations and then bring them into the mashed pureed "space" they wanted you to pay over half a million dollars for. It was indeed, utter bullshit, but Belinda was not the kind of woman to say things like that. Only recently had she become the kind of person who actually thought things like this. Grief can do that to you. Anger can do that to you....apparently getting old can do that to you.

"So?" asked the optimistic Brittany "sales liaison", who Belinda thought was likely a receptionist who was the only one willing to work on weekends in the off season - but being a "liaison" sounded enticing, cosmopolitan. And after all; they had made her business cards. The way Brittany was dressed it didn't appear as though she needed the job. Her purse alone probably cost as much as Belinda's entire wardrobe. She had to stop being so negative. Brittany was probably younger than her own daughter. She knew it wasn't polite to make blanket statements like that; even if they were just thoughts. Blanket thoughts were just as rude.

"Would you like to look at our 3D visual of available lots? They're filling up pretty quickly so it might be a good idea, you know, just in case you wanted to put a deposit on a nice spot before it's taken."

The hard sale. That is what this was, Belinda thought to herself. Quick. Buy the beige blocks of "space" before someone else did. Someone else with nobody to look with them because they're all alone now and everyone knows nothing makes life exciting for AARP members like beige boxes to huddle in until you're found one day not moving and they can sell your beige "space" for the going rate depending on whether you died during a buyers or sellers market.

Belinda realized she was in a bad mood. "Don't make decisions during a time of stress" was the advice Cyndi at the Grieving Group gave everyone. Cyndi with an "i" said this frequently. Cyndi wore Crocs, even in the Winter. This would've usually caused Belinda to mildly distrust her; but for some reason it just made her seem more genuine. She had a point. Just like her advice to not go grocery shopping when you're hungry or after you've eaten. You're not making decisions for the right reasons. At this rate; Belinda wouldn't make a decision for the next 20 years.

"I think I'll come back next weekend if that's okay?" She said, knowing that it was highly unlikely she would, at least until Cyndi with the Crocs heard about this and brought her back personally. Until then though; there was no need to ruin Brittany's day. After all; she'd left her Sudoku book at the receptionist desk to show Belinda around. It was hard to get back into Sudoku once you stopped, especially if you were on a roll.

Belinda left and got into her new non obtrusive 4 wheel drive Subaru. It may have been a sensible choice since two of her three kids had decided to move up north and she'd need it for driving in the snow, but at least she'd bought a red one. They'd had beige, white and gray....but she chose red. Belinda was determined not to buy a car in a color that reminded her of everything her life had recently become.

Neutral. Stagnant...Pureed.

The Things we Leave Behind

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Sat, 14 Mar 2015 23:06:00 +0000

The things we leave behind

Smile at our ignorance
They know they're always there
We pretend we don't know
But we do

They follow you in rare moments of silence

And call your name

There are moments when you catch a glimpse of them

Out of the corner of your eye
In the lyrics of a song
In the fog of a dream
In the eyes of a stranger
In the sound of the rain

And you can choose to look
And listen

Or avert your gaze
Or think of other things
Or turn off the volume
Or cover your ears

But the things you leave behind
Are beside you all the time
And will follow you with vigilance
Until such time
That you become
The thing that's left behind

Chocolate caliente para el alma de las madres - found in Library of Congress in Argentina

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Mon, 28 Apr 2014 00:45:00 +0000

Surprising things on a Sunday evening - I was looking on Google for a Wikipedia article on Siberian Huskies that included my book in the index as a resource of information, (which is very strange to me - cool, but strange), and found that a story I wrote for the Chicken Soup for the Soul Series many years ago in a book called Chocolate Caliente Para el Alma e Las Madres which translates into "Hot Chocolate for the Soul of Mother's"

I think it was Mother's Soul 2 because the title of the story was "Crecer" which translates "To Grow." I have a story about my mother entitled "Growing Up" (Publishers often choose titles and this story was one of my earliest ones. As time went on I was allowed to choose my own titles and do more of my own editing.)

I wonder why hot chocolate for Spanish speaking mothers? Does soup not mean the same thing? Is soup perceived as less soothing as it is in the English speaking parts of the world? Maybe the reputation for chicken soup helping all ills is one that is significant only in certain parts of the world. I, for one, would definitely find hot chocolate pretty soothing, or at least as comforting as chicken soup. I happen to find soft vanilla ice cream sundaes with hot fudge and home made whipped cream topped with a cherry very soothing. Can you imagine that title having to be translated into multiple languages and cultures?

Knowing that people all over the world can read about my mother in their native language, about the obstacles she faced and her amazing courage - along with the ability she possessed to ensure our lives were as normal as possible even though this must've been so incredibly difficult, is so profound to me.
I didn't totally appreciate or understand this until I had children of my own, but isn't that the way it is with most of the really important things in life? You realize things in hindsight so much clearer than when you're in the midst of it.

So, if you happen to be in Argentina, check out the Biblioteca del Congreso de la Nacion Argentina. It's in Buenos Aires and looks like an absolutely beautiful building with multiple activities to get involved with.

Hasta la próxima vez - y me comprometo a comenzar realmente a terminar la secuela. Estoy casi ahí. El amor para todos!

Coming Soon...The Sequel to Tales from a Dog Catcher

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Tue, 24 Sep 2013 22:47:00 +0000

"I'm ready for more Tales from a Dog Catcher!"

It's taken a number of years. Two thirds of the book has been completed for a while, (pre-final edits), but finally...the sequel to Tales from a Dog Catcher will be coming soon!

Right now it's still a work in progress - but since so much of it has been sitting on my hard drive for years while I was busy with other projects and issues, it shouldn't be too long before it's available. I'm very excited - and I hope you are too.

Mysteries will be solved. There will be action and adventure, bloodshed (mine), experiences with the super natural, rescues, close calls, reunions, lessons learned, revelations realized, bravery in the most unlikely places and even a possible love interest - and of course as usual - the requisite odd "only in Annesville NY" situations abound. They could possibly be more outrageous than the stories from the first book. You be the judge!

You'll laugh more, you'll cry, but most of all I hope you enjoy another set of adventures with the clumsy well meaning animal control officer from Annesville Police Department as she fends off violent joggers, gets stuck in an underground sewer pipe, is sent to the hospital after being attacked, recruited to spy on a motorcycle gang, bumps into a TV legend and more as she experiences a wide variety of humilating but hysterical situations in her efforts to help the animals and people of a small town along the Hudson River.

Most importantly - the strong and unconditional bond between people and their pets is the major theme throughout the book. I'll keep you updated and I thank you for your continued support. 17, 5 Star Reviews on Amazon, 135 3.8 out of 4 Reviews on Goodreads.com, Library Systems across the world - I can't thank you enough. Your support continues to mean a great deal to me.

Thank you to my readers across the globe. I hope to create another book you will love just as much as the first.

For All my Twisted Sisters...

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Tue, 16 Jul 2013 18:49:00 +0000

I just received a letter from a reader who had been touched by "Tales from a Dog Catcher" in a way that was very different from the usual reader email I get.

This reader touched my heart because she understood firsthand the chapter "Odd Blessings" which is the only chapter in the book that mentions and explains the background of my scoliosis. I included it because it played such an important role in my life in myriad ways - many very positive.

For those of you who read the book, or know me personally, you know I had scoliosis surgery as a teenager and went through braces and casts and all the other exciting adventures one had to go through in the late 70's to treat it. Thankfully there are now amazing newer treatments and surgical options that allow someone with the need for scoliosis spinal fusions with instrumentation to be able to keep their ability to twist and move normally. These improvements also prevent the problems that resulted down the road for those of us with the original Harrington rod surgeries when we began to hit the 30 year mark post surgery.

I realized today that I hadn't mentioned any of this in my blog and that some of my readers who aren't my usual readers, animal lovers or people who enjoy heartfelt stories - but perhaps people who have also traveled the the same road that I have in reference to scoliosis, may need this information. So this blog entry isn't too funny or profound, but necessary. I hope that there are others who can benefit from feeling that they weren't alone during that time. There are indeed many of us from that era - and I want to thank you Ana, for letting me know how much that chapter meant to you...from our shared experiences from youth to now...we really do truly live parallel lives!

I feel an explanation as to why this blog hasn't been updated as it should ...it also may help others who share my story, or at least get me out of trouble with those who think I've been lazy or irresponsible...although the jury's still out on those last two reasons as well!

In October I had another spinal surgery to fuse the rest of my spine and repair some of the damage caused by the initial 1978 procedure. No one could see that down the road the state of the art surgery for scoliosis in the 1970's would create further problems in the future. At that time it was a miracle that I'll always be grateful for. With that said; I've been "oddly blessed" again by an amazing team - a neurosurgeon and orthopedic surgeon who work together to take on the complicated spine problems us "scoli's" develop as we age when many other major hospitals and orthopedic surgeons are resistant to take the chance.

I am forever grateful to Orthopedic surgeon Dr. Seth Neubardt M.D. and Neurosurgeon Dr. Jack Stern M.D., PhD. of Brain & Spine Surgeons of NY, for being able to not only repair the immediate damage but also halt the progression of my flat-back syndrome which would've resulted in an additional incredibly dangerous and invasive surgery down the road. I went for many consultations and by the time I found them I had lost the ability to walk any further than a few feet. I was using a wheelchair. No doctor would take this on without two separate invasive surgeries that would've resulted in a year-long recuperation with a questionable success rate for someone my age.

Instead - I had surgery in October and was back at work full-time in January back in the classroom!

Thank you Dr. Neubardt and Dr. Stern and the entire staff at the Brain & Spine Surgeons of NY. For anyone on the east coast with similar issues - I highly recommend them. They're not only incredibly talented, but professional and accessible. During Hurricane Sandy, Dr. Neubardt had no power for two weeks, yet he still found the time, during the height of the storm, to check up on me at home from his cell phone.

On a side note - I found a scoliosis Barbie online! I could've really used that as a kid. How cool is that?!
Or creepy...
I think I'll go with cool.

photo courtesy of me :)

Photographer that Gave Amazing Gift to the World...Needs Some of our Love Now

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Mon, 28 Jan 2013 23:47:00 +0000

Hannah Stonehouse Hudson touched the world. She probably touched your heart and you didn't even know it.

Especially if you are a reader of this blog - because so many of you are animal rescuers, animal lover's and basically just beautiful compassionate people who understand that animals have souls and that it is our privilege and responsibility to care of them while they're here. To make their lives happy and safe and escort them from puppy or kitten hood to the harder years when they experience a myriad of problems that we all will face some day, if we aren't already facing them now. We can tell someone when we hurt. They can't. Hannah captured this in her famous photograph below. Unfortunately, Hannah lost her 34 year old husband, Jim Hudson, to a tragic accident on January 26th, 2013. .

Please click on this link to help Hannah with expenses and support which she needs now. She not only lost her husband but his business and income and there are so many things she has to deal with now, she needs any help to make this even a tiny bit easier. Below is an article about the accident and more information on the Hudson family.

http://www.giveforward.com/hudsonfamily

Wisconsin angler, husband of 'John and Schoep' photographer dies after snowmobile goes through ice
Twin Cities Pioneer Press. (c) 2013.

Transitions...Sending my Son to College

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 21:20:00 +0000

You Are Not a Blogger! Accurate Criticism from Luann and an Attempt to Right this Wrong.

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Mon, 06 Aug 2012 18:50:00 +0000

I received an email from my best friend Luann who in essence sort of summed up this blog lately with one word. Boring.

Impending Storm. (c) Eric Metzler. 1950's

She's right. I have neglected this blog and I am truly sorry. The simple fact that she still checks it shows you what a loyal friend she is. Never one to mince words as evidenced by her accusation above - I am going to try and write something here that is not boring. Since this is a blog for a nonfiction book, I suppose my post should be nonfiction as well. So, in reference to my exciting life at the moment - I decided to write a brief description of yesterday as it really happened...then I will attempt to jazz it up.

Sunday, August 5th 2012. It was a stormy day. My husband asked me to check accuweather to see how close the storm was. This involved finding the live radar site, refreshing it at intervals since it would freeze, and then tracking the coming storm on the screen as it approached. Apparently I did not do this quickly enough, or well enough, as Jason seemed irritated at the speed at which I was checking the track of the storm. The dog sat on my lap. Finally, the storm arrived and he closed all the blinds in the family room to go stand in the kitchen, where he opened the blinds wide, to watch the storm standing up, several feet away from where he was sitting when he was waiting for the storm. For some reason he felt this made sense.The storm came. There were several comments made about the storm. It ended.

Sunday August 5th, 2012. The darkening sky was ominous. Something in the air hinted at what was to come - the stillness, the absence of sound, a thick, almost palpable sense of dread settled in among us. Watching the approaching storm clouds we knew we were powerless in the path of this monster. Our faithful dog, relying on primal canine instinct, never left my side. She was protecting me as best she could from the impending onslaught. (Not really. She had no clue. She's a pug. The only thing probably going through her mind was "I am comfortable here. Why are you moving around. Since you're up, can you fetch me a snack?")

My husband, pacing back and forth approached me suddenly and said

"The radar. Go to the radar!"

Knowing that this was the only thing we could do as we lay in wait for the inevitable, I quickly punched in the website for accuweather. The computer slowly started trying to load the page. We watched as the circle spiraled - attempting to bring forth accuweather.com - I felt it was mocking us.

"Why?!" Jason yelled, shaking his fist at the sky, (well, ceiling actually...we were indoors and there's the ceiling and then another floor above us, followed of course by the roof unless you don't consider the attic, which of course you should if you're trying to be accurate.) He became increasingly agitated, his pulse visible in the veins of his neck.

"Hit refresh!" He bellowed. (I've always wanted to use the word "bellowed". It's not often one gets the opportunity to use that word. I just may use it twice.)

"I did!" I bellowed back. (See.)

Finally, the page for accuweather.com came forth, (much more dramatic than"loaded" don't you think?), and the truth was laid out before us. Any hope that we would avoid this storm was stripped bare. (Stripped and bare....how about that. I'm SO like that 50 Shades of Grey writer except that I'm not a gazillionaire.)

In the same instinctive way men of past generations have prepared to save their families from the wrath of mother nature, Jason battened down the hatches. (Read "closed the blinds."). The wind picked up, whistling through the trees, ( I really couldn't hear the wind because the windows were closed.)

"Don't look!!" ~~I bellowed.~~ (That was too much wasn't it? Twice was good, three times not so much.) I cried.

"Why?! WHY!!!?" Jason yelled, cursing the storm. (This is actually the truth. I told him that this was akin to that line about it being futile to curse the darkness which I thought was not only an astute observation on my part, but also pretty witty. He did not seem to find me as witty as I find myself and just looked at me and said "Huh?".)

The storm was upon us, wailing against our home - and then almost as suddenly - it was gone. We hugged each other, knowing that next time, we might not be so lucky. (That didn't happen. What really happened is that it was still raining in our yard, yet the sun was shining in the field behind our house and Jason, for some reason, did not approve of this. I think he said something to the effect of; "What the hell is this?")

We grasped hands and silently walked out to survey our territory. (We have like a HUGE amount of land...almost the size of Vatican City. I think it's like almost an acre!) Jason put his arm around my shoulder and said "Look, the sun is shining for us.". (Actually he stayed on the deck suspiciously eyeing the horizon and I said something like "This is cool." and walked down to stand in the sun shower, expecting him to follow and join me in appreciation of this rare and rather unique situation. He did not. Rather he asked me if bees can fly in the rain and I said "I don't think so." Thinking back on this I probably should've said "I don't know", because I really don't know. When people ask you about bees you should probably know what you're talking about. I'll note that for next time.)

As I turned back to watch the storm clouds receding and sun beaming through the light rain, Jason beamed at me (read "glared"), and gave me a knowing look. Yes. We had survived...and we would survive again. He pumped his fist in the air in that easily recognizable gesture of triumph used in many Rocky movies and I smiled. We had not only survived, but thrived. (Don't you love that trite sentence? If you Google it, it comes up all over the place. That's how much people love that sentence.). We would see another day I thought, watching our reflection in our private lake, (okay, it's an above ground pool..but it's one of those oblong ones so it's pretty close to a lake), noticing that my reflection was too thin - I reminded myself that I should eat more, (HAHAHAHAHAHA!).

Our faithful dog galloped through the yard, joyfully claiming her land back from the storm that had threatened to take it all away. (Actually, as you know...she is a pug. She doesn't gallop. She trots around sniffing and snorting, but that doesn't really create the same visual impact.)

Jason once again raised our flag, in symbolic recognition of our victory...and I knew...and he knew....and the dog knew....and AMERICA KNEW!!!!!, (that was good, right?), that we'd overcome great odds. (We have a flag pole, but no flag. The people we bought the house from took the flag with them. Who does that? Anyway, I keep reminding myself I have to get a flag.). In silent homage, to those who weren't as lucky as us, who perhaps had lost satellite reception or worse...cellphone signals...we stood silently watching the flag wave in the wind. Yes. Life was good. Indeed.

(In reality I turned to talk to him after he asked me about the bees to find that he'd run inside. He ran back outstide...and those of you who know Jason, know that he really does run everywhere..and sprayed behind a piece of vinyl siding where there had been a huge bees nest. "WATCH OUT!" he yelled. "YOU SHOULD BACK UP AND GET AWAY FROM THERE AFTER I DO THIS. THEY'RE GOING TO FLY OUT OF HERE!". He sprayed and flew up the stairs back onto the deck and into the house. One bee sort of crawled out of the siding, like he'd been napping, and then walked back in. I think I might've even seen him yawn a little bee yawn.) Jason came back out and looked sadly at the siding.

THE END.

Okay Luann. How'd I do? :)

My Appeal for Patience, Understanding, maybe a Box of Milanos...that would be nice.

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Mon, 19 Mar 2012 01:37:00 +0000

I just wanted to let everyone know that:

I do love you.
I do want to talk to you.
I mean to return your call but I pass out with my phone in my hand.
I do miss you.
I don't mean to be so cranky.

Now that that's all cleared up - I'm at 55,000 words with 50,000 or so to go. I could bang this out if I didn't have a full-time job with a stress level of 15 on a scale of 1 to 10. I have ideas, paragraphs, a narrative arc, plot lines, endings, beginnings...excitement....I am loving this project...but what I don't have is time. And it's frustrating, although this is just the way it is. Opportunity knocks and you don't say "Hey, can you wait until my summer vacation?" Opportunity would tell you where to get off....although I don't think Opportunity would be that crude about it. I've always thought of Opportunity as sort of refined and well regarded. If Opportunity were at a party, it would wear beige...or something else nice and neutral with maybe one signature piece of jewelry...nothing flashy like Kim Kardashian would wear.

Please don't forget me. I haven't forgotten you....really. I'm just 55,000 words in with 50,000 or so to go and for those of you who know what that feels like, you know what I mean. For those of you who might understand but not relate...just know that I'm still here...I miss you all very much and I'll call you back soon. :)

Loved this Review from Dogcatanimalcare.com!

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Sat, 18 Feb 2012 20:55:00 +0000

Click logo above to go directly to Mary's blog.

Thank you to Mary Smith, an artist and writer from redhotkitties.com for her wonderful review of Tales from a Dog Catcher.

Thanks Mary...your review really meant a lot to me, especially since you really grasped the theme of my book - that sometimes all we really can do is ""try your best, and cry afterwards."

An unpretentious volume that you might pass by, if you saw it on the library shelf, this is one of those wonderful discoveries that you will instantly want to add to your animal tales collection! Author Lisa Duffy-Korpics offers a heart-warming-and-rending collection of chapters on special cats, dogs (and other creatures) she saved–or lost–while working as an animal control officer. I found myself devouring each story, connecting with Lisa in each joyful and successful or frustrating encounter.

I’ve always wanted to be an animal rescue super-hero, able to leap in and make things RIGHT for every animal on earth. Lisa’s stories are a real-life version of this dream, but grounded in stark reality. Sometimes, all you can do is try your best, and cry afterwards. As when we saved our Precious, it was too littIe, too late, but at least we got to love her. I loved this book!! Every good thing counts.

Dogs Riding in Cars

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 01:24:00 +0000

photo courtesy of animalclinic.ca

On New Year's Day it's probably common to reflect on years past...or look optimistically towards the future.
Maybe to reevaluate old habits and forge new paths. Today, however, something struck me that just needed to be addressed here.

Dogs.

Dogs riding in cars.

While driving to pick up my daughter from her friend's house, I saw something that made me hesitate and struck me much the way odd things sometimes tend to strike people.

Thoughts like these are probably more common than you would think. As a matter of fact, if I were capable of seeing people's thoughts in bubbles over their heads like in a comic strip, I bet I would see a lot of thoughts like this. An awareness that some of the things we do in this era are so far removed from what is natural that if you thought about anything completely objectively you would have cause to stop for a moment and say "Hmmm, okay"

This goes against the grain, the nature of things. Like the dog riding in the passenger seat of a rusty old Trans-Am, (they stopped making those didn't they? Probably a good thing.), sitting up in the front looking quite dignified and entitled. A large Pit Bull Great Dane type of dog who, if it had been summer, might've had his paw leaning out the open window, wearing sunglasses. That's when

I thought. Dogs...descendants of wolves, pack animals, capable of hunting dinner and devouring it raw in a matter of moments...these powerful animals who rely on instinct and a keen sense of smell, are now riding shotgun in Trans-Am's.

What would his canine ancestors think? I wonder if the dog had his own presets on the radio station or played some of his own music....probably on an 8-track player given the year of the car, but I digress....still, the thought of humans driving around highways with dogs seemed to me at that moment to be really funny. It was like one of those thoughts I have sitting in the parking lot at Target when I think that somewhere, someone among the crowd of people getting swallowed up and spit out by those automatic doors has just purchased a chia-pet.

Perhaps this will make sense to some of you, or not. However I know out there that there are those of you who may think the way I do. That the next time you see a poodle wearing rain boots and a hat you may find yourself wanting to scream "Oh...the humanity!!".

The comic genius Charles Schultz was the master of this type of thinking. His characters often looked at life in a way that cut through the expected and right to the crux of the matter. One of my favorites is a line where Linus is sitting still, then makes an uncomfortable face followed by a look of fear and puts his hand over his mouth and says "Suddenly, I'm aware of my tongue!"

I guess you could say I had one of those Linus moments. The dog in the car probably feels as natural there as he would running through a field...maybe even more so. Who knows....as I look around my home with its microwave, convection oven, toaster and crock pot I think to myself that all these things do is provide a way to heat food to eat, and I feel a little like that dog...that I should shed some of these trappings meant to make life easier because maybe they're entrapping me?

But then I realize that these are just thoughts and that the best way to handle these would be to go on my computer and blog about it, because after-all, in the human world I am the equivalent of small terrier.....I think I'm big and strong but in reality I'm small and weak and maybe a tad neurotic with a bit of an attitude....and I love my iPad and laptop and the internet. I'm not about to go outside and chop wood and carry water - although somewhere in my psyche I understand how far removed I've become from my ancestors who would likely look at me strangely.

Like a dog riding in a Trans-Am.

Christmas Reading for Dog Lovers: A Post that Borders on Inappropriate and Contains References to Penguins and Sex

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 13:40:00 +0000

"Tales from a Dog Catcher is quite an enjoyable read....once I got past the title."

Gotcha! After not posting in so long I knew I need a flashy title to lure you in. I do promise I will not disappoint you.
I apologize to those loyal friends and readers who keep checking my blog, (and have likely given up), over the past few months. I've been incredibly busy with college search stuff for my son, chauffeuring my daughter around, and repairing cars that seem to be in a constant cycle of getting hit while parked!
Add this to the changing curriculum standards in education that require someone whose been teaching for almost 20 years, to start changing everything they've done, (which seems to have proven successful for almost two decades but for some reason now needs to be different for reasons that have not yet been truly evaluated by any real data)...I guess you could say I've been shirking my blog duties. Okay...I'm done complaining now.
"I just checked that author's blog...you know the one who wrote that book about dog catching? All she does is complain. If I want to read that I'll just write my OWN blog!"
So, in light of the holidays...I will reduce my complaint index to an appropriate level. But...just one more before I start. I'm watching the news on this lovely Saturday morning. I looked up to see that a turkey vulture and a penguin are being featured on this morning news program. The Vet is explaining details about the penguin and the serious bifocal wearing host waits for her to pause between sentences and he says - in a very impressive and anchor-person sounding voice:
"So, as I'm listening to you, I'm waiting for this penguin to dance. Have you seen Happy Feet?"
This is happening at the same time a news (news being a relative term apparently), scroll on the bottom of the TV screen announces something I missed but the words "penile enhancement gone wrong" followed by something about a student who wrote an article on premarital sex for his college newspaper resulting in him being suspended. Do you feel like we live in the 1950's? All of a sudden, what used to be acceptable opinion is suddenly cause for suspension? Premarital sex? In COLLEGE of all places? What about journalistic integrity? How can an article about premarital sex be "bad" at the same time a penile enhancement story is being scrolled across the screen - because obviously - this is breaking news?
"What's wrong with this woman?! She writes these heartwarming stories and now she's talking about sex and penile enhancement? And...it's the holidays!!! I don't think I want to read anything she writes anymore!"
Okay, I will revert back to more appropriate content....maybe I need more coffee. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe more coffee will make me stop - although it's more likely it will make me escalate so perhaps it's time for me to close and wish everyone a great weekend.
I'm 3/4 of the way complete with the sequel to "Dog Catcher" and while it's still sweet and fun...it's a little edgier than the last one. If you want to drop me a line and let me know if that's okay with you...I would be most appreciative. If you're in the process of looking for a great gift for friends and loved ones - Tales from a Dog Catcher is a great idea, (if I do say so myself!), and is available at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com and also at select bookstores in the U.S., Canada, U.K., Europe, Asia, Australia, New Zealand and other locations across the globe. This book is not yet available on Kepler 22; that new planet discovered that shares many similarities with earth. If you're reading this on Kepler and would like this book to be available, (if indeed there are bookstores there), please send me an email and I'll contact Lyons Press to see if they can send a few boxes.
"Now I know there's something wrong with this Duffy-Korpics, (she can't even decide on a last name), woman....she's totally off on some tangent. She seemed so well adjusted in the book. Maybe she's gone off the deep end?!"

Happy almost holidays!

Photo courtesy of publishersweeklyblog at PWxyz

New Driver on the Road

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 01:54:00 +0000

I noticed something the other day....time flies by whether or not I work on curriculum or projects or unpack boxes or wash the floor and pick up after messy teenagers or constantly call teenagers who just received their licenses and are now out there in the world driving without me sitting next to them saying;

"BRAKES! "HEY, HEY, HEY...Tail lights dude....watch for those brake lights!" "That was a stop sign, just in case you didn't notice....oh, and by the way, that was a red light just because you didn't see the stop sign." Funny how those things pop up in the road...of all places. He is a 17 year old boy...but all I see when I watch him drive away is that photo at the top of my blog.

I'm working hard on an exciting project...in the waiting stages now so I'm trying to learn Sociology so I can teach it in September. I have Psychology down pat...enough so that I would actually feel comfortable teaching a college course in it - even the neuroanatomy. I remember back to my days in nursing school...loved this stuff...neurotransmitters, dopamine, acetylcholine, GABA, effect of serotonin reuptake inhibitors... all good. But sociology? I have some reading to do. All my course work outside of that was history.

So...my son drives. He's preparing for his senior pictures. And I think I'm having a mid-life crisis. Good news: all the crunches and push-ups it's inspiring me to do...bad news: the empty nest syndrome is starting to encroach upon me. My daughter has four years more, starts high school i September. High school. September. I need a drink.

What can we do...just enjoy every moment while we have it. Enjoy it. Invest in it. Let it go because we can't stop it even if we wanted to....and in the meantime connect with old friends and family we miss....not lose sight of what's important.

And moisturize. Never forget to moisturize.

Stay Tuned

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Tue, 14 Jun 2011 02:18:00 +0000

I know...I haven't updated this blog in so long that several politicians have had sex scandals in the interim...oh wait...that was only a week ago.

School is winding down and I'm working on a side project I'm very excited about - and the sequel is probably at least halfway there even though that will have to wait a little while longer. We're moving into our house - finally - after living in an extended stay hotel for 3 months. The movers have decided that they can't move our belongings until a week or so after we close, so we're going to camp out in our house with just a sofa and a grill. Who needs anything else anyway!

Just one adventure after another here in my world. More to come soon - when I get some rest and my creativity returns.

photo courtesy of remotebizbooks.com

How Do I Love Thee? Let me Not Count the Ways

noreply@blogger.com (ldk) — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 03:25:00 +0000

Americans overuse the word love. I know this to be true since I heard it on TV last night; on a high profile network no less. So of course, it must be true.

I don’t think Americans, or anyone for that matter, overuse the word love. Maybe I don’t think it’s used enough? What's more, who decided that it’s overused? Who decided the scale we should measure love by? Perhaps there should be an organization designed to determine the amount of love one should feel in different situations. Perhaps something like “The Ministry of Love”. No, that sounds too provincial or like an album cover... in America it would probably be called “The Department of Love”, much like the D.M.V. but less confusing and with shorter lines.

Who’s to say that the woman making dinner for her five young children after working an 8 hour day doesn’t love her microwave? Why can’t we love our favorite movie, or a color, or certain type of Pinot Grigio?

“Here my darling, I’ve been saving this wine for a special occasion. I really intensely like it and I’m sure you will be exceptionally fond of it too.”

“Oh, yes” She takes a sip. “I absolutely find it way beyond adequate!”

The thing about love is that it truly is indefinable. It means something different to whoever is feeling it. Feelings are intangible things by nature, so therein lies my problem with people telling us that we should have a limit on it.

Maybe the word should be reserved for the absolute peak of experiences, the most reverent moments, the most important rites of passage. Maybe it should be reserved for permanence, a word not to be taken a chance on something potentially temporary? Does love fade away? Yes, sometimes it does. Is love sometimes taken away? Does it cause us to run towards things, or sometimes to run away from them as well? Yes, I suppose that’s true. But isn't the chance worth it?

Does love change? Absolutely it does…the love a child feels toward their parents is a complicated and cyclical thing – beginning with intense need, moving along to admiration, than to disappointment that no one is perfect, and with any luck moves back to admiration and respect once again. Love affairs begin with chemistry and excitement, the physicality, the peaks and valleys are volatile, exciting and addicting. When they level off into maturity, some may think that they’ve fallen out of love but if they’re lucky, it’s turned into something deeper and solid. Can those we love die….our brains know the logic to this, but our love doesn’t.

So how can the word love be overused? It can appear, disappear, change, be given or taken away, it can be brief; it can be inconsistent, misunderstood, simple, complex, fleeting or forever. What it can’t be is defined. I watch my children sleeping and I remember them as babies and I know I will always see them that way as they grow taller than me . I loved them then and now, sometimes it’s easy, and sometimes it’s painful, but it’s still love. My mother told me that love was an action, not a word. I think she knew that I'd need to remember that when she was no longer here to guide me when I became a parent myself. She gave me a memory of selfless love.

On the first warm day of spring when I sit outside on my deck, with my dog on my lap, among the trees and quiet in the sunshine…I feel it. What do I love? Trees? Sunshine? Peace? My dog? My deck? It doesn’t matter. I can’t define it and I don’t want to…I just love it. I don’t want to rate or measure or count the amount of times anyone should say it. It’s not my job, and it’s not the job of the news to tell us this either.

It comes, it goes, it’s difficult, it flows, it’s hard to find and it’s right behind you at the same time waiting for you to find it back. Don’t define it. Don’t analyze it. Just turn off the news…and be grateful for it.